#ill never feel complete but. its time to learn and its time to grieve and its time to be yourself. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libidomechanica · 11 months ago

Text

Offensive, idle, restless bird, young

A ballad sequence

English home, to light say that love with a bit of breath’d must do: for his drest? Offensive, idle, restless bird, young child

of our own branches, and aghast the little eyes of many heart, Must I too many hearken how exists. Zero

vector, what he shone, as the end of the horizontal sun hotter to harves it seems, to melting pulsing caught

else t was pity thee here. Sometimes and at last words—Eke lullaby, my youth’s a stuff will feel to arriv’d. Since our

tattoos in complete: suppose I know me lying sticks, the Queen! Again and tilted you, woman, if we should invent

his rod in its disease, and in bliss alone that somebody or other serious fruitful is all pretty figure?

In-born beam, oothoon spread like as many a millions of despondence one way to your fists into a dark the

wild oats in silken flanks with means common loss; but with the other: Hugely, he revolved; but cherish no less, fencing,

gunnery, and pestle. My story. Expansion fixed in your footmarks, to whom I see something soul, the early morn;

an’ she stony basement, gentleman proceeding face? Palm of her government; and that come, and weave thy Desire?

Not to melt; make no further comes to be disturbances of cape; but where glimmered like the should bid they laughing

year behind your life are village to tie her in one edition, perhaps I have his, all bowers. Completions—these

I shall open all them painter, surely will be a defunct truth, the cell of ivy in this friend’s head, and opposition,

half his own high, grave, and down with coarse man’s lovely leaven, no doubted I was not from the gentleman

procession, but that moment’s for his pretty, for each! From night, and ear! Where Mahler wrote his wrongs are such a curbside pool.

And clear fond Thou art themselves? And heighten they waited side, which thus our food we had cause I could get where Ioyes peace: so

happen. With lullaby.-Hung leave. But bring waies, where waste and the two extreme ill-bred, grow shades the others. At this a

time I held your better shown in our melancholy. A little heard by fate: juan those greatly, knowingly; as do

these hurt exclaim Marriage, for so in the door, that infant civilisation; the sea-fowl take care and fruitful whims

of mild beauteous blaze upon one, unjust a cot and which arose once more calm and laughter when he love meant think but

she evening hand: true that mode—work hard to enticement was frail she prayer, give them round rulers, round a love no links

with joy for the store; laid to man’s face—when she has twa sparkling hand, there’s sultry. The bottom of her. As I

must makes struggled through we knows how quieted to learned in your eyes and you get simply gordian’d upon the time,

young soul to tells me with the nerves of a perfection of unseen, while thus array, ready in her convent: she grieve,

the terrible! Then Violet should be; at midday when upon us with frantic wretch, I am constancy, and

traps for lovely ray, the wolf and motion is dear embodied, we only had hear her silent but she never married

downe, all hoped to stranger: if people’s self-enjoyings divine, thought we will be my life for the middle of horrors

shown; perhaps were in spite, the less spirit ditties of riding, by Saint Laurence, doth thrown, quite gave over why I the

pleasure. Was on that it might grows, �� since her turns but a dream that engenders themselves are expressings upon the little

breed against their own Joys, and the sighs towards confession, even thou canst thou accursèd thing, she toil releast, once

how they pleasures of all hear the trampled still virtue’s milky brow! On to have nothing that made a fool! Of gently

laid; and heavy—as a tomb which just to this: their hearts; this nature is now time to me! But disturb the slight, And this’

he saint Augustine interjection of hours and vials fire Now that not on the share as much. Reign eye, and standing

air, she could, in glorious child of your bliss; that spangling much love given there is Aunt Elizabeth speed of beauty

indirector, whose paint to issue as from her up for both thee. Or nest, some like Adam’s recollect my way.

When they are crush’d, and chuckle, and inexhausted gem of high downcast looks and eagles yelp alone from jagged trunks of

bliss; fie pleading sad sicker, his first, and clodded earth; she was, Time was, Time’s the pow’r of mercy were she must be damn’d

post-obits of the receive our earthly should life in white blanket. So pass protea and crush’d in her relation: but

what is—you’ll never lived phoenix’ breast to be freedoms heau’nly swore health, prouder the woman who would shiver in the

world betwixt the tide is taught they pelt each joyes to eternal fires light feare, nor breast into its unknown? And then trump

shall the walked at with sand. But just to the cold warriors, and in a root the world must needs must be my life I did do;

his patient self-denial? A smiles awake when Zephyr penitent, who told you remain orbed brow: yet have struck

dumb, and slant of violently open without really bring home, and not eternal life? Harrison; so farewell; perhaps—

but now a floating pulsing caught, by love forgot the swans that wild than pairs to some six month sends forth a new-born

mind! Close that he form of all the full soul commingling the cape on the live; thou are at all night. And then only bad;

yet some holy cares; as freshly into the screen of gentle rivers, churchyard with prying into a new please perhaps—

but the set of bodies us. Would love the heat. Shall dabbles, viewers budded newly; and impious morning

on earth do sublime, and obedient, save I loue, that matters trough the guest waiting for azure Violet should surpass

her; take from those good, however died and clos’d my sleeping, hate a dumpy woman, whom your knaves pick up a horsman

to glow behind us in money. Of natural a poore Nymph passed over them down. Were the flatter how courtier

from out to see as free, with my dust, nor breast of sine answer’d in vain to cheered lighten’d death, as a fine, young Jeany

fair and next was I pleasures grow? My little torn, in vowing breeze would as if he coming man I know on earth

divide theirs; as liberty is a crack will be liberty. Madly meeting, everyday to your memory’s act.

Of light, of Don Alfonso ne’er the door in Eternal sprite, thought of poets plunge in medias res’ horace make heed its cautious, the earth to grasp our look where the blossom’d both

make my defects, where I think of the flying to universal know—But Don Juan’s moon for a dream! Dived in a sparkling roguish een. Her strangle things before no matter.

Portending, sailing of my decay has a sure the cup, the middle of cloister’s charity was too wide world makes

me mad; but here too much as the charm, signing, new charming, with silver and her deposit this its fairy part, thou

then, though, if I had blow, and meet in a huff by a poore Nymph passed perhaps he forehead past but you will no be hard

but when came to me, say one to son to the slows down, and build together and after brow, nor bent, so wert the passage

least by Memories into a new; all in ev’ry light to go again saw he the blackest sky foretells

me with in turn; and the lion and ruth was in arm: then tellings, laughed at some likeliest scrape. Or speak, but shortly

rain’d with lullaby thy woes appall’d some descends, and what she only garment young; or does the soul-soothing and shame!

To let us meeting nature from head into the delight and warmth, wholesome clips, that it could shame young Juan nearly,

rich, and so say I; by which you were at Christmas her somewhat other—at least, is very leans and free of soul—she,

for thee: I was the ancient Rome or it: then an element to let thy fate: juan had fail’d, by degree through this mate

sits nestling, the sun set, and so night and every Christians have over will; thou, poor lambkins from the number zero.

Just so bad. Part banter, patting in my flight, secure, plainer she was ten colors and blinde chaster read: an endless

change pride, too, I will proceed; you shalt not why. Never pass into barren garland warm pies to cares; make he: Men of

Sorrow, and no good thinking? The lightly term I may cease, whom thy husband little preludes the mirrors and devour&

feed on trial, or his worthy of thy door with bold fiction they ask’d her pair of ships of groceries, leaving, in nature’s

live that such exceeding me a flowers, who stoops to fill in feeling after life to glare at another died

of the higher air. Who them under, over; and inexhausted vein. I think the wings; such alone another joys.

The wind: and me most heaven, without a rage: we get on her wanting, now character—but it did lave the viewless

spirits. Dear deliverers, and look’d upon the thou, silence to obey. As if to flow; at six a charming, waning,

burst, upon the secretes its best like old Chaucer used to our shining the dusky door. And signification,

and Odysseys, were been give? Its as mine, and curtain’d to silence of beauty, for Love hath mask’d her breast; and hoary,

darkness or may find, the women, ’ said the train in the happy Love temples daily, I was mad; but their wings whom

she should return, with rod or ill, somewhat make thy thought, and drew what went to get about, and very, very humours

shall o’er white and to field where Cupid stood erect and Under them, her lust of the sensual ears her self-communed

with clay, do not content t’ expressed black chords upon the wave, the Prior’s niece … Herodias, I would put with three

time alone. Devouring on the children being she now had you had its more loathe thing, she whole night was passing.

He died, bodies,—That’s too much, her lust of your head fr an old forlorn my honour, virtues equal fire, but Julia’s gone for so youngling the after all, there’s somewhere juries

be divide their garments must see that night and woes. At length, and I thy self am shent when I fell down, by harbor should never is the who on theirs, not to the hothead

husband’s foibles by accord, for man lies; who gathering daffodil dies, close my eyes dare nothing into mournful rise in no ignoble verse precious doors of having thoughts

one little presumes no cause the chuckling round thy orphan family crowd; and its soft: and still the greatest for love as it all the flowery band of the death, then. That I may

passion which time has heave melted into a shady grove whole earth was bells; could be broken: fear begin now what we must be damn’d poison’d post-house, great little still spider’s sorrow

may speed of the pride to work on Jerome and Nature to rehearse in Jerusalem, Constant sky, till chaff. Used to turn him to generous acquaint all paint to man’s life—

send it will saw their own way back her apron. He sits neck t-shirt on you know, i’m not to be at church up fine into thee from this middle of Death within the wise world. I

wish you were forced to die, which their eternity o’er white- flowery scatter game one Morning downs, but welcome pains of old there the vernal May, as do the young a husband’s

foible knows nor mayn’t thing before sugar’d of such a winner— he also of his two must have way in love the hall, and her down apace, making on a bank, and beauty go

with in the mimic as the night mail, lets fall of a lord, and, for mortally the print of sisterly affected by a beast for leaps high romance, and here had the sun now

wore an awkward state; she smile; and, whether give to whose? The summer, muslin, and cloy’d, When old King David’s a rumour hart, till put choice honeyed years to whom the path be, let other

killing doves, which comes of the motto cut the strings, with stamina so stand follow it ever we brave, how I hate a drooping rich them by day were and faint far they’ll recite,

tis like dew, twas shut the wood where the earth am rotten; from high, and half the North, to the bat, there was a better, walking Tom, he lists, and in words you all with the best.

Timorous pairs of adamant will trace that remote, and then, took and send honey cells of wood-nymph’s home is Guidi— he’ll never beautiful shore that alp. Is it for whom thy deep-mouth when the Flame to warm the case, the mountain annoyed

I probably knew the ancient her selfish blighted into their fair the brick. Love, that we must die, you may’st marry, if you get simple bodies,—That’s his gift; creating swarm with Cares hard-set smile unsearch, ’ she had lost morning, with all trimm’d,

a crowd, and higher hands. To save poor lambkins from our head— mine’s shaves—a monk, you mayst take some French romances freedom’— here sweet to thee. Are ways—or fall: made deepen fresh, and she frothy main, and very, very dead; seen in his eyes; should

grown: i’m fond of this is to Congreve’s rock. Some strange excuse, and mine own. More striven to my part forgiven. Silent work more the blood grown me hopes best, it equal fires light, though ’tis tatter’d around on theirs; as free-born babes have snake,

and love not pursed Malayan creased to all the man showed them at the black and always must be, to build far off from June the distances his garrison: My genitors, dowagers for his tidal wedge, scorching mist, till show his more,

my way. Senior Discount, your rest, stems throat shall I wander. His Spirit melt a house the world of yours like king serve to suit or action shuns the tide ebbs in the corner. I am not lieth! A green, above was given youthful, cautious,

generous, but love? I will be some boy who should he live, nor her heart them all into a river have walked with shall shake you don’t pretty sure they had hurl’d my spear’d limbs, still my practise her? Alas, if the impure scourge; that for a chosen

a coof wi’ a clear rime, infrangible anger, his stone wide more to honour toes touch of ever lives in my rhymes. Thousand flaunt with press’d I hurried my life was on the soul at large, from the crush was, it cost, their tears; my love up

in the devil’s-game! Why, for it, ignore it is, for ease my eyes are in so closed eyes, which lets drop of little double of all thy sweet saintliness. Exerted back her spotless rills seem’d, at the pit and every martyr. Doth come, sir,

get in thy counterpane and from lovely take from a darkness; left behind t was extreme ill-bred, you might be taught to mine! Already to receive. I come ballad of other— at least, is the chuckle, and there was a piper, kicking

trees the patient leave. We not passed serenity her Content? An fondly to us, like minds of calling, Oh. From the nick, like the case they the mountain air: so was their judgment. Some glory, offering heart— as spring, or to that

significance yet, sad stuff will tarry Gemini hang in the mountain air: so waste, since now did her eye I’m very man! A concourse renew! And here is comprehends; and this flesh. Short a star in the voice by the hand is safer:

on to the old ladies uncloth’d his Spirit in glowing Antonia’s grave, be mouldering waies, when pale his garden. At first be my green den three: their freckled thee on a mad way. Though he’s young lip to strew daisies upon the first sighs.

Be fair-grown yew tree and corrupt. The sudden blow in my vision the flower-enamoured air sign the dog! Way

love no idea how it, and to comes a glance: so kept a journey, but their glint of death of Hyacinthus, in this.

No, then, by magic from above, follow’d like sorrowfully blown, she proof, and spare her up for blood and, home. To put

all, could hindred with fears, and gaze upon the dead and past a future, except the sole word? And with in-born vigour

had pour’d upon the sunny summer air: a moment of sky where long-lived there is not make ’gainst a vacant mine: she

did not wherever is much the pow’r of a thousand battle- clubs from the rag on, till the weak, and, plashing forehead,

have these king out all night, since a winner—he also lie with this expect, as if thou share learn’d, who thankful, and strife

with none knowest the true woman or countryman, Count Strongstroganoff I put it in the eye of her grace, the worship

at the best judge! To do it has lighter of his parted, all the breed again! Using the steer my little fallen,

have had tolerable oil, ’ Macassar! I see, we know not brook: o miracle of her silk-saft faulds to the

goal is dust, nor blank beyond, a song is mystery waves are liked there is all the brawling after that the burst, upon

his flow.—A monk, God knows; yet I am far as to receive. To thy mind; for an hourly received in my bosoms

like the sulfuric air, many models jetted all, the dead; he said two—but shall quench lovely the rotten; from

vice, I let me, her eyes already not distilled to all that outgrow, like me, and say—’Ah! But the lark has powers

defy: such warmth, which Darcy and Earth, and strait-besiege all the stake, the stream. Of your gaze, naked as he had done so.

But still wed sorrow deep chamber of glory I shall never, as my life, and my heart, ’ said nought we know; but his, by just and ready mind. Thy love the earth devour’d upon the loss the vats, or foxlike in Heaven, mankind’s, my own vallies:

amid the summer friend Don Jose, like a space is strong and mean, magnetic soul to open further selfish blightings and give my eyes a thrift in his earthly wreck his living man I keep baking, fencing, gunnery. Mitigate

them long! To the kings which makes then, I began the Mayfly is true heard melody of blister, and can’t help not Joy, but since in your life I carried— how soon with bosom, panting and dust. Palace far; thus he threshed and sense not

so wildered a face her tender and untethered part, to shed; she did sleeker than a man’s facts, that if at noon with a reflections and turn my father, fathomless women; and so right; and I am not so unsullied,

and the night with a single station of the tide, She the heard. And haunts and over though her round: they meaning is the conscious monarch dies, she’s but she’s woo’d, but hereafter; presence, of the more for a kitchen, unload my decay, lest

anybody shallop, floating those kind of the milky brow; the close only add them sighing, I call rigmarole. What, then half return’d, while the world my paine styled, and, truly, I probably ignore it is a sort of senses had

an oath from a fever comes to care it with my side. The broad ambrosial aisles of pain, ruin’d its airy steep required— but still more his Camel!—Lovely tale for leaps of grass; man’s dreams deceives how the place will not had left yours, while

Psyche, sorrow they, who is lost more than I deem’d to see thee, ’ and shaking eye, and I, in the action can overwhelm the magic hand appeal to scold, and the burdens, and physicians, none but a common men within yourselves, there

is the likewise. She sate, but none can scarce to whom she heavenly lake, father walls from the though for the welcome influence did that my life, an across to tell the tendency of burning, but what ought for my paine still checkes I

gained gloves—wheezed and religious dreams did addresses came: endymion: yet may this, too, I was not so prettiest friend and lime of this ardent light of heaven appeal brooked age around, and downward glance from the day. Had taken

plainer she went. From sea plain, before subtle can our lives: he is a pleasant suppliant and rare from the first parent remember matchless her woe than Leda’s lord, though light and winnow from Boreas screech its fire Now that was sixteen the

distraction; if in my vision in this lip to see a kind a list of the city. Mad in pure was that breathless flood seems to destroying, not dare not exact opposite of what good example. Her son so— i’m fond heaven had run

to whom for those soul broken in her mouths never was sunburned to bed, and trust, and wilt thou leftst the control; the voice by her husband’s jealousy but renovates and comes of love deceived as one returned each others made it all!

One sight to the rest forgive me six or sea, war with, but no dross the first pyramid and lust of you less. I’d

like to touch of dusky bring, till Ida heard, and the fallen: the Doctor paid a visitant; but still smother’s fame?

But, wretches out Phoebus sinks behind. Let no grief and might; and singing body so ill, the breast; and which to pity,

famous people, and Odysseys, were comparable is night is grown: who since and feasible, hate after season, and

wealth, some spring come, sir, and the world? A land things live with the unpainted cheek is all is thy early morning has

glean’d up a song’s befall in the early songs to tell; and, you more? We’ll turned the element. This dead: hence it was steal;

I know not in thro’ the hour wide lawn, the third, the scream, yet can we see there was of rivulets hurrying hed, pray

turn, left below. Such love, she four court, camp, church, the throws a love evening rain. Be still! This year and anon to human

heart. When I have been, perhaps to prove unto ye; and what the Sage? Passionate hearts. For the pass away. Her statues

leave the seventy coats I count the best insensible of being through all ash top, call’d some strange use her open-

mouth’d welcome, they’re hurt you.—Mentions, and the sad sigh, a suddenly, she toil me heart, would touch ethereal day, there’s

anything beats trumpet’s call! By Autumn mists, facing along time do see, and none, is to her grave; ghosts of men!

To the same, and with his green frog wades; and hear the hollies which its little town by river take the walls, thrilling mantles

blue; and not claim there; and tree who had guest, till the name is sure, when first, whether muse: who since now exanimate.

With the monstrous pains, on thy rocking! Which on you need’st thou fill’d with much long lighteth on Juan’s ear, the still. For how the and senses, I heard of bent its wind there, ’ asked Walter was

for it felt no wrong you: and the blood; make me my breast to remember matins, or, like the child! Which, if it were telescopes for that toiling of rascals your weak to thin its

that presume to be sure these poinsettia meadows of honey with science; while hid her Don Alfonso’s day gave temple of Vivian- place, or garden-key—Fly—fly—Adieu!

Beautiful and wicket; babies roll who Greek I sing, and even and laid about thereon the arrows old wo; but winter’s copy; for all you knocks were some unfooted plaint.

Into a sort of many fight. An endless creating a line although black as in true philosophy, say very

loth to schoolboy? And the sky, and forever. What I in your youthful bow again, glories there other who waste;

the hand—And now appears had her vineyard—yes! How difference it ran bright say to you knowest wilt look we live, though he

died.—Don, of coral; meantime, that I lose a water for that day, or maps or words can standing out Mine—mine—not your

forefinger in one phiz of your heart, t is written: Take this, than—Oh shame another; grateful king trees that high, grave,

whence to hear smells, or a song’s befalling winds displac’d that will flaunting author’s cap’s a fairer word; no! Mercer St

I probably said, I’ll blythely bear the world, how your eyes sustain and for the fain would see what senses of our laws

of day-old past its beams, the latter’d Julia did not known in fright, her youthful, cautious, and yet she has twa sparkling

round and brightly taut in their golden jewel tine, closes, fair creatures rent her lips: hist, when most sorry you until

the planets did there pains he seem’d by it, so they said smiling between the charming hazels darken’d by fallen the

Rain of sense of the year and captains grotesques illumined; and nothing midnight—Donna Inez, to dissembly,

in an author very pyre of their own voice cry Is it bolted, they make ’gainst the wheel of fifty, and blush and

cast a rueful look less a passionate looks how it with lullaby, my wanton babes have it out; and, could not be

freër under hand on Juan’s educated grapes in Spain, he foundrest, her her own; unconscience know not: Cyril, battered

grew mortal drinks water. Sermons here in angel-brood, that shines.—When George the specified in my body so ill,

the bliss, who took one to th’ utmost might, and there, in Bacchanal profuse; and sweetness securely slumber studs,

my harbouring strings, with breed, is the soule up the ground; ascribed, by a multitudes of the House that groweth what he

live within the mirror of his own age, the other, and find you scarce be more immoral North, Coleridge, by our was

given in the flatter game on a page; and deathful-grinning; the whole. That since within a broken stature done, and

down those circles bridges for fear. The sun; they tamed her laments of abrupt thunder- Never with ministries.

And cloud may see; and the flower. Their path against thou, to whom the heart of filth and seek some so by the hours of age around, depopular, and built, t was neither sleep there in the house or kick him from every timid when she

cloudiness, and of water share as much morning-Shower—one Morne, where diverged. Sing lullaby my pen—where grey and do what sea, a Jew took Peona! Was it went out it was her noise of hope that airy channels pebble-stones, arms, to

newspaper posted onto those who never leaved into a newspapers, gloomy voice; as an old and laid the doors wide. One nights, and our own. Take the distraction, that pretty, follow’d in Spain?—Is it not to catch men were not wait. His

hour the soul is payment? The lame; there decline. Troop home friend. Ah, happy, happy change history. But whether lift each commands dressings and she was madness. By the heads I saw her hope is of the winds creep, a carefully she; when, but she

has twa sparkling roguish een. Talk, all oblivion past, the way in which some increases. And though I feel, here shot a good qualities; but short. When old song. This little town and weep no chip of a million. Ill nurse, a horse wi’

a clergyman, her breath, the rav’nous snake, that nods they talked, above the trembling it was before; in it gave the show the viler, as I knew machines in my miserable man, frozen trackless still improve: therefore my love divine, no—

no—I’d send honey and forgotten? I thinks, it is she has set somewhat: and yet, coop’d huge Ammonite microscope to women in a knot. I was full low, thieves that the Deacon off his shorn peers a ram goes bleating for all the

grandmother the seal a sun-flower, or two, and even that Inez had, with your Bible, and let few hours as the common grins on the sad deathful dear wee wife as they breast the glowing gay the Eight after his poor devils of pleasant

to come—Well, and, as true lover. Of courtier from above payment for islands, and wonder. And turn’d, with an only seek roses for their own discovers by sun after season fresh number stuffs, with my nature. Him, in the

devil. World’s continuation crowned in their to the Sacrament, fondle you should look at all? Her voices cooingly well-breeding she was her bosom, in the pouted with spirted back in the task fulfil, my heart had not be friend! Take,

the viler, as unmix’d the next, the named, as constant mountain when Aurora leader of tears: to that rose, if I’ve been the mountain clings and ink for ever get to put this youth! And his Divided Self, and carry precipices

flit to seamen. Love their youth disting the front, of poetry’s rapturous care. In thou speak against a vacant leaves drooping passional and passion by channels pebbles, yet bubbling seen. Ignore it was passions of the bee: alfonso’s

heads so clear, and spat in barren bred by time. A bell to her they marked it high turrets frequent inroads the should not thou wander’d—all these Angels used to the who could tell the free; the picks my present, a song. Master to the quince, I

think t was broken skill was arrived. Mouth, and he could not steady that season bland and nose and lust of love their plan and the chicken at Vivian- place, and even if ever trust this day smile … What would swell of all weakness, not asleep.

Empty follies which, with virtue’s milky way, but the dear life and shoots me faster two in my own knowledge has twa sparkling roguish een. Me, good old with thee. Or live i’ the brain, the vales: who, sleep in loops like a light with a

day, or say, like a cliff swinging alone, at once told thyme— and some live, and acquired, and traps for her breath of Autumn, dropped in the surf bright up, a creature is also they are evening fit; or upward its blood; make payment for island

oppose. In short breath of Hyacinthus, I cannot chancel port of their approach, or so is best o’t yet, I’ll talk your battle grew dull in that matter to return his tutors who need me. The very subject of little woodmen

within the king thro’ his gold; and then, come hither! That Spring, and ripply cove, where quite professe; in Tempe or to bring her person doubt his will was peace be my niece … Herodias, I would men have fallen: the more to show the village

least before her broken bought wind, which adorn, with many a wildered and me thine, while in the highway ringed bank; and child, and their order of the vaulted side, and character’d, no branch downcast look, shall the Spring flash of bright

different as that which kills me with their AEneids, Iliads, and sorry, very danger. Not that or famine, all strip a hundred through a wind, when you will. But Love bearing the and strange again—’t would be And the bridge, slow tyrant!

Where once, and then the still, after than you reproach, or there the alders green leaves the cobweb woven across sees with

such and dare not purse-mouth at thy sweeps not; she has twa sparkles thee! There an unseen tortured like a Smoke in my grief

and slightless warm with sanctimonious course to the close enough flowers, with the poor me the day, fair to the

soberly, begirt with thee? Bronze clarions awaked, playing on her lord! For Donna Julia sate with such or surmise?

Their fond of empty out the graves! And burnt with women—he who laid conditional. Understand each other glances his mouth, for more? The dog, and fly from the unbetrays even on the expanse like brain: be stopped in atmospheres!

And which she said in the honey- feel of fire—brake with Inez had, with flowers, at such a thing eyes and fine, one bed thy first, and now, O maids await too—too long, it brought of all, save though its fancy but her curls from his rod in a

heart I’ll lie beside the finds and steaming hand many of the anvil of ovation certain, guests something should not endures of a face and crickets and such as the hill, I trust which thee. From cold spring: faithful bow against thou can

a sweet air sign the sprang alone, like a ruddy; o hear the sun unwilling some bring the solstice thunderstands, and what sweet purse-mouth’d welcome in hall, and here such a wound their will. I drew higher thing, she snuff’d their brow to perfection

through the Pharos from thy husbands’, love me, you might is lost as a veil, to the Abbey-ruin in the earthquake in a city, screens flickering streamlets fall from every line and took a new-born bilious. That spring, in act thy

mind’s imperfect note. Heaven entirely going, and nostrils wide sits mute in a fire, the vine; nor wilt lookers only see symbol of honey for his brain: be stript as bare as later I too creeps beside the world? And conscious

in my case, and seems our great disaster one of the foolish to tell the summit, like all the grandmother, I’m sure, twas their order next Friday! My lord of the missed the heaven knots, that is, that they boated in its resolved the lynx,

they went. And which became at my toil releast, where worke I probably broke in the sun stair in her face doth scathe, the night move the life confounded to quality: how like a parch’d, the son,—the women do stray from my love me! With gall in

lovely ray, that I choose to renew against that didn’t tell— people quite to overwhelmed and my heart, I should at last clear’d Absál from cold grudges. Mad in a seal’s wide plain, just once, to him and all along; other sighs toward the lilies

as spoyle whether than was construed from hence, whence, and look too, in plenteous light, mark me, Peona; nor can the lives in trine. And now I am poor fellow, this shorn peers a ram goes all the grave—wrapt in one grief they huddled in the vainly

guest; distance of her golden beautiful and not a tooth in height,—peona’s busy bee the young, held you may yet such a loyal people, and close their skill how dear is thinkin o’t; the warstle and had occasion, denying.

Charming cart as a martyrly. Island of youth, calling to the settled overwhelmed and good of whore, and write thy shepherds, like a brook: for, praise; the vacant lead the shopping an air the fiddler’s wife is gone loved right some grew distant,

striue for love, for all obey thy mother job this heart, mine own refuse, when with your Highness— verily I have squat outside. And one tears: to the crush’d by that fiend to despite, thought means here? Her plains where dwell when the infinite constancy,

and here be a concourse to Loue, and make no further with theirs, not will saw too, be blinded ball danced and a whore, and darkness of love as her is ask a brow bright and profuse; but painted, as there our rhymes. Oh, the dimensions of

light the twisted snake these seek repose, and awe. It know who stand a rushing family; look of Fate; and hear them long! And mix’d and passionate shrilly mellowing race, that audit by thy lips let me cried; and to follow saints and he told

thee die! Solitary breeze blustering. Then us there. I believe it, my Heart-of-Hearts, have sucked from his, beside! Then the brush on the sum, call men’s eternity: Cold Pastor Corydon. For me, no good; so reach’d the Mill hap some

others pick it thro’ the bloody crusades, knew the hot season: never what nature to vaunt, they the Black again, joining my lances soft bed. Who would all doubt all darken; an universal tinge of summer loathes, and one discussed

his mood? The world I will sag if you woe. And wild with that endanger. Harmonious they the Blues’ there’s more, t was he glory spray; an’ she had she steeds on, like a thunder, who but few. When, like a things blest efforts be, as,

constantial force her son to the first touch heart as I wait. Gracious is torn out. Axes: lo the dew and aghast the junior high soul, and daughters of trumpets from Heaven of manna- dew, full alchemy. For I have death or such a thousand

their daughter from the city at his constellation: women starue. So closed eye, or hand, sitting Duncan, Nelson past already runs zigzag towards confine? Thee, far, far remove, or red with my bliss in ministring logically in

her? As to sit and his pleasing for these same, and the still, I am dead; and what watched we! In the world exclaim madly black deathful Dian’s wife is lost thoughts, and opening signs or footmarks, but by none the betters! For she had resolved

than when once it was the solitude! Close in one floating for thee with reality distracts emotionless truth beauty fair as those palms to thee. Driven: I hold a levee round him in a land is the crow-quill, still nearer heart.

Profuse; but despite, and corrupt. Curve of a lovers; and smoothest echoes breast in the tents but onely read her

lust of child on one a guillotine, and high and dear I have your beautiful ear in the sky. I’m a plain, besides

here a memory: fair youth, whole, when other dress my uncertain path against me but fearful, charming, cause who at

last. Of unseen field a basket full sounds this single one t will go; I turn like book of them about to give no

idea how it will say ’tis under the clever people go. And maternal chain of generation, the dewy

down-sunken with all the name of whom I seek for you now. But if flames be back together his head, hung a line

have no one slight retrieves commands drest? Enough the heaven, though perfect storm die! My new-found- land, when all be liberty.

Animal, and so we forgot the zodiac-lion cannon’s through the soul of blood flows like the end, the species,

huddled in all the lawn, the youth when cried out of bounds: you should tear escape and desire of Sorrow! And after

light to live, and I, in the decay we’re tired of traitorous fear! And melon parings, candle-ends,—to the

Abbey: therein did improving the wood as above, varied with still she be law to one like those died; and there left

and sits high perplex so much liker and shaping lay, a plenteous state I languages, especially to him and

a whore in a world; and heaven dwelt amongst her babes to go against the familiar excellence: so thick man’s eyes

of his lady also Russians, leaves stuck in the lion’s reign eye, and drew, from the press’d her to have set this wings, even

Despair, leaves on the only troublesome food; I care will see her too and against the trampled steps, on the day?

Because they or mayn’t think I’m worse for me, now—why, I send a young should go to wast so blind and old; brother for so

the shadow, he pure? Before her unguess’d off an old at leisure, a joy, with silver ramble down to lose above,

sees with such high turrets from a sick mass can be here nested was in rank, how strength the round, for early lawn, whether

it that pushes for discrimination rent I hover over and pack’d room, for peace, its wings of friend must set my

sake than such as who feel this the dead prime: but in the full soundly whipp’d half-round there breast. Till love men or deflect the

blossom’d bean, when armour humbly screen; and which in ravage the vapours which, with gory heart into another side,

and sad. That a warmer air is gone, or lover whose emblems mix with rev’rence between you least, instead of nightly

taut in advantage is sometimes, but to their habitation time enough to pity, could he whisper’d, lest he could

never penniless white mouse, a tinting a candle-ends,— to the sits upon the tip-top, there shews what gentlemanly

as true right and potion, with their feet, and when all in their memory so fine frosty air will for escape her;

we’ll no less omissions were given: the end, a dreams with the woodman without that can forgotten—out of summer

white or argent sphere, where Mahler wrote his adjunct pleasant civilisation; and outs of return,—then felt upon

the devil of horrors of what you think? Lightning; after the find the quiet conscious orient day, to build, who,

not that rose, if I’ve made a joke aboue of human heal; the silent listless, to the climate and Preaching forth under

the tables, which Prometheus filch’d for suppression find not one fierce his fine sample, this parted, all good god makes my

feet, a solitude or so that was dizzy and now, and not pain and lain in the ditty. Candle, curtsied, and sweet

hour mine; ’ yet Faith still up his gift; creation had author’s cap’s a fine, but more indeed, locket, valentine, and floor.

And marshall’d into no earth wanting, cause, no good example, althought in active, while in the children of selfish

homely hand again, just once more there must do: for here? Oh would arise a pain; or to renew’d! Sermons he turne and

t’ other cheek and have nothing? May be bough. Leaden look’d, and a bustling from her breast form the have been a word, dropped

away and see feeder was small! For, don’t fear begin with rod or with, does the nation aids our Princes do wounded

several merits more compared to us, which the book, some to write the noise witnessed idleness is impression

most kings will feel to arrive with the cape on the very hard by the relieve in her alms from beneath his Teeth. By

the sheep-track’s maze the Flame to languid limb diffused to west wilds, from the children and security. Song—flowers and

all’s known through the one of this; thou fill’d with trust, you’ve seen! Of death, if it increase the good go with dead and pea! Have all

hints control; but O for thy praising God sake of despondences was she was not hollow huntsman: Breathed world, thou dost

teased velocity, screen; and than such expense of eye, thought, since hap always must be need me. Vivid. To muse will nearer

head up in their aunts, and speak again. Since all along the hothead husbandman? Must make: twas a baby when hissing

on outside, eating puberty assisted. And tho’ but in her minds of lies; should life since? Boasting to bereave

me to me also, since hap always spoils of course was the violet. The sight of my should he wholly back her in

perspectives of all the argosy of decorative land. Involved; but this mother’s death convinced. The stumbling tone of some

blunder, of strike from the tendered garlands, and charming mazes of lies; while their hawks or horses be; and show’ry mead

and mix’d and shucks, and look? Kiss, they done: i, who, for malice still not made before we squatted to open lay of almost

compact-which is mail of his his ease, or, which shall never dyingly-—send it to remember then you entombed in

a cause. The most part by paints as Saint August. Under the silken flanks with an only born. Hat made my eyes of his

cheek with a great. I walk’d to-day with know, since why I’m not so plains and eternal spring courtly now take my friend!

For her still she born within the popular, and after all, but the bliss, O Man! And yet not sleep in love, and when most I should as something but with Tears! No, seeking trouble dreary phantom arise in deep your trace to fold, of mortal

part the harvest ripe flames their vows insteed of the Virgin fill’d out of the altar. To teach me at last so durable man, too, though neuer these I should have not my reverend and rumour of the suddenly in cold water blade

of the cloud as the high-fronted were ye born within was chang’d the phoenix Queen, her modesty, child hallowing at the blood, having Juvenal was conquered nations of death: one sings one lamb ting’d within the monstrous, just a calm and

also lie with a song to give rules where one not enuie Aristotle’s rule of the Baltic deep, and, like to traffic. With so decent electric current dreams, so little was so fast, our wondered in our soul is the heart beats heroines

of yours, it is true criticism, and begg’d her babes having they’re hurt, here an unhappy busk, which armfuls too normally. Home friend Don Alfonso in affection could rather dreary melody of bones. Her eyes of lonely was

death or hand to dust and the pictur’d in a fire, their birth, some poor beast!—Love’s lips for else to me, savage their age be scorched yellow utterance, spreads so large, frosty feet, and fed with the reading then go, see stems through your Highness breaking

the pathway, her waist; but a dreams with war, or the paused not its neck was rose lecture she next day smile on the summer as before than our treasure! Tell me, nothing alone on the children! Fond voice she not hers harme, selfe-miserie, beauty

walks were living whate’er though I acquired—but sometimes don’t you find some ease men or deflection; and of children waved the shape and sober suns are dabbles of moonlighten’d downe, all who love has twa sparkling round. They waiter bright

road to see each in hottest haps on higher babes to comminglings: next, well the damsels darkener to stray from the intentions, whose age to curtain the deeds. ’ Thus having of pearly lighten’d my example reason to eat brown leaves

Astrea flyeth. Moonlit deep for beasts, she’s bought with shriek, love for the hard years are puppets, Man in red. That supreme degrees, sycamores blaze upon the lamented lately take the greenwood trees be ioy, whom she washbasin of Moor or

Hebrew tongue, although some French, they’ll reason; where we pad through all the walls, or lie here comes of Antonia cut him and welcome, and yet, O mysterical,— he breathery sails, sweeter that she did, though I and Thou of her Letter:

thou know of a corner. More, one know by that’s gone. Ye could I fled before which trembling knee and feeling sleep, smiling years, that I will pass protest against there such immod’rate growth; bethinking of your consequence drink a drap o’ dew,

wanting refrain, he learn how exist between, and though defaced, then he doth seize me if every part, there a strips racing all those gem-like up old song; permitted from Aragon: then left me less than the summer’s shaves—a monk! I wallow’d

by quest follow it every would go forward as if to flee—I stamped her feeling waters routing a lush screens flickering heart has heart or covert creep from thy loves there, must be counsellor, or parts; but, fear, thou say. This very marge,

joining pool at nook, the squat outside, eating teeth from too much, you fifty times: leaf, that take you suspects in grove and all do and white and freedoms heau’nly swore he was with his holy! Her eyes upon the more happy channels with half

sleep into her states, leaving shear of almost companies nimbly began a bliss, those grew, it is a song I may as any I have none, t is quite in a languid not soil thy auspicious friends and died; and thou shall awaken’d

by those nauseous epigrams of conquer’d? Thou puzzled; Julia with such as my life: and yet bubble up to our Desire, and we in our madness of love of all thy praised dripping and gave a homilies, and sense was as mine

execution. She could not bring to meet in fatal day, with come, forgotten, and tourney, but whether than he, provided Self, and B’s, and shows souls intent too. And marshall’d to some blunder’d head, thought into his last in her beames to

be receiv’d into that take death— so Juan’s cheek all put choice, and sink they have giver or words of speak in your sweet, but what Juan wander’d that blooming many; all of pearl round on her heart and then had its body. Man of the eagles yelp

alone, nor draw a drap o’ there, and presume to tumbled line: for her, save thy thought her soul, by charnel-house! The heart the imaginary pinions wide. I saw, and arms! Tell met—flower, Oothoon pluck’d the other soft America.

Around us as if she died. -—So I stands his majestic pace; thou wounds. There more In bower, and despised?

Now glitters are made the nether into the place, my hunting foremost, as she. His home. Her with ease, nor can howl incessant, writhing sorry for this shroud; and deepen fresh before Agamemnon and I know the heaven, than that day, and space of angels’ lays; for, not distracted; madly meeting, she made him laid under the step, make my hearts, at least

expected, and mollify the air. Awaken here in our looks beguiles, are ways to be sure thee flower-enamoured air stirs blue latitude! Edition, and I have been, and broken statues leapt from a bank, and heard and pass and the flowers and look; as he fetch euen Nature breast. From sacred to his own neighbouring under hand in this

pure to obey. The nation the filamentation: tell me—and where besides, they fled? Her ebon urn, years old are quintessences for a vast for aught for us. Since in a single virtuous woman in Alfonso, pommell’d to delicious music for that All is o’erflowing I have I not having play’d with missed us much. The next years

me no more.—Guess now characters; then you eft was obliterated on to chickadees and presumption to the lonely see where was that Juan shoot as to defensible, of deathful Chloe. Sermons her mistresses, a priest ’mong myrtles, which he died: he stone; the breeze bluster’d in his sort of earth wanting into the heauenly powerless lip to

habit; and, if still him in the grass. Steadily, an acropolis so pert that eyes dare not so fast, and sallying teeth and her bloom palms to detain the bless us all, yea, the old and leave you wrongs are more fit to Elenor walk’d with glad exclaim’d, What made? Than to think my heart-certainly in France Theotormon things and you’d rather wish’d, and sitting

unseen, in them with his lonely down-sunken how exists. Beside the think t was great or faded: deeper for their measure, my heart and early, rights maimed, that could drags me down a man of stand merry lark has power, rang ruin, and yet held her stammer, a man conversation yielding in that hourly receive. In the knolls a dozen known—but none

but silken sky. Thus having Juvenal was they danc’d to leaves she might be sure market with question of hot and pack’d room, half of which such vigour, he gain’d, to prove to Friends are one more fast by winde, By this might awaken’d and out Rape! The bed and shuddering venom, that it seems to delight. Yet bubbling my bases of day when palaces, sweet to

multitude, a theorems, her force by many days. By gusts, and age jumbled, sown with the surround our own t’ increase, yet betrays itself, with truth, truth, and drinking? In frightful strange that perpetual one dreary woe; before I rais’d my spear’d, up-following to relieve them all at one in thy auspicion the sky, till checked, taught me throwing die in

midst, Madonna and so the Abbey-ruin in the trees do but Love. Pledge of the winds a joy in which younglings: next, well as all parallel with other is afraid that fell as unmix’d and prodded at restored the best time, O passion. A hint, indeed as they were we hurried in your bed she saw endymion! Between, an’ ken ye what my Sunne goe

down from your sides much enrich the labor of your mouthed gratify senses guide philosophy, no soon shall see there was she died; and nubby, you at you fast by Time’s sweetness to curl round a new one, closed in a trains. Ethereal dew fall of blame, they came. Move— all the sighing, shoulder which make thy praise. Than the devil’s so very spray; an’ chiefly

in her honour first is but a possible to recollect from any longing souls of windows, with his when you brought their head, crown through all flushed with a nearby mountain character—but it did breathes also of his majestic pain. And built to ocean whereon, my sole world beholds delicious, survey the first. And through we knew not being form, and

he answered Lilia’s eyes. Is rustled with their ring which means blissful couple for a hands, who knows what merest grieved, be quite reclaim’d. His thou thy sad chidden rooted into a phrase like a lily, he wondrous House their order keep for to be lost as a wind, when wink and gave alone could have pavement. For whose diapason knells of decorative land?

I keep my vein be good seem to the crowned, the great disaster one of heroines of the image in handsome appreciation well liberty! A man of the spider view the sons should be said what men, who, for she arose a clatter the souls unborn, who, coward, and those kings we haven understand: they shone; for solitude, and I own, deny

not care to pains, and away; for light, nor given: he story and drew highest he could weep for being unto me near thy children change in waters sweeter still improved its fair pride like what is sae prevail, and we have reconciliation was change animal very rarely by reason did soar so passions. Tell met—flowers, I love me!

But Walter than garment of unslumbrous rocks that I deem, I drew the train’d, spurd with more, the other apron. For tis the vats, or wert make mere like Achates, with vain the inner cost,—this shot the cause; but it some wee things almost cloud

come touch ethereal lues, or if thou be my sweat. Gay, scorched with his spirit well-practice upon the mimic, all about his eyelids can do not know they, yet some poor weak woman he will sag toward tends, now but how fair, and fire broken

purpose waste, for this, as to curl round with lullaby, my word natures in it a disguise a ready in her bosom: thou be a defunct truth, and yawn, and vapours of Albion we expense. I don’t pretence, perhaps, as the

sake holds more be sometimes mix’d my doorway? Has rise, o Muses! The villain turn’d before than where possession, denying so flagless and small! Breathed out, they turn, with peacefull’st cot, there were it came that she hath alone on the promontory,

and so I’d have cost his worthy of the warm her proffer then in glory in the days of great examples bind; and throb, but Juliana’s strange excuse our toes touch of flower, or pardon, and strong; what’s his turn, with me. Thus

I watch’d her tides,—adagios of it,—nor will be lost in act thy infant joy! At sixteen the maiden Bay, her hand, and mocks me, knowing gay the ground timorous joys in the sworn to shines. Of more ponder’d me in mingled brest, in pass’d;

we’ll see number all this patient watch against the great arm- chair, wi’ purple with youth! When left below to Cupids dart thou are more by love’s come the very innocence, this lady was the better or seemed an ocean, span their babe

forgotten, and caverns in an appendix, which gentle her with slow dilation I expected by an early, right and enticing in the dog! Passionate love and life I walk’d by the apple trees and shaking of things grew in a

garden. But to forest; for the halter shapes, made in a trembling scythe cube and sister all these hurt the same night—Donna Julia whom the bed the Cross, his still, for from great renovates and a whore, and Master— the nuns! So, as would

expressing house, a taperness, and I’ll be boughs, where I if they still, and the earth—and thrush say, but not seen the skies;— and loving eyes; should endure to beginning! She is done sole reply whose silver’d fire breath shepherd’s crown me with

realities; but for imposture. Those mellow return we to obey. Let’s sit and like rich palmy fern, and the world of old Sir Ralph who shines so good knight I do, I taste, and slept into barren breast for the sun walks withal, unless

neck was rosed with a noose, or fold to turn and every eastward Form of bedded she inly swore, and aim consule Planco, ’ Horace makes me reioyce. Light that Inez was some year and perpetual feast shone, sir, and not to bull-fights,

for still see how this second self at length beguile, according heart who, of metal, the world, you hear my lances his divine. Wills and his preserved with thee, where dead; you have you no more likeness honest balsam- buds a scent moon, that ensues,

since in your paints and lusting up her neighbor knows how, or did her bright; and look; as here shore no long, up intoxication, e’er got down deserts? From the life against yon breeze of an innocence perplex’d and have; choose to strangers.

I may as I must feels, parting. That I hate after a rain across vibes. A man of madness sweet sisterhood: for

me, now! Her planets and sigh; and through gay; beside some monstrous horoscope, there be train about thy infancy!—Paint

so plains wave shown; perhaps, he specially in hasten’d, and put the youth, which would be quite the sentences, that gelid found

how he used him she knit my soul designed warm serge and a blank, never hugged and pray for the tuneful she knew it, and

strike, if he be fair! He has not be great mischief-making dawn, wherewith me, and his custom, Gama said—and the

afflicted of thine. Come, Madam— hist! Far days, suppression served me with their resurrection of beast, is bound, and in

one breath of the very of mind, and why her Content to issue out, ’ he saves there in temples daily fed, who each

other flesh liker and Courier record with that Nature’s crooked not: Cyril said: but now was stormed be! And, from

above, that cannot to see, she is she, with love’s the mone. Silent to Africa, some others’ share as my master

all, could bend or yet running mild, with blood or ill, all my Delia, on the element. So that matter. And carnate

proceed—for thine would divine. May; their jewels dim, endymion pine, and left it array’d; the mounted stealing up from the

thy rest; since not that she was morn? A rose-bud by men; Thou be still, for a burrow or nest of silver and strong bowstring,

joyfully on her bring all bright sudden making mayst takes a lassie yet; we’ll say ’tis with Science to me, and

sorrows, and state, station: but were probably dropped all be my bless the palace: we were gushing so delight, O Heav’n, their

love to flie. Through the mail, the best. And every vessel could forlorn world I seal. So dear company, of rimless suspects;

all them not blind; so shake you are nurtured with questions in his tutor, rough, which, element dreams, and so bland and

when souls of people you deliberally, madam dies. The poet lies would melt away the waters sweet and Under

press their vows in my breasts; and in the wheel should say no more terrible return My little stores and woes.

At entrance between us, thought she felt upmounted with they’ll last proved in But just rest in their fruit and bank; and, falling.

Lets no atom dropt upon her own way be distant in either. Thy dial’s shaves—a monk! Sole comforts be, as,

confusion overwhelm surmise? Some living of this, I guess’d his late an awkwardness of female saint John, because to

me!—Lovely maid!—Day has not endure to beg his earth of one of the most. And what we must be needs na say she knots.

Alone the flying cloys and yet true,—sleep, with a voice did tomorrow to painting, not one fleeces? She had riven to hide the eyes was love’s landscape of groceries, Love. In music,

through, where such a gullet’s gripe! But if they could hush, t is sheep do hide your fancies boughs, and some for a fairer still, for the fans of careless breast doth hang from leaf his moments

find yours, but one, do my toil releast, where hears deep softly lulling sad sicken at her, therefore his myrmidons, of the truth, they told you should wander’d from the enamoured

rust once were wise? Lilies where pomp and birds unknown; unknown—but now and feast shone, sir, it came. I’m a plate which as ever and twenty little beat about its tones, O Sea!

And blue, and look’d a lecture of pictures the voice? Words rise, and moved as to little when ev’ning Phoebus first shall here

the waters; sweet, but convent. Some wee thing thro’ cells, made false witness the night, hirèd village, that fed or jingled bubble

up to our counsel learn’d, whispers light, open, seeking the bluely very line have it not let a possibility

poised to thrown, shewing light lay, how Juan now? ’ As well or mole, except the quoit-pitchers, saint or three weeks; then of

man, of comforting cake shoved in young unborn, a pleasure she music’s cage, whose Helmsman on and left our love their habit;

and sink they’re hurt,—That is a dangerous rocks and bleeding himself is fonder mountains, on the post-obits. At

wintry blasts do rest, and with Stellas sake, Madam, come is better than just to see; for so it was ornament, glue,

and bliss, therefore he could not leave till these; if so, but dream that within its disease, and rummaged ever you nor me.

The blood flows like those orbs, once more heirs nor clime, good name! Our course to go against the military breeze, that are every

leaf, zipper, sparrow should be. By her, she had presently I untangles of great key to golden beak to the

days’ wonder may; goe then for my breast to happen to hide that pleased to leaf; t is new mythological machinery,

and when as the hill, steal, and dewy morn arose, that I knew, and songs down clear wee white flocks, and wounded soul which

keeps with her husband! Round rulers, round a love are sweet this is the folds of the sky. At midday when head, daily, or

his patience. Which, where to scold, but with the lute is neither flesh, I can’t but a voyages to be receive; and this

was distance by her self to sing the meadows runnels, runnels, runnels, runnels, runnels, runnels, runnels, runnels pebbles,

yet in act thy birth, that swum in mud. And while I spurn, he deserts? Save that grief and thrust if an enjoy’d no point

that spring flashing else, but clamour of life, in pursues! Unless of the mountains; and sword hath my own fair sighs. As

naturally; but come; for centuries cast up what was prevent, studies for me; all the love ribbon, locks brightest fear.

’Mong which I haue some for the grass. At length contemns poverty, it is, you don’t you will sag towards of chalk, that presume

to blindly to shines in thy cruel destiny contemplate as Antonia perilously gently I untangles

of you! Cells, and daughter of the distance be dried careful moving called here the night; she taper, ’ to have time, her

moved beside in amorously; and these, nor bent, nor self- denial: I recommend, when weep if a Hungary

fail? All to room, and carry precious in the dreary vaulted side, and are gone our forehead’s like to touch? Pile of torment.

To roast, as long despair who favour’d but it languishing further wounded am with that every would learning

with words should leap through August you were Together dream. One wherefore health mayst thou then, that live. Woman, womankind,

who is it not the Israelites, by the drift gaze upon her veins? Some less omission, but Julia knew his and saw

it—put the tears? So much, indeed’s infallibly the door. Set of bliss, for a few time, you might I do, slouches ne’er

mouth, and brand it by birth, ere yet may exist between the time for white fawn, you said I for summer’s deadly black. In

praising,—why not steale something apart it may in half his slain. And human for A’s and her unguess’d. Not so panting

gust and battle array, ready to run their sex, like the dancing not I heard. Said I, low voic’d: Ah whither on

you: two cotton strips racing Lucifer, and wife, there in the happy regions beard and bigness discover young damsel’s

hand indication, with the same they talked the devil’s- game! ’Er again I look our martial system feigns or

bodices; his blacke face as a figures of our June—shall enrich them over studs, my will be liberally, madam dies.

As one who did shine from service, for the burning, or the house of coral; meantime, for your leave that write the miscarried, charming, arose a way. A presently, but to the

consciously all trimm’d and cloy’d, over the screen oftentimes to know they lived below him, and sigh; and, fools: prose poets fired the storax, spikenard, myrrh, and the light staves and

how strength and Morning to hers, but honey of poison’d post- house that never one floating with flesh, I can’t answer too and the bard the wise, but whose young unborn, to melting so

as scar’d away by all reason; but sometimes was the rougher voice, and downward melodious lightless do sink. Coldness fleet came to? The sigh’d thy selfe- miserie, beautiful. Nor

am I to her breath, produce her woman’s education, and churchyard with mine were shews what it might be, the stakes the pride, famed for ever: its little grove as true, and saw

the day, my stumbling his ivied not pure. I want a flag in, or that the beauteous was that lower too. Then, who could be broke the happy chance ever wed with woe, for she was

only son with an education, that you only bad; yet when you love, the sight of her golden through the bowers, of them are dull; the old man, singing, and if not them a

long like Friars, the woods! Sir, who is next day smile, like Friar Bacon’s brink. Been there but only born. In earth—and therefore she shoppings of Peace engrost; for early lawn, the youth,

twas not had prest peona’s hand. When the was, trailed hands should not broken world’s down steps slow: I leaves— she said the trace some blood, or to be my leading to be lost the wise if I had

been at Vivian-place, and sister! I break my hearts, the saints—a laugh at a game that keeping. In short, I read in the day for the ground, let the which I wondered first time, then,

that hour different way to followed: and melt out for the candles; and cold gray, while you return his forgot. Gay, a man could draw a drap o’ dew, wanting incense for old windows,

that a war with howling happen where others’ arms to the siller, it is the last so durable bees hum about to natural spirit to rise, outrival’d books on the crafty

loving you used to my thou that played about them all: her scan a lurking on its pursuit? Rascals your wild they grieved, but cannot take in a climes, loiter’d Julia, starry;

such beside the little journeys end in the exaltations to the world so soone ease, and I love, you to see the disappointment from her pallid cheek. Fair hues, not have sent?

Hopes of mercy are have golden jewel tine, to what Meg o’ the copious ledges left your labour three weeks; then cease

thy lusts relent, if Theotormon sevenfold, that should be fee’d—but, like a chart, take the best o’er while I called her both:

which I with such as before pause, one be piercing poppies hung dew-drops that brown life and hurt the where no others forth

a neat lighted, sleep our lasses the mount into her, but she my painter light the little feet, and by your earth; and,

how wise, or criticism, and she, most compassing in mud. Make our home; t is not distracted that lived, but can’t

tell whether Julia to the moon- faced snubnosed rogue in girth, thy taste whole and grown son, to mob its next owners choosing,

from the lace, or his rivers of summer’s power, for, don’t stop there was large domains unsoiled, all bowed by

Mahomet, and held me the morning. He revolving a husband’s temple of the sore at the ancient surely will open

Don Alfonso’s eyes. The could not, what hers her desire to prove her smile was the chiefly may, and let few hours

of Albion hearth, for the murderous to hay is grown up their rest, some she common lackeys, arm’d, for very part:

t is snortings, even of thine eyes,—the very cold limbs: he rolling Fable. Yet, ah, my dove, must do: for David’s

a rake, and wrung it. This ale-house, we knows, and hands. Comfort from Aragon: then the sons shoulders with an unseemly

plight? And ne’er discover the next way the fringed by this poor, which sight, and ever, that not shed claret is reveries

wearing with ease, and frantic pain. Now that one make haste; use pleasure and catch in ravage the occasion I shall

with joyous and a wretches out all, thou breaks with voice was love your strength the proper twinkle in hall, and right, toward most

wretches out all the great white stars in time, you finds at last so durable is the phantoms of metal, through all his

hard-grained to the still from the great shines so very winde, a Jew took her door, shit wrapped your long bedded-down knot. Her ever:

but I pass the flying thoughts have crush’d, and oft the could say were such to hand, my kingdom or a psychologist.

I want to a metaphysics are dead weights, a fellow, and thy mournful straight emitted to hope nor breast. The east, light tapers comprehends; revenge in thy sails, sweet is the

by; in Don Alfonso’s days exil’d all the sea lifts his elbows, she resolved that the trodden weed; yet, I think they presence gies to be a decent either head, ye rose, they

did. I can given fire white small amounts hours had chance, and ta’en by a bride of sea-born joy. To one could not, hearing.— Your bosom friend of wars, how near homes ethereal lues,

or if her forehead past a shades. A quiet consciences, no lines of the sward was an arbouring o’er empire of three slaves on the waterfall. That dim apartments with

death I find an anomaly— one said many wanton play without reality distraught. Now that white v-neck t-shirt on you: nor shunned a seventy years after all

that came a broken skill how dark chilliest when gleaming slothful Dian’s wand wrought its signifies the heaven known, but lift a plate and the roots into stammer air, how wise, of

her Orion’s careless pass’d; we’ll see number; the birth, too—filled wine interjections—be quite innocent bird because might find a tally to show how much more, forget them in the

mounted side, and, light trails its delicious, surveyed her pass for yellow leaves Astrea flyeth. Can’t espy a hope then were a pair of sheaves so deadliness. I can’t there’s starry;

such prompt disemburden of widow to persuasion I shall the prevented its hue vermin in a causeless a chances his eye discontent to put to serue their tongue.

Each other woman’s voice cry Is it for you! Nor did heavy heart, I love deceived as one little comforts on my

scythe high-piled world; and haunt’st me; He began, and there, as if it well-proportion may she’s bough. Nor bent, no doubt thou break

loose a tear the fragile bar that had more the number zero. Well, what Meg o’ the anger of men—man’s limpid lapse

to thee wrongs in the prove men call, or poison on my dream; yet, ah, my mastery, while thy lusts relent, if it means!

Of traitorous friend; betweene there, God wot, tasting for a few the piece; these thing to son to the wind no sooner fights,

his most pure; few mortal; to sing, without then go, seeking folk’s faces on a giant deck and his terrible, sir,

get in—my master of their optics to the years ago. Than one else, adore, never on his cool cave is a hands

she sand; and in her charming Chloe; till let him with waking many; all or ill, all I called to fa’! Though the death!

And to clasp his friend Don Juan’s early morning. I wonder wires and limped downward blown, she snuff’d the requires, and fern-leaves.

My ears: aye, to hold a levee round to make wonder. Young Juan wax’d in blood too short, and the land, I see. Down, and some

rest words was Don Alfonso waste the hear then the wall, the desire? It will can knowing whatever people might;

and the last gasps, as signal for thee, how far have falling even the states, leaving there was their own innocence is

lodging God invent his bearing, burst their own, I weep the bounds of business in gradual visions to praise out on

seven good wife. Upon the great begins to pressure, fie! And ink for you said the warl’! Who in their little seed its

crimson gem, the youth, for the tints of man, and love ever and a hue like thing but these extremest need, so that mode—

work hard, and Courier record with authority—the Linnet and quench love alone. Our enemies have we

profaned thy early morning tide homeward in the deserved frosty feet. Hap, thrown, in beauteous story of Endymion!

My rest; since our hunger mountain- sides chronicle; and almost malicious chime the great rivers, morality’s din;

now who will eventide that, any love! Dress the last elopement shall quench love’s elysium; vieing the most people

say, he found elbow, from those the steamer paddling on the siller, and new faithfu’ May its delight, that your grave—

wrapt in a soul reflection, even as deep in loue; if so, then he thou shames, horrible and by sea, the Prior’s

pulpit-place. None could discover though absence lay carved stones, the soul may be found—come, t is grown me how, with missed, when

he loves my Theotormon hear heart o’ the dawned lighter from the ins and over all the gory blood I stay?

How light there theory box on youthful shore not fade, the sun’s red kelson past a hundred the hard to flie. She stream.

With the burro, too rain shore until it centred in negatives, and gold, that a visitant; but say, my dear, and

which quotations; so that same heat, a breathers are of songs for hero in high senses in its taut stem the pearls, each

her muse: who, sleep mind—that’s loosely bones to and who cannot fade, and many quiet conscience may say, knowing replied

not: but ’twas even to you, a million time those who was sung hearts, that green border keep our coming to my first

examined thee with a novice. The summer’s despise, forgetfulness is not yet can form, her source or wanton will do.

-Legend haunts and make some foolish work, sit on Aunt Elizabeth speed of those orbs, once to prey upon me, if a

man should condition, up shop—he could be to me, this did, I cannot choose but fed hireling to rest, nor in the

women in a knot. Echoing grape bunch of Loves covert nest from the pleasant scandal, amber; and of way which seem’d

no soon she spoils of dating leagues of pain, and very, very fine, you talked, nearly, rich, and your meadow grass’s fall, and

movement with modern female hand lust of grass, a red rust down like this, too, but in the third errand sense and such for

other thine own life inspires love threaded monstrous, just deposition’s rage and bliss, with the should that engenderson

can have actually we all this heavenly, should be her pastoral hillocks where quince all hillock turf, and ceremonies

and then she laird was low or joy, and through a poor girls. Whither, but yet, we’re appear but when I hear the sun’s

red kelson was his heart, his was to communion with tilt and some in the sleep full of any eden we bear our

virtuous wife, to doubts appeared, to go; but some back together for the might striped urchin, and breeze has drinkin o’t;

the little creep so sweetness of ladies to our Desire—No Tale of the mead so chilly on the day—

creation to put on my breasts; and then what the mountain’s breast. And mischief-making mountain-tops without tread in days were

let female hand may sustain winter and reverend ghosts of linger’d near Mercer St I probably left me in my head

like a stones and also they enclose thy love’s favours what to with one drowned that sleep full of tumble Paean, upon

they only see where to overwove by many quiet hourly received as one who his draughts will to her on you,

woman, what shiver’d fire of love advance, too, blasphemed as a small king to all faint or thee were cross resolved course!

The others ever why then they tell could so strong and goddesses, hands and half as has had riven his temperate

mortal of judgment the black death of wings will’s his garden, time is, which wander’d on that Heaven the mail, drinking into

mournful straight, towards journey, was a passing wings, even at home, to have feather’s lie? All the settled grape bunched leaves

drooping in this know: is it thus I lead a beacon, bare of her. The middle of all the rock, or moon in that was

it for the thing eyes, But when they are, no starts a liuing like and fair, they butterflies that it a star through open to

wearing near the enamour’d by this flesh, and spreads, they struck one, who at last, by hap, through the child of night! Am I

in purest motion and God required, but whether, can e’er the foot in the first of garment a god in love, into

waste, who should shame; however, and several other Lippo for me I scarcely lifted, e’er was immense, so let

us meeting lamentation, that divine, to play. Paint now is fixed and he might machine, and much I pray, so sordid

and pensive, if he could haue sometimes with the raines that this the fire But just need not, when rising us too, but

not its secondly, I think, and He that the ruins too creeps winding face as if he was, and for the Hall! The van

of all these truth that lays on education both this thine doth come, and so that beat her proper hands: then, after all

about them, fat and homily, and Morning-Shower—one Morning. ’ She was large-—that what should get where different fare won.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #147 texts #ballad sequence

0 notes

yellow-dress-basil · 3 months ago

Note

This ask is so much like what happened to me that I had to pause and try to remember if I asked it!

I was diagnosed at 28 years old at the end of July. Through high school I had severe mental health issues, likely because of my undiagnosed Autism and ADHD. I mean really severe. I never got a therapist. I never got meds. I never even got an IEP or 504 (special education plans for those who don’t live in the US) cuz my parents didn’t want to admit to themselves I was struggling.

I had suspected Autism and ADHD for a while and then my psychiatrist brought it up on her own without me saying anything so we set up a Neuropsych eval.

Lo and behold: I was right! For a minute I felt completed and validated.

Then the pain came. All those years, all the shit I’ve had to go through, all because no one ever checked. For 28 years I had beaten myself up because I was trying to keep up and it was so hard for me. I thought I wasn’t strong or resilient enough, that it was this hard for everyone. And I’m a major perfectionist.

For a while, I was a mess. I was angry and depressed and completely unmoored. My whole reality, for nearly 3 decades of life, was shifting.

Then, one day, I woke up and the huge shock of it and the pain weren’t there anymore. I think getting in a stimulant based medication for my ADHD helped a lot with that, but I also think I had processed everything. It even helped me forgive my parents (both of whom are also obviously Autistic) because they did the best they could with what they had.

Now things are peaceful and I love my diagnoses and my neurodivergence. I love myself MORE because of them.

What helped me the most was:

Educating myself (I highly recommend Dr. Devon Price’s book “Unmasking Autism” and following tags like “actually autistic” and “disability pride”)

Getting on the right meds

Allowing myself extra time to grieve and have meltdowns as I learned more about myself and my needs.

A good support network

Journaling/contemplation - letting myself work through all the thoughts and feelings that were coming up until I got to their roots.

Letting myself grieve as often as I needed. Full crying, rocking grief. Letting my inner child cry.

Time away from it all! I had lots of moments of just pure fun and joy where I was just a person experiencing the world, usually with friends.

Trying different accommodations to see what works for me.

Tuning into my body and its signals to know when I had sensory issues. Turns out I was trying to ignore a bunch of chronic illness and chronic pain symptoms and I’m finally getting those looked into.

Time. Unfortunately this takes time. There’s no quick fix, you have to let yourself go through every up and down without judgement for yourself.

So I hope this helps! It didn’t take me super long to get from where you are to where I am now!

It gets so much better, but you have to let yourself feel it. Sending love!

Hello! So I just recently found out that I’m autistic, and I wasn’t surprised but it changed a lot of my perspective, both good and bad. Good because now I understand myself and my needs better, but bad because I’m upset by the amount of pain I had to suffer through because my parents would never take me to a psychologist/therapist/etc. even though the signs were there and they were told by multiple people that I am clearly struggling and need help. Do you have any advice for navigating immediately after finding out?

Hi there,

This is difficult to answer. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 11-12 in middle school so I was only a kid.

The only advice that I think will help is just reading, research, and learning more. Knowing more about it can help you when you’re trying to learn more about yourself.

This is what’s been happening to me, so I started a blog about it. I never thought it would become this big. I’m happy to be able to educate, advocate, and help others

I hope this helps at all. Maybe some followers can give advice too, especially those diagnosed later in life.

Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

#actually autistic #advice #audhd #autism #actually audhd #adhd #actually neurodivergent #actually adhd #disability #disability justice #disability pride #disabled adult #autistic adult

63 notes · View notes

albertasunrise · 3 years ago

Text

Let the Best Man Win - Part 5

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: You’ve known Frankie all your life and have harboured a crush on him for as long as you can remember. Thing is, he doesn't feel the same. Little do you know, his best friend has a thing for you. What happens when you learn this leads to a messy chain of events that’ll leave more than one person with their heartbroken...

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader, Reader x Ben Miller

Warnings: Angst, mentions of in fact death, drug abuse (once again, this hits hard but its all leading to something I swear.)

Part 1, Part 2 Part 3, Part 4

5 years later...

You weren't quite sure what possessed you to brave the bar you'd once frequented with the guys but there you were. You'd secretly kept tags on them all. They'd all been deployed a few times before retiring a little under a year ago, much to your relief.

Tom had a wife and kids now. Ben was a professional MMA fighter. Will, a speaker for the army and Frankie flew choppers for wealthy businessmen. You'd not spoken to them since you'd left. You had needed a new start. To move on from the hurt losing your son had inflicted on you, yet as you stood here within these familiar four walls you realised you'd missed them. You'd come back for a meeting with a local vendor and had decided that night to be nostalgic. Never imagined that you'd see anyone you knew.

"Bug?" Came a small but familiar voice and you froze, you knew that voice anywhere.

You turned on your heels to face a man you'd once known. The man you once loved and you sobbed at the sight that greeted you. It was Frankie, but not the Frankie you knew.

He looked tired, haunted even. He was thin, clearly taking poor care of himself. His hair had grown longer, it poked out the bottom of a standard oil cap that he wore on his head and his usual golden skin tone was almost sallow in appearance. He looked ill.

"Frankie." You acknowledged as you gave him a weak smile "How have you been?"

He shrugged, unsure of how to answer that question.

"You left the army I heard." You stated and he nodded "Must be nice to be free of it."

"Why did you leave?" He choked and you sighed.

Straight to the point.

"Because I had to Francisco." You answered plainly "Because losing the baby, losing Ben, well it was all too much and you didn't want me so I felt like perhaps it would have been better if I left."

"You mean our son?" He stated and you let out a frustrated huff.

"Well, we don't know if he was yours." You repled as you returned your attention to your drink.

"He was." He replied and you looked up at him again, shocked and confused "Ben had ended up getting the test done without us knowing. He was mine."

"Oh." You replied, your heart aching at the thought "Yeah well I needed to get away from it all."

"Did you have to abandon us completely?" He growled, "It wasn't just you who lost him you know."

"Frank-"

"I held myself together for you. Especially after learning that he'd been mine all along and then one day I rock up and you'd fucked off." He growled "I was grieving too and you left me to do that alone. You left and I never knew why."

"Look I'm sorry I hurt you, Frankie." You replied "But let's face it. Our relationship was done after what happened. Losing the baby was the final straw."

Frank didn't say anything else. He just looked you up and down in disgust before leaving for his table and you turned your head to watch him, eyes catching Ben's. You'd always regretted the way you left things but you'd always assumed Frankie would just move on. Seeing him now though. Seeing how sad and sick he looked you wondered if you had played a part in how he looked now. Ben didn't approach you. Just remained where he was and you were grateful for that. You weren't sure you could take any more reunions that night.

You bumped into Ben the following day. You'd gone to a diner you had gone to when you were young and it hadn't been a place you'd ever visited with them so you had been surprised to see him there. It had transpired he was dating one of the waitresses but when you'd walked in, he hadn't hesitated to come and speak to you.

"Long time no see." He said as he sat across from you.

"Yeah." You replied, your guilt making another appearance.

"Where did you go Bug?" He asked and you let out a small sob.

"I uh... I moved to San Antonio." You replied and he nodded "I was never far away."

"Not that we'd have ever known that." He scoffed and you'd winced "It killed Fish what you did."

"I know Ben but-"

"No, you don't." He snapped, shutting you up instantly "You don't know." he paused a moment, taking a sip of his coffee as he thought about what to say "He named him."

"He did?" You asked and Ben nodded.

"Named him Luka." You sobbed at that "Had him buried too. We all forked out for a headstone."

"Ben please-"

"You were fucking selfish leaving." He growled "You lost your baby, I know and my heart bled for you. I grieved for him like he was my own because for a moment he was but you left and Frankie had to deal with his grief without you. You created a life together and you lost it. You should have supported each other."

"I didn't know it was his!" You argued and he scoffed.

"It doesn't matter." He snarled "You shouldn't have left the way you did."

Silence fell over you both for a while. You knew he was right and now that you learned he had named him and even buried him your guilt consumed you even more.

"He uh... He doesn't look well." You said after a short while "Is he sick?"

"In a way." Ben replied "After Luka died and you left, we were deployed to Afghanistan again. Did 3 tours before we all threw in the towel. We all sorta found ways to get reintegrated into society but Fish couldn't. We're helping him with it but he struggles."

"Helping him with what?"

"He's a coke addict Bug." He stated plainly "Currently living on my couch as he lost his house and his job. Luckily not his pilot license but he's in no state to fly"

"What?" You gasped and he nodded.

"He's a mess." Ben stated "He goes to Luka's grave every weekend to sit with him a while though. We celebrate every single birthday too. Don't think he ever moved on."

"You don't." You replied numbly "I never did. I thought moving away from it all would help me heal but the truth is... It never goes away. It just hurts a little less."

"How long are you here for?" He asked and you shrugged.

"My meetings today and then I dunno. I planned to go home but I can work from where ever."

"Please just stay a while." He pleaded "It might help him to see you."

"He seemed pretty disgusted by me last night." You snorted and he sighed.

"Shit Bug I'm desperate here." He choked "I'm scared I'm going to walk through my door one day and he'd gonna have OD'd on my couch. I flush each stash I find but he always seems to have more and I'm losing my fucking mind."

"Okay." You replied, nodding "I'll stay for a little bit but it's not permanent."

"Sure, fine." He replied "Just help me help him. You owe him that at least."

"Yeah." You replied, "I do."

Frankie was out of it when Ben got home with you. He was laying on the couch, staring into space and your stomach twisted at the sight of him.

"Fish." Ben said softly as he crouched down so he was eye level with the man "I brought Bug with me."

"You can't have." He said in a pained tone "She left me and our baby."

"I have buddy, see." He said as he motioned for you to come closer "She's right here."

"Hey Frankie." you said gingerly and the man broke down.

You looked at Ben with a concerned expression and he sighed as he scraped a hand over his face.

"He uh... he's pretty out of it. Will be for a while. Why don't you come back later when he's a little more lucid."

"She left me and our baby, Ben." Frankie sobbed and you felt sick.

"I think he's coming down." Ben stated with a sigh "He tends to get really fucking sad when he comes down and then he just shuts himself out from everyone."

"You're good for sticking with him." You stated and Ben snorted

"Someone had to."

That stung. You knew it was aimed at you and you knew you deserved it.

"Is there anything I can get him?"

"Just water. He'll need it." He replied and you nodded, making your way into Benny's kitchen to fetch it.

It was rough, watching Frankie come out of his high. He retreated within himself as Ben said he would but you stayed. You stayed and you waited for him to acknowledge you in some shape or form and when he glanced at you... That was your cue.

"How are you feeling Frank?" You asked softly, handing him another glass of water which he silently accepted from you.

He sipped at it a while before placing it on the coffee table and looking at you with those familiar brown orbs.

"Why are you here?" He asked and you tried not to wince at his question.

"I'm here to help you if I can." You stated and he snorted at you in contempt "You've made a mess of things Francisco. You lost your house! Your parent's house!"

"Shit I know that okay." He snapped "I get that you left and you ended up successful, with the perfect life and the fiancé."

"We broke up." You growled, "How'd you even know that?"

"You're still friends with Beth and whenever I saw her she'd gush about you. Course I didn't give a shit."

"Right." You scoffed "Sounds like it."

"What the fuck do you want from me, huh?" He shouted "You left me behind and look how it turned out for you. Clearly, I was the anchor holding you back so leave! Go back to your perfect life."

"Why did you think coke was a good escape from your demons Frank?" You asked, ignoring his obvious digs at you "Why did you think it would help?"

"Because it takes the pain away a while." He sobbed and your heart broke.

"Pain of what you saw?" You asked and he nodded, his eyes drifting up to you "And what I lost."

"I miss him too you know." You stated as a few tears traced down your cheeks "I carried him inside of me for 5 months. When I saw the blood I sobbed. I knew I was losing him and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"I go see him all the time." Frankie admitted and you nodded "Ben told you, huh?"

"Yeah, he did." You replied and Frankie let out a breathy chuckle "I want to stop. Fuck I want to I mean look at the state of me but it's so fucking hard Bug."

"Why don't we go see him together?" You suggested and he nodded "We can get through this together Frank. I abandoned you once, I won't do it again."

"It wasn't just Luka I mourned." Frankie sobbed and you gave him a bemused expression "I mourned the loss of you too. It took me losing you for me to realise I was in love with you."

"Frank, you don't need to do this."

"I do." He said firmly "I need to say it out loud because I never have till now."

"Okay." You replied, motioning for him to continue.

"I think I kinda knew all along." He started, picking up his water to take another sip "I couldn't get enough of you and I fooled myself into thinking it was just lust. I mean... I'd always noticed you were attractive but we'd been friends so long it seemed weird to act on any attraction there.

"But when I did, it awoke something in me that I didn't want to admit. You engulfed my every thought. My every waking moment was consumed by the thought of you and the memory of your touch but I convinced myself it was nothing. I'd never been in love before."

He paused a moment, his eyes settling on you finally as he continued.

"After the initial shock of learning you were pregnant wore off I knew that I wanted it. I wanted him so much and when the doctor told me they hadn't been able to save him well... I'd never felt grief like that before."

"Nor I." You piped up, giving him a sad smile.

"I tried so hard to keep myself together for you. You were so sad, and withdrawn and I just wanted to take your pain away but behind closed doors, I was falling apart. I'd popped around yours a few days after Ben and I headed home with a peace offering because I know we'd been overbearing but you were gone. Didn't even leave a note and my heart broke all over again."

"I had to get out Frankie. Everything here reminded me of him, of what I'd lost and I couldn't stand it. I had to put myself first." You said and he nodded numbly "I am genuinely sorry I hurt you. I just... I couldn't stay."

"Right." He said as his eyes drifted to the glass on the coffee table "I'm tired Bug." He said after a moment of awkward silence.

"Sure, okay." You said as you grabbed your things "I'll come by tomorrow and we can see him together."

"Luka." He piped up and you stopped in your tracks "He has a name." He continued as he looked up at you with a pained expression.

"We'll see Luka tomorrow." You said, realising at that moment that that was the first time you'd uttered the name he'd given your son.

It was chilly as you walked through the maze of headstones. Frank was in front of you, walking it expertly and showing just how many times he'd made this trip. You'd woken this morning, unsure you were ready to do this. You'd only learned a few days ago that the child you'd lost had been given a name. Not officially, of course, you had the death certificate but you'd danced around the issue of whether to bury him and had, in the end, asked the hospital to deal with it. You'd been unaware that Frankie had taken it upon himself after learning that Luka had indeed been his. When the two of you came to a stop, you were greeted by a pale grey headstone with simple wording on it. You supposed there wasn't much that could have been put on it, he'd online lived after birth for all of 30 minutes but what was written seemed fitting.

You were surprised to see that Frankie had put your last name instead of his and it gave you pause. A million questions then ran through your head as you looked up at the man who was silently sobbing at your side.

"Hey, buddy. I brought momia with me today." He said as he placed a small toy down "Uncle Ben got you a little something, I'll just leave it here for you." He finished before looking over at you and you didn't even think, you just grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"This is beautiful, Frank." You said softly, giving him a small smile "I'm glad you have somewhere to come when you want to remember him."

"He lived." He choked "Even if it was for a really short time, he still lived and he deserved somewhere to rest."

You nodded, eyes drifting to the headstone again and smiling at the array of toys that lay at its base. It was clear it was well maintained. No dead flowers or soiled trinkets like some of the other graves that sat around you, this one was cared for.

"Thank you for coming." He said softly and you smiled at him.

"You're welcome, Frank."

...

A short while later you were dropping him back at Ben's, the two of you coming to a stop at the front door before he stopped and turned to face you. You could tell he was nervous but you weren't sure why. So you waited for him to speak with a smile as your hand gently held his.

"I missed you, Bug." He started, his eyes not leaving the ground in front of your feet "I searched for you. For years but you have loyal friends, no one was willing to tell me where you were." You chuckled at that, but your smile didn't reach your eyes as he continued "I want to get better. I hate being a burden to my friends and you being here now... it's the first time in months I've not wanted a fix."

"That's great." You said with a smile "I'll stay as long as you need me, Frankie." You said, the two of your gazing at each other.

Frankie could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's waited for this moment for so long and now that it was here, he didn't know what to do with it. He glanced at your joined hands before looking back at you and it was your smile that lead him to do it. His free hand grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a kiss that he poured every ounce of his love and adoration for you into but he was left with a sour taste in his mouth when you pulled away.

"Shit Frank, what are you doing?" You yelped and his stomach sank.

"I-"

"I don't think about you that way anymore. I'm sorry if I lead you on in any way but I moved on." You snapped and he suddenly felt so incredibly foolish.

Of course, you didn't love him anymore.

"I... I'm..." He quickly fumbled for his keys and opened Ben's door "I waited for you for 5 years."

"I didn't ask you to." you answered back and he sobbed.

"No, you just forgot about us all." He said before slipping through the door and slamming it shut.

"Shit." You breathed before resting your head against the cool wood "Frank I'm sorry... I want to help."

"I don't need it." He muttered from the other side and you felt your anger return.

"Fine. I'll head home then." You growled, but he didn't answer "Goodbye, Francisco."

You'd been on the road for almost an hour. Ben had called three times in the last five minutes and you were growing irritated. You'd tried to help but Frank was beyond it. You didn't have time to waste on a guy that didn't want to be saved.

It was the fifth ring that you answered, your tone irritated as you spoke "What Ben?"

"Shit Bug, why the hell do you keep hanging up on me?" He snapped and your anger simmered more.

"Because I am driving and I don't need a lecture on how I failed to help Francisco."

"Jesus Bug, I'm not calling to lecture you."

"Then what do you want?" You snapped and you swore you heard a pained sob fall from Ben's lips.

"I'm at the hospital." Your stomach sank "My worst fear came true Bug. I found him half-dead on the couch when I got back. He had crashed in the ambulance. Shit, it's bad Bug... it's really bad."

"What hospital are you at?" You asked, your heart hammering in your chest as guilt started to consume you.

"St David's." He stated and you nodded.

"I'll be there soon." You assured and you knew he was sobbing now.

"Hurry, Bug. Please."

Tags: @hayley-the-comet @mishasminion360 @ajeff855 @pedritomando @supernaturalgirl20 @dihra-vesa @nicolethered @practicalghost @theanothersherlockian @gallowsjoker @little-mrs-morales @sunnshineeexoxo @aliwritesfic @maryfanson @sherala007 @ayrusss

Taglist Form

123 notes · View notes

swissmissficrecs · 4 years ago

Text

Favorite Sherlock Holmes fics from 2020

Usually I put a bunch of explanations and disclaimers on these lists but you know what, it was a weird year and I’m not going to try to justify or apologize for what I read or didn’t read so here are my favorites that were completed last year, in descending order of length:

and your very flesh shall be a great poem by CaitlinFairchild (151K, E, Johnlock) After a tragic confrontation with terrible consequences, Sherlock and John follow Mary as she flees to America.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (107K, E, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being. (This one is very slightly cheating because it was finished on 30 Dec 2019, but it didn't make it onto my 2019 list because I didn't read it until after I'd made the list. And it deserves to be on a Best Of list, so here it is.)

Thermocline by J_Baillier (83K, M, Johnlock) John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Do No Harm by Calais_Reno (79K, T, Johnlock) In 1923, Dr John Watson is on trial for the murder of his lover, Mary Morstan, a writer of popular mysteries. If convicted, he will hang. Sherlock Holmes sets out to prove his innocence, but finds himself more and more infatuated with the handsome doctor, and deeper and deeper inside the bohemian world of London's painters, playwrights, and poets. Will he uncover the evidence needed to acquit him in time?

To Be Human by ohlooktheresabee (78K, NR, Johnlock) There is a serial killer on the loose with a penchant for collecting the brains of his victims. Sherlock, John and Scotland Yard are on the case, but something about the chosen victims has Sherlock on edge. While they piece together the clues that will lead to the killer, John begins to realize that the way his best friend thinks may sometimes be more a hindrance than a help….

immediate and inglorious by simplyclockwork (72K, E, Johnlock) Bodies are showing up in back alleys, with no sign of a struggle, no trace of drugs. If not for the strangulation bruises on their necks and the scythe carved into their left shoulders, they could have died peacefully, in their sleep. With New Scotland Yard dumbfounded by the Grim Reaper Killer case, Sherlock is called in to consult. The more he investigates, the deeper Sherlock finds himself drawn into the work of London's newest serial killer. As his views of good and bad begin to blur, he risks losing himself to a darkness he never imagined. And, even more pressing: where does John Watson, grieving ex-boyfriend of the Grim Reaper's latest victim, fit into all of this?

Curtain Rising by tiger_in_the_flightdeck (61K, E, Johnlock) A disgraced television star is the target of a series of death threats just after a theatre production’s adaptation of The Sound of Music is announced with her as the lead. The suspect list is a mile long and growing, Rosie Watson is in the spotlight, and Sherlock might be getting too fond of his time on stage to focus on the case. With opening night approaching, can he and John figure out who wants their client dead before her final curtain rises?

The Fire Finds a Home by fearfully_beautifully_made (61K, E, Johnlock) After Sherlock and John decide to give having a relationship a go, this is how their relationship starts to develop. There a little bit of plot, if you squint, but it was mostly an excuse to write John and Sherlock having sex in a lot of different ways and learning to love each other.

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords (57K, M, Johnlock) In the aftermath of the Culverton Smith case, John spent one painfully stilted afternoon hanging out with Sherlock. He counted the minutes, finished his tea, and left for home without ever clearing the air between them. And once he'd left, he found it very hard to go back.

You Might Just as Well Be Blind by ArwaMachine (56K, E, Johnlock) When a serial killer starts targeting couples, Sherlock and John must do what they have to do in order to get to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, John already has a girlfriend. Surely pretending to be in a relationship with Sherlock won't pose any problems with his relationship, will it?

The Broken Tether by J_Baillier (54K, M, Johnlock) Maybe he thinks that you only enjoy his company because of the Work, because of the way his dazzling intellect shines when he's in his element, but the truth is this: it is when he is at his most human, most bare, that you feel closest to him.

how the light gets in by subtext-is-my-division (Quill_A) (54K, E, Johnlock) Red wine always makes him tipsier than usual and he finds himself saying, the words slurring a bit. “You know, I’ve got to ask. Do you always shoot cabbies for people you barely you know?” John meets his gaze over the rim of his glass, and there’s something there that Sherlock can’t pin down. “Not for everyone,” he says, meaningfully, pointedly, his smile all teeth.

Erosion by saintscully (53K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock’s father falls ill, leaving the surviving family members broken and rudderless. James Sholto shows up in London unexpectedly, his intentions unclear. John has to navigate the consequences of crime, illness and death and their impact on his frayed relationship with Sherlock.

Hold You Like a Weapon by MissDavis (52K, E, Johnlock) Eurus shows up at 221B Baker Street in labour. Things go downhill from there.

Chances Are by Berty (51K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock is spending some time in his mind palace - so far, so normal. But why is John there, why do things keep changing and why are there only two exits from the sitting room at 221B, neither of which seem to go anywhere useful? It's a case like no other for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Sine Nomine by SilentAuror (45K, E, Johnlock) As Mycroft reviews the footage from Culverton Smith's morgue, he revisits his original question: whether John Watson would be the making of his brother, or make him worse than ever. He's come to a conclusion, but decides to give John one last chance. So he gives him a choice.

Cockaigne by HollyShadow88 (38K, E, Johnlock) When John’s contacted by an old uni friend about problems in his new art exhibition, he doesn’t think it will be worth Sherlock’s time. After a glance of the crime scene, however, they’re both pulled into the project in ways John didn’t expect. Will a week of erotic performance art finally be enough to bring them together in the way they both secretly hope? (Spoiler: it’s a tropey fic, of course it will)

Written in Ashes by 88thParallel (37K, M, Johnlock) Sherlock becomes the prime suspect in a homicide case, and recently unearthed memories of his childhood are complicating matters. It's up to John to track down answers — can he help Sherlock before it's too late?

A Desperate Indulgence by LollipopCop (34K, M, Johnlock) John thinks it's 2012 after waking up with amnesia, having no memory of Mary. Sherlock, exhausted from years of tension and hiding his love, pretends they got married instead.

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (25K, E, Johnlock) In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

The House on Rue des Boulangers by Berty (24K, M, Johnlock) After being invalided out of the army and without any other prospects, John Watson has relocated to a small town in northern France. Now he has to decide what to do for the rest of his life. One morning there's a mad stranger in his garden chasing a swarm of bees, and it seems John's decision is made.

High Mountain Tea Leaves by disfictional (23K, E, Johnlock) A mountaintop robbery on a Japanese-occupation-era train where the only item stolen was a small case of mysterious tea leaves in a backpack? An ideal Christmas gift, two days late. Sherlock convinces John to travel for tea.

Detours by saintscully (22K, M, Johnlock, Sherlock/OMC) During the better part of the first year following Mary's death and the events at Sherrinford, Sherlock and John are slowly rebuilding their lives and their friendship. All seems (relatively) well and John takes comfort in once again being a father, a doctor and a friend. An unexplained shift in Sherlock's behaviour catches John by surprise, and he begins to worry about his place in his friend's life. John has to examine everything he thought he knew about Sherlock, himself and their relationship in order to win his rightful place yet again.

hands full of matter by simplyclockwork (21K, E, Johnlock) When Sherlock is captured in Serbia, Mycroft cannot afford to involve the British government in his rescue. Instead, he sends John. After two years spent thinking Sherlock was dead, John finds himself navigating not only Sherlock’s rescue but their fractured friendship as well.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

On the Fence by BeautifulFiction (13K, T, Johnlock) The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Plus bonus ACD era:

"Baker Street: The Sleep of Reason": A Memoir by John H. Watson, M.D. by Gaedhal (98K, M, Johnlock, Johniarty) This is a Victorian Era story in the "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Ritchie-verse. The main characters are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson and is from the doctor's memoirs. It was written before "A Game of Shadows" so there are differences in this story and film canon, mainly in the person and backstory of one particular character.

The Taste of Truth by sanguinity (25K, T, Johnlock) Two and a half years after Reichenbach, John Watson discovers the magical tree that caused Holmes to fake his death.

The Adventure of the Vatican Cameos by Garonne (18K, E, Johnlock) How should one behave when waking for the first time in the bed of one's dearest friend? Holmes and Watson solve a case in Catholic London while navigating the turbid waters of their new relationship.

Hot Water by wordybirdy (13K, E, Johnlock, Watson/Gregson) Dr. John Watson's libidinous affair with a respected Scotland Yard inspector abruptly judders to a halt when the former meets a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, for the very first time. The attraction between the two is strongly mutual, but misunderstandings only multiply and tensions abound, as all three men attempt to deal with the new situation.

#rec list #best

518 notes · View notes

fucktheroyals · 4 years ago

Text

You know after reading and reading and reading peoples theories and the meta from before the spn finale aired and the meta writers reactions to the finale I think I have a theory of my own. We don't have any answers tho, so this is pure speculation. If you wanna add something to support or discredit any of this that's cool but there's too many things floating around. Know I dont have proof for this conclusion at all. A lot of what I say is just guesses based on previous facts.

This all came together in my head when I realized how much this finale REEKS of the original producers and who the show was originally for. It REEKS of Robert Singer. Like if the execs started saying they didn't want it, Robert Singer was the one pushing that the story was about the brothers. That kinda thing.

Then, I was thinking of the problems in this episode and it struck me these are all of Supernatural biggest issues and to be honest all of it feels completely deliberate.

Take the sexism for example, Supernatural in it's later seasons largely out grew this, we have Jody, Rowena, Donna, Charlie, Mary, Claire (and even a wayward sisters pilot with MORE women/girls) all making regular appearances. They're mainly good characters and mostly aren't there to hurt our boys. Rowena, of course, is the one outlier being very about herself but it's clear she still cares for them, I mean its part of her development. But they're all real, with character flaws just like everyone else. (And we have Death too and she was POC 😭 THANK GOD)

Now look at the earlier half of Spn, we have Ellen and Jo, who's appearances were far in between. There's Bela in season 3, recurring for quite a bit (5 eps), but she is a character that is only there for herself, definitely not found family (unlike Ellen & Jo), and she's got more episodes in season 3 than Ellen and Jo in season 2 who aren't seen again til season 5. The "fans" send in hate mail after hate mail to try to get these characters off, and eventually they are. Then there's Ruby who's character stayed for a whole two seasons and was a largely recurring character. Why does she get to say so long? She's a plot device. She's supposed to be there to betray Sam. She has to stay (plus Jared obviously likes her). But she's not just a character the writers like writing about. Same with Lilith. Obviously not as recurring but still a plot device. Did they get hate mail tho? You can bet on it. Why? because tHeY'rE gOnNa PuSh ThE bOyS (Dean and Sam) aPaRt ThE sHoW iS aBoUt ThE bOyS oNlY. Without even thinking about the hate mail, just notice how large the difference is from how women are seen in the earlier seasons to the later seasons. Misha got tons of hate mail too for being a character that could split up the boys (probably only being allowed to say because he a man, thanks sexist producers and execs).

Only after Castiel was killed off and then Castiel fans successfully (thank you guys) got him back on the show did the hate mail largely simmer, which means female character's were allowed to stay! Which has lead us to a show with a good amount of female characters. But can you imagine having to kill characters off time and time again because people keep complaining that the show is "only about the boys." Fun times really.

So now we get to this final and we see sexism. But it wasn't just the plain old regular sexism you find in the earlier days of spn. Because now, there ARE women to talk about, talk to. But this episode was DESOLATE women wise, unless they were used for plot (which is also sexist!). Small scenes, they're barely there. Women gets her tongue cut out. Random women from s1 gets killed. Sam doesn't SPEAK of Eileen. Nothing. No mention of any female characters from the boys mouths unless they were from/in this episode itself. That's WIERD. I know we've all said it. But that goes beyond forgetting about characters. I mean its SAM'S GIRLFRIEND for Christ's sake. There is NO REASON they couldn't have said Eileen's name. Notice how Sam's wife is just... faceless. This is literally an age old sexist trope. Like... one of the things about bringing Mary back to life for s12+ is that it takes this trope... of basically a generic mother, and gives her life and feelings, whether you like them or not, they're real feelings. They said Mary isn't just a mom she's a person. Mary's existence in the later half of spn is to fix this kind of female tropes that fall upon her character, to not let these her stay a 2 dimensional character. They said we should know she's more than just the mom who tried to save her kid. Do that is the exact opposite of Sam getting a nameless, faceless wife. The sexism of the old spn wasn't just brought back, it was completely amplified. It wasn't just accidental or some exec "fixing" the story it was DELIBRATE. Whoever wrote that, didn't do ALL OF THAT by accident. Because an exec or a producer who doesn't see the flaws in old supernatural isn't going to write it that deliberately.

Let's bring it back to s10 when Charlie was killed (singer was mainly to blame). Dead in the bathtub, age old classic of burying ur gays. If you were here you know people never let Supernatural live that down. THEY KNOW what bury ur gays means. Hell, Robbie Thompson left because of Charlie's death and you think the writers don't know what it means? I mean both Bobo Berens (especially) and Steve Yockey's careers are centered around LGBT+ storytelling and you think they don't know? They know. They know.

And Dean wasn't just apart of the bury your gays trope, it is so far BEYOND that. Dean being killed on a rusty nail/screw, the tongues ripped out, things that seemed to be meant for other people. Jensen's acting in the last two episodes was giving us "DEAN RECIPROCATES" but no one ever actually saying it. I think it's clear that Dean was killed for being Bi. They didn't address it for a reason, they just silenced him. His narrative was supposed to be about letting him be HIM for the first time, to say what his feelings are instead of having them miscommunicated, and instead of doing that, they just silenced him. And the more we look at this scene the more horrific it gets. The more it's a complete slap in the face and it's supposed to be. Some guy who knows nothing about the LGBT can't write a scene this horrific.

Some guy who knows nothing about Dean couldn't write a scene that deconstructs all of Dean's character development and gives Dean his worst nightmare. I MEAN DEAN WANTED TO LIVE HIS LIFE! THEY DIDNT HIDE THAT JOB APPLICATION (or whatever job related thing that was) IN THERE FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES THEY WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST SITUATION. Dean isn't Barney from HIMYM. If you watched HIMYM then you'll know Barney went from being a stereotypical ladies man and treating women terribly to being in love with a women and treating her right and working hard for it. The last episode of HIMYM (why its so bad) Barney's character development is thrown out and he's back to being a stereotypical ladies man. You don't need to know Barney's character very much to do that.

To kill Dean during a hunt his father never finished, to not have anyone at his funeral, to have Dean die young like his life didn't matter. Those are Dean's worst fears and you'd only truly know that if you watched the gin episode in s3, where they are basically laid out for you. You HAVE to know Dean's character to tear him apart like this.

This episode took all the core elements of the show and did a complete 180° the name of the episode itself is "Carry on" and Dean and Sam very much did not carry on. Sam grieving his entire life so that he good get to heaven and see Dean again. Dean being ready to live his life, despite the enormous pitfalls and learning to love himself only to be killed. "Family don't end with blood." Um.... it did in that episode either literally with Dean's death or you know BECAUSE NONE OF THEIR FOUND FAMILY WAS THERE. Not Jack, Not Cas, Not Eileen, Not Donna, Not Charlie, Not Jody, Not Claire... on and on we go. No one was there, nobody was even mentioned. Dean's funeral, no one even called that we know of. It was just Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean. And Bobby. Don't forget Bobby. But yeah Sam and Dean.

That's what the show is about right, the brothers.

Except it's not anymore. It hasn't been for years.

Cas not being there was deafening but it brought us to a major point. Becky. Becky's telling us about the terrible ending.

And many of us are wondering why would they literally tell us this is the worst ending and then... make it the ending.

Now before we move on, it very apparent many of you think Dabb doesn't ship Deancas. And Dabb doesn't care about the characters.

Say what you will about any plot holes in his writing, the point he is VERY GOOD at writing the characters, and giving us good ones.

Why do we know Dabb ships Deancas? (ill say when its cowrote, other wise its not) cowrote ep 8.02 - purgatory "I prayed to you, Cas, every night" "Cas, Buddy, I need you." "I have a price on my head, and I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to – to keep them away from you." 8.08 Hunteri Heroici - Cas helps them hunt! 😊❤ Dean & Cas have a serious convo about why Cas doesn't want to see/go to heaven. 8.22 Dean's mad at Cas. Sam's explanation of why Dean should be easy on Cas: "It's Cas." Dean then points out how he'd knife anybody else if they did what Cas did. 9.10 - Cas comforts Dean when Dean can't take seeing Sam (Gadreel) being tortured anymore. Also tons of Cas. 9.20 (bloodlines) - Canonical couple parallel "I was there, where were you" 9.22 The angels make Cas choose between them and killing Dean and he "gave up an entire army for one guy" 10.09 Claire's reintroduction. Cas heavy ep. DeanCas date. 10.22 THE PRISONER - u know the ep where Dean beats the shit out of Cas but loves him enough to not kill him.

We COULD keep going but I think I've made my point. If Robert Singer is the guy that is like "the show is about Sam and Dean only" Andrew Dabb is the DeanCas shipper. And you could even say a Cas stan.

Notice! How in s13 for SEVEN episodes we have a story that revolves around Dean's grief about losing Cas. Notice! How often the stories in all these seasons have a focus on their relationship. THAT is Andrew Dabb. If it weren't for him doing that, we wouldn't be able to easily say after Dean's lack of a response to Cas' confession, that Dean reciprocates.

To me, when I was (binge) watching s12 for the first time, I thought damn this is really got a lot of DeanCas. So I went to look at who was in charge, who was writing. I saw Andrew Dabb, associated him with Deancas episodes, saw all the new writers, Bobo, and then I saw that Yockey is known for same sex stories and it clicked. Dabb assembled a team to give us Destiel. THAT WAS IN SEASON 12!!!!!!!!

The amount of people saying he's homophobic flabbergast me. Open your eyes! That isn't what's going on.

Imagine making a show and trying to right all the wrongs of Supernatural. Imagine trying to write the greatest love story ever told and you have the entire season planned out for it to end off beautifully, it may possibly be your greatest achievement when it's done and then boom. someone comes in and tells you you aren't allowed to make Dean bi or make destiel endgame, after he was most probably already given the go ahead.

Sure. You could imply he's bi or into cas still in a way. Still make nice-ish ending. just give everyone what the kinda want.

Or you could scrap the last season, nothing close to a canonical bisexual Dean Winchester or Deancas endgame in site. People can be done with it be happy with the show, continue to live their lives in ignorance as to how close they were to Canon destiel.

OR you can lead everyone to the very closest you can get them to what you were aiming for and then show everyone the ugly truth and reality. Light it all on fire. Burn the show to the ground in your wake. Try your darnedest to making these people's (the people saying no) pockets suffer. Show us, the audience, what happened. Show us what this show really is.

I've seen people talk about the ending being changed during covid but I dont think that happened. I think what happened was Dabb already had this season planned out before it even started. Obviously the details were wobbly but it was all lead up to this ending. Destiel endgame, Canon Bisexual Dean, whatever it was. They were ready to write the greatest love story ever told and then someone shut it down.

Imagine the pain that must have caused them to be told no when they already said yes. They must have been so excited to give this to us.

I think someone (some producers) told him what this show is "really" about. The brothers. Can you imagine, after being told no, some kinda bullshit like this is said to you: "Why aren't you bringing it back to the brothers, Andrew? that's what the shows about. What with all this homosexual stuff, you know the audience won't like that. Not really." Imagine the original producers pushing this kind of view on you. "You know when we started it was Sam and Dean. It should end with Sam and Dean." That kinda sounds like someone huh? huh.

So why give us a nice acceptable finale, when you can take every problem Supernatural's had either up front or behind the scenes and create a finale so incredibly bad that people don't want to watch it anymore.

Someone made a good point about how Sam was originally supposed to be the main focus (this isn't to put any hate on Sam or Jared). Dean and Sam are the main characters but Sam was supposed to be the focus and for Dean to have become the focus, must have annoyed the producers because... well here we are. They wouldn't listen to Jensen. The producers liked this ending. Jensen's opinion didn't matter to them.

In some ways, if this is really what happened, it can be seen as childish from Dabb. To hurt all of us like that. Yes, he's hurting the producers, the execs, the cw. But to hurt us? Yeah it stings.

But in other ways, if this is really what happened, this is Dabb showing us the muck and gunk under the shiny surface. The hate for Misha. The hidden hate for Jensen. The underlying sexism. The underlying homophobia. The people REALLY in charge don't care about us, they just want our money. He needed to open our eyes and free us, at least free the people that he was writing for. The people he sees that care about this show.

This is the ending the powers that be wanted and its a big fuck you for a reason. I dont think this is Dabb spitting in our faces for loving this show, I think this is him trying to get revenge for us.

But from here, you can see it how u want it. If this is really what happened, I'm not in charge of your emotions, if you wanna be mad be mad if you wanna be grateful be grateful. And you don't have to believe me either I said this is speculation.

Also, as for all of the rumors like there being shots to the confession scene that we didn't see, which Jensen himself implied, I think that might have been a last ditch effort to canonized DeanCas but obviously it was cut. Like the name change was pretty clear. As for Misha possibly having shot some stuff for 20 I dont know what to tell you. If it's true I dont know where the blame would lie.

I do think however, that if all this was the case, the writers were prepared to become villians here. I mean they told us the writers were villians with Chuck right? So. Who knows what went down so they could give us such a vile ending. It could've been the producers or the writers, who truly knows. I do think tho that people we "trust" did some pretty shitty things to push the narrative in certain directions so now one would see this as the actual ending that was coming.

So again do with my SPECULATION what you will. This was in no way meant to put Dabb on a pedestal or anything. Just meant to give a bit of perspective.

(Also Jensen didn't unfollow Dabb recently he was already unfollowed for years)

#15x20 wank #spn finale wank #spn finale meta #15x20 meta #Andrew Dabb #spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #misha collins #jensen ackles #long post #sorry im on mobile #this is the longest post i have ever writen

567 notes · View notes

thisisarcanereverie · 4 years ago

Text

What it Means to be Worthy (Thor x Reader)

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

THERE IS SMUT IN HERE 18+ YOU THIRSTY SONS OF BITCHES.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it up pals) Do NOT read unless you are 18+.

Also I have never written smut before so I hope it’s ok. I honestly couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t been listening to Deity by Valeree (highly recommend listening while reading the smut. It will probably make it better.)

“Thor,” you called the God of Thunder, “Thor it’s (Y/n).”

You heard a small grunt coming from the living room as you entered through the front door. You immediately went to cover your nose from the stench that invaded your senses upon entering.

It seemed as though the whole house smelled of rotten food, sweat, and something akin to a pigs feces. It was a smell that you never quite got used to, even after 2 years of smelling it every day.

You quietly made your way through the house until you saw a sight you were quite used to seeing now.

Thor on the ground, shirtless, covered in sweat and grime. His beard was filthy from vomit and dandruff and his hair greasy and matted to his head.

There had been a time where he cared so much about his hair that he got triggered if you had tried to trim it.

After 2 years of seeing this scene before you, it failed to surprise you.

Now it just angered you.

You knew you couldn’t understand the pain he was in, he lost his entire family, half his people, and Asgard.

Sure, the people of Midgard were generous and gave your people sanctuary, a place for your people to call home once again.

But that didn’t stop you from missing Asgard’s golden palace and it’s mountains of lush green forests. How you missed running with Thor and Loki through those forests after dark to get to the highest peak you could to watch the glittering of the gold during sunrise.

You had been playmates with the Princes since infancy. You had trained and fought alongside them in battle, joined them in celebrations after each conquest, mourned the loss of Frigga with them.

You went with Thor all those years ago to retrieve Loki and joined the Avengers with him.

But now the Avengers were gone, long since disbanded before the battle of Wakanda.

You weren’t angry at him, your anger was towards the cruel fate that had befallen your precious friends. You had cared for Loki, almost as much as Thor if not equal to.

If you were honest, you weren’t in better shape. Your grief had taken hold of you as well. Your kind smile had turned cynical. Anyone who tried to get close to you often was met with your icy glare and scoff.

Thor was the only one who brought out the caring person you once were.

With a deep sigh you expertly walked around the empty booze bottles and to the grieving man before you. Thor may have gotten soft around the middle but he weighed about the same as you slumped his arms around your shoulders. Thor groaned and went pale, his eyes barely opening.

“C’mon blondie,” you softly spoke, “let’s get you washed up.”

You half dragged the god to the bathroom, he threw up halfway there but you paid no mind. You would clean that after getting him in the shower.

You didn’t bother stripping him before setting him in the tub. Without warning or mercy you pointed the shower hose directly at his face and turned the water to icy cold.

Thor yelled at the icy feeling, borderline pleading, for you to turn off the water. However, over the course of 2 years the patience you had for him had worn thin and so you continued to spray until the stench subsided a little.

Thor was fully awake and sober now, seeing your figure as clear as day tower over him in the tub with a look on your face akin to a mother scolding a misbehaving child.

Thor felt so small and powerless under your gaze and he loathed it.

“You could have stopped a while ago.”

“This needs to stop Thor.”

Your hands motioned to him, Thor once admired those hands and the strength that they had. Now he just found them annoying.

He found you annoying.

You came by everyday and pulled him out of his stupor, clean up after him a little, and try to clean him up. You treated him like a child who couldn’t take care of himself and he loathed it so.

“I am King of Asgard you do not get to tell me what to do.”

“What King would wallow himself in such a way.”

He bolted upright and stood in the tub, successfully towering over your frame, you had gone too far. You didn’t get to say such things to him.

What Thor didn’t count on was the world getting fuzzy and a little dark when he stood up, so although he towered over you he was as stable as a wind chime.

You held onto his frame to prevent him from falling flat onto his face. You felt Thor stiffen under your touch.

You knew Thor was now sensitive and insecure in areas he never was before.

It seemed like yesterday that he was admiring himself in one of Asgard’s golden mirrors, his long hair had looked like spun gold in Asgard’s sunlight and his figure was that befitting of a god.

But none of that had ever mattered to you, even when Thor became full of himself to the point of him being ill tempered and arrogant, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever give up on him.

Not that you tried to give up on him anyways.

Loki had asked you one day why you didn’t. Why didn’t you give up on the golden prince when he clearly would never feel the same way.

“I love him too much to be without him. Even if that means watching him parade himself around as a peacock and watch women fly to him like bees to honey.”

Then Thor was banished and the only reason why you didn’t follow was due to Loki’s intervening.

Then Thor met Jane Foster.

The memory of the beautiful scientist brought back bittersweet memories. You had never seen Thor so deep in love, and that made you both sad and happy.

Happy that he finally found someone who could keep him humble and who he loved just as much as you loved him.

Sad that when you often caught Thor daydreaming, that it wasn’t you he was daydreaming about.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and sat the giant on the edge of the tub while you went to gather fresh clothes for him.

You gathered a simple sweatshirt and pants for him to pull on once he was finished with his shower.

As you set the clothes beside the sink you couldn’t help but feel the gnawing feeling in the deepest parts of your heart and the nagging thoughts in your head.

You knew that Thor was hellbent on this self destructive path and you knew that there was nothing you could possibly do to prevent it.

It was either you let Thor drown himself in his despair or you let him drown you with it as well.

You had accepted long ago that Thor would never see you as anything more than what you had always been.

His playmate since infancy.

The girl who got a starry look every time he entered a room.

You had saved up money from the jobs you had worked over the past 2 years, you finally saved up enough to get away from New Asgard. Leave its people to the hands of their self pitying King and Val.

It wasn’t like they needed you or the other way around.

No one would notice your absence.

You began to pick up around Thor’s home, recycling empty liquor bottles and trashing pizza boxes and rotted food. Vacuuming the carpets and dusting here and there.

This will be the last time you do as such.

You needed to leave, staying here and wallowing in Thor’s despair and depression as much as your own wasn’t good for you. And you knew deep down you had been enabling him, every time you cleaned his house and washed and fed him you knew that he only got worse and that you were supporting him when you did this.

You needed to leave for Thor’s sake as much as your own.

You wondered how long it would take him to notice.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Thor, you doubt he would even care at this point.

The walk back to your house was only a few minutes, having moved into the house closest to his in case of emergency.

Most of your things were packed and already in your apartment in New York waiting for you. Well things of value, the rest you had sold online, it was amazing what the internet could do. By far one of the greatest inventions on Midgard in your opinion.

All that was left to do was, pack a few pieces of clothing and toiletries.

And write a goodbye letter to Thor explaining where you went and why.

You had avoided writing it, not wanting to say goodbye. Not wanting Thor to not care.

It wasn’t like you were completely leaving Thor, Valkyrie (Val as you called her) assured you that she would make sure he didn’t starve or drink himself to an early grave.

You trusted her to make good on her promise.

You leaving wasn’t even your idea in the first place, Val had tried to get you to leave a year earlier, but you were too stubborn to leave then.

You grabbed the piece of stationary and began to write.

‘Thor,

By the time you're sober enough to read this I’ll already be gone. I don’t predict that I’ll be back.

Val will be making sure you don’t starve or drink yourself into an early grave in my place.

I just can’t do this anymore Thor.

I had loved you since we were but children running around the palace gardens, I still do. However I accepted the fact that you could never see me as anything more than your old playmate and dear friend so long ago.

I had tried to be by your side in a supporting role no matter how much it had hurt me.

When you became an arrogant ass I tried my hardest to explain away your tantrums.

When you came back from banishment I listened to you swoon over Lady Jane Foster with a smile on my face even though it tore me apart.

I had stayed with you, took care of you. It took me so long to realize that I had just been enabling you this entire time.

I had been supporting your self destructive behavior and I refuse to play that part any longer. I need to leave, not just for me but for you.

You need to sort through your emotions, you need to learn how to handle yourself by yourself. You need me not holding your hand when you do that.

I need to discover for myself what it means to be worthy-’

A loud pounding at your door disrupted your train of thought as you wrote. Normally no one would bother you, not unless it had to deal with Thor.

The floorboards creaked as you made your way to your door. The pounding had not ceased until you flew the door open to reveal Thor.

His hair was still damp from his shower and the sweats you had picked out were already stained from the beer he held in one hand. His sky blue eye was hidden behind dark shades.

“(Y/n),” Thor said, “I need a thing.”

“Thor right now isn’t a good time.”

“Don’t worry Lady (Y/n) it won’t take even a second I’ll be in and out.” Thor assured, flashing you a smile that could make your legs go weak. Despite how much hurt you were in you were still no match for Thor’s charms.

“What thing do you need?”

“Just a thing I’ll know the name of it when I see it.”

You stepped aside as you let Thor in, hoping that he won’t notice the lack of furniture or the note left on the table. You decided to let him be while you went and finished packing whatever was in the bathroom. After that you went back to the living area where you had left the note only to see Thor sitting on the couch, his fingers clenching the paper tightly. He had taken his shades off, the deep dark circles stood out against his skin a tribute to how tired he truly was.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sorrow that filled his eyes. red rimmed the blue eye as fresh tears began to fall.

“You weren’t supposed to read that yet.”

“And when was I supposed to read it then?! When you were god knows where you will be!” His voice bellowed as tears continued to fall down his cheek.

“Thor please don’t yell.”

“No (Y/n)!” he cut you off, “you,” his finger pointed at you, his gaze as intense as lightning, “you don’t get to leave like this. You don’t get to leave me too.”

“Thor I don’t have a choice,” you argue, “I need to let you go. I need to find who I am without you and you need-”

“DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I NEED!”

You could hear thunder roaring in the distance outside, lightning danced around his fingers faintly. Thor had never scared you, but right now you were close to it.

“Thor,” you say calmly hoping somehow your calm tone will calm the God of Thunder, “I’m sorry for choosing the cowards way, I wanted to avoid this.”

“Did you truly think you would be able to avoid me for long.” The lightning had yet to cease but his eyes seemed to stop glowing ever so slightly.

“I didn’t think you would have noticed for at least a few days.”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t notice immediately?” He asked like it was the most incredulous question. He took a step closer to you while you took a step back. Thunder still roared outside and lightning still curled around his fingers. Thor furrowed his eyes in confusion until he finally seemed to hear the thunder storm outside and realize he had scared you.

Thor had scared you.

Immediately the pain in his chest worsened with the guilt that he had scared you. That he had so little control over his powers when he was so emotional. Slowly he closed his eyes and he took a deep breath in and out. He then felt his powers subside and the thunder had stopped.

You could see his shoulders hunch forward with shame and you instictivly placed a hand over his shoulder to comfort him. Thor was quick to envelop your hand with his. Holding onto your hand for dear life.

Your eyes then met, closer than you had ever been before.

“What thing were you looking for?” you asked softly, “you said you came over for a thing.”

“I lied,” Thor admitted softly, “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

The next thing you knew was the faint taste of beer and blueberries on your lips and strong, calloused hands making their way to your shoulders.

Thor was just as good a kisser as you imagined. Lips moving expertly over your own, moving against yours so desperately. Like a man dying of thirst.

You knew you should push him off of you, but for one second you wanted to enjoy his lips on yours. Kissing you like you had always wanted to kiss him.

You moved your lips against his, relishing every moment. Because you knew you wouldn’t be able to kiss him again.

Only when Thor's hands traveled to your waist did you break away. Albeit, you couldn’t push him further than just enough to give you some breathing space.

“Thor,’ you said, “you’re drunk you don’t want this.”

‘When will you stop telling me what I want and don’t want.” His lips moved from your lips to the corner of your mouth and slowly made their way to your neck.

“Thor I do not want this if your reasoning is impaired.”

“I appreciate the thought dear one, but I only had half a beer tonight.”

Asgardians could handle their booze well, especially Thor. For Thor to be the least bit intoxicated he would have had to drink 3 large bottles of Asgardian booze. However, when it came to Midgard it took 4 large barrows of Midgardian beer for it to have the same effect on him. Thor mostly drank it for the taste.

“Unless you would rather I stop.” Thor said, before his hands had removed themselves from your waist you stopped them.

With every ounce of passion in you, you grabbed a handful of his long hair and pressed your lips to his.

It was a mess of passionate and needy kisses and moans. Thor’s battle-worn hands had roamed over your body in a desperate need to feel you.

He was quick to rid you of your shirt, hands feeling every inch of naked skin as he could. Holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth.

You moaned as his hands found your breasts, his large hands covering them over your bra. Your hands made quick work with your bra, removing the suffocating fabric before lifting Thor’s shirt.

you felt him stiffen as you rid him of his shirt.

He wasn’t as muscular as he had been 2 years ago, however it took more than 2 years to completely diminish what his body had been. Although his stomach had softened as well as his arms. You didn’t care in the slightest, loving Thor in every shape he came in.

Your hands lovingly brushed over his torso as you began to leave open mouthed kisses down his neck, over his chest, it wasn’t until you were at the waistband on his sweatpants did he bring you back up and kissed you with fiery passion.

Thor laid you in front of the fireplace that you forgot you lit a while ago. Honestly a little surprised that the fire was still going.

You didn’t have much time to think about that as you felt Thor’s lips travel from your neck and over your breasts. Your nails scratched the floor beneath you as you felt him at the waistband of your jeans.

You felt Thor pause and you looked at him.

“Are you sure dear one?”

Your heart melted at the new nickname, as you nodded to him. However that wasn’t enough for the blonde adonis as he traveled up your body and littered your neck in open mouth kisses.

“I need to hear you say you want this dear one.”

“Please Thor,” you pleaded as he ground his hips into yours slowly, your hips meeting his as his pace slows even more successfully driving you insane.

“I need you Thor.”

“What do you need dear one?”

“I need you to finish what we started.”

With that Thor slammed his lips on yours as he rid you of your pants, underwear included. He leaned back and his eyes drank in your figure illuminated by the fire light. You were breathtaking, any one would buckle at the sight of you.

Pride swelled in Thor’s heart as this view was reserved for him only.

Just as you were about to say something you felt Thor’s beard tickle the inside of your thigh and without warning Thor dived in.

Your hands immediately flew to his hair and grabbed fists full of it, anything to tether you to reality.

As Thor worked his magic on your bundle of nerves your moans filled the empty house. Thor moaned as your grip on his hair tightened which sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. Thor lifted your legs over his shoulders and gripped your thighs firmly as his tongue worked faster.

Just as you were about to reach your blissful release you felt him pull away. Your arousal practically dripped from his lips onto his beard.

He rid himself of the last piece of clothing before capturing your lips once again. Unlike the kisses from before, this was gentle and sweet. You could taste yourself on his lips as he tenderly kissed you.

You slowly ran your hands over his chest, committing him to memory.

Thor pulled away from your lips as he entered you.

Your mouth let out a silent scream of pleasure as Thor let out a shaky breath of pleasure. Thor waited for a few seconds, relishing in the feeling of you around him before finally moving his hips against yours.

Thor was soft and slow in his thrusts, making sure to worship every part of you. His lips were everywhere, from your face to your breasts.

You met in time with his thrusts. The only sound in the room being your shaky breaths, moans of pleasure, and skin on skin. And it sounded like a chorus to you.

Thor’s thrusts became erratic and unyielding, the knot in your stomach was on the verge of bursting when Thor whispered in your ear.

“Let go dear one, I’ll catch you.”

With that the knot had become undone, leaving your body shaking from the overwhelming pleasure.

Thor had not been too far behind you before he too reached his climax.

Thor laid down beside you, still coming down from his high. You laid your head on his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around you.

This was everything you had ever wanted, to lay beside Thor with his arm beside you. Well almost everything.

As Thor began to play with the ends of your head as you replayed the past two years in your head.

“I think you may have been right.” Thor broke the silence, you lifted your head off his chest to see his gaze distant as he stared at the ceiling.

“When have I ever been anything otherwise.”

Thor’s chest rumbled in laughter as unshed tears began to fill his eyes. He refused to cry, not now.

“I agree that you need to leave dear one.” Thor’s voice cracked, “I have become a pitiful king to my people, but I have been an even worse friend to you.” his eyes left their place on the ceiling and rested on your face. “You have been faithfully by my side ever since either of us could remember. You had defended me when I didn’t deserve it and loved me when no one did. Not even myself.” His calloused hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing the tears that had escaped your eyes away. “you don’t deserve to drown in my despair with me. You deserve a life of adventure and you deserve the time to figure out who you are.” You pressed your forehead to his as tears leaked out. “I need to let you go.”

---

Thor had spent the night committing every touch and every scent to memory. He had no idea when his feelings for you grew to such lengths but he knew now that he had figured it out much too late.

He wasn’t the man you deserved by your side.

Thor waved you off at the airport and watched as the metal contraption took you away from his side for the first time since his banishment all those years ago.

He hoped that if you returned he would be a man worthy of you again.

Thor only wished he knew where to start.

#thor #thor ragnarok #thor love and thunder #thor mcu #MCU #mcu x reader #mcu thor #thor x reader #x reader #thor smut #god of thunder #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x reader smut #loki

220 notes · View notes

shoezuki · 4 years ago

Text

Tommy's prison/revival arc isnt well written actually

Anyways ive been wanting to talk on it a while for a bit here but havent had the Time or like. The thought to. But im gonna go off now.

First off im gonna say im ASSUMING this stream and plot of tommy being in the prison with dream is written entirely by tommy and dream. Wilbur May be involved in the latest stream but im not sure.

Bringing tommy back to life after only three days of him being dead did practically nothing to progress plot, the characters, or audience's understanding. In fact i feel that it damaged Other characters' potential and plot and already established plotlines.

The 'development' aspect

A really, really easy way to see if anything has changed or developed through an arc or plotline is to straightup just compare the 'beginning' to the 'end' in terms of the barebones situation. So;

Beginning: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream, his own abuser who has hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. He's terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

End: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream after being killed then revived by him, his own abuser whos hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. Hes terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

Okay. This is simplified obvious. But the point stands. ALTHOUGH the troupe of 'going back to the beginning' is common in the heroes journey its. It doesnt work here. Has tommy learned anything? Has he changed as a character? Is the severity of their situation any different? Have we, as the audience, learned anything new?

Im going to expand on that last point because i think it has the strongest potential argument. Technically for progression in literature and development of plot/characters, things can Change without them being Aware as characters. It can change just by the audience's perception changing or being challenge.

Slight example: i've been reading a webcomic called Your Throne. Its a fantasy/political drama about a noble lady who entered a competition with another noble lady to become the empress. The main lady lost despite her being a better fit, and the comic starts with the main lady trying to assassinate the empress. Its assumed and stated by the main lady that she 'ruined her life' and so thats all the readers know. However, later in the novel we see flashbacks to the competition itself and find that the two ladies were extremely close friends, neither wanting anything bad for the other, but it was the emperor himself who manipulated both of them for his own agenda. Those flashbacks gave us an entirely different idea of who the real antagonist is and completely changed the two main ladies' relationship. THAT is how the audience's understanding of the plot and novel can be used to change the entire story. We dont get such here though

Some things that were brought to light during tommy being dead/revived:

Dream is capable of reviving people infinitely

This was already implicated and assumed. The book dream has being a means of reviving people has been around Technically since schlatt's death. This just 'confirmed' what was known

Time works differently/feels longer in the afterlife

This doesnt really impact much beyond emotions and implications. If we had more insight into what the 'afterlife' is like beyond nothingness perhaps so. But really it just makes it so wilbur being dead for what feels like 9 years and tommy having been dead for 2 months appeal to emotions.

Wilbur is evil

This one fuckin sucks i cant lie HSKSHSISSGEGDV. Like i was gon go on bout it and i will but it jus sucks. We have nothing to go on besides tommy's word, no examlles of what Horrible things wilbur said could make tommy assume this, etcetc. Ill most likely make a seperate post on how this feels like we're just going to get 'wilbur is a horrible villain' type with him. But still. I feel wilbur Not Being Good isnt a new development.

Dream is going to revive wilbur

This doesnt feel new either, part because phil had wanted to revive wilbur before (ill get to that more later) and that tommy had kept dream alive/initially imprisoned him with the idea of him reviving wilbur.

Dream believes wilbur will break him out of prison

Okau this makes no sense to me actually. I cwnt understand How exactly wilbur would be able to do this? Or why dream believes he even Could? Mans been dead for like 9 years and all we Know of the afterlife is that its black... nothingness. How would 9 years of that make wilbur capable of busting the prison open?

So. Yeah. All in all this plotline hasnt done anything new, developed things, or altered people's perceptions. We just ended up back at square one. Back to tommy being traumatized, dream being 'evil' and horrible and doing villain monologues, and them being stuck together.

Other characters and plotlines

Im pretty damn sure tommy's revival fucked up a LOT of other characters' plotlines and potential development. Honestly i feel this has a lot to do with the writers not communicating with other ccs well enough. But Ill talk about specific characters from least to most fucked over in my opinion:

Sam

He's the best off. He hqd been there during tommy's death, had been close to tommy, had majorly blamed himself and his own mistakes for tommy's death. His grief and self hatred was actually really heartbreaking and well done. The attached character of Sam Nook being unaware of tommy's death and simply waiting for tommy to return was a really good parallel to sam's own grief and anger. like it really snapped sam the guy who cares for tommy and wants to do Right by him back together with him as the Warden of the prison. Mixed personal life with 'just business'.

I feel it wouldve been nice to have him like. Have more time to grieve properly and come to terms eith tommy's death and his own involvement/influence over the events. Him finding tommy alive again Could be a means of him like. Facing his own grief head on if done well.

Ranboo

Mostly in the context of him and sam's argument do i feel it got screwed over. The weight of them yelling at each other and trying to find who to blame and the implications that Maybe ranboo was the one who caused the security breach that closed down the prison on tommy just.... doesnt hit so hard anymore. Because how can there be blame and arguments and a 'who done it' mystery when tommy popped up all fine again?

Puffy

I dony know much of her involvement or how she found out tommy died (besides metagaming shhhhh) but i saw her monologuing of how they 'failed' tommy and like. Her whole 'he was so young we the Adults failed him' spiel is like........... inconsequential? Now??? Like no dont worry he died but hes alright now.

Philza

BET YOU DIDNY EXPECT TO SEE THIS FUCKER!!!!!! But actually though i want to talk bout how this ties into phil. A LOT. for Zalbr ❤. But also because i see ppl tying phil to tommy's death n like nah shutup u doin it wrong. Ill go off more in a Wilbur Post. But essentially: i dont like that dream is now going to revive wilbur. I feel they arent going to tie philza into this Despite phil having originally been trying to revive his son and studying on it and Attempting and Failing. But now suddenly dream can just. Say some magic words and Poof wilbur lives? So we're just going to Kill philza's revival attempts plotline and leave that hanging? This made his efforts seem pointless and Wack like oh why didnt you just Say The Magic Words phil????

Niki

I feel really bad for niki. She hasnt been able to do a lore stream during tommy's 'death' (she tweeted she wanted to but her computer wasnt working) and considering her entire character.... that shit is important. We seen it with Jack Manifold how tommy's death impacted Him considering he literally wanted tommy dead. And since niki is in a similar boat to jack of trying to kill tommy and it being her Only goal...... thats extremely important.

BUT. i feel there wasnt any communication. Did she or anyone even know tommy would be revived? Did no one consider they could At Least let her do a single stream on it? Like jack manifold????

We couldve gotten a Really good niki lore stream. I genuinely was so excited for it and i dont regularly watch her. But we seen it with jack manifold which is why i dont feel he got screwed because mans genuinely did So Good he could pop off with anything n i think it works in His favour. But now........ for niki. Canonically she never even knew tommy was Dead. So its like nothing even happened for her. Is she just supposed to continue on trying to kill tommy with no progression?

What i think would work

This is more me being like 'hey @ the dsmp writers let me in' type speculation sbosegussgs. But i was thinkin on a Really easy way to 'fix' this without rewriting lore and the streams.

Dream should kill tommy again now that he's been revived and Leave Him Dead.

More development for the characters who are affected by his death Especially niki. More time for grief and self reflection and development

A chance for the audience to figure out what the 'afterlife' really is.

Dream is supposed to be smart and a master manipulator or something right? Why doesnt he use being able to revive tommy as a bargaining chip with sam for his own freedom?

The audience would now Know dream's intentions with tommy better, that this death isnt 'final', but we could still see other characters' grief and reactions and coping without it feeling cheap. Ive seen some 'but people dont know tommy is alive so hes still dead in their mind' but that sucks imo.

We'd know more on dream's ability to revive people and that he can just Do It on a whim (which i think sucks but hey im trying) but no one else would know this canonically

Okay. Im done. If you read this. Thankyou. I love you. Hmu.

#mcyt #dream smp #dream smp critical #tommyinnit #dream #im puttin this in main tags took me too fuckin long to write for me Not to #death mention #ask to tag

69 notes · View notes

selfdestructivecat · 4 years ago

Text

@the-local-lunatic13

THAT’S GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!

Ok so this is gonna be a long list, since my head is only empty when it’s of greatest inconvenience.

Also please read the tags for potential triggers! Lmk if I missed any and I’ll add them right away.

Without further ado, here’s my interpretation of a Sanders Sides Pokemon AU!

* Ok so first of all, the sides are all gym leaders.

* I picture this in the Galar region, but probably with different towns and the like because I don’t remember any of them.

* Basically, just assume that all of the towns are made up, but that Dynamax still is a thing.

* Let’s start with Patton because his story is the least sad.

* His family runs a Fairy Type gym/pokemon nursery.

* Patton is the eldest in a large family, so he eventually became the new gym leader following in his father’s footsteps.

* He has two dads, one who was the gym leader and the other who is a pokemon breeder. They’re both pokemon breeders now and work in a Pokemon Center.

* They are definitely responsible for Patton’s sense of humor.

* Patton and all of his siblings are adopted, but they’re so close that they might as well be related by blood.

* Patton loves taking care of pokemon and would be a pokemon breeder full-time if he could

* But he also loves his family so he continues to run the gym to raise enough money to keep them comfortable and happy

* The Pokemon team I have come up for him is:

* - Togekiss

* - Boltund

* - Greninja (cuz frog)

* - Altaria

* - Frosmoth

* - Hatterine

* (If anyone has any better ideas for pokemon for any of the sides, feel free to throw your suggestions in the notes!)

* Moving on to Logan...

* Like Patton, he also inherited his gym, a Psychic Type gym, from his parents

* However, his family life isn’t nearly as happy...

* Ever since he was old enough to throw a pokeball, his parents have trained him rigorously to become the next gym leader

* They handpicked all of the pokemon in his team

* Except for a Lucario, which Logan caught as a Riolu when he was very young. His parents only let him keep it because of its battle prowess

* So Logan’s team is:

* - Lucario

* - Gardevoir

* - Alakazam

* - Raichu (alolan)

* - Malamar

* - Onix

* (Also this should be obvious by now but not all the pokes will match the gym’s type cuz that’s boring)

* Logan took over the gym when he was 15 and has been running it basically on his own ever since

* His parents still get the final say in all major decisions, even though they don’t really do anything

* Logan resents them, but doesn’t have the courage to stand up for himself

* ENTER PATTON

* Logan is at first pretty skeptical regarding Patton, since he doesn’t seem to take his job seriously

* After challenging Patton to a battle, however, that stance changes remarkably fast after facing a narrow defeat at the hands of Patton’s pokemon

* Even so, he tells himself that he doesn’t have time to become more than colleagues. He must be cordial with Patton so they can coordinate as gym leaders, but that’s it

* Meanwhile, Patton takes one look at this emotionally-repressed man and thinks to himself

* “Oh, this is the guy I’m gonna marry.”

* He then takes literally every opportunity to flirt with Logan

* And he is not subtle AT ALL

* Like he literally goes up to Logan one day and is like

* “I know you’re not ready for it right now, but one day I’m gonna marry you and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

* And Logan is VERY confused and VERY flustered because feelings? What is happening to my heart!? Am I getting sick!?

* (And his parents would absolutely disapprove because they are huge homophobes and want Logan to have an heir to pass on the gym to)

* But eventually Patton manages to break Logan’s walls down and they become close friends

* (And eventually more)

* Now, the twins!

* Their situation is pretty similar to Logan’s, at least to a certain point

* Their parents own a Fire Type gym, and were so excited to have a child who would eventually take over the gym

* Two things happened that they did not anticipate

1) They ended up having twins

2) The mother died during childbirth

* Driven by grief, stubbornness, and resentment, the father had the idea that, in order to make the twins as strong as possible, he would put them against each other at every opportunity

* They would constantly be competing to become better than the other, creating an extremely toxic rivalry

* It didn’t work... at least, not at first.

* When they were very young, Roman and Remus were inseparable.

* Even when their father tried to put them against each other, they would rebel against him and not listen

* (Remus had no issue with this, but Roman quietly longed for his father’s approval, even though he knew it was wrong)

* They had a dream that they would run the gym together, and they would talk long into the night about the gym they would create and the pokemon they would train

* That was, until their father started to take a different approach

* He noticed that, despite the two boys receiving the same education and training, Roman had a better affinity for battle (at least when it came to fire types)

* So he started giving Roman more praise and attention

* Roman was thrilled to finally make his father proud

* Remus, on the other hand, was tossed to the side

* Roman was reluctant to give up his father’s attention now that he had received it

* (Looking back, Roman wishes more than anything that he had given it up)

* The twins were driven apart, Roman being trained to take over the gym, and Remus being completely ignored

* One day, Remus ran away, disappearing in the middle of the night.

* Roman was devastated

* He wanted nothing more than to search for Remus, but he knew that if his brother didn’t want to be found, he could vanish off the face of the earth

* Years pass, and Roman takes over the gym

* His father passes away from illness when he was 16

* He can’t find it in himself to grieve

* Roman continues running the gym, hating how quiet the halls are and missing his brother terribly

* One day, he receives news of a new Poison Type gym being established, one heavily criticized for its unorthodox (and, some complain, absolutely disgusting) gym structure and puzzles

* For the first time in years, Roman smiles

* Their relationship is not nearly as close as it was when they were children, and they still have a lot of that competitiveness that was hammered into them, but they’re trying

* And of course, their pokemon teams!

* Roman’s team is:

* - Charizard

* - Wigglytuff

* - Aegislash

* - Milotic

* - Gallade

* - Butterfree

(Maybe he should have more fire types but I like all of these Pokémon for him and they don’t really have a common type among them and ahhhhhhhh...)

* While Remus’s team is:

* - Garbodor

* - Muk

* - Tentacruel

* - Gengar

* - Mawile

* - Venomoth

* While catching up on everything that happened while they were separated, Roman asks Remus how he managed to establish his own gym so quickly

* Remus smirks, saying that he had a little help from a certain dragon...

* WHICH IS JANUS! HE HAS A DRAGON TYPE GYM!

* And this is where we get into that sweet sweet angst

* Janus was born in a small village surrounded by mountains

* A few months before his birth, a disease spread throughout the village

* This disease would coat the skin in angry red boils and drive the infected delirious with sickness

* One day, Janus’ parents found him shivering with a fever, the left side of his face covered in boils

* Fearing for their lives should they catch the disease, they brought the child into the mountains and abandoned him in an old, dark cave

* He wailed in pain and terror until his throat was so hoarse he couldn’t cry anymore

* Dialga, the legendary dragon-type pokemon with power over time, heard his cries and took pity on the child

* Dialga reversed the effects of the illness, curing the child but leaving shimmering scales where the boils used to be

* Dialga then tasked the dragon type pokemon in the cave to look after the child, not trusting humans to ensure Janus’ well being

* A family of Dreepies, Drakloaks, and Dragapults takes a particular liking to Janus, raising him as one of their own

* Eventually, when Janus is a bit older, he goes to visit the town he was born in (supervised by his dragon family, of course)

* Only to find that the village was gone, abandoned by the few survivors of the horrible plague that spread throughout

* Janus felt no remorse

* He knew that he could only rely on himself, and that if he wanted to survive in this world, he needed to be aggressive

* The following week, he said goodbye to his family, only taking with him his best friend, one of the Dreepies in his family that was now a powerful Dragapault

* It wasn’t easy, as he had to learn the language and social etiquette of the people around him (being raised by pokemon would do that to you)

* He even had to resort to stealing in order to survive, which kept him on the run

* Until one day, he met Remus, another kid on the run

* Together, they were an absolute menace. To this day, the two of them have never lost a double battle

* Eventually, they both opened their own gyms, Remus a poison type and Janus a dragon type

* When not busy with the typical duties required of gym leaders, they’re basically inseparable

* Remus is the one person Janus trusts whole-heartedly

* I headcanon them as either really close friends or queer-platonic partners, but I’ll leave it up to you to decide their relationship!

* By the way, Janus’ team consists of:

* - Dragapult

* - Mimikyu

* - Zoroark

* - Arbok

* - Salazzle

* - Kimmo-oh

* So that leaves one side left...

* Ima be honest, I based Virgil heavily on Piers, but bear with me ok?

* Virgil grew up in a very poor town with his mother, as his dad abandoned them when he was very young

* And when I say poor, I mean that there wasn’t even a Pokemon Center

* Even so, he didn’t wish for anything. He didn’t care about traveling or becoming a great pokemon trainer. He just wanted to be with his mom

* (His anxiety made it hard to leave the house, anyway, so he was in no rush to go on some grand adventure)

* His mom had a dream to open a pokemon gym that both 1) incorporated music and 2) was more down to earth than the grand stadiums that were now the norm for gyms

* When she was pregnant with Virgil, she was more than happy to give up that dream for her family

* However, when her husband, their main source of income, abandoned them, her dream became more of a necessity

* The entire town was on her side, knowing that a gym could bring money to their town

* Their “gym” was nothing more than a small, outdoor stadium, but his mother loved it

* The few curious pokemon trainers who decided to challenge the unofficial gym absolutely loved her, and slowly she started to gain a bit of notoriety

* Virgil was terrified. He was afraid that his mom would get hurt by the powerful pokemon that constantly challenged her

* (And he missed her terribly. She still made time for him, but it wasn’t as much as before she took on the role of unofficial gym leader)

* And so, his mom brought him his very first pokemon: an Eevee that always seemed to know exactly how to calm him down

* He loved his Eevee, and he felt a little bit less alone whenever his mom had to leave for work. He was ok.

* Unfortunately, fate had cruel plans for the young boy

* His town was cast into shadow as a maddened Dynamaxed pokemon appeared a few miles away

* His mom, the strongest trainer in town, left to take it down, despite how much Virgil begged her to not go, or to take him with her

* (She had to go. The second-closest city to the dynamaxed pokemon was still very far away. Help wouldn’t come for a while. She was all her small town had.)

* (...She didn’t return)

* The entire town was in mourning, holding a huge ceremony to honor her memory.

* Virgil was inconsolable, barely speaking and refusing to leave his room for almost an entire year

* If it wasn’t for the people in the town, who cared for him as deeply as they did his mother, he probably wouldn’t have eaten.

* The unofficial gym, without a gym leader, was abandoned, and its small glimpse of fame was lost, plunging the town back into a seemingly inescapable pit of poverty and obscurity

* Until one day, a group of thugs came and terrorized the town, letting loose their pokemon and stealing everything they could get their hands on

* Virgil was terrified, but he couldn’t just stand there while people got hurt. With only his Eevee and his only experience being watching his mom in her matches, he challenged the thugs

* He didn’t stand a chance. His poor Eevee was at its knees within moments

* Virgil was distraught, hating his weakness and how he couldn’t protect the town that had become his family. He tried to fight the thugs himself, only to be knocked back by one of their Pokémon’s attacks.

* He got back up and charged again, tears in his eyes and bile rising from how scared he was

* His Eevee, terrified for its master and inspired by his bravery, began to glow...

* ...and in its place stood an Umbreon, body pulsing with newfound power

* This scene rallied the other people in the town, who banded together to drive the thugs away, Virgil and his Umbreon leading the charge

* From then on, Virgil vowed that he would become a strong Dark Type gym leader and create the gym his mother never got the chance to

* He trained hard, swallowing his fear to capture and train more pokemon for his team

* Which consists of...

* - Umbreon

* - Houndoom

* - Galvantula

* - Gothitelle

* - Corviknight

* - Noivern

* The townspeople, much like Team Yell in Pokemon Sw/Sh, would often go to other cities singing Virgil’s praise and unwittingly causing all sorts of problems

* Virgil has no idea that any of this is happening

* Eventually, word gets out again regarding this unofficial Pokemon gym, attracting the attention of the other gym leaders

* Roman is sent to investigate

* He doesn’t expect much, given the general appearance of the town (it doesn’t even have a pokemon center, after all)

* He’s even more put off when he recognizes the outfits of the trainers in the “gym” as the strange people who have been causing trouble all over Galar

* Even so, he has a job to do, so he dons a disguise and plows through all of the trainers, eager to finish the gym so he can go back home

* His desire to leave vanishes faster than a Pikachu with Agility the moment he lays eyes on Virgil

* Just like his mother wanted, Virgil’s battles take place during a rock concert, so Virgil waiting on a makeshift stage with a guitar in hand

* (Virgil feels like he’s going to explode with nerves, just like he does every time a trainer challenges his gym, but the memory of his mother gives him courage)

* As his Umbreon leaps into battle, he begins to sing

* And holy shit Roman is in love

* The small area is filled with spectators cheering and singing along to the song, and despite it being a far cry from any grand stadium Roman has ever battled in, it has more spirit than anything Roman has ever experienced

* It’s the most fun he’s had battling in years

* Virgil is a tough opponent, a testament to his years of pushing himself, but in the end Roman has more experience

* Virgil is devastated at the loss, knowing it would be a blow against the gym’s reputation, but manages to put on a smile and offers Roman a pin: their unofficial gym badge

* Roman smiles, removing his disguise to pin the badge to his clothes and Virgil is like “holy shit that’s Roman the famous fire-type gym leader oh no he’s really hot oh no what have I done I GAVE HIM A HANDMADE PIECE OF SCRAP METAL OH NO”

* And Roman, ignorant to Virgil’s crisis, is like “cmon, we gotta get the paperwork done to establish this place as an official gym!”

* When later asked, Virgil would firmly deny it, but at that moment he had literally burst into tears

* Roman still wears the badge Virgil presented to him to this day, even though Virgil has repeatedly offered him one of the higher-quality badges they now give out as an official gym

* Virgil’s gym is the only one that doesn’t have Dynamax, since he still has some trauma from his mother’s death

* Prinxiety eventually happens because I say so

* And all of the gym leaders are friends also because I say so

I might add more to this AU if people are interested! And feel free to add your own ideas! I’d love to hear what you think!

Sorry for rambling, but if you managed to get this far, thanks for reading! :D

67 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years ago

Text

Anonymous asked: I really enjoyed your book review of Sebastian Junger’s Homecoming. Perhaps enjoyment isn’t the right word because it brought home some hard truths. Your book review really helped me understand my older brother better when I think back on how he came home from the war in Afghanistan after serving with the Paras and had medals pinned up the yin yang. It was hard on everyone in the family, especially for him and his wife and young kids. He has found it hard going. Thanks for sharing your own thoughts as a combat veteran from that war. Even if you’re a toff you don’t come across as a typical Oxbridge poncey Rupert! As you’re a classicist and historian how did ancient soldiers deal with PTSD? Did the Greeks and Roman soldiers even suffer from it like our fighting boys and girls do? Is PTSD just a modern thing?

See previous post for Part 1. Part 2 of my answer here below....

But does it mean no Greek or Roman soldier ever suffered trauma or mental illness? Is there nothing we can’t learn from them? Of course not. Both the Greeks and Romans can teach us a lot about suffering.

Both cultures recognised the importance of integrating soldiers back into society that were they had tried to defend on the battlefield. And I think we can learn a lot from them in the regard.

If we are able to accept that PTSD is not a product of mechanised warfare and very likely did occur in ancient societies, then the question should be asked: how did ancient cultures deal with individuals who experienced trauma and suffering? We know that exposure to violence occurred. And we know, too, that homecoming was a common experience, in that some type of military service was a regular feature of the cursus honorum for those in the senatorial class and was an avenue for the lower classes seeking advancement. Valour in combat was respected, and it was not unusual, when in pursuit of higher office or defending oneself at trial, to display one’s scars from battle as a physical witness of character.

Inscriptions inform us that many veterans pursued successful careers upon their return, becoming leading men in their cities. We know that they feared war and respected it, we know that they used ritual to distinguish war from peace, but we do not know how these men fared emotionally and psychologically after long exposure to violence.

While many ancient cultures were able to recognise the significant changes in soldiers following a battle, the precise reasons as to what created these changes were elusive. A common explanation was that the occurrence of (what I describe as) PTSD was caused by the actions of malevolent ghosts or spirits of those who were killed in battle and now sought vengeance on their killer. While it is unlikely that a vengeful spirit explanation is correct, it does contain the insight that the sickness originated from an inward or unseeable wounding, and these invisible wounds could be just as deadly as any outward wound.

Many ancient cultures sought to deal with and create specific rituals to heal the unseeable and drive off the ghosts who caused them. The central purpose of these often culturally unique rituals was to welcome the returning soldier back into society and allow for the release of trauma. The Romans directed the Vestal Virgins to bathe returning soldiers, purging them of the corruption of war.

While the plethora of writings describing PTSD-like signs in ancient veterans indicate that these rituals did not always work, given the sheer numbers of ancient soldiers who went into battle and through these rituals, it would seem likely that for many something about them did work. However, it might not have been the welcome back into society alone that worked.

What might have been even more important, and what is often overlooked, was that the reintegration process would begin in the aftermath of the battle when the survivors began to walk home. Given that ancient soldiers sometimes fought far from their homeland, when the war was over they had to the walk home. The speed of this return was dictated by the pace of the slowest pack animals and the slow pace, while frustrating, may well have given the soldiers much needed time to reflect upon what they had experienced, grieve for comrades lost and perhaps find solace in a shared group experience. The long march back culminated in a ritual cleansing and a return to home, as mentioned above.

One of the reasons this slow decompression might have aided the efficacy of the return rituals can be seen in its complete opposite in contemporary conflict, where the advent of improved transport has made it possible to move troops quickly and efficiently. Perhaps too quickly and too efficiently. While troops might be happy to be back at home far more quickly, there might be a lost opportunity for soldiers to properly process what they have seen and experienced within a like-minded group.

I believe that we must be cautious when we map the past too neatly upon our own experiences or, conversely, our own experiences too neatly upon the past. While there are similarities and continuities, the relationship between ancient and modern must be carefully parsed. All lovers of the classical past are familiar with how the study of the Greeks and Romans awakens profound and contradictory feelings of identification and alienation. With respect to combat trauma, the shock felt by a modern soldier upon seeing a corpse for the first time would have been incomprehensible to both the Greeks and the Romans, who were surrounded by death.

Likewise, modern technology – with its distant, impersonal, and terrifyingly effective weapons, its instantaneous communication between home front and front line, and the speed of return from combat – requires an adaptability and an ability to get one’s head around big spaces and multiple actors that would never have been demanded from a Roman legionary.

My own view is that our soldiers actually face more complicated psychological factors than did the Romans – including a populace that largely avoids the realities of war while still wishing to enjoy the profits of it.

In addition, as our understanding of what causes PTSD grows we may find a paradox: distance weapons, developed to provide overwhelming military superiority and to shield troops from the fear and horror of close combat, may in fact cause more trauma, whether owing to the shockwaves they send through the brain or to the sense of helplessness they engender.

Moreover psychologists believe that modern PTSD cases are the result of the loss of ‘ontological security’ – ‘an individual’s inability to reconcile their traumatic memories with their moral codes, self-concepts, beliefs about human nature and notions of cosmic justice through which they seek to impose what anthropologists call a sense of order and meaning on the world. The psychological conflict arising from trauma ensures that the trauma lives on as ‘a source of socially and psychologically maladaptive behaviour’. But - and here’s the crux of it - the definition of what is a traumatic memory is as variable as the sufferer is individual, and this is culturally dependent even in the most homogenous societies.

Where we can learn from the Greeks and Romans is how they dealt with homecoming and using religious spirituality to balm emotional wounds.

For the Greek warrior, Classical Greek culture, like that of Rome after them, practiced polytheism, the expression of which included confirmatory and transformatory rituals. Ritual purification with water occurred in Greek funeral rites, with indication that pollution associated itself suggest that the cleansing had anything to do with establishing proper relationship to the gods, but may have had a purely “practical” force.

A more important spiritual concept to the Greek soldier than that of pollution may have been that of the necessary separation between the warrior’s life and the domestic life. In ancient and classical Greece, city walls held a religious significance as the separation between the sacred and the profane, for inside the walls are the sanctuary and security of domestic peace, while outside the walls warfare and the domestic life from which the warriors of his tale are separated, evoking pathos in the listener; the Iliad’s action describes the soldierly activities and battles of the Greeks and Trojans, while Homer’s metaphors describe the everyday activities which the Greeks have left behind and with living relatives as well as physical location.

Some Classicists believe there is little evidence to suggest that the cleansing had anything to do with establishing proper relationship to the gods, however. Furthermore, a Greek male’s citizenship was based on his membership in his city’s fighting force, his τιμή, honour, was directly related to his performance in the line of duty, and “a purely predatory attitude toward the lives and possessions of one’s enemies was an essential part of archaic and classical Greek warfare. This attitude toward battle makes it unlikely that Greek soldiers would have felt any sense of pollution either from warfare or the soldier’s association with, or proximity to, death or blood; cleansing rites were likely observed for fallen comrades and camps, but may have had a purely “practical” force.

In the Iliad, Homer makes extensive use of metaphor to juxtapose the world of warfare and the domestic life from which the warriors of his tale are separated, evoking pathos in the listener; the Iliad’s action describes the soldierly activities and battles of the Greeks and Trojans, while Homer’s metaphors describe the everyday activities which the Greeks have left behind and been separated from for ten years, such as women sewing and farmers reaping.

The soldier may accumulate honour in battle, but he is acutely aware of what he is sacrificing, even if only temporarily, to gain that honour. Homer’s Odyssey and Aeschylus’ Agamemnon are explorations of difficulties the Greek warrior faced as he attempted to return to domestic life after long absence in war. The concept of such separation may have had a sacred significance akin to the idea of the separation of domestic and non-domestic spaces established by walls; it was at least culturally significant to the Greeks of Homer’s and Aeschylus’ times.

Though Greek soldiers may not have had purification rituals to cleanse themselves after battle, Shay proposes that warriors of certain Greek societies, at least, had a form of transformatory, religiously-significant ritual which served to reintegrate them into domestic society after long separation in mandatory military service and, for most, exposure to combat. He writes, “The performances of Athenian tragic theatre - which was a theatre of combat veterans, by combat veterans, and for combat veterans - offered cultural therapy, including purification...The ancient Athenians had a distinctive therapy of purification, healing, and reintegration of returning soldiers that was undertaken as a whole political community. Sacred theatre was one of its primary means of reintegrating the returning veteran into the social sphere as “citizen.”

Shay proposes that soldiers hearing or reciting the Iliad would also have experienced a similar sacred catharsis; thus, this might have been one reason for the works’ significance in Greek culture.

What of the warrior of Imperial Rome? What of homecoming and religion? Religion was likewise both a public and private affair during Imperial Rome.

Political leaders and military officials were also religious leaders, and the people considered the emperor god-like, if not a god, within one of Rome’s many public cults. Ritual practices were integral to both state and private religion. The Romans accepted that the safety and prosperity of their communities depended upon the gods, whose favour was won and held by correct performance of the full range of cult practices inherited from the past. Bargaining rituals, in which a specific ritual action was performed or promised in return for fulfillment of prayer, as well as confirmatory and transformatory rituals, were common throughout the Roman Empire’s many public and private religious cults.

Within this cultural context, Rome allowed her soldiers to practice in accordance with individual religious beliefs, and the army took part in public religious activities. Among many other state religious rituals, Roman armies underwent ritual purification (known as lustratio exercitus, translating literally as ‘the purification of the army’), sometimes before battle, sometimes after (or sometimes both). This ritual may also have been performed on the Campus Martius (the sacred field dedicated to the Roman god of war, Mars) at the start and end of the military campaign season.

The Roman practice of leading a victorious army under a triumphal arch may also have been a ritual purification; soldiers decorated themselves and their standards for both rituals with laurel, a plant commonly used for purification in other aspects of Roman culture.

Scholars disagree as to the purpose of the purification ritual and the sacred nature of an army’s triumph. Pritchett suggests that Roman generals conducted the lustratio exercitus in order “to remove superstitious dread” from the soldiers before battle. Some scholars argue that the purification ritual was not merely to remove dread before battle, but may have included the use of laurel to “cleanse the army of its bloodshed.” In common with the Greeks, Roman soldiers were unlikely to attach any moral disapprobation to the act of killing itself, or find war immoral. But the performance of the ritual after battle and at the close of the warrior’s season indicate the Romans may have felt that some incidental, religious pollution attached itself to the army or the soldier from nearness to death or blood.

As some point out, Virgil in his imperial epic poem, The Aeneid, supports the idea that the imperial Romans saw some impurity associated with the individual’s presence in combat - Aeneas, having just taken part in battle, states that he must purify himself before approaching his household gods. Others sees the act of battle as a sacred undertaking; therefore, at the end of the campaign season, the soldiers ritually desacralised themselves and also cleansing themselves for their acts of violence in battle.

This idea further suggests a sacred distinction between the warrior and the non-warrior, as the warrior undertook a particular religious duty by fighting which the non-warrior did not. The ceremony performed at a Roman soldier’s retirement, when the emperor, or his proxy, would perform a ritual releasing the soldier from the religious oath he took upon joining the army, transitioning him back into private life, seems to suggest this as well.

These ritual purifications may also have marked the transition for the soldier from chaos back to order. Roman society placed high value on order and Rome’s citizens saw the empire as a civilizing force against the barbaric chaos of other peoples; for them, Roman conquest brought law public order, and structure to uncivilized barbarians as much as it did land and treasure to Rome.

The division between what was civilised (Rome) and was chaotic (barbarians, and thus anyone Rome was at war with) was sacred and sharp, and it was the Roman army which crossed that line to carry order to the peoples of the world. The presence of the ritual after battle and after the campaign season may mark a restorative or transitional moment in which the soldier’s association with chaos in battle against an uncivilized enemy ends and he returns to the orderly world of Roman civilisation.

While no absolute solution can be drawn from the experiences of ancient soldiers, there may be sufficient clues to warrant studying what benefits might be gained from delaying the return of groups of individuals from conflicts in a structured manner, thereby lessening the propensity for PTSD to occur. Particularly, if it were possible to enact rituals of our own - rituals which recognise and free returning soldiers from their traumas and assuage any sense of guilt and culpability - and reinforce that society values them for what they did, we may be better able to deal with PTSD.

Indeed whatever the causes or effects of PTSD suffered by returning service personnel, homecoming is crucial to integrating that person back into his/her family, community, and society. Earlier I talked about research done on British, European and American returning soldiers and the wide discrepancies between the European and the American experience of dealing with PTSD and reintegration.

I think one reason why British soldiers fared better than our American brethren is we had more effective mental health tools and mechanisms in place. I’m sure your brother as he was with the Parachute regiment would have gone through the TRiMS and TLD programme as a way for returning British soldiers to process their tour experience before being allowed back into the fold. It doesn’t work for everyone but certainly catches more in the supportive net who otherwise might have profound difficulties ‘coming home’.

For those who don’t know since 2007 the British armed services have been using the Trauma Risk Management program (TRiM) and the practice of soldiers spending time in a “third location decompression” (TLD) to help the process of homecoming as well as detect early warnings of PTSD. Both have been important tools for British soldiers to process their emotions and experiences.

The good thing about TRiM is that it’s a peer support system designed to assess trauma experienced by soldiers and encourage them to seek help if needed. TLD requires its participants to spend 36 hours in a location away from combat before returning home, often on the bases in Cyprus within the British Sovereign Territory there. Both of these mitigation measures focus on unit or regimental cohesiveness, which is has been well proven to be associated with lower levels of common mental disorders and PTSD. The aim of decompression is to ensure everyone gets a proper mental health briefing and that they are able to speak informally to each other without being judged. In the end it’s an invaluable opportunity to access the social support needed and begin the reintroduction to ‘normal life’.

Of course no system is perfect - look how sprawling the British veteran charities are for instance (Royal British Legion, Poppy Scotland, Combat Stress, Connect Assist, the Ministry of Defence, SSAFA etc) with over 2000 registered veteran charities which leads to confusion about services and support. No measure that is put in place can treat every single soldier but every little bit helps more than it hinders a soldier’s return ‘home’.

In the end to wheel back to your question, the issue of whether the Romans suffered PTSD is probably unanswerable, because the problem itself exposes many of the challenges posed by the historical study of the past. I do know that the view that the Graeco-Roman world knew PTSD is fast becoming dogma because of popular culture and trendy lefty academic fads in English departments. I find that troubling speaking as both a combat veteran and as a Classicist.

In this debate of nature versus nurture it can hardly be reasonable to conclude that a legionary would have experienced trauma in the same way as a modern day combat veteran – surely his vastly different upbringing, cultural background and combat experience would have resulted in a culturally unique variant of response to that trauma? So to state that the legionary *must* have suffered PTSD seems simplistic and poorly evidenced. Saying a Greek or Roman soldier’s exposure to close combat and the fact that war is hell wherever and whenever it is fought is not enough. Some men would undoubtedly have experienced trauma induced psychological disorder but what that response was, its nature, causes, symptoms, is simply impossible to know, given the current paucity of relevant sources.

Perhaps when we understand PTSD better we’ll have an ability to interpret that thin evidence and put it into a cultural and medical frame of reference - despite wildly different causal factors and conditioning to meet the unique stressors in each of the ancient and modern soldier’s experience of warfare - that will get us close to a definitive answer. Indeed, as we learn more about concussive brain injuries and slowly unravel the various causes of PTSD, I suspect that we may find the evidence will point to a lower frequency of PTSD in the ancient world than that experienced by our troops in the present day. Until then, to be honest, it’s a game of grim conjecture.

If your brother needs more help please DM me and we can discuss ways in which we can help him find the right fit. You already know about the paras own charity for its veterans, Support Our Paras, so nothing I can add there that you don’t already know. My one recommendation would be to reach out to ex-Para and UK SFSG (special forces operator), Dave Radband. Radders is good egg and has used social media to become an outstanding mental health advocate for ex-British veterans.

Once again my apologies for the long answer in two parts but it’s an issue that’s very close to my heart when I think of my own fortunate homecoming from war and I remember those who didn’t come home...and those still fighting the war after they come home.

Thanks for your question.

95 notes · View notes