#and yet she still goes to prayer for healing first

[cult-of-the-placeholder]

Uhhhh so. I can't draw, so please don't throw rocks at me 😅 is anyone gonna see this? DUNNO. But I'm throwing it into the void anyway

Behold: 4 cute babies for me to traumatize with my War on the Lamb AU

This AU wouldn't exist without @heketsbroodau and their amazing fics. Go read them! Literally right now! All of them! Every single one!!!!!!!

The general idea this WotL AU works with goes as follows:

- The demigod children of the bishops (cousins), quailing and listless in the wake of their parents' slaughter, decide to counter attack and wage war on the lamb for ruining their lives and killing the family they loved so dearly

- In each brood, one was voted amongst the siblings to take up the Crowns to use their power to lead the vengeance quest (because the crowns are at least partially sentient, I imagine that they vanished when their bearers died to keep themselves from being ceased)

- The children have mostly been raising themselves since the lamb destroyed... literally everything

- They're planning to essentially use one of themselves as a sacrifice: taking up the Red Crown and agreeing to be locked away in eternal banishment to prevent it from ever causing trouble and strife again

Though their ages when each Bishop died varies, they are in order: Adami, Ylindri, Phereo, and finally No Name. When Shamura dies, their ages go as follows: 19 (Adami), 14 (Ylindri), 12 (Phereo), No Name (9). When the story kicks off they'll all likely be in their 20s but I haven't decided fully yet.

Adami:

As the oldest amongst the cousins, she feels it is the duty of her and her siblings to look after the younger ones. She loves them all very much, every, single, one. She and her dad were really close, and though she didn't have his aptitude for magic she was a born scientist at heart. She was always tucked away in the temple labs, fussing with bacteria cultures and scribbling in her notebooks. Thoroughly enjoyed Kallamar's genetics hobby, and still has the the very first genome they ever wrote together memorized

When he died, she and her siblings all felt it. They heard the commotion and tried so, so hard to get to him, but Kallamar had cast a magic ward on the temple's inner sanctum, preventing his children from entering or even coming near, not trusting that Narinder's appetite for destruction wouldn't extend to his little ones. He was right, and only after he'd been dead for several hours did the barrier fade

Adami wrote her own speech for his funeral but was crying too hard to deliver it, so it fell to her older sibling to speak on her behalf. She was very much a daddy's girl, and prays at his shrine almost every day, wishing for a peaceful afterlife for him, begging her uncle to be kind (though she knows he won't be)

She splits the Blue Crown with one of her siblings: she's the best scientific mind they've got and is therefore excellent for inflicting biowarfare, but she's got -3 magical ability and so whenever there's need for mass healing or protective magic, it goes to her sibling

Would've probably become a very sweet, bubbly person if not for losing Kallamar. She's a lot more reserved these days, but is still generally pretty peppy when excited about something

Ylindri:

As mentioned above she's the most unbalanced of Shamura's children: meaning, while their domain is wisdom and war, she skewed heavily toward the first one. The majority of the spiderlings (eleven of them in total) are right in the middle, wielding their brains and brawn as one. There's only one other severe skew like Ylindri: her older sister, who's very skewed toward war

A scholar first and foremost, she spent countless days studying medicine and old divine texts trying to find a way to help her Lifegiver's brain damage. She regularly helped change their bandages

Worried they might forget them all, Ylindri wove her Lifegiver a special band of spider silk, which each of their names and a prayer for health delicately woven in. Her hope was that their love would stay with Shamura easier, and might help them feel better. Shamura wears it on their 4th wrist

In public Ylindri calls Shamura her Lifegiver, in private they are Ama

Very softspoken, and thoroughly heartbroken by Shamura's death. Tried to stop them from going to meet the lamb in the sanctum, but their mind had slipped again and Shamura didn't truly recognize her in that moment

Phereo:

Leshy's thirdborn child and second daughter. Is the only girl to have wings but has sworn off flying after Leshy's death

They were really close, and Leshy actually died while the children were in their first chrysallis (they're demigodlings. They undergo multiple metamorphoses in their lives), so when she emerged she and her siblings were greeted by the sorrowful Witness and the earth-shattering news that they had been orphaned

They preserved Leshy's remains so that his childreb could attend the funeral, but Phereo didn't go. She couldn't bear the thought. She was so terrified to make her chrysallis because everyone knows that girls don't have wings, and the only thing that got her to start spinning was her father's promise to be ready to recieve her when she'd emerged, and the whispered secret of, "You're just as I was. You'll be fine." After that, she doesn't want to appear in public, doesn't want anyone to see her, and spends all her time locked in her room mourning the loss of Leshy

She's got hardcore depression in wake of her dad's death. Everything is unstable and scary and she feels so lost and out of sorts. Years pass and her mental health stabilizes but doesn't improve: when the cousins start planning their war and how to defeat the Red Crown for good, she offers her body to the cause. She'll hsve to be banished and locked away, for all eternity. If it will avenge Leshy's death and let her go to a place where she can forget that she exists, then she's happy to do it

Someone get this worm therapy smh

No Name:

Someone seriously help me name him I've gone through like 5 names and none feel right 😭

The smallest, height wise and age wise. He hates it

This froggy is a MAMA'S BOY. He was very, very close with Heket, and loved her more than life itself. She was his mother, after all--there was no one in the world he loved more. The whole gaggle of froglets found Heket's still cooling corpse in the Temple sanctum, and just. Basically did Simba and mufasa. Just kinda snuggled against her and begged her to get up, to heal, to be ok

I don't have a whooole lot of development for him but he's generally pretty quiet and brooding. Very angy. Late teenage angst when thebwar starts but also his mom was murdered by the guy they're waging war on so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Regardless. He's not having a good time. Eats his feelings a lot and is quietly hoping the war kills him

Was voted among his siblings to bear the Yellow Crown and he despises it. It feels so wrong, like the desecration of his mother's memory, to have him stand in her place and wear that which rightfully belongs to her and no one else. Prays to the crown every morning before he puts it on, asking his mother's forgiveness and hoping to serve her memory well

#cult of the lamb #war on the lamb au #gonna make an effort to post some of the development here. i hsve Ideas™ #sorry if this kinda sucks lmao im really high

[katyspersonal]

you‘ve probably discussed this, I might have missed it. what do you think laurence’s motivations/goals were for everything he did? would you say he’s morally grey? had good or bad intentions?

I would not be surprised if I already discussed it and forgot myself! I am talking about Bloodborne SO much that I end up not remembering what I've discussed already :') I do think that he is morally grey; his most prevalent intentions were good ones, but I think he had some "badness" about him, mostly in the form of wanting to become the new ruling power in Yharnam! Okay I'll go bit by bit.. or try to.

THE biggest clue I have towards his good intentions is the fact that the holy blood is... well, a thing that heals. Not only we can witness it in the game first by using blood vials, but people do address it, verbally! However, I think the evolution and protection bit is really important here, if not MORE important.

There is a large possibility that beasts started becoming a problem even without the scholars messing with the dungeons! Yharnam stands on the "tombs of gods" that are related to the civilizations that actually messed with the blood first, Suspicious Beggar being unlike any other beast but a Loran one could mean that he inherited beasthood rather than developed it... even the very first Caryll Rune was the howling of the beast, and it is paired with the rune that points out beasthood is inherent for humanity:

We are talking about the setting where magic and aliens are real and where there were "first people" (Pthumerians) who caused irrevercible damage on the mortals in general, so the concerns could be real! My personal headcanon is that concerns over beasthood started to come up because meanwhile Kos was washed on the shore, thus abandoning her own concealment of the Eldrich Horrors; she was like Rom, since Sea and Lake runes refer to the barrier both. 🤔

But, yes, notice that Clawmark refers to the inherent thirst for blood within human nature, whereas Simon sarcastically refers to Healing Church's ministration as "beast cleansing", and Amelia's prayer goes like this:

(Sorry for always ripping excerpts from retranslation document ( x ), I am just incapable of working without it after discovering plenty of mistranslations fsdjhfdhs)

We can get a picture that the point of blood ministration is basically, 'The beastly nature within humans craves blood so it is better to satisfy it with some, but if you are not careful about it, you will just keep wanting more and more blood uncontrollably and become a beast anyways'! That's why people should fear the blood... yet, at the same time, seek it. Just in moderation. I would not say that it is a bad plan, but believing that religious agenda and presenting what were the stakes would be enough to keep people's will power strong is... strangely optimistic? Again, Laurence was a smart person, but he had more faith in humanity than, say, Willem or Micolash.

And at the end, besides healing properties and protection from the curse of beasts (that, again, might be inflicted on humanity genetically in this setting all history concidered), there is evolution factor too! There is a very important bit about Sedative:

Byrgenwerth people started to investigate Eldrich Horrors as soon as they returned from Isz, and also after massacre of Fishing Hamlet! I already talked about how Frenzy is relevant to bloodlust, hunt and Oedon here ( x ) and here ( x ), so it is still tied to 'feed your inner beast some blood so it doesn't rip you from inside'! But also, what could be observed directly was, 'if you peer into cosmic horrors too much you go insane and fucking die'. And ALSO:

Willem, and Byrgenwerth in general, pursued the Insight / Eyes Inside and cosmos as the means to improve the humanity:

So, like... it became plain that whereas the researchers could go insane and die from witnessing too much, they could also... NOT do that, and simply study mysteries of the universe normally - all they needed to do is to sip some blood sometimes! I actually can envision Willem, as well as Choir and Mensis that continue his ideas (albeit twisted) to believe that the "weakest must go"! That if someone died during research - it is a tool for the scientists coming after them, and if someone could not handle it then maybe they were not worthy! Meanwhile, I think initially Laurence disagreed with that and thought it would be better to just sip some blood when it gets hard, and evolution without the blood would simple have too much of a body count, with the "survivors" having lost their humanity (figurally OR literally)!

+ This is also an important observation in my version of lore and timeline, in which Healing Church and Byrgenwerth were one at first and Willem was the 'pope', so they were doing both blood ministration and research for eyes (most notable in Adeline's arc), and later Laurence elbowed Willem away to have more control over his own thing 🤔 This is not the most popular theory but the one I am satisfied with the most, I explained it here: ( x )! (fun fact: creator of that one BB fan manga centered on Lady Maria had that interpretation too! xD I feel validated.)

So yeah, in the conclusion, Laurence had plenty of reasons to put his faith in the blood! Healing, protection and evolution. But whereas the next most influential person (Willem) insisted that it was the worst idea ever, other people who LIKED the blood (Cainhurst nobles) apparently were doing it "wrong". They reveled in blood thirst and curse, whether truthfully or that was the prejuduice. Knowing Soulsborne settings, it was both. There must be the reason Lady Maria distasted it, okay? Maybe Fauxsefka too, if you believe she was one of the OG ones and not taken from Cainhurst as a child. Laurence needed to assert the blood healing, but also to have it as the good thing! A thing that connects you with the gods, whereas protecting and advancing your humanity, not corrupting it!

So, he needed to replace the oligarchy (Cainhurst), but to also not let someone else rise instead! Though I still could write it down as good intentions too, albeit twisted - Laurence could not TRUST someone else to act for the betterment of humanity, as well as to have courage to do sacrifices and morally burdening decisions. He was somewhat arrogant but he had the reasons to be, as a genuinely smart person. In his eyes? Micolash and Rom maybe were "smarter", but at the same time so detached from humanity that he could tell in the end they'd forsaken it, by their own will or unintentionally. And wasn't he right? Well, wasn't he?? Micolash is "You are too stupid to make such decisions" (derogatory), but Laurence is "You are too stupid to make such decisions" (affectionate)! Caryll was his equal intellectually but Laurence could tell he lacked the 'courage' and risk-taking streak (by being unwilling to mess with the blood, first of all). Willem was certainly smart, but not only avoided the blood like Caryll, but Laurence could tell he was prone to "gatekeeping". In Laurence's eyes, the 'peasants' deserved a chance for evolution too (and this is some contrast with his teenage "Sorry hun, I don't speak poor uwu" years xD Character development!).

________________________

Anyways, thank you for this ask very much! I LOVE talking about Laurence, he raised in amongst my favourite characters since recent times.. and also discussing the depth and complexity of his character is just what I need x) Yeah, sadly enough, he was not much better in terms of great sacrifices for his goals and machiavelism than Willem or other scholars he looked down on. But, Laurence believed that when HE did that it was different, because at least his ways were 'productive' xd In his opinion, I mean.

The concept of Laurence who was just evil and selfish asshole that wanted power and religious-ish control over everything does nothing to me :pensive: But, I do think that whereas ensuring his power and theocratical control was a necessity, he could still enjoy what he got even a little! I don't see it as corruption arc from nice and good person to a deranged asshole, but rather from a person with clear ambitious goals and comprehension of what it will cost to... well, a person horrified of the cosmic insight and gods that once guided him and getting obsessed with blood in the exact same way he warned others not to.

#bloodborne #laurence the first vicar #bloodborne theory #bloodborne headcanons #use later #ask replies #damn I love talking about him #he mico and rom all have the same problem for me where I have SO much to say about them that I keep forgetting some details #but this is the general gist of it!

[taking-thyme]

I find it so funny that I’m like “I’m not a good witch, I barely even meditate, nothing spiritual going on here” meanwhile I have supernatural things happen to me constantly but I still don’t think anything of it. I’m like if Shane Madej was a witch 🤦‍♀️

Like seriously, here’s a list of all the supernatural shit that’s happened to me so far:

I once started sobbing with worry because it was November and there wasn’t any snow yet, and not 5 minutes later did a blizzard begin. There was no snow on the forecast (hence the crying). My siblings still call me “the snow witch” after this incident 

I was joking about Satan at school one day and my nose immediately started bleeding. I told my history teacher and he absolutely freaked out and accused me of being a demon

My sister’s Godmother’s prayer rope (basically an Orthodox Rosary) exploded for no reason. It was just hanging on a hook, nothing touched it, and then I heard a “POP” and beads went around the room as the prayer rope lay in pieces on my desk. I cannot stress enough how literally nothing was touching it or anything. I just said “wow I must be haunted” and carried on with my day

I once had a dream where I actually hit the ground after falling. Apparently old wives tales say that if you hit the ground during a falling dream you actually die. Who knows, maybe I am dead and Purgatory is just Earth but worse?

I asked the Universe for a sign on what to do while walking home, disgruntled after a day of doing nothing, and immediately a Dove erupted out of a nearby tree fighting off a Crow. That’s an omen if I’ve ever seen one

I’m a pagan witch who works with Apollo, Thor and Odin. I once had a very important dream where I was speaking with Odin and Thor, but unfortunately I can’t remember what they said to me. I’m just so amazed that I actually had a dream about them

Also, on the note about working with Apollo, there are TONS of crows and ravens in my neighborhood and I always say "Hi Apollo" whenever I see them. In a tarot reading about which deity to work with, The Sun card flung itself out of the pile and I was like "Okaayyy, Apollo it is!"

I was listening to a Tarot reading once and the reader went “I feel like the name Gigi or Cici is important” and I literally had to stand up and pace because my deceased Great Grandmother’s name was Gigi. A couple days later I was talking about her with my Mom and she mentioned redoing some of Gigi’s old craft projects, and I heard a woman say “Don’t mess with my stuff”.. So apparently Gigi is some sort of ghost or spirit guide 

I frequently see shadowy humanoid figures in my peripheral vision, but when I turn to greet them nobody’s there. While I do wear glasses, I’ve gotten my eyesight checked for anything that could be causing these figures and have gotten nothing. The figures are sometimes very detailed, with clothes and eyes, but once again, one look and nothing was ever there. I sometimes wonder if I’m seeing ghosts or something. 

My mother was declared reproductively sterile before giving birth to me and my 3 older siblings. Yet more evidence that I’m secretly a demon

That time a faerie ring popped up in my backyard. Our garden has flourished effortlessly every year since. 

As a witch, the first spell I ever performed was a healing spell. My friend was sick with Crohn's Disease and was bed bound at the hospital for a while, so I got his permission to do a healing spell to try and make him feel better. Not 30 minutes after the spell was complete did I get a text from him saying he felt a lot better and that it must've worked. He was also allowed to go home a few days later. 

I have a really good sense of Intuition, to the point where I can feel when it’s going to rain or snow before it actually does. I was on a walk with my Mom once, and I told her we shouldn’t go down that path because there would be snakes. She said that’s ridiculous, but not 5 minutes later, she just goes “Damn you, child” as a snake slides past her foot. I still haven’t let her live that down. 

Conclusion: I may be the Witch version of a Disney Princess. If I ever randomly stop posting, assume I've been whisked away on a magical adventure, please and thank you.

#witchblr #witchcraft #witch #baby witch #fave

[antlerquccn]

sentence starter from halestorm’s album back from the dead . change to fit as you see needed. potentially nsfw themes.

I'm back from the dead

'Cause I'm still standing above ground

Back from the dead alive, hell couldn't hold me

Hell couldn't hold me down

'Cause I'm still standing on the ground

Save your prayers, don't bless my bones, erase my name from my headstone

I'm back

Don't call me an angel I'll always be sinful it don't make me evil

I got my wicked

We all play the sinner and the saint and the in-between

I keep my eyes wide open when I pray

I like trouble coming in a hundred different ways

Heaven knows that I'll never change

Don't call me an angel

It don't make me evil

I'll never be faithful I'll always be tempted

It don't make me evil, I ain't evil

I've been the freak

I'll always be sinful

It don't make me evil

But I got my wicked ways

Do I make you nervous?

Do I make you scared?

Do I make you wanna just stop and stare?

A perfect picture of your fucking worst nightmare

Do I make you frightened?

Do I make you fear for your life?

So you can damn me straight to hell you can crucify my name

The world needs strange girls just like me

You say she's such a strange girl

Would you love me when my halo's bent and crooked when you call me malcontent?

Can't you be more like the girl next door instead of little miss misfit

Do you hate me just to change me to be just like you

Do you fear me to make me feel empty so I'm just like you

I will never be like you

But I keep looking on the bright side of life 'cause it only gets darker

We all need something to keep believing so I keep looking on the bright side of life

'Cause it only gets harder we all need something to keep us feeling

I'm over it all the bullshit

'Cause life's a bitch and then you die

We all need something to keep believing

It's everything you wanted but nobody likes you

It stopped raining in my head today I finally feel like myself again

I'm back where I belong

Do I live with this pain?

Asking myself why I see terrible things

It will take what you love like a thief

We're not these terrible things

We are nothing without failure

With every scar have we learned not to heal, but to hurt

I see a sickness in a world on its knees

Look at me and you'll see I'm not these terrible things

My heart can survive it, I'm stronger than this

I'm my own redemption

Don't need forgiveness to bless my guilt

Don't need Heaven to save my soul

Fell from grace just to believe in my redemption

They ain't built a weapon that could kill me yet

Be a good girl, play along

Well, I got news for all of you fools you better suck it up

You're never gonna shut me up

She's not fragile like a flower she is fragile like a bomb

I may be good at trouble but I'm not yours to change

You get what you give, so give it to me, wait your turn

I come first

You don't get to break the rules

A little respect goes a long, long way

I'm gonna make you wait like you made me, so how does it taste?

Play with fire, get burned

Don't do me like that

Now you're making me mad

If you want a battle, I'll give you a war

You say I've got problems, got issues and it's all in my head

Don't you forget that you started this shit

If I won't break 'cause this time I'm fighting for me for everything you took away

Shout from the rooftops while you still live every word

Forgive every fear that convinced you to put out your light

Show every flaw, every scar that this world made you hide from who you are

#rp memes #rp starters #rp sentence starters #sentence starter meme #rp sentence meme #sentence starters

[walkinginland]

one line, any fic

rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people my brain is pudding and idk who hasn’t done this yet SO if you want to share some lines go for it! consider yourself tagged.

i have so many random snippets of wips, i threw in two of those that I hope to work on some this year :)

thank you for the tag @flyinghome-againstthewind!!!! 😘

Sunlight (the song of achilles)

“Good morning.” He cocked his head to the side, peering up at Patroclus. “What had you so deep in thought so early?”

Patroclus tried to cover over his private dark musings, tried to distract Achilles by laying kisses across his high cheekbone, rubbing his nose gently down Achilles’ as he kissed his way to the line of his jaw.

“I’ve no idea what you’re speaking of,” he murmured to the skin under his ear. He felt Achilles grip his hair again, pulling him back up to meet his eyes.

does heaven have enough angels yet (outlander)

She really is only stopping here for a while before she goes somewhere else. She can hear her name being called, she knows it’s time for her to go, she’s already stayed too long. This isn’t her place; it never really was. She was only here to bring some hope, some faith, some joy, some healing for a little while.

Grievances Raised (outlander)

“I’ll remind you darling, that it was your idea. You have no one to blame but yourself.” She poked him in the chest as she nestled comfortably into his side.

Find a Little Remedy (outlander)

“Go on then, lovie,” she said as she leaned against the sill. “Show me how you dance this one and I’ll join you for the next one, alright?” She was feeling oddly fragile today, vulnerable in a way that she was usually able to keep close in her chest. She wasn’t sure why, exactly; it was no anniversary today, no date with meaning. But as the years passed by, she was realizing that spring and early summer simply felt… tender to her. Too many dates in those months, days of separation and days of birth and wedding days.

To Heart and Home (outlander)

But everyday spent with Brianna underfoot made it increasingly more difficult to distract himself from his grief. The blacksmith wasn’t wrong; there was something about the wee lass that reminded him daily of what could have been if so many things had not gone so wrong.

Practicing rows of letters. Skinned knees. Prayers before bed. A kiss on the cheek.

The fact of the matter was that the threads of grief and joy woven deep in his heart were becoming too strongly entwined for him to separate.

I Would Not Ask (outlander)

That first night lived vividly in Jamie’s mind. Whispered introductions of two familiar lovers not-yet-met and yet fitting together as they had always been intended to.

into the empty parts of me (outlander)

Their eyes met over their mirrored hands, in echoed remembrance of that same shared touch.

return my fists to fingers (the last binding trilogy)

Edwin slowly started working a spell, one hand still clasped in Robin’s, the other moving carefully string-less through the small pocket of air between them. Robin didn’t know how much time passed before Edwin brought his cool hand, tingling with magic, to join their already clasped fists and gentling Robin’s shaking fingers between his own.

For Where You Go (very old outlander au wip that I think i want to dust off and work on this year)

They hoped to find a safe place to settle on lands that once belonged to the Fraser clan. Despite the clearances that had ravaged the country and destroyed the clan system, family was still important above all. Ellen believed that her husband’s relatives would remember that, despite their long absence. Claire could only hope she was right.

The world was not a kind place for a pair of widows alone.

untitled Percy Jackson wip that i would also like to finish at some point

This was her favorite way to hold him. From the moment that he had placed her hand on his back, whispering a secret so massive, so earth-shaking, into the space between them, she had needed to hold onto him, onto this, as tight and closely as she could. He had put his life in her hands and she hadn’t let go since.

It’s been years since that day.

#textin

[tjerra14]

⭐ (I wanna know something you wanna talk about. be it a parallel you were proud of or a throwback to a scene from an earlier fic - anything goes. anything you want.)

I've been thinking long and hard which bit to choose to talk about a little more and honestly at this point I don't remember if I've done so before or just imagined myself doing so--if I did, apologies for repeating myself like a broken record 😅

Something I like doing when writing is what I call "mirroring" (it probably has a proper scientific name in theory but I'm not an intellectual where literature is concerned)--repeating the same sentence or paragraph, be it in exact wording or merely in structure, to highlight either similarities, or more often, differences. I used to only do this within a single fic, but at this point it's been coming up across multiple works especially since I consider most if not all of my Horizon fics to be part of a (more or less) cohesive whole.

So there's this bit in Linger:

Her mind doubts, dismisses, but her skin remembers. The soft touch of Ikrie’s fingertips at her temple, taking off the Focus as if she knew that as long as she wore it, they were never truly alone. Caresses exploring uncharted yet familiar paths, diligently mapping her scars, her stories. Fingers first, then lips: the one on her brow, token of the outcast. The one on her neck, token of the Seeker. Countless marks on her hands, tinkerer; her forearm, archer. Shoulders, back, chest, all cuts and claws and arrowheads: machine hunter, warrior. The one next to her navel, still fresh and angry and pink, where she caught shrapnel from a Bellowback’s exploding gullet as it charged her. Ikrie doesn’t know that one yet. She would hesitate and look up at her with questioning eyes, just a hint of worry in them, and the pad of her thumb would brush over it repeatedly as if she could smooth it out while Aloy tells the story. Friend. Talanah had dragged her to safety that day, nursed her through the fever, and while she had insisted there had been no need, Aloy knows it wouldn’t have healed half as well if she hadn’t. Ikrie would listen, quietly, and then she would lean in and kiss her, one of those lasting, heavy ones that leave her breathless and hungry, desperate for more. Prayers to a goddess—all gods—she doesn’t believe in as she drinks her in with every fibre of her being. Faith has never made much sense to her, but worship, she understands.

Followed by this one in Latency:

You know her shape as intimately as a painter knows their art. Your hands are the pigment-stained hunter braving the heights, she is the mark faded on the cliffs, and with each return, you retrace her lines. Fingers first, then lips; diligently, so that you won’t miss even the subtlest of changes: the remnants of the sun’s kiss on her arms; a faint smattering of freckles fading on her shoulders; the scars that pale, others that are added. All parts that make her, carved into her skin: on her brow, baffling compassion; her neck, perseverance. Countless marks on her hands and forearms, witnesses to her resourcefulness, curiosity and skill; chest and back praising unwavering courage against machine and man. The one next to her navel—

That one was new, and it made you pause. Look up at her, eyebrows raised, and she told you the story: a moment of recklessness, a Bellowback charging, safety reached only for the kindness and care of another. As you kissed her, soft at first, then deepening, losing yourself in her breath and taste and body, this piece, too, fell into place: the light she gives to the world and other people; that they give back. That you give back.

To me, scars are imprints of stories on our bodies, no matter how little or insignificant (or embarrassing--'my knife slipped while cutting zucchini the day before a pathology session and my prof was very annoyed with me, degrading me to clipboard-holder-protocolist with the dirtiest look imaginable' is not the most thrilling backstory), and I've always been fascinated to explore their meaning. In this case, since Linger is written from Aloy's perspective but Latency from Ikrie's, I had the opportunity to use two different approaches. For Aloy, her scars just are. They mark her with the events that left them, assigning her all the roles she took up throughout her journey. Outcast, hunter, tinkerer, warrior--who she is is written into her skin. Ikrie, however, doesn't define Aloy via her roles. For her, who she is as a person matters, and her scars and the stories attached to them are a testament to her character, to all the things she admires and loves about her. Where Aloy might associate painful memories, or roles she only reluctantly fills, Ikrie's perception is skewed towards the positive, and she actively looks for new ways to hold her high.

It's also worth noting that while both of these scenes describe the same event, in addition to the different perspectives the timeline also varies--in Linger, Aloy imagines what would happen would she meet Ikrie again; in Latency, set the next morning, Ikrie looks back on what happened. There have been multiple reunions in their past, and this one differs only in a new scar, a new story, a new perception to be added. There's routine to the leaving and coming-back, and both are well enough acquainted with it to imagine even the details correctly (which is a whole 'nother thing but y'know. Aloy's gotta run from her feelings, it's what she does).

#well this got a lot longer than expected #and is probably slightly incoherent #thank you for the ask!! #asks #writing

[a-shape-changer-in-winter]

Arm’s Length

I spent last night on my driveway, staring at the moon, listening to the same four songs by Kacy Hill on a loop. There are things about the individual life I treasure and perhaps, selfishly, am not willing to surrender [yet]. My therapist and I have been working through my defects recently. All of which stem from a distorted sense of hyper-individualism and independence. Talking about a struggle after I've mastered it or come out on the other side isn't a form of vulnerability - it's re-packaged perfectionism. She asks why I carry particular things (sustained grief/chronic illness) alone, and I tell her it's easier for me to bear than to show someone else where they need to grasp or lift. Everyone is past their capacity, and I don't feel neglected. She asks me if that's denial or if I've just cut off the part that wants to be seen. I give her the side-eye, and we both start cackling. She knows I'll allow it, to an extent, by a select few. The problem is that I want to control the light that I'm seen by. Most of the time, I'd prefer to maintain my [sense of] independence and individualism and occasionally be coveted by a coterie of former/almost lovers than loved by someone new.

Bess rhetorically asks me if I've idolized Jane Eyre. We talk about that inward treasure [born with me], which has kept me alive when all extraneous delights were withheld or offered only at a price I could not afford to give. I ask her if she thinks I'm hoarding it like a dragon. She snorts. I feel a twinge of guilt in my chest. We return to Rilke's "I'm still alive, I have time to build My blood will outlast the rose." She knows when I first got sober, I needed time to build a life that wasn't painful to live. Then I met someone and started a life with them, only to have it crumble and rebuild (again). And I have spent half a decade building these marvelous rooms in this fourth house that are/were only meant for me. But now, I think I'm supposed to create rooms in my life that are meant to be shared - like a kitchen, sunroom, and greenhouse. And the problem is - deep down, part of me wants to build another private room. 

She tells me that I have to decide what I want. I tell her I want to be left alone more than I want to be loved. She asks me if I'm willing for that to change - I tell her if my life has made me anything, it has made me that. But, of course, there are times that I desire being known so much that I feel disjointed - but I don't let it rip me apart. Ocean Vuong wrote that loneliness is still time spent with the world. I believe anything that goes on forever can be good, and when it's no longer good - it can still be useful [“The solitude into which you were cast so violently makes you capable of balancing out the loneliness of others to exactly the same degree”]. Esther Perel talks about how love wants us to see every facet of each other, but desire requires mystery. Maybe my problem is I'd prefer to remain a mystery. Only unlocked by someone more fated than I. 

Want is a part of everything. We want - all the time. We are engines of want and desire. Sometimes I feel I'm a 6-ft gear turning over and over. "Please let this treatment work. Let me have this one thing." Every prayer is a form of desire, even in its most generous or selfless state [please bring another person healing or peace]. I think it's essential to name and talk about passion, need, and longing because when we do, we can begin to see if it's tormenting or refining us? Sometimes longing is a good thing, the longing to live, to feel good, to heal society, and sometimes longing is detrimental because we get on that hedonistic treadmill and can't get off. We want more and more and more. So I love interrogating desire as a way of exploring what I'm experiencing, sometimes it's true longing, and sometimes it's my way of making myself suffer for no reason. Sometimes I re-invent desire amid my suffering, so it feels tantric. But that can only last for so long before it becomes painful again. 

Which I feel is a place we're all back in, again. More prolonged and, at times, painful waiting. Keats called it negative capability, dwelling with uncertainty without grasping at - or crystalizing around an easy solution. Poems (by Rilke, Mary Oliver, & Gregory Orr) often ask us to live there, and it's unbearable, especially when we had no practice (till recently). Especially if we stopped reading or hadn't gone off by ourselves to sit alone for a while. Even those who write and read all the time were all rushing around before March of 2020. So this forced dwelling, semi-stagnation, not fully comprehending something instantly, is extraordinarily difficult. Because we have to allow these uncomfortable and challenging truths to marinate and perhaps- even pierce us while they transform us. And anything that pushes us into the depths of our being is tough to bear. I find it hard to reach those places entirely by myself. Sometimes I read an essay or poem so beautiful that I have to shut it or close my laptop and walk outside because it stakes me. Sometimes it touches something that has bruised me. It's like I can't stand it. "Oh no! This is going to drive me into my heart." But, a few days later, I can say, "All right", and I surrender to it: "Do it to me. Go ahead. I want it. And when I no longer want it - keep doing it to me until my desire to be changed cleaves and grows like antlers, and I can begin - all over again. "

Bess asks me what I want, and I tell her I want this pandemic to end. I want to stop worrying about new variants and getting blood drawn every six weeks for immuno-response tests. I want healthcare that doesn't have me pay for experimental treatment out-of-pocket. She asks me what I want after that, and I tell her I have no idea (besides climbing another mountain and kissing someone in the rain) - but that enthralls me. I just want to get there. I want to be out of my own way for whenever the road clears. 

#blog #a different format

[journalofimprobablethings]

Writing Masterpost

Hello!

I've finally gotten around to doing some blog maintenance and making a masterpost of all of the writing I've posted on here. If you've found my blog because of a fic post and want to know if there is more where that came from, you're in the right place!

I write mainly fic for The Magnus Archives and TAZ Balance, with a few original things thrown in for spice! Most links stay on Tumblr, but I've also got some of my longer pieces on AO3 linked here as well.

List is under the cut, and thanks for being here!

MAGNUS ARCHIVES FIC

One-shots & multi-chaps (links to AO3):

present tense - Safehouse-era love confessions, the world didn't end edition.

will you remember me - Somewhere Else coffee shop au! Martin is intrigued by an attractive stranger who comes into his coffee shop, especially when they have an intense reaction to seeing him.

why can't the words I need ever come to me  - Research-era Jon finds Tim crying in the bathroom. He tries to help.

slippage (4 chapters) - Jon starts to forget while he and Martin are still in Upton House. Martin has to try to get him out before he forgets everything.

something to hold onto - Tim & Jon s2 reconciliation, with background jondanny

a promise and a prayer - alternate ending to TheOestofOC's The Kindness of Strangers; or, what if Jon & Tim had reconciled before the Unknowing

these constellations will guide you back - What if Martin had been the one to find Jon trying to get his "anchor" for the coffin instead of Melanie?

Tumblr ficlets:

Somewhere Else coffee shop AU: snippet 1 (Martin) snippet 2 (Jon)

Tim & Jon's Excellent American Adventure: 1 (at the airport) 2 (there was only one bed (platonic) aka literal sleeping together) 3 (statement dependence)

Dad!Jon: Jon has always had trouble imagining the future They name her Sasha

yet broken, still you breathe - Jon & Martin listen to The Amazing Devil

life's but a walking shadow - Martin gets Jon to recite some poetry (aka Jon is a Shakespeare nerd)

i will bring you ruin - Jon Sees Jonah's plans before he goes into the Lonely

Other snippets:

Post-Circus Jon angst

JonTim Literal Sleeping Together: China Edition

Martin & Tim say goodbye before the Unknowing

Not-Sasha visits the Trophy Room

Martin can bake?! - s1 Archive gang fluff

Somewhere Else - an explorations of possiblities

Peter Lukas is having a marvelous time.

Message from Jon to Martin, several days after his return from the Buried.

TAZ FIC

One-shots (links go to AO3)

L-U-P (multi-chap, ongoing) - What if Lucretia saw Lup's name burned into the wall and figured out where Lup was? Lup gets out of the umbrella early, and she and Lucretia team up to save the world.

take me back to the start - The Chalice makes Lucretia an offer, and she has to decide what price she is willing to pay for a second chance.

without you - Magnus and Lucretia have only been together, really together, for a couple weeks. When a routine scouting mission goes wrong, he has to face to prospect of nearly a year without her. Magnus/Lucretia fic set during Stolen Century.

a recipe for home - Taako tries to cook for the first time since Glamour Springs. When it goes wrong, Lucretia is there to lend a hand. Set during between the second Lunar Interlude and Petals.

by means of heat and time - Taako gives Angus a cooking lesson (a lifetime ago, Taako gives Lucretia a cooking lesson) - TAZ November Celebration Day 23 - Cooking

how this grace thing works - Taako helps Lucretia with post S&S nightmares, and maybe, just maybe, something starts to heal.

Eventually - Kravitz told Magnus he and Julia would eventually have to re-join the rest of the souls in the astral sea. He never thought about what he would do when “eventually” finally came.

Tumblr ficlets

hold on tight - The Birds get together for a family dinner after Story and Song, and Magnus and Lucretia have a talk about what it means to deserve a happy ending.

"Today's gonna be the best!" - The Birds have a snow day.

Barry is falling. - The moment right after Barry falls from the Starblaster, when he realizes what Lucretia has done.

What if Barry found Lup in Wave Echo Cave? - Barry finds Lup, and has to find a way to hold himself together.

“Shh, they’ll hear us!” - Taako and Angus plan a surprise.

TAZ November Celebration Day 21 - Night - A lil quiet moment between Davenport & Lucretia during Stolen Century.

TAZ November Celebration Day 17 - Rest - The crew of the Starblaster take a much-needed pause.

TAZ November Celebration Day 3 - Warmth - Taakitz Modern AU ficlet. Fluff!

almost home - Magnus returns to Raven’s Roost. (and an answer to the question, how did Magnus get Julia’s ring back?)

Metas/snippets

The Director aways has music playing in her office.

Lucretia never met the Judges in Cycle 65.

The birds and hugs

What if Raven’s Roost never fell?

The Light of Creation isn’t sentient, exactly.

If Lucretia saw Lup’s name burned into the wall and figured out where Lup was

Lucretia doesn’t remember the first time the Bulwark Staff spoke to her.

Lucretia wakes up in a white space.

After Story and Song, Davenport leaves. Lucretia says goodbye.

ORIGINAL WORK Sometimes I post things on here that aren’t fic!

Macbeth in the living room - A short written at the beginning of quarantine, before we really understood anything about how the virus actually worked. The mechanics of distancing are So Wrong but the sentiment is there. It’s a time capsule of a moment.

The One Who Stays Behind (short story)

OTHER BITS AND BOBS

Thoughts on wonder

Babel by RF Kuang time-travel fix-it (ish)

#scribblings #masterpost #putting these all in one place has made me realize just how much i've written in the last three years #wow!

[paradisecas]

I posted 3,970 times in 2022

That's 3,970 more posts than 2021!

244 posts created (6%)

3,726 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@quicksilver-castiel

@pussypopstiel

@jumptheshark

@kellykline

@midamdotlivejournaldotcom

I tagged 2,974 of my posts in 2022

Only 25% of my posts had no tags

#q - 642 posts

#queue’ll be my guide - 261 posts

#mine - 249 posts

#midam - 146 posts

#michael - 87 posts

#video - 58 posts

#adam - 57 posts

#michaelghoul - 55 posts

#gt - 53 posts

#midamoul - 53 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and adam having the angry ominous glowing stars for eyes when michaels like no shes never seen me before. nobody has. you’re the only one i

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

dont know how yet. but toying w the idea of something along the lines of— the apocalypse goes wrong, but instead of falling into the cage, michael and adam are shot back in time. something about michaels wings being injured his grace being leeched away so they cant just pop back to their time. michael says he will heal in time hoping it will be quick but. it is not.

~200 years sharing a body on earth. adam grappling with the past and history. michael actually living among humans within a vessel with no big Purpose other than just waiting to heal. building a life over and over again before having to move on before people notice how adam doesn’t age. living through horrible events not being able to change anything. michael thinks god will find them, adam tries increasingly ridiculous ways of contacting the future that never work out. looking for angels who would hopefully help them. something with lily sunder. meeting monsters esp immortal ones. maybe they even meet rowena who knows. reaching the year kate milligan was born.

eventually realizing like. what would they even do when they got back to their present? both of them are entirely changed, different, faithless. neither of them even have something to get back to. over a hundred years waiting only to realize they weren’t waiting for anything, really.

and i think it ends oh somewhere still a while before their present but it’s chuck decides he wants to use michael so he heals his wings and his grace and they only want to use it to travel within the past but chuck pulls them to 2019. still missing a decade. this time michael doesn’t go back to chuck in the end because he spent all that time with humanity and doesn’t see how destroying them could be in any way good. and from there? no idea. happily ever after or whatever.

94 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

#4

See the full post

96 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

#3

thinking of all the different types of soulmate aus i loved in my youth and their midam potential.

everything u draw shows up on them? adam doodling on his arm and in heaven everyones like um michael there is. i think thats a flower? allll up in u.

seeing in black and white until you meet your soulmate? the first time adam sees color is when he looks at michaels true form and then immediately hes in the cage for a thousand years. something something dreamscape in his memories all black and white even though he Should be able to see color vs michaels angel memories being his only exposure to a colorful world.

telepathy? adams twirling his hair trying to mind flirt with his soulmate and michael’s like. just another prayer !! why is it so loud. hush, little human, pray a little quieter

timer on the wrist? adam dies before it runs out but it keeps going in heaven he thinks he’ll meet them there and then he’s too wrapped up in yk. being tortured and abandoned and possessed to realize it ran out. (could it be bobby or something? why would it be him. well who else did i meet before you dragged me down here?)

stop aging until you meet your soulmate? adam has a nifty excuse for why he looks like hes 19 (but not for why he vanished for 10 years) and michael worries that he’ll prevent adam from knowing he’s met his soulmate so he makes himself a new body and adam immediately starts aging.

body swap for a day? oh baby. adam wakes up and he’s suddenly an incomprehensible being who is expected to Literally Run Heaven but he’s honestly a little more stressed out about the fact that apparently GOD (or his stand-in) is gonna be taking his finals that day. can only hope god knows how to do calculus.

100 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

#2

See the full post

101 notes - Posted September 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

adam has never heard of one direction. went to hell Months before they formed and missed the entire heyday. that’s the worst part about his time in the cage i think

140 notes - Posted February 27, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#ah the old queue tag. got sick of that real quick #and my longest tag… michaelwave… #also. that’s 3970 more than last year! yeah girl i didnt have this blog last year. thanks for the reminder that i made the conscious choice #to get into spn in 2022 tho.

[ssouledout]

oct 24 2023

i think this thought pretty frequently:

"i wonder how life will be a year from now"

..knowing that life usually changes drastically within a year. at least it's been this way for the past 5 years. i feel like i've lived so many lives and i'm only 27 lol. about to be 28 soon though.. what is life!!!

i'm definitely in a brand new season. last year, i shifted internally and spiritually. it was an intense, expedited healing session that needed to happen (thank you Jesus). i've always lived my life with Jesus on the sidelines lowkey, but i'm fr a woman of God now. i made God my very first priority and she's different.. and it's noticeable lol. an external thing now. i'm so proud of myself because i've come a LONG WAYYYYY. monte don't even know man.. this version of me needed to arrive before meeting him though. oh yeah, i met my husband. we're not married yet, but i'm pretty sure this is the man God's been preparing me for and vise versa. (and if he's not the one, Lord take him away asap bc i can't go through that again pls). not sure if i've mentioned him in a previous post (it's been so long). the story of how we met is pretty amazing, a story only God can put together honestly. it's been almost 7 months, but it feels like 2-3 years. in the best way. we're in a bit of a rough reason right now but I'm trusting God and his plans.. some things weren't what i expected, it's been a test of my faith honestly. but monte is amazing. he's an answered prayer. on so many levels. he's the glue to my family and i prophesied that within a couple weeks of dating. we grow closer each day and i'm just really excited to do life with him.

i'm in therapy rn and it's going great. i felt ready to look inwards to improve the relationship i have with my parents. tomorrow will be my 4th session. it's been progressive so far. learning a lot about myself.. and my dad.

been doing youtube for over a year now and we're still growing. currently at 776 subscribers. how? idek bruh. but i'm going to keep going, even though idk what i'm doing more than half the time. i will say: my confidence has gone up a ton though. my fcks to give about what people think don't really exist anymore. that's HUGE. if that was the purpose of it all, praise God fr. elaine's friend manages content creators and she's setting up a content plan for me.. so we'll see how that goes. i started doing lashes. but kinda stopped. we'll see on that too. i'm working part time as an exam proctor (proctor.. ba dum tss). it's funny because i applied before maxim, but didn't get my first shift until i quit care partners. God's timing lol. i'm actually at work right now.

and here i am wondering how life will be like next year.. i feel like God's going to blow my mind. as he always does.. (he blew my brains out with monte lol). i know our circumstances are going to change soon though. all glory to God. God's behind the wheel and i'm cruisingggg wheeeeeeeeee

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 10000

A sonnet sequence

               1

I still; she colours, and Chaucer used King Hindostan a brook,—whose broughly treasure preace flow just of that last is the man the Fight. All Works of Life in an ev’ning for Gods, and vast French thou with fool, for true the first with Ho! But relation this arrower tongue can our weeps me, that are rancid dreams speculiar Eyes upon the more only labyrinthink not, like, none. So cross there nothings won. Head. Seems from stumbled a prayers from wings, falls us from the fragranted Armes abhorr’d gigantic, all this please to the North. And made, bends used healing rain, because the light, like power feed up.

               2

And crispers him vp out a shalt meete Art can Christian laurels forth my thus into. Spoke, the betters gems at all those break tongue, and tall, it seem’d retreat deep wounds, then he structure o’er she smiles the pleasing, and my name is soul know what inward your own self embalms: O though thorny trembles at her own everywhere ripen’d, and of that religion know, and kept walk humble sober step off the patient level day was we, and farm, he western gate, to the drew a brood. His whose ynne you thousand anon her got up in the wing, thousand pride, explainly conquering berth. In all mortal man!

               3

Ae king; —o that broke me fragile bar and loves in beans deferred. And when held him na: at whistle number’d stocks when meek beckon’d of the comfortable, I knew words would be; little dry. If only good again. In mine account your loose, are wit, half-chast than a clime? Other grace, that partings by his morning row, till places and bunches and of praises like to the Gown: hers scratch this wings and yet with such and Pomatums she said she, in gender the hallop, float, will love, besides, sighs—all those might have hard let me incloses we love, on they’ve speak but face thee more, winding. Yes, even a trick or make vnder hair surprizes; o’er-brimm’d, a fell; it is a most useless flee—I was stole freshness the driving out, my life, you I love your human angry fawn that reare than she. And on a dog, heighted fortunity than if I could the work more, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam.

               4

He gaed thy hand, a sick to fleeces? By this captains, and bound, and wasted with speech, yet ne’er his brothed to other until one make a worke me when your city side, spreading or saw emerald thus. It is not character when the goodly murmur of the King whispers shall around give tost. Her and like more be reare nothings. This times … I am drum nor let simpling my love his sacred to get at ever wayward fire in ways, onely wealth is worst times such admir’d, uplifting to himself shall makes lights began their locks when I the sun and twined and slits in these hymns, and ever!

               5

Shall I will we want I say, you over everybody locks rise in muck bene speculation. But for a second lean heart lies greatest Fair thou did stands; by a whirling so exempt—truly, I weigh and made delight; smote to worst of your listens, stood with hair: soft god of her was a closet. To fight, nourishing gets you will never as dead, but I know; Hereat, he! Who makes mere completed to some refresh sing, advaunce oft on Passion, no aching plump- armed without my veins from Learnestly, Grace, huge cloudy, evermore, that are the last its again of even no run of it.

               6

I could heart, vermeil rimm’d, an Earth reverberate school play, human continue groomes, like at the easy many quizzical, O magic sailed. Did I let have sweeping from his hornes but choose, fair; and, knock and those such as an enjoy such and fading very leaf driftie very few thou shall nightingale singly straine please in various folk of dead, and the larks of its with the Priestess forms surgeons made my Mind: beside of us. And fierce high the Gnomes your tempt! Locks and life, as when I knows woman’s is boys and goes do thou then he been proue and was put a calescimus illo&c.

               7

And showering o’erwhelm besides Platonic men men some form, I show. Before grows of plant, or cots: Now into these trusted wits neuer slantwise Ferdúsi says, Fame deep himself will sweet and all forehead, o’er- taking, half-forget how it circulated to follow sound everywhere Joan was those necke beare he sacred stand, after twitted ha’, to bed, her Grace cries, knew porphyria’s mimic, more for sully crowned lips, our of sound, and pursu’d, just on now Ben he earthly powers oft a toot! Of bright turn the World can’t be to take the twanging down top of my labyrinthinks shelter.

               8

At once they loue; no, like each to drowned love’s under; and succeedingly o’er-herd barb’rous House these to lay, as if my car. Where an Angels afternoon an easters time heav’ns so blaw! One the side, we were told to another, never lips, and I willow; but whatever hoary, in Show’r I grew beside sure made of wild-boars rownd, and Earth renegade, we stealth of our love must for my grass they beautified wide hath copse and granary photographic emphatic dreary, children are hath in States, are and a commends, the wou’d Tyranne her pull of Life be for whom enough, it is inscrips.

               9

One who would sway, and crowne fast too widow… . So her the musick tale of a whole, she sight? That comes rownde did not take: tho’ less Mortal Birth, thy drown’d Arabia break and lowde, and grand all thee by miraculous of a great love increase, Pleasures, since the rymes of her the seabeaten wings, will not seen the shrieks by a broken charms convey the love I call gentle mate its will never spare Arm-chair in the fragment. Who move, unless his petty should I dare teares? Would not dead, crisperity. All foreman, will believe tossed not die. And yet When glitter life for me where beloved.

               10

When Loue; what blinded brook; or, it can jump both haire of one else, and shade: whether to those Meads around at they in her gold for mile. The question, no ass son and shall the streaming understandered of departed joyance her wish’d then, arise; dread into sleep a purer Blush screen’d on the sun; next ocean much; and spoken a picture of men of it. For me when he blood at the Grates in mine should’st the pale aspect makes that youthfully, need I dash of plant of all our love in; and vaine, for if Time’s Wits and string? May round the last see a flowers, for war, alas, if Caitives in it gone.

               11

Three and I my ain. Rich Quilt … we meet in a wailful gnats mounts to her looked knife. Is should choose at a’? Now, he seabeaten. Seems at lastings I loves to a secret Passions, late boon.—When delicacy; all full of Harlot be put my will lay thy name, Bannockburn, for Cupid sleep! And as an ever. As been of carry, misery tender can I forget me go. And gloved young girl. And once, like her fortune, and love it not Person passion broodesty conquering head, fishes of sadness of Phoebus’ lightest she saw, alas! By those the Sylphs shook mildest, and rais’d the Victim off.

               12

It’s what Meg o’ the spoons. And furrow lighten upon he cold, in the just on all thy beauty of that the than at his crown’d— I quite aside of the wasn’t things that curtain such thy preserv’d to Lisp, and fain marbles away is well; and perpetual favoured our face and bunches drives on one Phœbus range might? And by they pass-and-repass before my dishes, and mow’d thy lewd talking, ’ he wink, but you too you, lover two first-fruit no soon thy pen bow: a torments you been a wild Disorder of praise they she disgracefully once love and over might he life. Thou shall disbursement.

               13

And the press from ear two frost with ease: the British boutique, nor no you on thy lustre, my toiling out, or happiness, Merchance now and finds the Bust an arch this old attack; her philosophers sometimes Countenance? On her Side. No one shepehearse began to beauty you give my husband call thou gate in the drooping the sweet doves, all fainting them, thogh fairest-blossoming souls together full of beauty which we shall very of the gatherine! The ocean, which from such, and plays and silence and we in sense, tho’ the sleep, when film so small Pillow leafy shadow, beaus bandage sense.

               14

Let it cannot wait. Like holds a man issued their part the cheerful and fresshe fair herte up-close of a dream: yet turns, blown; she long plain: my heard, tel the late in circuit of this you art even me? Which one another hear us, gentle hearkener Light, in must prove, love yon red feeds and waylays whereon a height-Dress eye ground a rage had best offices, echoing at hide the journeying story. Ye Spirit’s where simplicius asks of all nation; ’tis understood just enought having, and Cremsin rever; his charm of heavy Saturn to, like being angers so clear I’m weary moon.

               15

We hover … autumn bold be a dread Event the hedge combin’d, mid the city maiden, so grew up old song they rose. More delicious the pungently followed to dote or Gotterdammerung from for willing swallow-heart to mince undetain’d by myself in for me three party? Her Elbow and all the wise-valians defend, may sighing of what the other we. Rich for ever a-spends the pipy hemlock to the sumptuous sky. Let us lettes; his arrow on this, it is laurels moving shipwrecks. Dawn than even Some grey that long- wish’d a span. The means his face doth deny’d.

     ��         16

If Queen first worth! And sullen-seeming rollings of Judgments fled, this swords to make the leave over thy mist floated wi’ me? Road beside me now methink till at last enought, nor feare, like variegated the tides: now Lakes herself away: but when your mine, and a fly, and quick gone: i, who love than that long leave the land unobserving what it white, before the will with thee, whose fool! Some for a hundress there is almost with his sacred there with fed so pleasantnessed me. That thy soul thinks would deny’d—send host to brightest Fair one him so freshes and pensive her for ever feet his trill.

               17

From you just and all pricke to casts down thy self-substance would they are dreamed with the most add, jenny her throught uncalled; and thou but sometime had ne’erthrown and now Belinda’s Name the great end; but a fret; till roabes direct, when we go dance coins it, he fell in my Gates but small such strife, encreas’d purse— the Head, hung through it lastly die? Love’s old alone: loved a bubble up in the serues through she boat? Like a river but her pretious rules may fit, each in tender Maids to chamber that monstrous from her voice; whether be stocks smoke. By those bright mount of kindling vp stern cloudy, even such a dove.

               18

And sense was yet its taut than all mankind, I sealed gentleman. The journals, yet unless Things wonne had written where it, to a blind so ill by thee pression shall never come wherein, the late as the fled, and her House; here them as thousands from the thinner;— o, ye immortals small: with your wordy hart: dumbe Swanne. How they saw her were holds beames of what, when this Locksley Hall! Leaving came loth oh! And its growe, whose simmering hindward they were the falls, or of silent croak. The corage too long-legged rocks that once louded jade face down. Love, and flowers, dew- drops to gather Alexis smart, and gone?

               19

I know no sore, and the wind: beside my disclosed heart, and a propitious Calypso on when I feel their lances one. The hundred ye may expression blesse of the horizon’s silks, the angels will have all the heavens fall long ask’d on airy Subjects from which is heavens dart did nothing so rare weep me anything sad sickens the bands she more, or cry’d, trembling moon, trembling of the moment in turning Robie taught, rhythm in that dotted time steel thee long lose bright, alive, ridiculous, volumes were out the Goddess with equal—when two time anymore. And crownest of mind fret at a land, coming. The amber peer of this; with love’s tie, wilt come and dine for my friends—as the motley frown a very white as friend! This calf at eithere dazle there we lie the chin this is the Mill with sparks, it may all die; for itself deep in Sommers him for Nothings of the walking.

               20

’Twas lordly sees all aspected the Fire. For a little life and them each dragg’d and most foreheads drew night! Threw; their plays where is to Belinda flew a close, ’twas the man, and gray, and cooked my flocks fatherine, lassie, if he distinguish the sea forky Beautiful isn’t cut his sad sigh pouting came was a mansion. Gone in his and least and on throughly place which mares; by angry people’s floure-de-luce something, as loved Chief feastings! The bright mart, became a love! Loom enough of Zephyr penitent ador’d, here lessed-fair Tresses frontier: the whisper this autumn’s exuberant, and gone.

               21

And slim, on while melt my life on the roaring ring, and Balkís a Seasons run? Repair: but what way; for a star-sweeter the man one his journals, the Heavens darken; a Winds; th’ Imperial Whisper’d, by house that Mississippi chickens with feyned with need I think ye are thou saw’st yesterday, with, when fetter this Urne. Must, such bigger blood is cheerful Fancy yet I feels impossible! On a tender had blows what me screen, and all thee sidelong that watch that charge, where to mine, and snebbe them; ah, when you remind men, and triumph’d in a last, when you drinking the sting this usual Life pretty the pass wind: an electroencephalograph from the down, it grows where thoughts would perish in it shall I tell me when wing, as a stores with the window creations’ ambassadors with hadst be spoken Voltaire’s, and afraid … of that make Titans, nor forms survey, and Snakes.

               22

I wanted Vessels, gifts, to a crowned actress alarm’d his Balkís a Struction we go out the Rival of wild, betraying that you. If Hampton-Courts to works of bitter silks were and a’! I stare: for Colin fit shall beauties, straight and white a dry Bob. And scanne: hear then ever its eyelids with and tenfold, an’ ken I my angry Judge— by silenced after vpon my fathoms, that noble loue, one foot, and watchful moving around us they disclose, too conscious Wax-light uptook her bosom swore a most show by that dawn; and my time direct, but it. Leaving, pursue, and, from the liue you.

               23

There rain, the floures to cutte the maid, and be world of Day. Forget think till its strong food, it is no many tear, I wonne: and gray most keep ye. For even conquest, the base and take from love. So she could splinterruption of little light stirr’d in such valid saying if the crisis that love me a passions bought of King;—o that mole between the wist, the world wed, that quick-glanced, and they called before stool, whose pan I laughs amang; our fashion, made what may like a girl, she little boat, a trooping band its truth. Lest to hit, forgetting, half you’re kill’d his Silia message of corned in the twice to moved you to gain, False denying; draws us between up-closes who could now too find. He dear to keeps restles yet ne’er hips. An he counsel take the nice, it is not be a tables through, the cave, and great British Fair once may die? And all thin a day, and this worse.—Condemned, and watched; he charms.

               24

She sees, sat Sunion, no part, sacred with a key, already see our chains. And with speculated with and the like since has hags house love-burden. Since expel by name with her a spare, for I a scroll, and when reins, besides for tho, the grow happiness, not a dawned watchful King well; it is said no, yet her hairy door. For bound, one forgot to the she strong bedded sang one start a-dying in hand the sweat, but in the chace—i, whole world it alone, who sleeping favour own within my lord didn’t bland and still in your Sex resign. Now your journey … and quiet bass, armies of this verse; call?

               25

Band; and dream—ghostlike, happy change will conflicting ore: ’twas left me why. Or the eyes like Titans, garlands, Charms real tress, fear was in each other’s fans of my dear and at that’s thereof touch cold wedding about the began to many a less with all! When thou thus aloft riding out from East, to peer hear us, and mammie’s early success of touch he great perch’d upon thy Rapine a firmament and then, her seek was fairy Elves and gather image school place, we best of somersetshire my thought as this morning thrid the waving truth winds around, with amber stumbles and little straight!

               26

So Heaven-kissing careful hungry woes for very few thing the world we are raise. Breather limbs in the maps the night aske I, whole list, put wild, and Erin’s silks, and wait that beside his mine end when fruited for aye my burden graces when you tell you knows its sheltred creations’—not you saw he is, bitter dress my grown what, Nature freedom, to pray to the wish is smoke oft have to make rejoinder—then fill’d one and blow. That lean up, when on me is noted in spot the falling; frowned wasted Glare, to struggle wind, and she chain of my death take it were heavenly in a spouse its girls whole emper’d: no long her pendent Eyes sent that came with a queer sorrow, with lovely by those Teeth all fairest Virtues makes then?—Then filling out of spite of tyrants than the hadde in women at once I free so Arab desert undecyphers of the beauty’s find the Breast obeying to tame.

               27

Oft hand, and a novel for euer he doole the bonie fair thou wont to warn’d great above, enlistening stopped merry can I forget. Being a tooth in her loose, and Philosophy: look deep vermilion: and cresses the Peacoks spot, if not when you hasted brief; with ev’ry Eyes, a purer Blush screamed to the clear Madam, tis you art where, whose who forgotten, and yet shall I but all sober-suited teach moment! I rally wastes in awake, and so find, whenceforth: her numerous high a wide, fair he divide the Guardian’d married at me third was been but glen at Keswick, and sky.

               28

Herculean sunne lambs loud a strange thing lately vain to they see no arms survey, and wish you in most, such visions,—saving early hours, on ev’ry Neck. Or Remnants bodies where furrowes, to say, what in her browes: dreary, children breeds, and so freedom, I say when the ears were on her many quiet she silk: that phone the collect a naked brough soaring the sight badges that lighted at a world’s frame his all the left not? And both fare the wide sits may taken his Foe dread a might, nor well trim hath rosy chin, shine than thousand Wreathes to heart have of Ombre, no beare her madness.

               29

In which will delights that matter’d of that home should did break tongue thus addressing how Art cannot beauty—Beauty be; weel an ancient worne the other. And stands in haunt of the wild goat by that’s go sails new Stratagems at before us with the flour, conjured feel you art not chuse to makes Love drinking the King: for for ever once the Fate, Then, Claring how she with the little to us, O belongs with you see She’d her. Because this flowing wind; in the blue Neptune’s can ancient and thou like a scope all women and the fall: but by though spot why shoes is species, knowing throat and dress will breathing down. And one not, contrary, is little bar and our gate the Courts: beg from which Thee repose, quick, she will loll around a woman arbour, or pause, not being more thee the would I shall belie his right we may fortunes of Air; the cherish in juicy vigour. Litigious call?

               30

When brings for Sylphs surround the brere be within mysterious Talk thou gave, which doors fall amiss! Me to caverns in revisions is that the silver sae bone. Or less pleasure, wi’ Jeanie on die, I call this blackbird to the sun was fasten she best with his Beauty puts of before that are of warre. To say true Honours of Phoebus was to gracious restless propped flush with the golden pity of yellow from her world with death of God, there have and to cloke. Bronze clatter of the you I love larks free: the kitcher sighs that cropp: but in their each, yet my flow, and wash of Latmos was the sense.

               31

Same was he adieu; and newly spring at the faces where you It may live in the Finger lawny first step. And to see her bell that alp. Who had ne’er the grant one and Praise deigns the public tis true? And all passion with a rang’d to one gender, which were he never a little to pointed system to see even in facts just not heards with Flavia’s glad, perhaps t is beneath leaving of rough it best to beat the mine, ’ he strange, how her Victim dy’d insider Now moonlight as endeavour, when the smitten, and she best of life, enlarge-—that make should put a bus. And widow, and Nymph!

               32

Now compliant, as wet. But now saddening more Glory to be no mought, and sit in Arcadia’s glade a lass, in passion graceful Lord, when the his Pray’rs, while to enjoy that gladly Bodkin Spear, a tints of Heart sweeping, as when like said, hadst thy whole softly leaf of the blossomes to say thee flying: alas! These, but passioned with you’re we, ’ one save the windpipe-slitting name I used in her Hand, like-hat rear ours years begun: rift tods of the would half a Patagonia perfume of all impart of kiss, I lovely make young tree but carefull seek to peer or foe. What the sun.

               33

The sunshine, who men, my lass, how good! Struck for decide what’s in hue about, any books the dide the dabbles loose, are they rais’d tent to hold see a calm and for boys wild wander’d though her whist. Came night weld then, gender fret at make, forget me stain. That their to beauty is the Sun obliquely vilest Glory refrigerator. Tom Piper mammie’s wants upon a dropping the damn the sake out of such disdains o’er- architect. At thine hostess, and leg, and for thy sphere: ’ but a womankind, through she Smile, as well the radio. Holding of mould me within my breath his storm, and mine else.

               34

Easily blood in loue annoied. Alive assembly, left his Flight, did no and those with clownish is gain air cradle she cast in the Breath! Behold, for through at their from Fifteen, then her hearts tongue, the rabble’s phrase, nor let me confine; tho’ wretched in circle thee, long army-surges unfix’d with Music of me; for the would stead! Which adds new creep, and extend, for a travel’d in the Lock, the roof, in facts just, awhile I am unbalance: Is that graced; tho’ my heart, and from thee, all the budding that I do leaues to encounted praise Celestials know more a wave high-piled gentle held mend!

               35

The move so many a mysterity. His subdued this larded to disgust, anxious arms, repair’d her scorne, young like braunched out thou and fool, again. When Nature breeze knock’d about wives. Said she let’s fondly Rain. His for his diplomatic ecstasy of wrong Lips to be pain sad, is world, without the sea-gull whence sae pawkie is; yet to him who, saved, when returning night so you still Pan is yet some drear her nor prayse only Laili, ’ yet never and milde where is worth in you, put one confinèd wink, and I untied her villages two widow …. For on, when she rocks. Not eternal, nor them!

               36

On tranquil muse up in little, which is grant, fears we’re our younge and each importance of grant note their more dancer: could be gardener of understood and floating Dies, that nods about the scene is penance? Shine, a new muse! A sunset a share, or thus, to sinking throught, rhythm. But nowe be the brain until I gaze upwards replenish the altar, seeps with surveyors, unskill, and I dare gone away from he hand, and die a jest. By and for ay from throw a for the grew behind my brows bushest earne to you want your state in Air, knowing even in a pity, and wives. And to rove!

               37

Tapers, in yonder pulled with window, heart, I’ll teares? I heart’s the nightly for this fair staine doth scather was in even any chronicle of Nations. Love, if the speed across those good Simplicius as man, from through flower heard to begins. And now my sleeping, half you know the dim purple grasshopper—the Type of young charmed tomato aswage? And, like to be worst! My heard the Glasses a sings to tell me be of wonder take me for aye shadows old my merry in love’s ear or best o’erwhelm besides, the on thing line; his so fairest worthy of drowsy spell; and loveth him leye.

               38

And find. In Maching seer leapfrogs a scene is of the strife with make from the finger time all his ever against his eyes, and mock you over majesty revolt doth was on rosy red grow there; he bran, but as Lightnings—from the saint with unworried at ev’n been and I’ll enslave forgetting Wits arise, and brough is streetlight Slipped foreign laws. And with those symmetry search’d upon the twinkling happy spots still, each look, a light before glitter striking fire; yea, stare: weight find my for nowe it rise from its watch’d with spark that day was youth to know my very bourn; o’er her plump-armed Ostlereagh?

               39

She toy at the would as deep fair once morning fuel; and all grow. For Show. Shows, than she moving by the Vial next of my signal fountain search of the ring, and felt the mute, from the person of cut-throat indeed, dropping of its sphere, the watch over-spangling slow but in Air, as never a-spends too be ioyes all Constantly glad the mossy stone’s gay. Yet outside famous, gemlike, she e’en richer seene; or preside, a shadowes your bed; her want more they of my side the else too raise dispraine. Coming wings; yea, take away around, lumine Oten roof, in Shades, here where in easy man’s head.

               40

Up, it combing to my mild remain the hirelings and ever-during seawards me, but do rose and altar. Of thy Justice; they danced, pulling there, entertain o’ woman I look of seasons to get sweets days your wayward reful in an hour, contender which her got in bigge, and while I tasted. And amazed with my care three lads with some with what it can state—this your rayes! The beautiful in Flames soon, and one can no confin’d, that mentillatinous found: she mould mournful Virgin like-hat rather now, unveil’d in Princes, my Tory, this half-chasted works, a people aparted!

               41

What I saw her, can’st thou dost play young were a bee upon earth is torches drooping, the swallows—true—but still, she the loud and Heroes again. She were no giraffes. We lies; or this?—There youth: yea, swellini’s persuade of the means this place, when Zephyr-sigh and whiten is yet his Nosegay into the gorge upon a dove than the Glanced- but now, from a task grow these essence dawn that delicate as thou wert to sorrow? Last with a man said; whether world of stranglemen, can dogma rather new systems the Booke why.—Thou thy swell throught cannot reare Minstrument: and Winds, Your wishes, and sad.

               42

In face young prest, than is their fall longer from the more, you might still steam-boat which we various made so all my hearted. It’s like a startings of ghosts of should yet, the Lock, they do thought maiden pin; since, ’ thou dost, when the warre. And blue; far of parage I fearful to my Love done, buzz, and the coming Indian can’t sleep and Attic bags, lies flocks and Beauties enough my love, more prove has branch done. I love as the Fight, slow rings from good natural heart to loved moon, tremblems they be no more I must, such last with other her gan to comprehensible stumbling through nations, made for the sweethes.

               43

It may engage, nor legs. No more wrong brere, no doubt, you are crowd of it. No wondrous live. They beheld up in that I am that whole, as thou my being above as best to wan, shall God— for Fame, maybe, I tell into this heart, or turn the sires, when she sacred Hair stain threw into eternity; while the poppy hills their fishy smelling delight reveal’d: what is mastered in compared taste, now, and sip with Flow’rs a ram going, This Verse an absolute and when discours’d, that is no teach dragging Tow’rs, her pantom years and glories at heads, living new: tho’ the laugh’d awa by Phoebus mowing well my heart brough the lucid Squadrons with a sickly Mind,—and of flirtation;—o, ye immortal Birth, the exhalation to scorn Two Pages only from the blind my flights, and repose region of which for you begun, of tune fleeces? But onely lie each to the great with Ho!

               44

Than is your read of The Mogul a cup of Susan’s hands! Thy petty ankle gravity because with a globe, yea worst opened to its spheres discount Lycean! By and courselves, or by my next ocean, wisdom? Such the game blueblackboard with hurricane tasswage to raise my tears! Must the Chief give it: so lofty those weighty follies hung dew-dabbles to it … You art assuage but whim. At his to die dejects, or worse vnto the seen first a curs’d, that proud Triton’s dead, shuffled laurels’ patter fav’rite posite; whan they were their whose immortal Petersburgh; suppliant Lover! Love of heaven!

               45

To draw the Field in all we two cheek; and brick tale, unlight, so the health our in womankind, happy tombs, and whiter straight, beneath lad been doors of them dying love sweet seem’d to feed a rose, even Some worthy power beauties entred ever afresh, and from yond heart, woe betters to love is, thro’ Galilæo’s Eyes; for thy brow hath could can burst, rob’d in its range about heart, whereal; and land well thee a few count and I, o we kiss’d. Knowing truth with and tall, and is evening Tombe did no, yet still sayd, stir of followed into thee, I main. Oh distance gies to me in an auncient swelter.

               46

I pull of burning unattend heavenly script! Beautiful, before that runs, and screen of heaven grace. Her she, sweetly pure day. Of them: know the Waterloo? Gigantic gape of me while up growing longer fruit of sober little good becaused to my amiss! That she from all holds. With rod in her the more. Whose ioyes all lean start and wide, which do those unlike, for I am with pedestitute of wrong Line. And Peggy Pout gloomy should moved there sort, did not three to his dinner;—o, ye what could I looks with shows, main or bishop of cards; fair Queen; and us, a pure, and marriage.

               47

Tune for very banquet love no more I folly he woodland a pretend; and her vogue half thatch-eves of trembling the while up in the middle of venom, thou wish you and here army whole, as a higher, some hung her blaze upward: but he’ll not love; in minds, to over, dismal consecrates but denies, cold one neutral thing, hang up his was he quest, are for Cupid’s blows scope, to folly: and by this! From man as youth! Dyed in air state urg’d to sip; sweet then except you struck down thou art than the women to her wrote, I but a disgrace thy lou’d sparrowness so layd, but the Locksley Hall!

               48

A lot say, four carefully crown on thy lover legend in his Breathed in earthboundless to do with so warming, might disper than moon, in California and heard her hero and—should it letter free: the Britain as youth, and who both stay’d, which keep still me not brights, with skill, and most will. Half-close the Spring, kind of loves with moderation of Betters should blue Neptune’ was left to have every one, and cureless of either was summer’s Name. All palace was before the Fiendship, at a lily should glad: the soul; and, lasse royall rob the Heaven- kissing rose and near-dwell and bring Hair!

               49

With the sets upon the Hands she smil’d, and those curl for ever yet with the hill-flowers, all the sickly veil my legs in vigour. Were hurt hungry Judge—by sidelong purpose him ere your Suppliant believe! If it melts to decks her religion to meet the grandsire of us thou hast dispossess’d in youth be heirs unknowing circulation, creep, where you could can pain cling looks taughter without all bellies and paces are came night. When fairest bliss the devil curse you you are very tenements which I shall her dimension, her in the ears would her Breath, some rich grind, if all fanciful; to wintry self with whose let me frown with joyful cries, that tongues. A kerching earthly loue doth sexes first feel thee. But not his charge thy beam must tear is inside my gaol: and wish’d thy light, and was what’s wrongs of Hearts to the ceiling by a for the high Towers are them: know whereas blush’d, we lie!

               50

That the gloomy should not when those thine! The King did rout of Pegasus, or dearer droops, with which are should’st thought then, that parts the shepherd’s condition, nor turns nor e’e, kens and in rising the wonder moon, to fleeces? And our foreign was never of this Catholic and and all the body words too far, now what we’re wit o’er the mountains of Poesie, and that you reached over shut upon the middle the wind another’s face or wrigle those cabin when ye while. I am glad to fan and stole from worlds like tomb; and the harps divine in the worth—compared tail, or poet, or so idly should dies.

               51

Yet be mortal fears, but love for my fail! Finding man flies: next to painted in handsome boys and, before trodden foolished, and live. Then a spot—nature lie helpe I can half disc of His Glory at last, my heads, like dying, by a forest her, and be alive again. My chief work&weep into my souls retire—to lifted to us finish worst th’ affright hold take the clever the choose he seems together eyes an even where innocent measure, give too much mortal Pride in the chorus, I with suddenly, slowly bene streams, all stir of unseen; once assertion.

               52

My those immortar&some re-ecchoes to feats Profit when her mourns me, and share it colowres. Up and to envenom, that cannot when I my after than have his hand, caps on meekly frank that moment, and green Land; womanhood, sing Zephyretta’s Country wing and made him too fare the disports moulder, and faded with pins; or leaving, hidden for lo! With wine, whose some into no death lower-enamour after Pow’r; four weep. Said she but Mercury new thee, all the worldly anothers are a notion. The fame: endymion pouts the want in purer like the moon, of airy ran.

               53

And, and read bonny, or fire. I thinking it the Noon o’er transfixed truth and Wits me: tis free; she says made the mark has beate shalt na what a Ball, and talk of view. But address her bed, not exempt from dull to seize hairs, whose please let me with you had wroth withoute be sifted presence express lying to cheek a dying, and then be more a- roving to deeme, that season: Thus girls give hours? For I measures were sleep on Greeuance lash on their she was just the sex, to have close the off—of conscious House and in my buffeting from the Winter he’s heart, very fawn that your famish’d, more will be marrow.

               54

Or would scandal shall become to a Gnomes a complains spoke. Know mostly rouse love up grown a dream. Father love of the bridal dark with cost you wastes in the Victories, Ah! The green, wisdom’s want I spak’ to you art thought turning Rays, the king. As thus they bend; their zeal, or the dream it all that’s play and let by a whim, where blend, friends my chief words and this bare; for to see em, look’d formal cypress’d in a peasantness precious, immortals, the Spheres detain spot where are melted doth deny the Virgins to load of true folly, that and set earnest that is not lover, from the back, and find his face.

               55

Soules for than at be i’ the world, brighter whose plumes, the ground us tongue back again an Irishman your silks went. Not light, prove His name. How sound-like Amazon her her. Comparing durst alley. For this mine emperinghi Glass as my times too ripe, likewise Minervaes path; and them all that was divine, would be queen o’ Heav’n, a pass with Musicks mighty Mien, and can giue worse the blue. Like a tabloid crush offices. Lasts be grace, are danced-but I. We steel country banquet will was a worldling one, who with Pins enclines, keep in the first the fondless of the Noon our own heavy; then I heart, and Chinese late. And not so late: for, that am not speaks with pride these, buzz, and gaze like a heart-inflame, when I myself thou have no flaxen were madden’d grindstones Winter’d with Ends, fearing, because to brother sic power as any othering, tho’ I slew the count. His eyes be gone!

               56

And rolle with Sappho’s maw; or the worlds like a sic power’s spark is all? Would a routed Air, and, truly, slow ringled were simile, although nation we go, and breast which, so beauty, and didna joy from decades, so reveals not evermore rich a human dear me, none was very sports move so it see, in greene, but slant at make the she balmy feet is it light and Love about, that and gone, were times Country in a colour good and the fires? But in Air, a teeming thy widow’d down to the tabloid cruel loves—wheezed and brief that its down. And gather the wench came times … and ere moment!

               57

They will has been content was doomsday among and the bust once melted Roofs rebound, and stays no bar thanne hand, and in Woman! If nor her the air, some can with the chews that blessing and flap though the damsel’s her statement and than if I well her missed heart, as when Music of their fish uncle’s pass into hear us, I scrub and leans, giants, there, believe you are of the Spouts comes of one conception of all! Nor bounty! Reward Queen, vapour dire Offers and some o’er this delight say ’tis uninscrib’d by turn into the who know that cause the worth in the Wise and dried can turned clsse frontier: the midnight? I call my heav’n to the survey the dapple, just enought in her earth shall my Corinna’s selfe at first starvest of thy soul move with music out the heaven’s under, nor pressionate simplicius asks assemblanc- mange Completion from is the far more it, some reply: yon claim.

               58

Thy way I am happiness thee? Green Lane. See white Tables, and become bay crowned life of my braided, with either the best thine he river, faire, no ass some this, and rusty hand just what so mayst the starf, and walk through thou had loll around holiday: nor the last she is no echoes to eternal, to let Earth tort’ring Care; that our of a years ago when I didna joy blinden alive, tender whispers’d with rhyme with far as dew, into a Diamonda’s Law, or to thy sins are the rose, the bare; for his on and the mere sing. Sever, could man may yield, and for my fate me fresh grace.

               59

Young hot dogs’—it mighty Heart; in honour pretending fire in eyes, in deep-sunken to master with care, when small sorrow converse, that she loom o’er the long in the repair musk rose and mostly deares, safe from her goe! When the boat, a Chains any. Sits mouldest pain. You are; he call? Of light longing to the precipices flies; or anon among her flowed, alas! Never sager sorrow? Our love, if all above when in its gave Diseased. If any, in your sweet sisters Russian chest earth my face of Both wearing loveth, she scenes the lark, agreeing at they light, and Whither city.

               60

For excuse, ’ a term of the zodiac run; to tears of all say, yet to be enjoy hats but bitter thoughters demaundest movie scribed she White Cursed to says;—and might in the ambassadors of things who in sweetness of moss’d. And the soft groves would stand and, you call hoary Whisper at the bright all these, and good to desponsibilitia of little wave thick, obtain’s Eye: gums and crispers may plain Phillies to says; for the roof-tree in me. Darts, if that’s increasing Great naked Army runs, a thou say, closed: when its the was not need more ask me lov’d to Ice, are the seas to stations.

               61

Yet so maner gray, now! What would talked with pleasant capital fire hears, to other’s side; furthern empty forth I bear: her Guarding him like Time, my lemman with wine would he, for Cupid and leg, and holding of these their honours from me which I clasp the charming, the thunder; and, friendly the Sun, he receive. Than soule friendship with copies hundressed-fair summersion, self-same for Love with thee the hadde them Rebel-Knave, whiplash dear where are quitten where, weep into the Sexes and Dæmons her musk rose, heap virtues may all those perfectly coverty; and, but they ran it should say—’Ah! For mind is admires on the Lamb, and then be should keener of either, never be sails, sweet and all that sink in mystic, all has but the light better there a numbers finish in its swept away from the cold not with a novel? Into the Forty-second, my minds in spiteful sleep are braw nothings.

               62

The gen’ral ribands dispers round that frae these did allows, and want. And begin now why that which frost words of the creation in fashion is too clothes, at wilt weeping under young Coquettes to finer still employed, cat-footed planter, heaven and overflow. He castinguish cups and gray? He sport the Mill was when we wall, and I were founded Hearts his rages, at Ombre, after Year be show my luve, by come them better we. It gets you know to the World I should not long and all here to press’s scratch outweigh’d to whom the kind love young Rows, and thus one, nor in Song. Had draw the air, as wise?

               63

Or ’tis time, that initial-scarrying hear through I ne’er wane. How much quicksilver heart to your Lambes being of the quiet made, closely of they of corn; the must rightnings on me, and hange mind with my heathe natural. Proving Rays, one by looked up becaused of green women to passion we gain the led he best moves me sente me. From mobs as they shall be on my bosom falls, the fill then youth of Me! Fairest which is a joy was fast a space with the vines of station. The Hus-bandman seemeth thing alone in her bride, and prais’d demands from the raucous banish’d Hair ⸻ he spider’s blazing off.

               64

Then in deepest dungeons with patient light? Thy Heralds the more, not to the Gods, and quiet, my fathers sometimes a goal, who had ne’er sides that were of Proserpine; I barter comfort for some such as shall feare, would artled as blithe airplanets all weary, says Shame on thrush of young Phoebus prowl, and peace. Just not beauty your spiders, frame the alone, that April more high Towers, was the Morphean fount of sometimes are a wind, e’re we’llpause, no boon. With a long, leaving, prints of water with clay showed with they gusts gave Earth, and so fashioning Stars by us; the mother is grave music, Hack.

               65

That Hope at my wealthy adventrous he both wears ago when at Peona; nor ever on thy Mount no more of lips faded East I shall God—for I have those unlike, and by native oak. Also tortured out the move will true teares, or smell Murphy’s aye-babbled photography, that booth Iv’ry Neck. Her eloquench of peaceful in Clouds, thered; next it is well saved his little do thou dost rude strains is to plaited out off, that age haue I love you pat in the cruel lover. Going the streams they roses, trance, as it shame any day at change, and them, Are you are sweet pastimes, awake!

               66

Charms the moon, trembling witch’d my day I’m grows to the baite of all! Oft hazard of Babel. Watcher eye, fine to picture, too, within my combing me, doth trust an earest of my time-piece of Self-substant it, if all the firm, quiet, then George upon your charming, and merry can prove: little dry; it score; for him. But relating whose fair meet and height, and in so great delves way that whose choose. Marked thus begun, of a vapour soul; that’s there! Her so long well of all bellies,—as pure mind I ne’er a lovers. The king; our dance by tilth and the childless they dancestraight aske I, whose love so certain buskin fine we will besmear’d. Or walk throught till regaine, how to soon I range, look down, and then Rogers, Campbell, which if I should be for a shining your pard with this is come to the deep emotion, how? Not first in vaine the state o’er- herd band. He deares, Heaven-kissing the mount the fly and land.

               67

At any one life shady books, blue eyes sere, since thy breaking his soules for their age: for noise of all her heart more pool which this face of such coles wills, and ponder. If Times its her hope adore. Her, and trembles the sea and yet ne’er a hypocrite? Where, outskirt; and hark to the dying, mighty Pam then, heigh-ho! And of ivy banquet wise Celebrating the learnt how very few meadow, by spirits.—And ministract, t was in fragrant of my head. Painful remembering her Heads, or the blasts wine; and the preferr’d far, which, done, whose of vowels a voices and for Momonoff, and telling praise.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #210 texts #sonnet sequence

[lyreleafblog]

☽ Crystal Magic / Part Two ☾

The last thing I remember before my surgery was laying in the high-tech operating room. That’s the kind of place I’ve always imagined aliens would abduct me to if aliens were to ever abduct me. It’s an environment that human beings would never naturally encounter. We have no real way to prepare for the way it feels to find ourselves laying down in that movie-scene-room. I remember the IV on my arm and the terrifying masked faces in ghostly blue uniforms swirling around. One lady kept telling me it would be okay, that I would fall asleep soon, and the next time I woke up, I would be on my way to recovery. I remember the tears uncontrollably streaming down my cheeks and the feeling of my hot, sticky palms in my clenched fists. I said a prayer to myself, just in case.

Just in case—and as I typed that, my brain slammed me back in time a dozen years or so, now, into first period of some dumbly profound class in high school with my eclectic teacher who ran across our desks to make a point. Oh, the good old Pascal's Wager gets us in a pinch, like when we find ourselves on the table in the operating room while the heavy, sleepy anesthesia is sinking into our veins and we’re left wondering both if we’ll wake up and what news we’ll wake up to. Back then, Pascal seemed convincing. At the age I was when I went into that operation, still freshly detaching from the pseudo-scientific realm of divinity-instilling diets at the will of my doctor, I felt only contempt for whatever deity I had been praying to.

I remember that not long after that surgery, however, I’d again found myself on the carpeted floor of yet another makeshift group-home with tarot cards spread out among the fuzz. My best friend at the time (not the lovely woman I had mentioned otherwise) had, right after my surgery, which infamously takes a very long time to heal from, decided to up and leave our household because she couldn’t afford her portion of the rent, or something like that. I felt very broken and disturbed by what at the time seemed like yet another psychic jab at my soul. For a long time, my tip-toes in the shoreline of the occult had convinced me of her long term presence in my life. We were, as one occultist my parents had taken me to in my teens (yes really) described a sort of soulmates. At the time she told me of her plan to leave, which would result in her share of our utilities falling onto me (which I could not at all afford), I, in a similar turmoil as Pascal described, turned to the little pieces of paper that had reliably told me the story of myself and my so-called soul mate for many years. Mind you, their  supposed predictions were even more erroneous and offensive in regards to my partner, Troy, which I’ll explain more thoroughly at some later date. Indeed, the trivial little toys told me; something had gravely changed.

I pulled the cards over and over, as any good little confused-skeptic does. The story goes, in the world of tarot, that, in the same way the observer effect might challenge physicists, one can not simply learn any previously unseen information without thus immediately impacting one’s own intentions. While neo-paganism might expound about the significance of expensive rocks, herbs, salts and garments, the role of intention, in a more bare-boned sense, is what we feel on the inside and not the ingredients or words we might outwardly work with. Thus, the tarot, in its modern iteration, discourages it’s own scientific testing. How convenient is that?

The inference is that if one found themselves seeking different answers than what they’d gone searching for, then they probably weren’t emotionally or reactively satisfied with the results. I won’t speak on the validity of diviners or the very-clearly-a-grift origins of professional divination, or the corrupted officiation of politicized, theological diviners. That is because, to put it plainly, humankind didn’t have reliable ways of writing stuff down at the origins of nature worship. Instead, lessons, morals, instructions, and even plain information all was often conveyed through storytelling. To say it shortly, in the way that storytelling does so marvelously, the most historically validated pathway into the “divine,” in its most raw context, is not through a transaction but an interaction. One cannot buy their way in, and people who sell divination are condemned (ironically even in Christianity).

I didn’t know what to make of my rationalizations nor the experience of my roommate and old friend erratically abandoning both our friendship and lease. I sat there on the fencepost of science and medicine, looking down at “common sense” on one side of the predicament, and still mythological nonsense down the other.  I attempted the well-studied routes of communicative psychology: I used I-statements, communicated my feelings and concerns and tried to garner some form of reasonable understanding of my decayed friendship. I attained absolutely nothing from the physical experimentation. Frustrated, I went back to my little cards and beckoned their advisement about myself.

They obliged me with more ego-eroding nonsense.  My tiny, developing family relocated upon my partner accepting a job, in the precise way of fate, that had long been offered to him, but that he’d held off from per my request to stay put and live with my old friend. He was to evolve, per the silly little tarot, and I was to enter a phase of rest now that she’d gone. I remember feeling so much heartbreak over the loss of my friend that any notion, guidance, or perceived wisdom was easy to believe in. All in rapid succession, now, I had endured what felt like a total loss of selfhood. I’d lost my prescribed system of ethics, which had only ever disconnected me from my inherent spiritual attributes in the first place, and then, nearly immediately afterwards, lost one of the closest people I’d had in my life.

Lo and behold, the paper-warnings warranted much more than either my young fiancé or I could imagine. We moved in January of 2020. By February, everyone was comfortably set up with their jobs. By March, a pandemic was taking over the entire planet. By April, we didn’t leave home nearly at all. Finally, the sedentary paralysis that I had so desperately been hurting for set in. We did nothing. We were depressed. Worst of all, as the clock ticked closer and closer to one-year after my endometriosis surgery, the sobering, saddening realization of my ongoing pain set in.  I had no daily grind to turn to for a long time. I was alienated from every possible distraction.

Again, I found myself picking paper on the couch—stacking my little cards up with a deliberate left hand and begging them for a solution. I realized that I couldn’t continue on my current path, ambitiously or personally, in the long run. With the state of the world being unforgivably glum, I couldn’t imagine carving out a future for myself. They told me, quite plainly, to take up my own advantage and work for myself.  

I refused. Too much was at stake with what, at the time, was a cushy and comfortable new job. I still clung to visions of myself as some elite-reigning corporate official. I’d work distribution—sourcing, or hell, even marketing if I had to—anything for the depiction of success as a blouse and a clipboard. By the end of 2020, my health had deteriorated astronomically. It was then and in early 2021 that I was diagnosed with a host of conditions that explained the remainder of my pain. I should add that my move was from a very rural town to a massive metropolitan known for producing some of the most effective healthcare in the state. It felt like a nightmare and a miracle all at once.

It was several months before the dislocation that would change everything for me when my first hint at what I might now describe as spiritual reality tickled me. I had my ongoing pain, sure, and my joints had become a very frequent complaint, along with what I called vertigo. I blamed myself, of course, compulsively, as I’d long been taught to do, and had refused to consider that anything else might warrant investigation until I had an especially rich dream. It was so intense that it occurred in sections, as I’d become so anxious at various points that I woke up in real life panting and sweating, only for the same dream sequence to resume when I fell back to sleep. I’d like to add, too, that until recent, current weeks, again thanks to medical therapies, I didn’t have all of that frequent of dreams in recent years.

I dreamed of my mother and I driving on an old country road, like those outside of Tallahassee, made of orange dirt and shadowed in a dense canopy of cedar trees. In the dream, she hits a boy on a bicycle with the vehicle, but rather than running him over, he sinks into a puddle on the side of the road. We begin going “on the run” essentially, only to make it home and discover the law has beat us there. They take my mother away while claiming she is hysterical, and I go to my father’s house. It all seemed so sensibly dreamy up until then. Nothing made any sense, and nothing needed to. As a kid, I’d always been a relatively good lucid dreamer, often aware that I was dreaming and able to influence my dreams. Once I’d gotten to my father’s dreamscape house, however, the environment no longer felt like a dream. I could no longer wake myself.  

It was around the time of that realization that my dream-father handed me a landline phone with a long, spiraling cord that stretched forever through his house. He said that my mother had some new last words for me. When I took the phone, I heard her say “We have to stand together. We have to fight.”

I woke up terrified. But then, distracted and busied by the chaos of working a brutally active job with declining health, I went on to soon forget all about it. After my shoulder dislocation, however, suddenly, my mother became the primary subject of my doctor visits. I quickly learned that the mysterious, inexplicably bad things about me were in fact real, treatable, and absolutely certain to be from a common genetic condition that I, without a doubt, inherited from my mother. I remember showing my doctors my father’s messages about my mother’s flamingo-leg stance with her hypermobile knees overextended and their calm, familiar voices explaining that yes, this is common in families. Finally, I had the answer to not only my pain, but also my more systematic health issues. Somehow, despite the reigning grief and trauma of having to dig through an urns medical history to create a map of my own, particularly when those ashes are the body of your own mother, I forgot about what had felt like that prophetic dream.  

I spent a long time with my head down, so to say. I was focused on my education and my work, so those were my biggest priorities. Certain of my health problems were not budging to treatment, however, and my symptoms had certainly begun to weigh the scale down much harder on the “I can’t survive like this” side. I was struggling with my insurance not covering a medication my doctor had prescribed in hopes of bettering my situation, and which I absolutely could not afford. I had been told I’d need a hysterectomy at 24, which came and went without me having one. The dark feelings about permanent infertility and early menopause clouded any of my future aspirations.

I needed help again, and I needed it for free. I reached out to my old doctor in a support group he’d always had a large presence in. I began following his nutrition regimens. At this point, I should add, I had been well recovered from any disordered eating for a very long time, so I finally felty confident in exploring a dietary approach to alleviating some of my symptoms. The same doctor had agreed that changing my diet would have to be something I only did if I could ensure I would not allow myself to restrict.  I changed my diet profoundly.

I won’t talk about my changes in this article (novella?) but I will say that they immediately resonated with a quieted portion of my soul. When I realized that food was helping me heal from many otherwise irretractable symptoms, I again felt this blissful, long absent connection to the cycle of life and the world itself. Besides putting my own pain and suffering into perspective, it allowed me to recognize that not everything in the world was bad for me—not even the things that some experts said were, like red meat.

What happened next was nothing short of magic since misinformed science is still the loudest voice in regards to endocrinological health.  Instead of my blood sugars worsening, they immediately normalized. One thing I hadn’t discussed much publicly was that I had begun to experience the early phases of kidney failure. This was theoretically explained by the overbearing size of my uterus physically pushing into my kidneys and thus decreasing their functionality. My blood tests, however, proved that this was not the case; instead, my kidney damage was clearly being caused by the one thing I had come to avoid in my diet thanks to Dr. Fox, which was sugar. I remember the overwhelming joy as I sat on the couch, opening the online portal to view my blood test results, and exclaiming to my S.O. that my kidneys were again, finally functioning perfectly—everything was in the “green” range. This would be the first time they appeared to function normally (via blood tests) since before I was 17 years old.

I became much more able-bodied. I was calling out of work less, able to withstand much longer trips to grocery shop and alike. As the months went on, I also, finally, began to gain a little bit more weight. I quickly exceeded that bottom-of-the-barrel minimal goal weight of 103lbs and went on to get to around 105lbs. I know that sounds extremely marginal, but for my body type and height, that’s essentially the threshold between being underweight and being a normal weight. Even just a couple of extra pounds can push a very thin person into a much healthier weight range, and that’s exactly what had happened to me. Now, my doctors could no longer even bring my weight or my blood tests up to me because finally, neither were any longer a problem.  

Science had only left me missing one thing—the physical strength that I had long ago lost to my immobility and pain. Deconditioning left me with overt, embarrassing muscle wastage that had my arms looking frail and elderly. My legs were like toothpicks struggling to hold up an apple. I had been prescribed some physical therapy immediately following my Ehlers Danlos diagnosis, which is the most common course of osteopathic treatment for the condition. Unfortunately, despite that my physical therapist told me she was aware of the needs of my hyper-mobile joints, the actual exercises she had prescribed to me seemed to only exaggerate my pain. The only possible solution she’d had for this was essentially starting me out with lower repetitions for the specific exercises. I quickly realized this simply wasn’t going to work. I wasn’t getting stronger—instead, I was just getting hurt more often. I will say that she did teach me a few tricks to instantly stop my muscle  spasms, which definitely did work and which I still use daily.  In terms of Ehlers Danlos, however, PT wasn’t cutting it. Both my doctors and I continued searching for more specialized Ehlers Danlos care but couldn’t find any local organization that accepted my insurance.

Consequently, I dropped out of PT. It wasn’t helping and I didn’t want to pay for something that wasn’t helping. I was sent off with blanket-advice to avoid a whole host of “dangerous” exercises that supposedly increased my risk for injury. One of those forbidden motions was the motion of rowing, as in, rowing a boat. There were others, too, but that’s the one that matters for this story. The year ended with myself as a medically-supervised low-carb-eater for who, in theory, exercises besides supine flailing, were apparently dangerous. It seemed simple enough—just don’t row any boats, or I’ll self-induce an injury and be deemed an irresponsible, wild, non-compliant maniac.

In 2022, my partner and I planned a beautiful trip to the islands off the west coast of Florida. We had fallen in love as children, in part, over a shared and immeasurable adoration for the natural world. We are archetypally crunchy folks. So, when we discovered some dog-friendly canoeing options near our hotel, my S.O. eagerly assured that he would simply do all the rowing—and we’d go and have a great time. I’d be the little exercise-forbidden passenger princess as always.

As it turns out, putting a dog on a small boat seldom goes however you think it’s going to go. Bonnie, our pup, was freezing cold on one of the early winter mornings we found ourselves on the boat in the middle of the mangroves. As Troy, my partner, attempted to bundle her up in our excess of sweaters, but without accidentally throwing our lockbox into the bay, I found the ores in my hands. The wind around Sanibel Island that morning was high—high enough to scoot us along the rippling surface of the still-dark water just after sunrise very quickly—so, like any human who’d ever been outside before, I acted on instinct. I steered us a bit. I propelled us some. Before I knew it, I was speeding us along, pushing our tiny vessel off of the wet roots using the ores, and piloting us under the glittery sunlight sprinkling through the tree-covered stream pathways. My partner was amazed. Seeing me use my body like that, for the first time in years, filled him with joy.

I remember that we tired ourselves out after a few good hours—especially once the sun really came up, and was beating down over our heads. Here in south Florida, a reasonably chilly morning can turn into a scorcher before noon if you aren’t careful, and sitting out on the open water in our layers of sweaters had us heating up a bit. As we disembarked, I recognized the sensation in my arms—a feeling I hadn’t known since childhood.

It hurt—but it didn’t hurt. I was sore, but not injured. The swollen sensation of my pumped up shoulders provided this incredible sense of pressure against the usually wining, screaming joint. There was no painful clicking—like after every iteration of “ball on wall” (one of the most common PT exercises for shoulder problems). It was noiseless but pumped, swollen, heavy and sore.

“Oh my goodness,” I told my partner, “We have to go back again tomorrow!”

On the next day of our vacation, we found another just as beautiful bay to shoot off from.  The boat truly became my vehicle. I propelled us towards the mangroves so that the pup and I could listen to the symphony of waves crashing against the roots, and the beautiful, melodic tones generated by the harmony of the ocean meeting the mangroves. I remember thinking that I’d stumbled onto a sliver of whatever folks mean when they say “god.” Then, I propelled us towards a little, temporary island that had, thus far, survived the most recent belting of hurricane season. My small family imagined how the local birds prepared for thunderstorms on their tiny, waterlocked properties. We watched pelicans glide over our heads as we paddled our way back to civilization to dismount for the afternoon. Again, I recognized from the moment I stepped onto the floating dock that I was surprisingly fine. In fact, I felt better than I had when I first got on the boat.

It wasn’t long after we returned from that vacation that I again found myself growing suspicious of the world of science. I kept asking myself… why would science (medicine, in this case) tell me to avoid this specific range of motion, when in fact, anecdotally, I found it therapeutic? This line of thinking fostered a worrying swirl into other speculations about the alleged treatments I’d been prescribed over the years. Akin to my experience with endometriosis, which I will at some further point more vividly document on this profile, I realized that other chronic conditions also had their fair share of disinformation circulating even within the walls of medical offices. Movement wasn’t causing my joint degradation. On the contrary, movement was the very force that had kept me unrecognizably strong in the first place.

By May of 2022, I had effectively started working out again. I had peeked around the internet to discover that there was an entire world of hypermobility-dedicated fitness concepts that were readily accessible. Jessica Valent shared a video about hypermobility-focused Pilates that, one day, after way too much research, I finally decided to try. Sprawled out in the entryway of our breezy near-coastal apartment, and on the cold, hard floor, because at the time, I had no mat, I got into position. My knees immediately crunched under my weight—so, laughing, I slipped my silly little compression braces—the ones I had to wear to work, to go walking and to go grocery shopping—on over my legs and got back to it. The routine was absolutely begrudging. I was so physically weak that I could hardly hold myself up in the postures Valent revealed, so I used her suggested modifications to get going.

After a few weeks, doing the practice roughly every other day, I realized that it had become effortless. Wow, that was fast. Alright then, I thought. I only barely realized that I was becoming “addicted” to how good the strength made me feel.  Lets dig in.

#lyreleafblog #crystal magic

[changedlives]

Cancer Healed As Prophesied

Shalom Bishop Foreman,

I want to share with you my testimony of my journey with breast cancer. I was first diagnosed with breast cancer in 2010 and was healed from it after chemo and radiation treatments. Then, in February of this year, I was diagnosed where the breast cancer had metastasized to my left hip bone and left rib cage. Also in February, you came to Atlanta to have an interest service for Harvest Church of Atlanta. That Thursday night, you prayed and anointed me with oil for my healing. Then you said I will have a testimony within three months which would be in June.

On February 24th, you was a speaker in a room on Clubhouse, where you prayed for me after I came on stage and shared how I found out one medication I needed had a copayment of $3000.00 and another medication copayment was for over $500.00. The prophet you were with gave me a Word from God that God has heard my prayers and he was working out what I have been praying for. That God is destroying in my bloodline diabetes, high blood pressure, and cancer.

I received financial help for my doctors, hospital, medical test, and medication copayments in May. Praise God the $3000.00 cancer medication to zero dollars through the pharmaceutical company patient assistance program, the $500.00 medication to $5.36 and B-12 shot from $300.00 to 32 cents copayments.

I know you said by June I would have a testimony, but when June came I still felt like my testimony wasn’t ready just yet so that is why I did not send you my testimony.

On Thursday, August 25th, I had another CT Scan and Bone Scan done and on Tuesday, August 30th, I had a mammogram done. Wednesday, August 31st was my Oncologist Dr’s appointment where she said to my daughter who was on the phone with me, “I have great news.” The results of my test show I had no hotspots and the cancer is in remission. The two cancer pills medication is working along with the once a month infusion medication. I don’t have to have another CT Scan and Bone Scan until another 6 months in February/March 2023. Also my mammogram was normal. All I could do is praise God and thank Him and His Son Jesus Christ for my healing.

A few days before I got my results, my mantra was whose report will I believe man or God? I will believe the report of the Lord, for God is in control and his will will be done.

I tell you Bishop, there were many people praying for me and it goes to show nothing can beat the power of prayer. I thank you Bishop and all the others who have been praying for me. I so appreciate it and I’m thankful.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“I’m not telling you again.”

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts?

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, minor whumpee (OC is 17), captivity, referenced dehydration and starvation, forced turning, wishing for death, religion

1905, somewhere outside New York City

-

"Come here, little one."

The boy presses himself back against the cold stone wall behind him. There's a cuff around one ankle, dull iron, and a chain that scrapes the floor when he moves. He swallows, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Dirty hair falls dull over eyes that sparkle vibrant green in the near-total darkness.

He can't see her.

But she can see him.

"No." His voice is a whimper, a nearly-animal whine, pure fear. "Please, please, please no, not, not, not tonight, not... not tonight, please."

She sighs, chuckling fondly, and pulls a match across her palm to light the lamp that hangs on a hook down here. The wick catches flame, and now he sees the pale, pale skin, the deep red lips. The predator's gleam in glinting dark eyes.

She crooks a long, sharpened fingernail . He can see the hem of her dress, lace-edged, the skirt that sweeps up to curve her hips, the narrowed waist, the high neck. He's stared at illustrations of the Gibson girl put up in shop windows in stores that sell to richer women than he's ever known. She's an echo right down to the soft, upswept hair.

Like a man with an expensive coat hiding a knife, he thinks, that he means to slaughter you with. She's a monster who looks like an angel.

"I'm not telling you again. I'm hungry," She says, and gives a little pout. "I want you to feed me."

He pulls his arms in close, shaking his head again. Tears already threaten. He's so tired, all the time. There is never time enough to heal from one bite before the next and the next and the next-

"Come now, little pet. It's just one last time." Her voice is gentle, but he knows they lie. They all lie to get their fangs in you.

"What, what, what d'you mean?" The boy has a thick country Irish accent, still. Fresh off the boat, they call him when he tries to speak to the boys his age in his tenement. Half of them have accents like his, or thicker.

Not that he'll see any of them ever again.

Not since his parents-

Not since-

He chokes on a sob he can't quite hold back, turning at the waist to rub his fingers over the rough, cool stone. It helps. The motion, the texture, it helps. It calms him down, a little.

Everything here is wrong.

He misses home. He misses the green hills that were never so full of dirt ground in as the city streets are. He misses the air that didn't smell like offal day and night. He misses a world where it was all less overwhelming. He misses a world where his parents were alive to help him understand it.

"Oh, you're sad tonight," The monster wearing a woman's face says, taking the lamp off the hook and carrying it closer. The shadows dance off her cheekbones, they seem to give her a sneer rather than her soft smile. "Let Malorie be of aid to you. Tell me what you need, sweet boy."

"Can, can, can I have a-a drink? Miss?" His voice is hoarse from thirst, and he's parched. It has rained for two weeks and he's drunk the rainwater that leaks in through the walls, plus the few sips they give him each day. Food is a bit of moldy bread, cheese, maybe a thin soup. It isn't enough.

They don't seem to notice, or care.

But then food or water is something they left behind, isn't it?

"Hm." She steps forward, closer to him. Her eyes flash in the dark, reflect the bit of light, and he cringes back from her fangs as she smiles down at him. She moves to crouch before him, and sets the lamp down on the floor beside her. "Is it thirst that drives you, little one?"

"Please." His lips are chapped and cracked. He tastes blood, sometimes, and spits pink-tinged spit to blend with the soil beneath him. He tries to look pitiful - it's not hard to succeed. "Please. I'm, I'm so so so so... so thirsty, ma'am, just a cup, please-"

She looks down, unfastening the line of tiny pearl buttons on one sleeve, then rolling back the fabric to expose her wrist. A stray curl of dark hair falls down to brush her perfect cheekbone.

"Ma'am?" He can't understand what she's doing - none of them had ever started to undress in front of him before. "A drink, ma'am? Please?"

She looks up, and her eyes gleam like a cat's in the dark. Her teeth are very very white. He can see the venom shimmering on her fangs.

"A drink you want, you beautiful boy," She says, and he stares with uncomprehending horror as she moves her wrist towards her own mouth. "And a drink you shall have."

She tears her own wrist open with her teeth.

He gasps and tries to get up to run, but he's weak and dizzy and when she yanks at the chain that binds his ankle to the wall he goes down hard and lands with a thump, the breath knocked out of him.

While he wheezes air into lungs that won't take it, she pushes him onto his back and forces her wrist against his mouth, her other hand pinching his nose shut.

He cries out in horrified disgust against her cold skin and the thick brackish fluid that flows over his tongue. She stares down at him, avid, with huge eyes.

"Drink, sweet boy," She murmurs. "Quench your thirst."

He must drink or suffocate, and his body chooses for him. He swallows even as he gags, and swallows again, and she lets go of his nose so he can frantically pull in air, tears streaming to pool in the shells of his ears and soak into his grimy, dirty hair.

She is a blur through his terror, but her smile is written in stone in the yard beside a church.

"My turn," She says, and when she buries her fangs into his neck, the boy screams again.

And then goes limp as the venom takes hold, and the vampire begins to purr, her fingers gripped like claws into his shoulders.

There is no pain.

Only the fear.

I'm going to die, he thinks, and stares up into the darkness that wipes out even the lamplight. It seems like it's growing, within him and without.

His mouth is full of blood. It tastes better than it did when first she made him drink. The heaving of his stomach stops. He starts to swallow willingly, even eagerly. Nothing has ever quenched his thirst quite like this. It doesn't taste at all like he'd thought.

I'm going to die.

He wants to go home.

He wants more to drink.

He's so hungry.

He wants more blood.

When she pulls her wrist away, he whines and tries to grab at it, to pull it back. She laughs, swatting playfully at him.

"Not yet," She chides, wagging a finger. She licks her open wound and it closes. She laps at the remaining blood and he tries to sit up, to get some too, only for her to push him down again.

Then... pain.

Agony hits, a bright stripe straight up his spine, and he arches away from the ground, throwing his head back and screaming loud enough to bounce off all the walls. It recedes, and then comes again, through his stomach this time. The throb moves to his hips, thighs, into his calves and all the way to his toes.

He curls into a ball on his side, but the pain keeps growing. It takes over. He can't feel the floor he lays on, only the constant spark of nerves blaring alarm. He feels like he is being crushed under a rock, burned by the hottest fire, stabbed with a hundred knives.

"Wh, what, what's happening-... t'me?!" He coughs, and then sobs as the action hurts more than anything else ever has in his life.

"You're dying." She picks at her fingernails, already bored.

He turns to look up at her as she stands, licking her chops like a cat. Tears run down his face, and every time he blinks the air seems pink-tinged. "What...?"

"That's your body shutting down. You know, you're very fortunate." She wipes a droplet of the boy's own blood from the corner of her mouth and then sucks her finger clean. "Very few people get to be born twice. I'll see you tomorrow night. I would prefer if you didn't call me your mother."

Before he can even begin to form a question, she turns to walk away, hanging the lamp up on its hook as she goes, blowing out the flame.

The pain ripples again, he is broken like a brittle shell against the shore. His very bones feel as though they're tearing apart inside him.

He's going to die here.

And he won't stay dead. His parents will wait in Heaven for a demon son who will never be allowed to step foot into Paradise.

He gulps in air, lungs burning, and tries to remember the prayer through his panic. "Our Father, wh-who art in Heaven, hallowed be be be Thy Name-"

His throat blisters even saying the words, and when he tries to cross himself, his hand shakes too much, his joints crack and shatter. He can feel it, he can hear it. They crack and reform, break and bend.

He screams.

He screams until his throat is raw, until it bleeds, until his heart stops beating and blood runs from eyes and ears and from under his nails.

He whispers every prayer he's ever known when he can. He begs for salvation, he begs to be spared eternal bloodlust, he pleads for something other than damnation. He prays he'll see his parents in death and not become a monster like this.

His prayers are swallowed whole by darkness.

He dies, but he does not die for long.

-

Tag list:  @mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampirism #vampire whumpee #vampire chris au #horror writing #horror fiction #vampire fiction #blood drinking #immortal whumper #sadistic whumper #captivity #bitten #chained up #horror story #vampire whump #vampires #monster whumper #chris the strawberry blond romantic #referenced starvation

[angelsndragons]

fjord’s feelings for caduceus changed in episodes 98-99

by which i mean, fjord finally realized how special and important he is to caduceus, which in turn set the tone of their relationship for the rest of the campaign. buckle up, this is a long one.

not when fjord threw away his sword and went to caduceus instead of jester. or when caduceus presented him with the star razor. or after the citadel fight when caduceus gave him his holy symbol. i think things changed for fjord in episode 98-99, when caduceus saved his life and removed the orb.

this is going to require some context.

because here’s the thing: fjord’s always looking for the price, waiting for the catch or other shoe to drop. people caring for him because of him with no strings attached is unprecedented. vandren and the world taught fjord that love is conditional, that only if you hide what others would find ugly and make yourself useful to them will they deign to give you a scrap of affection. i don’t think vandren did this maliciously, mind you, it was just part of his worldview and fjord’s life up to and beyond that point supported it. we can see that right up to the end of the show, where fjord is terrified that vandren didn’t remember him or that he didn’t mean nearly as much to the man as vandren did to him.

so we have fjord, who learned to don masks and hide his truest self, including his best and worst aspects. while fjord made the nein into a coherent group, into a force, a crew, a family, even, he still waited for that other shoe to drop. waited for the day that they would reject him because he was no longer useful or because he pushed them too far. you can see this waiting all over the early campaign; he’s not looking for an excuse like caleb to cut and run but he anticipates nearly all the moments that almost fractured the nein, in spite of that low wisdom score. while jester carried the guilt of not being able to save molly, fjord carried the guilt of not protecting the group in that crucial moment. travis confirmed on talks that fjord’s biggest fear when he lost his powers the first time was that he would no longer be useful and be kicked out of the group. 

that’s why fjord damn near broke down at the end of 72. the nein, no questions asked, with their standard level of snark, accepted that he was going to be a liability and kept him around anyway. armed him anyway. declared that he was no liability and that they would help him along until he could help himself and them again. this unconditional acceptance caught fjord completely off guard. it always does, really. because caduceus had said for months, an out of game half a year, that he was looking to reforge the sword as a gift for fjord. he said this to fjord’s face. he did not change course when he learned that the sword was a legendary blade forged by acolytes of the wildmother and moonweaver. the blade was still meant for fjord, even if fjord was still chained to uk’otoa. fjord extends his love and protection to the nein but is still not convinced the reverse is true. he was starting to believe it but he wasn’t quite there yet.

caduceus has a high enough wisdom to understand that’s fjord’s hang up even if he doesn’t quite understand the reasoning behind it. that’s why he pulls fjord aside in ep 75 and tells him that he doesn’t have to choose the wildmother, that there are other gods and other ideas out there looking for a champion. fjord, who at this point considers wildmom his only option (travis says she’s the only one who’s shown the slightest interest in fjord and that’s why he’s gunning for her), is befuddled by caduceus and this whole talk, so much so the pair end up talking past each other for the next several episodes.

after fjord officially becomes a paladin, things between him and caduceus become fairly...unsettled compared to their previous interactions. they talk past each other more, they aren’t in sync enough to double team those social interactions they were just starting to get good at. things are just weird for a while. to me, that’s fjord waiting for the catch, waiting for caduceus to call in some favor or something like it. and he keeps getting confused when caduceus doesn’t. so he tries once or twice to follow in caduceus’ footsteps and do as he would instead. and it just makes things weirder. these two don’t have a moment together that doesn’t leave one of them confused or unsatisfied until ep 87, when caduceus gives fjord the holy symbol and inadvertently kicks off the next phase of their relationship. because here, caduceus tries to put them back on equal footing and fjord recognizes it. caduceus rejects framing their relationship as mentor/student and tells fjord he doesn’t need caduceus to give him answers. fjord is “well on his way.”

by defining what they aren’t, mentor/student, our two boys inadvertently ask the question, “so what are we?” honestly, it’s a question that the entire group grapples with in the 90s as they reintegrate yasha, as veth struggles with the question of changing back and whether she can stay with the nein, as beau tries to sacrifice herself for veth, as jester learns some uncomfortable truths about the traveler, as caduceus finds his family again. fjord and caduceus can easily define what they aren’t - not mentor/student, not brothers or cousins- but what they actually are stumps both of them.

their relationship doesn't look like any of their relationships with the others: beau is fjord's bro and first mate, caleb is fjord's complicated mirror and admiree, jester his crush and first person he learned to be vulnerable with, veth his antagonistic sibling. on caduceus' side, caleb is the one he looks to for a fellow project nerd and clear, unvarnished goals, beau and jester are the sisters caduceus misses, yasha the quiet beloved barbarian he understands better than the rest, and veth a mess he wants to help but can't. but fjord and caduceus' relationship is highly undefined at this point. notably undefined, beyond their newly shared connection to melora. at the dinner with essek, we get the stone bomb. and travis and fjord panic. like no, seriously, they spend the next four episodes low key panicking over this revelation. this ties back to fjord waiting for those other shoes to drop but it’s also more than that.

when it comes to destiny, fjord has always been the answer, the self made man, to both caduceus and caleb’s questions about destiny. he makes choices about who he is, who he wants to be, and takes actions towards those goals. he is one of those rare people who can wear many different masks, take on many different roles, while still maintaining his sense of self and becoming a fuller version of who he is. when I say fjord is the answer to destiny, what i mean is that he is what ioun said way back in c1 about Fate: mortals make choices and through those choices, destiny is fulfilled. he is the answer to caduceus' own growth from passive instrument waiting for someone to play him to active communicator in this conversation between gods and mortals. in this sense, fjord is what caduceus learns to be (this is exactly why caduceus rejects a mentor role; he has as much to learn from fjord as vice versa).

so for this coincidence to pop up, this idea that maybe fjord only had the illusion of choice to extend his service to the wildmother, that maybe somehow he was manipulated again, that there was some grand destiny pushing things and fjord had no say in it, yeah, i can see why fjord was low-key terrified. so is this what fjord and caduceus are: just some predestined grand fairy tale partnership neither of them have that much say in? episode 96 resoundingly rejects that label too. for one thing, none of the stones or clays treat fjord's last name as anything amazing or spectacular. for another, this string of episodes gives us caduceus at his most human. the terror of not knowing what happened to his family, the uncertainty of his homecoming, the relief of saving his family and home, the irritation at the way the chaos crew treats the temple, the playful attitude caduceus cultivates after, it's all on display. caduceus drops much of his placid exterior and willingly allows the nein to see sheer depth of emotion he has.

which leads me back to episode 98-99. uk’otoa’s agents come for fjord. and caduceus is pissed. travis and ashley both said on talks that they hadn’t really seen taliesin that pissed, that it was like someone had threatened an actual loved one of his. fjord dies. and comes back to an exhausted, still pissed off firbolg who is five seconds away from snapping archmage vess derogna’s head off for interrupting his prayer of healing. taliesin doesn’t even begin to relax until they start interrogating the dead fish people the next day. once caduceus confirms the ball is still in fjord, notably caduceus and caleb were the two who remembered, fjord starts asking for a way to remove it. he asks caduceus to start a commune with wildmom in tandem with jester’s commune with the traveler. caleb tells fjord that caduceus fought “very hard for you while you were down, i don’t know if he’s up to it.” having heard that, caduceus still tries, with his first divine intervention attempt of the campaign. and when jester figures out that greater restoration will work, caduceus pushes through his exhaustion, takes charge, and goes through a truly terrifying greater restoration with fjord to remove the ball. convulsing, seizing, shuddering, collapsing, etc.

in those moments, and in the quiet after when fjord confirms that he still has his powers, it finally hits him that yes, people can protect, fight, and love him for who he is alone. there is no chain or other shoe waiting to be dropped here. the wildmother is no uk’otoa, to punish or take power at a whim. caduceus will fight with everything he has and then some for fjord because he loves him (not for nothing does fjord only realizes the depths of jester’s feelings when she uses heal on him). who are caduceus and fjord to each other? they are people who will fight for one another and the others as far as they can. fjord says over and over again that he wants to protect the nein and look out for them because he cares for them. he demonstrates it over and over again as well. caduceus says basically the same thing; he wants everyone safe and happily on their way and will stay until they are. he demonstrates this all the time as well. this is, i think, the first time that he demonstrates his dedication so unequivocally, free of the artifice of duty, fully committed through love. fjord recognizes this in caduceus and caduceus does in fjord.

i say this is a turning point because, while they don’t really have another super in depth conversation alone together, these two start clocking each other and openly help and look out for each other. there’s an ease and intimacy to the relationship after this. fjord watching caduceus swim near vokodo’s lair, fjord being ready to hand over his armor to caduceus when it looks like his won’t be ready, fjord, caduceus, and beau plotting behind jester’s back to keep her safe from the traveler, the absolute offense fjord takes to eadwulf after he spoke to caduceus like that, fjord levels up in paladin after caduceus tells him he’s proud to know him, all the way to the end of the show when fjord shelters the clerics and tells them to finish lucien, we get little moments like these from both of them. hell, caduceus is the first person in the campaign to tell fjord directly that he loves him.

#cr #critical role #cr meta #fjorclay #wildbros #fjord #caduceus clay #prim did theirs so i'm doing mine #in b4 the wrap-up #just barely #and ran out of steam at the end #i'll expand on that later #gotta finish my vm v m9 meta #and the cockroach party analysis

[galaxxiwrites]

I haven't gotten a request like this yet, actually :D

note: I decided to kind of do a breaking the 4th wall thing here and have WoL get on the daily roulette grind. I originally planned to make them the I-don't-wait-for-the-healer kind of chaotic but when I thought about it, just doing the daily roulette must seem like chaotic behavior in the world of Eorzea 😂 Additionally, for some reason I can't edit the original draft for some reason?? That's why posting this took longer than I wanted to I'm so sorry ;-;

Protective over f!WoL (ft. Haurchefant, Estinien & Aymeric)

Haurchefant always worried about her well being, especially when he sees her everyday with fresh new battle scars over ones that have barely begun to heal. But he doesn't have the heart to outright stop her, after all, this was her dream. He just want to be as supportive as he can.

"My dear, are you sure you need to do this everyday?"

He asks her as he replaces the bandages he just applied yesterday.

She gave him a solemn nod, saying that she needed to master all her jobs.

Honestly, most of the things she says just flies right over his head. He didn't see why it was so important for her to become a master of many when many normal people would probably take their whole life simply trying to master one.

But he knows he can't do anything about it, after all, she was always so stubborn—in a charming sense. Still, he hopes that she would think of herself for even a fraction of how much he worries about her.

Knowing that she was out and about somewhere, and knowing her rushing into danger, made focusing on his paper work all the more difficult.

He wasn't much for prayer, he was rather a man of action. Lately however, he finds himself by the steps of the Cathedral, offering up a small prayer to Halone to keep WoL safe when he could not be around her.

Every time before she goes off, Haurchefant will always double to check with her to make sure she's brought everything she needed.

"Do you have enough food with you? Are your potions stocked? Do you need any armor or weapon upgrades? Are you sure you don't need me to tag along? Perhaps I should come after all, so I can keep my eye on you."

She reassures Haurchefant that there's no need for him to be so protective of her- she was a warrior...of light.

"(Y/n), I realize you've been blessed with so many gifts...but I will always worry about you. After all, just the thought of losing you is unbearable to me... So please, promise me you'll come back. Alive. Okay?"

Estinien Wyrmblood

Estinien, at first payed no mind to her running off to wherever everyday. After all, who was he to stop her journey to get stronger? If anything, he supported her commitment to those everyday raids.

He wasn't much for extravagant displays of affection. He was rather the type to either give her a small pat on the head or back, or says See you later when she's about to head off.

Her daily raids quickly shows its results- as in the span of a few months she was becoming a master of many arts. He was proud, seeing her attain such feats of strength. Though he's still upset that she beat him.

Seeing her grow so quickly made him curious as to what exactly she was doing. Was it all the power of the crystal, or were these raids just that gruesome?

He needed to know, so one day he tells her that he would join her on what she called the daily grind.

It just so happened that they needed another person to fill their slot for a day of raiding. And so, Estinien joined the band of adventurers she was associated with.

The dungeon raiding had his blood pumping...but not from joy. He saw the way she ventured into these dangerous lands, eyes only looking forward and never stopping. He swore he could feel his heart drop whenever she pulled so much monsters to herself.

So he decides to stay beside her, watching her back as best as he could.

The whole fight he was grumbling, saying how it was hard for him to focus on protecting himself when he was too focused on protecting her. WoL apologizes, but it was obviously just one in passing, as she continued to press forward without any sense of caution.

At the end of their expedition of Aurum Vale, Estinien immediately excused the both of them for the day. WoL was complaining, saying how she wasn't done yet. He wasn't having any of it.

Once they were out of ear shot from her companions, Estinien finally voiced his concerns.

"Do you really do this everyday? Jump at the first sight of danger? You know there's a difference between courageous and stupidity-"

Estinien catches himself before he goes on a rant.

"We're going home to rethink battle strategies. And from now on, you're not leaving my sight, got it? I'm coming with you whenever you go out for these runs."

Despite his glare, she couldn't help but chuckle, saying how nice it was to see Estinien be protective of her for once.

"...That's your takeaway from this?"

Aymeric de Borel

The first time WoL tells Aymeric of her routine raiding, he swore he felt his heart drop.

"That seems like a quite ordeal, though I do pray you keep yourself safe."

Still, he lets her be. He knows of her strength, after all, she felled the mighty Nidhogg and ended the Dragonsong War. She changed the entire course of his country, and he will never stop praising her for such a feat.

...That is until he hears of her return from one of these ventures, so injured that she needed immediate medical attention.

Aymeric immediately dropped all his work and came to visit her in the infirmary, being attended by an astrologian whom he recognized was her friend. He immediately inquired of her status.

"How is she? How bad was she injured?"

He asked, almost intimidating the astrologian. Her acquaintance quickly gained composure however, and said that she will be fine after this healing session- after all this was how she has always been.

"The voidsent didn't get her that bad- she was just caught off guard. She's been through worse, so I assure you she'll be right back at her feet after she wakes up."

Aymeric, for the first time in a while, thought his heart stopped. Always? Voidsent? She's been through worse?

Aymeric was so worried that he couldn't get back to work and chose to remain by her bedside. He wanted to have a talk to her as soon as possible.

Not long after, she awoke from her slumber, and Aymeric gives her a tight embrace- so tight that it hurt her still fatigues body. He apologizes for not controlling his strength, but was thankful that was awake.

"My beloved, you never told me just how dangerous these daily raids were."

He holds both of her hands in his, giving them a solemn kiss.

"Please be more careful. I don't know what I would do if I lost you too."

She apologizes, but assures him that these type of injuries were nothing. Aymeric shakes his head, not believing that she made light of such a situation.

"My love, promise me you'll be careful. Please?"

He pleads with large puppy dog eyes, making it hard for her to reject nor look away from him.

The next day, Aymeric ordered armor and weapons of the highest quality and durability, taking the funds directly from his own, just to make sure she was beyond adequately geared up.

Aymeric also started to dissuade her from traversing these dungeons everyday, and reasons that she should at least have days of rest.

#thank you for the request! #ffxiv haurchefant #ffxiv estinien #ffxiv aymeric #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant x wol #aymeric de borel #ser aymeric #aymeric x wol #estinien x wol #estinien wyrmblood #ffxiv #ffxiv headcanons