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rizlowwritessortof · 2 years ago

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Hero Worship

From the moment you met Soldier Boy, you knew the obsession would become your life.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Word Count: 2094

Warnings: Smut. Just smut.

For mah Liz @jensensgotyoudean 💚💚💚 Dividers by @firefly-graphics

It was dangerous downtown. A battle was raging in the street, Payback out in force against some criminal element, you didn’t really know the details. There was no reason for you to be there. Well, there was no good reason.

You were there for him.

You had bought the police scanner a couple of weeks after you met him for the first time. Some big media frenzy parade, all the members of Payback shaking hands, posing for pictures, signing autographs for rabid fans. Soldier Boy had posed and strutted and smirked his way through the crowd, but when his eyes had landed on you – he had paused, one side of his sinful lips drawn up in a lecherous smile. “Well, hello there, beautiful,” he had said, his voice smooth and warm as hot buttered rum. He had taken your hand in his, brought it to his lips, and gave it a kiss that immediately brought to mind how those lush lips would feel elsewhere. “Hope I can run into you again sometime.” His eyes were dark with promises of what could happen, if that were to happen. When he left you standing there, your knees were weak and there was a steady throbbing between your thighs that took way too long to subside.

And so your obsession began. You listened to the scanner night and day, waiting to hear that Payback was on the scene anywhere you could manage to drive to within a reasonable time. After, of course, making sure you were dressed to attract the attention of the man you couldn’t get out of your mind.

Of course, he never noticed you. To be fair, he was always rather occupied beating the living shit out of the bad guys, so you watched and admired and dreamed of what you wished could be. Those nights you’d go home, desperately wanting, but forced to settle for your own touch to relieve the aching desire. It just wasn’t enough. You wanted him – his hard, muscled body against yours, his lips on your skin, his rough fingers touching you, his undoubtedly large cock buried inside you.

Obsession wasn’t a strong enough word for what you felt for him. It was pure, unbridled, desperate lust that drove you, and you wouldn’t be satisfied until – well, until you were satisfied.

The current battle was growing more heated, more violent, and you backed up against the wall of a building near an alley where you could escape if the action moved in your direction. Your eyes searched the melee, looking for what they were hungry for, your blood heating up as you watched him pummel his opponent, tossing the man out of the way like a discarded rag doll. Miraculously, his eyes scanned the area and came to rest on you for a split second, and you froze, staring back. He turned back to the fight, but a loud explosion rocked the neighborhood, and your eyes widened as the wreckage of a car came flying your direction.

Something collided with you, driving the air from your lungs, and you squeezed your eyes shut, knowing this was your last moment on earth. An ear-splitting crash sent your eyes open wide once again, a cry of terror startled from your throat, but there was no pain, no crushing weight on top of you. Instead, as the shock and panic began to subside a little, you realized that you were lying a good distance into the alley, which was now blocked by a huge pile of burning debris. You raised your head, looking directly into the green eyes you saw every night in your dreams.

“Well, I guess I finally ran into you again.”

You were lying on top of your hero, his arms still wrapped tight around you, and you wondered for a moment if you should pinch yourself. But if this was a dream, you didn’t want to wake up. “You – you saved me. Thank you.”

His large hands spanned your waist and lifted you to your feet. Your eyes followed as he stood, towering over you. “So what is a classy woman like you doing in a trashy neighborhood like this?”

You looked up at him, your adoration clear in your eyes. “You. I came for you.”

He grinned. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your cheeks grew warm and you ducked your head a little to hide your embarrassed smile. “I mean – I listen to police calls, and when I hear you’re somewhere close, I show up so I can – see you. And I always hope you’ll see me. But you never have. Until today.”

“Lucky for you, I saw you this time. Or you’d be a smear on the sidewalk out there.”

You took a step closer, looking up at him again. “And I’m very grateful.” Lifting yourself up on tiptoe, your hand on his shoulder to help you balance, you kissed his cheek.

His green-eyed stare was intense as he raised a hand to your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Exactly how grateful are you, princess?”

You let your hand trail down his chest, every nerve in your body buzzing with electricity as you moved it further, finally cupping the generous bulge beneath his uniform. “Very, very grateful.”

A soft, contemplative “Hmmmmm…” vibrated in his chest, his lips pouting as he gazed down at you, appraising. “Show me.”

Your eyes fixed on his, you lowered yourself to your knees on the dirty concrete. He stared back, his eyes almost glowing with lust as he opened his belt of his uniform and unfastened his pants, leaving the rest up to you. Your hands were shaking a little as you reached for the waist of his briefs, unveiling him, your eyes now focused on your prize. He was glorious, even better than your dreams, long and thick and pulsing slightly with his steady heartbeat.

You moistened your lips with your tongue, fingers curling around his girth to stroke him gently. He was velvety-soft and hard as steel, making your mouth water for a taste. Your eyes drifted closed as you leaned in, dragging your tongue over him from root to tip, then swirling it over the head before your took him into your mouth.

His fingers tangled in your hair, the other hand stroking your cheek as you worked to take him in deeper with each bob of your head. “If your mama could see you now, on your knees in a dirty alley with your mouth full of cock…” he crooned, and you moaned softly around him, sucking hard as you pulled back. “Oh, yeah, princess, you really are grateful.”

He kept his hand in your hair, but let you be in control until you finally got close to taking him in fully. Then he took hold of you with both hands and shoved himself in to the limit, smirking down at you as you fought the urge to gag, tears leaking from your eyes. “Good girl. Just relax,” he ordered, groaning as your throat spasmed, trying to swallow. Then he pulled himself free, letting you catch your breath and wipe your face on your sleeve before he reached for your hands to help you stand.

He brushed the hair back from your face, his eyes shining as he smiled down at you. “Took that like a champ, princess. How about I return the favor?” He moved his hands to your waist, steering you around and backwards until you were against the far wall. He slipped both hands beneath the skirt of your knit mini dress and tore your panties apart as if they were tissue, discarding the scraps behind him and going down to one knee in front of you. “Might want to hang on,” he grinned, then ducked his head underneath your skirt and grabbed one leg behind your knee to hook it over his shoulder.

Your head fell back against the wall with a solid thud as he nuzzled his face between your lower lips and began to nibble and lick with an appreciative growl. You clutched desperately at his shoulders, trying not to shout at the jolts of pleasure firing through you, almost biting through your lip to keep from screaming as he sucked at your clit, making you come so hard you couldn’t breathe for a moment. “That’s my girl,” he mumbled against you, continuing with his mouth and working two still-gloved fingers inside you, twisting and rubbing, driving you nearly mad with his unerring aim at your sweet spot.

Once you came again, he moved back and rose to his feet, his arms around you to support your limp body. “Easy, there, beautiful.” He held you until you found your legs again, even though they were still weak and wobbly. He braced his body against yours, holding you against the wall while he lowered his pants a little more, then lifted you to wrap your legs around him.

He shifted his hips and reached down to guide himself to your entrance, pushing steadily forward until you were trembling around him, filled to your limit and whimpering softly. He held you against the wall with his hips as he hooked the fingers of both hands in the scoop neck of your dress and yanked it down along with the cups of your bra. He began to move with short, hard thrusts, driving deep, his eyes on your bouncing breasts as you let out a desperate whine of his name. “Soldier Boy...”

He laughed, never losing his rhythm. “Kitten, I’m balls deep inside you – I think you can call me Ben.”

The fabric of your dress snagged against the brick behind you with each powerful thrust, your body riding a knife’s edge of pleasure on the cusp of exploding, but never quite getting there. Your head lolled forward, and he gave a sharp tug to your nipple, sending your eyes wide again. “Look at you, my little fuck-drunk princess. Come on, give it to me and I’ll fill you up, doll.” He pulled back and speared into you, tweaking your nipple again, and you came with a shattered shriek of his name.

“Ben!!” When your orgasm began to ebb, you went limp as a rag doll as he fucked into you mercilessly, chasing his own climax, the sensation of him throbbing inside you making your body react with a violent shudder, your arms dropping useless to your sides. You barely heard the sound of screeching metal, and then someone calling out as they entered the alley, your eyes unfocused as Soldier Boy’s sidekick Gunpowder came into view.

“Soldier Boy. Hey, we’re going back to headquarters, just wanted to let you know. Told Countess you were talking to reporters. Sorry to interrupt you, sir.”

“It’s okay, kid. We’re done. She’s definitely done,” he said with a smirk. He lifted you off his still half-hard cock, lowering you to stand on shaky legs as he put himself away and zipped up. He continued talking as he tugged your dress back up to cover your chest, glancing around and bending down to grab your destroyed panties. “Kid, I’ve got a job for you. I need you to take her to her car and drive her home. You can call with the address, I’ll send a car to pick you up.” Gunpowder nodded with a ‘Yes, sir’ as Soldier Boy handed you the scrap of fabric. “Here, kitten, better clean up a little.”

He watched, eyes narrowed, as you gingerly cleaned between your legs as best you could, tossing the cloth to the ground. “What’s your name, princess?” You told him, your eyes slowly moving up until they met his, a self-satisfied smile still on his face. “Kid’s gonna take you home, make sure you’re inside safe. I might stop by sometime, continue this little conversation. If you want.” You nodded, smiling back at him weakly. “Good girl.” He stepped aside and you walked on wobbly legs to where the teenage superhero waited, taking his offered arm for support and letting him escort you from the alley.

Most of your time now is spent waiting for him. You have no need to work anymore, since he pays your rent and expenses. He sends a messenger to let you know when he’s coming, sometimes with instructions for you to follow. Occasionally there’s a gift of lingerie, or a sex toy. He treats you like a princess and fucks you like a whore, always leaving you exhausted and well-satisfied.

Best job you’ve ever had.

Tags for my lovelies: @saenalife @deanscarlett @jensensgotyoudean @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @geeklibrarian @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mrswhozeewhatsis @littlegreenplasticsoldier @sleep-silent-angel @darcia22 @winchesterprincessbride @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @deanslittleangel2y5 @melanie451 @spectaculacular-sammy @bookchic20 @jodyri @selma-jean-blog @savingapplepie-eatingthings @kittenofdoomage @masked-maiden42 @lean-mean-deanwinchester @ericuhlorain @ceeceewinchester @typicalweirdbookworm @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit @youtoldalie @tanithlowisabamf-blog @deandoesthingstome @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @kreweofimp @gabavaldman @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @darkx143 @disassociativedogma @ioanashalala @jencharlan @deansthirstblog @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1 @winchestersandwordprocessors @percussiongirl2017 @bringmesomepie56 @akshi8278 @torn-and-frayed @sandlee44 @wingedcatninja @evansrogerskitten @emoryhemsworth @peaceinourtime82 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @sarcasmqueen74 @maliburenee @mrsjenniferwinchester @yeehawbitchs @emily-winchester @hobby27

#hero worship #soldier boy fic #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #smut

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ant1quarian · 8 months ago

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So, I have these funky things I like to call:

"Alignments."

I give each Sans I create or write about a certain alignment that I think works with their personality.

Different alignments to different elements give them different skills in combat.

So for any Content Creator I'm using the Dusts of, feel free to pick from the ones under the cut, or I'll just go with my thoughts and ideas on the matter!! :D

Fire

Fire is the base element, and allows those with this to have higher-than-normal body temperature. They are fully immune to fire and some can have flames erupt on their hands when they get angry.

*Plasma

Those with this Alignment are considered to be very incredibly dangerous. The level of heat they can generate is powerful enough to cut through and instantly melt any metal they come in contact with. Their body heat is constantly high, and any water they touch that isn’t nearly ice will immediately evapourate.

When mad, their hands can quite literally sizzle with heat. Sometimes the atmosphere can abruptly rise in heat, as well, to the point where it becomes suffocating.

Heat

What you get when you cross Air with Fire.

Although this may seem “weak”, it can prove to be quite bothersome mid-battle, and even do some pretty bad damage. Although they will never be able to achieve the level of power plasma has, they’re still strong.

They can melt metal with a bit of effort, and can summon blasts of sudden hot air. They can also severely fuck an Ice Alignment’s vibe with their ability to manipulate the temperature of the air around them. Sometimes they can get strong enough to wither plants.

The Heat they omit affects the SOUL directly, as well as the air temperature around them.

Magma

What you get when you cross Earth and Fire.

The ability to use and summon magma at will. Sometimes, those with Magma Alignments can, quite literally, melt into a liquid to shift places.

They are constantly heated and can often shake off any attack that comes their way for a bit– as their body can partially dissolve and then re-connect.

They don’t bleed dust and instead drip a kind of lava-like substance from their wounds, which can re-form and create obsidian around the wound that is very difficult to break.

Wind

Base Wind alignment. Those with this alignment are capable of using wind to their advantage during fights, are often very light on their feet, and thrive in windy areas.

*Storms

Storm alignments are powerful, sometimes capable of standing side-by-side with a Tide alignment and generating a hurricane instead of a storm. While very rare, it’s not that uncommon to hear of the terrible things Storm Alignments have done.

Some are capable of generating tornados, and others have a closer relation to electricity.

Often their fonts sound like rolling thunder, pounding rain, or high wind-speeds.

Gas

Those with this alignment have two moods: Fatal, or silly. This alignment has anything that classifies as a type of gas– water vapour, smoke, carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, etc. Some even have a specific hypnosis-like gas they can let out.

Sometimes those with these alignments are strong enough to turn part of their body into their specific gas, allowing them to phaze through attacks.

Their fonts often sound like whistling and hissing.

Blizzard

Those with this alignment are often very elusive and powerful. Near-silent on their feet and carry a warning. They don’t give you time to realise that they’re attacking.

Blizzard alignment’s often shed snow with their attack, are frigid to the touch, and often prefer solitude. They can walk out in a snowstorm as if it’s a bright sunny day. That, coupled with the fact they can summon Blizzards, means that if they don’t want to expend the effort to kill you themselves, they’ll often make a blizzard do the job.

Water

The base alignment. Water alignments often have an undercurrent of strong power, but like to hide beneath a facade.

They thrive in wet environments and you can often find them sitting out in the rain.

Their font can sound anywhere between a trickling stream to a waterfall to a raging torrent.

*Tides

An incredibly strong 1-up from the Water Alignment. Those with a Tide alignment have insane levels of power, but often don’t use them. They’re able to bend water to their will and when they get pissed off, you’ll often see Rogue Waves or a sudden swell/rise in tide.

Often smelling of the ocean air or ocean-related things, Tide Alignments are pretty fuckin’ hard to find. They’re super uncommon and tend to stay in hiding.

Their fonts tend to sound like crashing waves or ocean currents.

Ice

The water alignment but gone super cold. Rivaled by the Blizzard alignment. Ice Alignments have a tendency to be quite cold towards other people.

Their attacks are often frigid and can drop the temperature. When mad, their hands will often begin to shed frost which can be dangerous for other alignments that don’t work well with them.

Their fonts often sound like cracking glacier ice, or something do do with it.

Sludge

A sludge alignment can be a lot more dangerous than it sounds. While it does make you think of gross swamp mud, it can also be anything else that classifies as sludge. Oil. Tar. Mud. Quicksand.

They often have a very earthy smell, and their fonts often have some sort of slowly moving, rumbling, or sinking sort of sound to them.

Wood

The base alignment. Wood alignments often have strong ties to animals and the plantlife around them.

Those with this alignment often have quite a green thumb and are generally quite hard-working. They often have an earthy smell about them– sometimes even more like a plant smell. Like rosemary or something.

Their fonts can vary from one to the other, but it most often sounds like earth being moved, the sound of scuttling, or the sound of birds.

*Tectonic

A 1-up from Wood, Tectonic alignments are, quite literally, able to move the earth. Often in the form of powerful earthquakes. Pissing a Tectonic Alignment off is the last thing you want to do if you plan to live.

They often hold a quiet, resounding power that intimidates all who come across them. They often carry a very earth-like scent to them, and their fonts almost always consist of the sounds of rumbling earth and sometimes even cracking.

If they snarl, it’s usually punctuated by a rumble from the earth.

Gem

Considered to be a pretty alignment. Also very, very dangerous if you’re not careful.

Gem alignments are often very easy to get along with, but also tend to stand out in crowds. They’re usually quite nice, but like all things, have a very dangerous side.

Gem alignments can change which mineral their attacks are based on– so that means that they could use uranium for one of their attacks and you’d be filled with radiation as well as dead.

They often smell earthy, with a hint of something sharp. Sometimes they even smell like fruit.

Metal

Considered to be a very strong alignment, able to withstand large amounts of pressure.

Generally very neutral. There are no Gold or Silver alignments, though.

Often considered to be tanks in a battle– they can withstand a lot of force and injuries until they finally dust.

Often have a metallic scent to them– and their fonts sound like varying metals being waved, snapped, or cracked.

#Dustverse #Dustverse Things #Arian's Ideas #Undertale fandom #Dust Sans #Alignments

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hoe4brahms · 6 months ago

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Brahms curls clung to his face as he knelt on the ground, heavy pellets of rain pouring down on us as lightning flashed in the sky. The white dress I was wearing clung to my skin, and I could feel a chill beginning to seep into my bones. Brahms never turned his beautiful green eyes away from me as I knelt before him. A look of betrayal on his face as we stared at each other. I could see the thoughts racing in his mind, his mouth moving but making no sound as his hand wraps around my own. My fingers were warm from the blood coating them. I want to vomit as it continues to spill from his abdomen.

I never meant for it to go this far. Never meant to hurt him. I initially stabbed him just to slow him down. Something about him was more animalistic and predatory than any other time he chased me. I stabbed him a second time, but he just kept coming at me. All playfulness gone from earlier. So I stabbed him again and again. Finally, he dropped. He said that if i won the game, he would let me go home. Somehow, I knew this wouldn't kill Brahms, and I was glad for that because a messed-up part of me loved him so much that it hurt to do this to him. I just wanted to escape, but not at the expense of taking his life.

Brahms was an enigma to me. His determination was so strong that it left little to no room for weakness. It was because of this that he always got back up. He was good at everything he'd set out to do, always defying human nature. Despite the situation, he still looks at me with love in his eyes. His free hand moves to my face, and I close my eyes automatically and take a deep breath as his thumb traces the bow of my lips. I can feel him drinking me in, as though he was committing this moment to memory. I'm shaking now, my teeth chattering as the wind bites at my skin. The dress does little to protect me from the elements. But Brahms said I looked like an angel when I wore white, and I loved making him happy. Brahms seems unaffected and removes his cardigan, covering me with it instead.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, swallowing back a sob. He just shakes his head and removes my hand from the screwdriver sticking out of his abdomen. He just sighs and gets to work wiping my hands free of his blood. "I love you" he says quietly. I nod and lean into him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and breathing in his musky smell. Dirt and iron. "But...why?" he asks hesitantly. Covering his wound with his hand, "What did I do?". His eyes are brimmed with tears, and he looks confused. My attack had taken him by surprise after all.

Was being tired and scared reason enough? Somehow, it didn't feel like it now. I was angry, too. The games he played terrified me. It felt like he took them too far psychologically. Physically speaking, he never actually hurt me, not intentionally anyway. But psychologically speaking, he did some damage. Brahms was horrifying, and I could never tell if his game of cat and mouse in the woods would result in my death, however unintentional that may be. I didn't doubt his love for me, though, not for a single second. More often than not, he'd make love to me passionately on the ground in the woods after he caught me, the leaves catching in our hair and clothes dirtying from the damp ground. The memory hurt so bad that it felt like my heart might explode. His love was earth-shattering, and I knew I'd never have someone love me the same way he did ever again. Brahms has ruined me for anyone else.

"I don't know how else I could have won," I admit. He gives me a small smile, as though he understands, "I'm sorry, my pretty girl." he says, "For everything." I nod in response and move my hands to his face. One stroking the lengths of his scars, and the other his rough stubble. He closes the distance between us, kissing me passionately as a mixture of rain and tears run down our faces. Brahms pulls away moments later and reaches for the porcelain mask on the ground. He places it back on his face, shutting himself off emotionally from me. "Go home," he demands "before I change my mind." He gives me a gentle shove and drops his hands to his knees in submission. I kiss his mask gingerly on the lips, say one last apology, and get to my feet. I can hear the breath catch in his throat as I take the first step away from him, but all he does is fist his fingers and look at the ground "I love you" I tell him, taking another step, and another. He lifts his head to watch me go, and as I meet his gaze again, I'm tempted to turn around. I want to stay with him.

I wanted him to get off his knees and make me stay with him, to yell and beg. I was sick in the head. Sick for hurting him because I wanted to go home and sick because I wanted him to fight for us. Brahms always kept his word, so I knew for the first time ever that he'd really let me go.

But if I didn't go now, I know I'd never be given the opportunity to leave again. There was so much more to life than what the walls of the manor could offer. But as I walk away from the quiet man who spent so much time doting on me, I realise how much I love him, enough to make my heart stutter. Bittersweet memories crash through my mind like a tidal wave as his anguished cries echo through the night, not even the thunder and lightning could cover the heartbreaking sound.

Brahms never cried before, and it hurt my heart and made it hard to breathe listening to him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He's still on his knees when I look back from the beaten up jeep. His head in his hands as his shoulders shake. His once white shirt is now a deep shade of crimson, and I have to force my eyes away as I leave the man I love behind.

#brahms the boy #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016

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wonderswritings · 2 years ago

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Starless Lovers {8}

Summary: They fell from the sky. We roamed the earth. We were always meant to clash.

Warnings: The 100 Themes, Angst, Death, Blood, Unrequited Feelings, Slow Burn, Possibly more to come

Pairings: Lexa x Sister!Reader, Bellamy Blake x Fem!Reader (eventual)

War has always been brewing. With twelve clans, each with different ideals, it was always going to happen. But tensions rise when they come, the people from the sky. We watched from a distance, learning. But then they attacked, and if there's one thing all the clans can agree on,

Blood must have blood.

Starless Lovers Masterlist | Tags

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗��

“It’ll be light soon, we won’t have the darkness to hide us.”

Clarke clenched her jaw, shaking her head.

“Neither will he.”

“I feel your anger, Clarke.”

Clarke scoffed, casting a glance at Lexa.

“Do me a favor, no more lessons.”

“You need to focus. We do what we must to survive, the enemy does the same. It’s not personal.”

“It is to me.”

“You think that killing the shooter will make you feel better but it won’t. The only thing that will do that is winning this war.”

Clarke stopped, turning towards Lexa.

“That’s enough.”

Clarke turned when there was the sound of leaves crunching, aiming her gun as a figure ran past them.

“Is it him?”

“No.”

Clarke walked out from where they were calling out to figure.

“Lincoln.”

He turned, his eyes widening slightly.

“Clarke?”

Lexa walked out of the shadows, Lincoln slightly shaking his head as he made a face.

“Commander what- Octavia said you were both-”

“You’ve seen Octavia?”

“Yeah. The few that survived the explosion are being pinned down by a sniper. It’s why I’m here.”

There was a gunshot, causing Lexa to step forward.

“Come on, we need to get to the high ground.”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Emerson and Cage walked down the hall, Emerson slightly shaking his head.

“It’s been thirty minutes, so the girl is dead by now.”

“I know that Lieutenant. They’ve made their choice. Go in strong, take them alive if you can, but take them.”

“Copy that.”

“Deploying flashbangs.”

They dropped the flashbangs into the opening, stepping back.

“Fire in the hole.”

The flashbangs went off, the guards with the riot shields stepping forward, pushing past the barrier.

“Go! Go! Go!” Emerson walked in behind them, looking around as the smoke cleared.

“Mr. President?”

Cage walked in, looking around the room before he turned back towards Emerson. “Find them.”

“Yes sir. Let’s go!”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Lincoln led the way, Clarke following behind him. Lexa stopped, turning. She could see the black smoke, watching as it spread, clenching her jaw before she turned, following after Clarke and Lincoln. The first gunshot rang out, causing them to duck behind a boulder.

“So much for the element of surprise.”

“I’ll draw his fire.”

“No. I will.”

Clarke stood, firing in the direction of the sniper. Lexa and Lincoln shared a look, nodding before Lincoln turned, running. Whitman held his rifle up in front of him, looking around when Lincoln jumped down, swinging his sword at him. Whitman dropped his rifle as they both fought, Lincoln gaining the upper hand as he straddled Whitman's stomach, unsheathing his knife. He lifted it above him, about to stab him when Whitman grabbed the reaper stick, pressing the button, causing Lincoln to groan as he dropped the knife, falling to the side as he grabbed his head. Whitman dropped the stick as he grabbed Lincoln’s knife, grabbing Lincoln as he placed the knife at his throat. Clarke lifted her gun, walking towards them.

“Drop the weapon.”

Lexa stepped forward, her eyes widening slightly.

“Just let him kill me, then take him out. Clarke, please! Your people need you.”

“You are my people.”

She pulled the trigger, Lincoln wincing as he was hit, Whitman letting him go as he gasped. Lincoln grabbed his shoulder, falling to his knees as Whitman fell to the ground, dead. Lincoln looked down at his hand, seeing the blood on his fingers before he looked over at Clarke, grinning slightly.

“Good shot.”

Lexa walked forward as Clarke lowered her gun.

“Did that make you feel better?”

“No.”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Octavia and the other second dropped the rope when the horn sounded again, looking around.

“Look! Sky people!”

Octavia walked forward, grinning slightly when she saw Sinclair.

“We saw the missile, heard the blast, figured you could use some help.”

“Just in time. Thank you.”

Everyone walked towards the opening, Octavia taking a few deep breaths as she looked around.

“Alright, I need everybody on that rope!”

They pulled the rope, Octavia jumping down into the small opening.

“We’ve got two survivors. Abby! Kane! We’ll get you out of here.”

Kane was led out on a stretcher, Octavia placing a blanket over him when she looked up, seeing Lincoln. She ran to him, wrapping her arms around him before she leaned back, kissing him.

“You did it.”

“I had a little help.”

Clarke and Lexa appeared at the top, Clarke looking over at Abby and Jackson.

“Kane needs blood, right now.”

“Slowdown, you’re bleedinging. You need help too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Heda! Heda! Heda!”

“What happened here will not stand. The Mountain will fall, the dead will be avenged!”

The grounders all cheered, lifting their weapons causing Abby to scoff.

“Enough, that’s enough! There are still others in the wreckage. We heard them. Go to work!”

“With our two people working together, we’re gonna win this war, Clarke.”

Nyko helped Indra stand, shaking his head.

“You’re not ready.”

“I will not miss this fight.”

Octavia and Lincoln walked towards Indra as Nyko walked off, Indra looking down at Octavia.

“You have done well, Octavia of the Skypeople. Today, you saved lives, tomorrow you will take them. Now get my gear, we leave with the commander.”

Lincoln glanced at Indra before he went to turn, Indra stopping him.

“Wait.”

He looked back at her, Indra holding her hand out towards him. Lincoln took it, Indra pulling him to her, hugging him. Clarke stopped next to Octavia, looking over at Indra and Lincoln.

“I thought you were dead, I’m glad you're not.”

Clarke nodded, looking over at Octavia.

“You too.”

Octavia walked towards Indra, helping her put her gear on as Clarke walked towards Abby.

“How’s Kane?”

“He’ll live. We could really use your help.”

“I can’t, we’re leaving. I’ve arranged for a caravan to take you and the wounded back to Camp Jaha.”

“Clarke-”

“The sniper wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit.”

“The marrow treatment works.”

“They’re gonna kill all my friends.”

“Then you better hurry.”

Clarke went to walk off when Abby grabbed her arm, turning her back towards her.

“I need you to do something for me, don’t forget that we’re the good guys.”

Lexa walked past them, nodding.

“It’s time.”

Abby placed her hand on Clarke’s cheek, smiling.

“May we meet again.”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

They walked through the woods, leaving the destruction behind them. Indra made her way to Lexa, Lexa casting a glance at her.

“My sister-”

“Never showed, Heda. Esmeray left before we did but we did not see her or her guards on our way.”

“So she’s missing.”

Indra took a deep breath, nodding slowly.

“It would appear so, yes. We won’t know for sure until we’ve made camp and we do a headcount.”

Lexa nodded, tightening her grip on the handle of her sword.

“Do a headcount, but do not raise suspicion that she is missing. If anyone asks, she is out scouting.”

Indra nodded as she glanced over at Lexa, taking a deep breath.

“And if she is missing, then what will you do?”

Lexa clenched her jaw, huffing slightly.

“We are at war, Indra.”

“Yes, and she is your sister.”

“My strisis made a swega klin. And she has always kept them. I do not doubt her now, so you shouldn’t either.” (sister, promise)

Indra nodded, falling out of step with Lexa.

“Sha, Heda.” (yes commander)

Starless Lovers Tags:

@kloy344

@bxnnywatts

Everything Tags:

@jedi-dreea

@sammysgirl1997

@scarlett-witchhh

@cevans-winchester

@rafecameronswhore

@jennmurawski13-writes

The 100 Tags:

@3leni

@topazy

@vxidnik

@kloy344 @lexajaye

@dani5216 @kelseyd07

@bxnnywatts @thebookisbtr

@mariaenchanted

@rafecameronswhore

@multi-fandom-lover7667

Lexa Tags:

@kloy344

@wonielover @rafecameronswhore

Bellamy Blake Tags:

@topazy

@vxidnik

@hftff-lol

@lexajaye

@dani5216

@im-sidney

@kelseyd07

@wonielover

@bxnnywatts

@daisy-the-quake

@mariaenchanted

@rafecameronswhore

@multi-fandom-lover7667

#starless lovers #the 100 x reader #bellamy blake x reader #lexa x reader #bellamy x reader #lexa kom trikru x reader

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m1d-45 · 2 years ago

Note

Ooh! Imagine also if the Creator has some elemental abilities and it’s reacting to their fear by lashing out or is otherwise trying to protect them.

- cryo anon

cryo anon my dearly beloved you are going to KILL ME-

creator curled up, hyperventilating, bleeding out, the wind whipping around them and at those that reach for them. someone like thoma could try and use his shield but the pyro would simply move to them, their body accepting the elemental energy. maybe the person realizes they need to ‘feed’ elemental energy for you to live, since they can’t assist you like they normally could.

so they grit their teeth. baizhu mentally readying himself for the strain it’ll take on his body, kuki anticipating how the naku weed will eventually start to sting her hands, noelle preparing for any shards of geo. catalyst users have it a bit easier, but even they tire, and they have to be careful that they don’t hurt you, instead summoning the elemental energy and carefully controlling it so it moves towards you but doesn’t injure.

it takes a lot to heal a god, let alone the creator themself. you draw in dendro from the grass and anemo from the air, digging your fingers into the earth to try and pull on either geo or ley lines, whichever answers quicker. still, it takes an impossible amount of energy from them to staunch the bleeding, nevermind closing the wounds. they’re only mortal, and tire too. maybe they’re not a healer, maybe it takes focus to direct their skills around and not at you, maybe they’re young or naturally fragile. but whatever the case, they tire.

thoma looks at the distance to the kamisato estate, wondering if he can direct his lord and lady over here before he passes out. mona hopes an adventurer crosses this way- or better yet, the outrider of the knights. ganyu worries if she should call xiao or if he’d simply kill you, undoing all of her work.

their hands shake, either covered in frost or vines or ash or cracked and dry, either their clothes crackle with static or they’re riddled with dust made of sharp crystals, or perhaps cramping from dehydration.

but your eyes open. but your shield falls, but you’re strong enough to crawl to them, cupping their face in worry.

but you’re alive.

#m1d : [chats]#m1d : [secrets]#cryo anon #god this is such a cool idea

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fouralignments · 2 years ago

Text

Peter walked slowly. SSSSssloooooooooooly.

Students blurred as they rushed into their next period: Physical ed, language: ASL, Spanish, or Germen; Pre-Cal, Physics, Environmental science or the many other classes offered at the gifted youngster place.

Why did his feet feel so heavy? No...his whole body curled inward as if hooked chains pulled him toward the Earth as there was no way he could escape this gravity well.

Peter's hand hovered on the nob.

You can come in, my darling.

Charles spoke with such ease and grace, his voice carried with it the breath of the sun and filled his soul with the rays of the sun. It was just enough to carry Peter into his office, drew him closer to Charles a welcoming hug.

Collapsed onto Charles's legs. "Its alright, its alright, just let it all out..." Peter didn't need to tell Charles anything; he already knew as he combed back the Mithril sliver hair feeling strands flow through the weaves of his fingers catching on the whirls of curls not blown out in his high speeds; strong as Erik's protection and light as the winds that flew behind him.

Peter sobbed and sobbed, wet gasping shook the young mutant to his soul, he let it all out for Charles to bare. A different of songs from the heart.

Erik's Chelsea boots knocked on the hardwood of the halls, cracked open the door to Charles's office. Erik just knew theses things. Maybe it was parental instincts. He wouldn't lose another. But, a feeling came over him as if he was struck by javelin and clinched his heart Something was the matter. Something was the matter, with his sohn.

A companionship. a togetherness. A closeness. That was the gift of his mutation. Peter's thoughts fluttering about as much as he processed thoughts and pieced them together or even needing to talk to him about an emotion he couldn't identify.

It didn't make him lesser. He was himself. Charles wouldn't change a thing about him. He learned. He accommodated. He became used to Peter and with his telepathy, and it became stronger for it. The horror that would be force him to change his thoughts or anything of his innate being would be horrifying.

Erik's little hummingbird, always hungry, always moving, always having such tenacity and endurance, but always so loving. A masterpiece in movement...sometimes he just needed to be reminded of that.

Sometimes Charles didn't have to say a word and just allowed the tears to fall; he just needed to be there for Peter. Listening was a powerful act. Charles validated those feelings that were coming off him in waves, "You have every right to be angry. I'm sorry that you had to go through this...I expect better---this behavior will not be tolerated. This is my failure," Brought over a box of tissues. Peter gave a loud blow into tissue. Sniffled a bit. The telepath plucked out another and handed it over for Peter to dry his eyes.

"Professor Dad as much as you have the power to mass hypnosis, you did disarm the world's entire nuclear arsenal And take anyone's free will if so chose. You're not that type of mutant. Your a lavender English cupcake that brings out the best in people. You domesticated my Dadneto."

Charles giggled that was certainly a way to describe him.

"I will speak with her." Shaking his head in disappointment at her behavior. She knew better, and he expected better from her It bamboozled on her lack of awareness, she acted as if she was the only mutant in the world, that she was the only who struggled with her mutation; acted like she was the center of the universe. It wouldn't be as bad if she put forth the effort to controlling her own self. She was an unstable element on the X-Men; she was going to others hurt or at worst killed. Benching her was the best possible move.

"How about a cuppa?" Charles asked as he rolled over behind his desk to prepare cup of tea, getting out milk from the mini fridge he kept in his office a drawer filled tea flavors. It was Erik's own blend, with all the ingredients found in their garden and dried by them: chamomile, lavender blossoms, roses, sweet orange peel, calendula petals; made especially for Peter to help calm and slow down. The tea itself was floral and subtle sweet with citrus notes. Poured the milk into the electric kettle to let it steam.

Peter took sit on the sofa, wrapping himself with a blue and gray quilt, quickly pilling a mountain worth of snotty used tissues noticed Charles and Erik's game of chess.

"I have jaffa cakes, malted milk, custard cream, digestive and shortbread."

Snappy response: "Shortbread please!" Zoomed back and over to his spot with a cookie jar filled his most favorite treat in the office munched on the buttery richness. Shortbread always warmed his heart as it came from Charles's heart when he made it; his heart received that love that went into making them.

"Darling---" Peter shot him look, "My other darling. You can come in, Erik no need to distress yourself by eavesdropping," The indescribable emotions, Erik cared for his son so much, Charles found so breathtaking that beneath that exterior he was a man of deep emotion and love for his family. Tears eyes curled up, held back. Charles knew that tears were not easily shed for him as he came in and placed a kissed on Charles's forehead.

"Can I watch your match?" Uncertain, "I-I-I just find it relaxing."

In near synergized, Charles and Erik both said: "Of course!"

Erik sat next to his sohn and wrapped an arm around him as Charles took his place across from Erik as they began their game. Peter sat his head on Erik's shoulder and smiled at both his Dads.

@iamhereonlytobeanunstableshipper

@cat-soul-in-human-body

#stepdad charles #Dadneto #Quickson #Charles Xavier #Erik lenhsherr #peter maximoff #4align writes a one shot

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cilil · 2 years ago

Text

~A Broken Wing~

"I can heal myself. Please don't worry so much about me," Manwë attempted to reassure him, wrapping his good wing around himself while his eyelids fluttered close.

"I simply need to... rest a little, I think..."

"I will watch over you," Ulmo promised, took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

Pairings: Ulmo/Manwë (mostly platonic, possibly unrequited crush), Manwë/Varda Synopsis: Manwë tries to stop Melkor from destroying the Valar's works, but it doesn't go well. Ulmo picks up the pieces. Featuring: Fluff, hurt & comfort, non-graphic violence, Ulmo having a crush on Manwë

Also available on AO3

The foundations of Arda were shaking. Ulmo could feel shockwaves rippling through his waters and knew his brethren were fighting once again. Only the Valar themselves could cause such cataclysmic events; or rather, only one particular Vala.

Melkor.

Fearing for the safety of Arda as well as his brethren, Ulmo followed the disturbance within his element until he found himself on a beach near one of Aulë's mountain ranges, and emerged from the water in a tall humanoid shape, ready to come to his fellow Valar's aid. Melkor was nowhere to be seen, though the echo of his mighty song still reverberated within the area, causing the earth to shake and rocks to fall.

In the midst of the destruction left behind by his rage lay a blue and white figure, half covered by dust and snow. Ulmo felt himself being overcome with worry, already sensing the familiar presence of Manwë, though his song was faint and disjointed. Within a split second, he rushed to his side and gathered his friend's injured, almost broken fána in his arms as carefully as he could.

"Manwë," he whispered, brushing a stray strand of white hair away from his face.

"What happened to you?"

Manwë slowly opened his eyes as he noticed that he was being picked up. It seemed to take a moment until he realized where he was and regained enough consciousness to speak. Whatever Melkor had done to him, it had done more damage than Ulmo had ever thought possible and his brow creased with worry.

"I..."

Visibly disoriented, Manwë blinked a couple of times.

"Save your strength. I will bring you somewhere safe," Ulmo mumbled, holding him close to his chest.

Letting his instincts guide him, he retreated back towards the sea and followed the shoreline away from the echo of Melkor's voice, hoping they wouldn't be noticed. If the fallen Vala chose to pursue them, Ulmo would do everything in his power to defend Manwë, yet he knew he was no match for the mightiest of the Valar when it came down to it.

"Melkor said he would destroy all of Aulë's mountains and I tried to stop him," Manwë quietly spoke up again, averting his gaze in shame.

"I was... unable to."

"It is not your fault," Ulmo said emphatically and placed him on a nearby patch of grass as gently as he could.

It pained him to see his friend being hurt. One of Manwë's wings was bent at an odd angle and it seemed like he had trouble moving it, the rest of his fána not faring much better. His hair was tousled and his robes were torn and stained with dirt. If Ulmo had to guess, Manwë had either fallen from a great height or had been thrown against a mountain by force. Anger coursed through his veins; if only he was strong enough to repay Melkor in kind, if only he had been there earlier to keep this from happening.

"You need to repair your fána, Manwë. Or discard it," Ulmo urged softly, forcing himself to remain calm, and reached out with his hand to clean dust and mud off his skin.

If the Lord of Winds was incarnate like the Children to come or like Yavanna's kelvar, he would be bleeding all over his hands and the grass around them, Ulmo knew, yet he suppressed the thought as soon as it came. He didn't want to imagine Manwë like that.

A Vala cannot be slain. He will recover. He will be fine, he kept telling himself like a mantra.

"I can heal myself. Please don't worry so much about me," Manwë attempted to reassure him, wrapping his good wing around himself while his eyelids fluttered close.

"I simply need to... rest a little, I think..."

"I will watch over you," Ulmo promised, took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

"And if Melkor comes back, I will–"

"Don't harbor such thoughts, Ulmo. I don't want to see you getting hurt," Manwë said, gingerly closing his fingers around his.

"If you stay with me for a while, that will be more than enough."

"As you wish."

His fëa warm with fondness, Ulmo leaned down to place a small kiss on his brow.

"Rest now, my lord."

Neither of them knew how long they stayed like this. Ulmo kept holding on to Manwë's hand and hummed a quiet lullaby for him, hoping to ease the pain and soothe him with the song of his beloved sea. His friend appeared to doze off after a while, exhausted from fighting against his mighty brother, and entered a trance-like state. “Sleep”, as Irmo and Estë called it. A strange concept for most of the Ainur, most of them laboring ceaselessly to shape Arda for the Coming of the Children, yet it seemed as though even the mightiest spirits needed to rest at times.

Lost in his thoughts as he beheld Manwë's sleeping form, Ulmo didn't notice Varda approaching them until her fána materialized in front of him, bright and luminous as always. He had half a mind to lift his arms to shield himself and his friend from the brilliant radiance of her light, but kept himself from doing so. It would be rather rude of him, he supposed.

"There he is," Varda said in lieu of a greeting, looking down at Manwë. The light of her fëa was dimming with worry and Ulmo immediately felt guilty for carrying him away on his own without letting any of his fellow Valar know. With Manwë's song nearly quiet for the moment and the chaos Melkor left behind, Varda must have lost track of his presence.

"I came here when I heard the two arguing, but by the time I found Melkor Manwë was nowhere to be seen and he wouldn't tell me what he did," she informed the Lord of Waters and knelt down next to her sleeping husband.

"So did I. I found him injured on the slopes of Aulë's mountains and brought him to a safer place," Ulmo explained, feeling like he needed to justify himself even though Varda didn't seem angry at all.

"It seems that was for the better," she said with a nod of approval. "Thank you, Ulmo. I will take him back home now."

He didn't want to leave Manwë's side, to stop holding him and to let someone else take care of him, yet he forced himself to let go of his hand and start making his way towards the ocean once again, away from his dearest friend. Varda was his spouse and the Queen of the Valar, reminded himself, so he would have to respect her position and her authority even if it sometimes pained him not to be near Manwë like she was.

"Melkor might still be lurking somewhere. Take care," Ulmo warned.

"You need not worry. I will be prepared," Varda said.

"Very well."

Despite telling himself that she probably didn't mean to, her reply sounded condescending to Ulmo. He hid his displeasure by letting his fána dissolve back into the sea, turning around just one more time before diving back into its depths. Varda was gently coaxing Manwë out of his slumber, engulfing his slowly healing fána in starlight as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

Ulmo felt his friend's fëa reaching for his, confused that he was gone, but he didn't answer, submerging himself as well as his song within his element. It was probably better for him to leave and not interrupt their moment. He had already done everything he was supposed and permitted to do. It was probably sinful of him to wish that he was in Varda's place right now, but he couldn't help himself at times.

I will visit him in a few days to make sure he is well, Ulmo decided, though he knew already that one of Eä's most powerful spirits, assisted by the greatest healers among the Ainur, would be fine. Surely no one could begrudge him visiting his closest friend in this world after such an occurrence, not that Varda or any other Valar had ever tried to keep him away from Manwë.

Until then, all he could do was weave his song into Arda's waters in hopes of protecting him as well as all the other Ainur who lived on Almaren.

#manwe #manwë #ulmo #manwe x ulmo #manwe sulimo #manwe is a cute birb #varda #manwe x varda #varda elentari #cílil writes #my writing #ainur fluff #ainur #valar #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #tolkien fanfiction #tolkien

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horseshoehate · 1 year ago

Text

a/n: Here is part 4 of my Phish/Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings fan fiction

sorry it took so long to release! hope you enjoy!

================================================

The festival was underway and Gandalf watched from the sidelines, his hands steady, but his mind beset with worry. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew it would not be easy.

As the sun began to set and the sky took on a blood orange color, its violent hue seeping into every crevice of the river's valley, Phish finally took the stage, and with them was heard thunderous applause.

The band members took to their instruments and stepped up to their usual positions, pausing for a moment to look out at the massive crowd of elves, dwarves, men, and hobbits. Then the first notes of "Buried Alive" rang out and Phish began their frantic driving melody.

Gandalf knew in his heart that this could mean only one thing: this was another part of Sauron's plan to turn the hearts of every being in Middle Earth. He knew that he must act before Evil Trey used his jams to corrupt the crowd, though he also knew that he must wait for the most pivotal moment of the show in order to undo all of the damage that may have been done to the crowd thus far.

================================================

Flashing his VIP pass, Gandalf was able to make it all the way to the side stage, where a bewictched guitar tech handed him Trey's trusty Blonde No. 1, the original Mar Mar.

As the second set opener, Cities, ended, Gandalf stepped out onto the stage. Seeing him approach, Mike quickly realized what was happening and announced to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to our friend Gandalf the Grey. He's gonna play a few tunes with us tonight!"

Evil Trey looked furiously at Mike, but allowed it to continue. He knew what Gandalf was up to, but knew that he was a powerful enough guitarist to rebuff any attempts to undo the awesome evil magic that had been bestowed to him by Voldemort and refined by Sauron.

Gandalf smiled to the crowd and took his place between Trey and Mike. Gandalf, known for his mastery of the lute, was only slightly out of his element on this Languedoc.

The band then slipped into an uptempo Tweezer, with Evil Trey and Gandalf take turns keeping the Tweezer main theme, each biding their time.

As the band steered into the jam section, Evil Trey and Gandalf turned to face each other, the other members giving them space as the two begin dueling.

The audience is stunned as the two guitarists trade lick after lick, their fingers moving faster than the eye can see. Gandalf played with a fiery passion, his notes piercing the air like bolts of lightning. Evil Trey responded with a cold, calculated precision, his playing as sharp and deadly as a sword.

The music was unlike anything the crowd had ever heard before. It was powerful and magical, and, for a moment, it seemed to be working. Evil Trey's eyes began to clear, and he stumbled back, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. As he played, the power of music coursed through the air, fueling the forces of good and weakening the grip of evil upon Evil Trey's mind.

But the forces of Sauron were strong and not to be underestimated. Fueled by hatred and armed with Evil Mar Mar, it now seemed as though Evil Trey has the upper hand. His playing was so powerful that it threatened to overwhelm Gandalf, and it was all the wizard could do to keep up. But Gandalf was not one to give up easily, and he redoubled his efforts, pouring his heart and soul into the music.

The crowd was on the edge of their seats as the guitar duel reached its climax. Gandalf and Evil Trey played faster and faster, their fingers a blur as they raced up and down the fretboards. Finally, with a mighty flourish, Gandalf played a thunderous chord that shattered the curse that had been holding Evil Trey in its grip, ending the song in the same motion, shouting "Begone foul spirits, you shall not enter this mortal's mind again!"

Evil Trey stumbled back, falling to the ground. He went completely limp. As the rest of the band ran towards him, he lifted head in a daze, waking up fully from his trance for the first time in a long time.

"Welcome back, my friend." Gandalf said warmly as Page helped Trey to his feet. Fishman helped him backstage, where Elrond produced a magical revilatizing exiler and gave it to Trey.

================================================

30,000 Phish fans stood in utter silence for what felt like years as they waited for their favorite band to come back out. Finally, they saw Trey slowly amble out, pale but smiling at them. He gave a quick wave and picked up his guitar, though opting for the original Mar Mar this time.

As the other members got into place (Gandalf choosing to stand off stage and watch), Trey moved to the microphone and took a deep breath, surveying the eager crowd. He then began singing a moving version The Squirming Coil.

================================================

After the band finished playing, Trey retired to the House of Elrond to seek Elvish medicine. The rest of the band would stay behind with him while he rested for a few weeks.

Approaching the Evil Mar Mar, which had been left lying on the ground next to Trey's rig, Gandalf reached down to pick it up. As he did, a horrid vision took his mind and he saw flashes of the wicked Eye of Sauron. He knew it best not to touch the instrument directly and wrapped it in cloth before carrying it to be inspected by Elrond.

================================================

Looking it over with an apprehensive eye, Elrond concluded his inspection by saying, "Yes, there is dark, powerful magic within this, indeed."

"What are we to do with it? No mortal can wield it, it would corrupt the heart and mind of any who dared try." Gandalf asked worriedly.

"In the fires of Mt. Doom it was crafted and only there can it be uncrafted." Elrond said.

"How can that be?" Asked an elf, "It is but a wooden instrument. It is of the forest!"

"It was made with the expertise of a dark craftsman that even I know not the true making of this instrument. It was embued with such mythic evil, that using any tools that we here possess would never work. Only in the fiery chasm of Mt. Doom can this otherworldly magic be unmade." Elrond said with displeasure. "Though wood it may be, there is powerful magic at hand to protect this instrument."

Gandalf nodded, understanding the weight of the situation. "Then it must be taken to Mount Doom. But who among us can bear this burden?"

A hush fell over the room as the band members and the fellowship exchanged glances. It was clear that this task required someone with strength, resilience, and a deep connection to the music. The presence of the Evil Mar Mar was not to be taken lightly.

Finally, Trey stepped forward, his eyes filled with determination. "I will take the instrument to Mordor," he said, his voice steady, "Though I do not know the way. I have been through the depths of darkness and emerged stronger. I have felt the power of this instrument and I know what it can do. It is my responsibility to see it destroyed."

The fellowship exchanged solemn nods, recognizing the sacrifice Trey was making. Just as they were about to bid Trey farewell on his perilous quest, a voice broke the silence. It was Mike, the band's bassist, stepping forward with unwavering determination.

"Trey, my oldest friend, you shall not bear this burden alone," Mike declared. "We have traveled this musical journey together, and I cannot stand idly by while you face such darkness. I offer what I can to you on this quest, myself and my bass."

Trey's eyes welled with gratitude as he nodded. "Thank you, Mike. Your funky grooves and unwavering spirit give me strength."

Not to be outdone, Page, the band's keyboardist, stepped forward next, his fingers itching to weave smooth melodies into the very fabric of the quest. "Trey, Mike, I can't let you embark on this dangerous journey without me. Together, our harmonies will carry us through the darkest of times. I offer you my keys."

With a smile, Trey embraced Page. "Page, your musical prowess and ability to light up any stage with your melodies will be invaluable."

Just then, Fishman, the band's drummer, took a step forward, his drumsticks twirling in his hands. "If you think I'm going to miss out on an adventure like this, you're mistaken," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Besides, someone has to keep the rhythm of this journey alive."

Trey chuckled and clapped Fishman on the back. "Fish, your beats are the heartbeat of our band. I wouldn't embark on this quest without your infectious energy and impeccable timing."

Gandalf, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and pride, beheld the band members stepping forward, one by one, offering themselves for the daunting task at hand. In their unwavering commitment and the unbreakable bond that bound them together, he glimpsed the true essence of Phish's power. "Truly," Gandalf mused softly, his voice carrying the weight of profound realization, "the might of Phish lies not solely within their captivating music, but within the unspoken harmony that resonates between their souls."

And thus, the Fellowship of the Mar Mar was formed.

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manmetaphysical · 27 days ago

Text

7: Scorpio Mavericks and Poets

It should be evident by now that Scorpio is a sign that has penetrating insight and they may make good pyschologists, forensic scientists, criminal invesigtators and surgeons. Mars, the ancient ruler of Scorpio, is the knife cutting into the skin.

One of the great mavericks of history, a self-taught Renaissance man was Paracelsus (10/11/1493). His name is shortened from Philipus Aureolis Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim. His contribution to medicine was groundbreaking and not fully understood at the time. He researched deeply and observed what he saw and became known for it- Mercury conjunct Pluto in Scorpio in the 10th house of reputation. He was even known as the 'Martin Luther of Medicine'. He was not only a scientist, but also a scholar, doctor, astrologer, magician, healer and alchemist and he loved shaking things up- he has a few planets in Sagittarius so could be a firebrand as well.

Paracelsus made many enemies as he didn't care what people thought of him. Though born a Catholic, he was was ultra anti Catholic and took every opportunity to challenge the power of Rome. He debunked the practice of blood letting as a cure and the notion of the Four Humours (Blood, Phelgm, Yellow Bile and Black Bile) as established by Galen, whose book he burned, preferring to say that the body was controlled by chemicals- Salt, Sulphur and Mercury, hinting at today's understanding of hormones and neuropeptides. He did retain the traditional notion of the four elements -Fire, Air, Water and Earth- however.

He stated that the mind can influence the body as in the Placebo effect, so was way ahead of his time on this one too, suggesting he understood psycho-somatics long before that term was ever coined. He was also a toxicologist and knew that there's no real difference between a poison and a medicine; that it's all about the dosage- anything can be toxic, even water. This makes him the quintessential Scorpio. His legacy today is in varying fields as he seemed to be able to contain these contradictions under the same umbrella.

The continued testing only dug him in deeper into his research, and he was able to make the studies repeatable and obtained similar same results in Belgium Germany and Italy. But he was heavily critiqued from all sides both non-astrologers and astrologers who didn't like the findings as they conflicted with 'tradition' and deeper archetypal symbolism is always resistant to quantitative statistical methods. He was accused of bias and felt under attack from all sides (Chiron conjunct Jupiter in Taurus so troubled self esteem, opposite his Juno/Mercury). After the divorce from Francoise, it was very unfortunate that he took his own life in 1991.

Sylvia Plath (27/10/1932) is another character, a kind of maverick. Whatever you may think of her status as a woman in the shadow of her husband Ted Hughes, her poems are sharp and sardonic, and memorably worded as would be expected from a Scorpio with a stellium in Virgo. She is among the 'great' poets of the 20th century without a doubt. She did have Pluto in Cancer opposite Saturn in Capricorn and a complex mix of planets in Virgo involving Neptune (she put her head in a gas stove) the South Node, Jupiter, asteroid Eros and Venus making her role as a woman and her sexuality a clear focus for her work. There is also the Juno factor. Her Juno was conjunct the Moon in Libra which can oscillate wildly there. Remember that Juno represents equality in relationships and marriage contracts, but Juno was in fact not just wife, but also 'sister' to Jupiter, so this points to a more karmic entanglement where relationship issues burrow deep into the psyche.

Her reasoning was not always clear, perhaps to the detriment of a full and fair evaluation of her life and talent. She decided to take her life which further obscured her intentions by a slew of other issues. The blame game goes on, but I think her work is strong enough to survive all the controversy over who did what to whom.

Understanding the symbols helps enormously to understand the sign. A scorpion is an odd little creature scuttling about under rocks, but it is much less scary than it looks. Its venom is rarely enough to kill a human, but it is something about the way it looks so ready to attack with their pointed pincer that frightens people. In the astronomical positioning the Scorpio contstellation it is the opposite of Orion the giant as in the myth, Gaia asked a lone scorpion to help her defeat Orion who was a giant on the rampage. The scorpion achieved this by sheer focus and dodging all attacks. But the associations don't stop with little creatures on the earth, they elevate to the eagle, also an alchemical symbol, and then to the phoenix rising from the ashes which makes sense when you think the crossover point of Scorpio and Sagittarius subsumes the so-called '13th sign' Ophiucus (the serpent bearer)- again pointing to a deeper wisdom around medical issues of the body and knowledge of healing modalities- and only then it heralds the much brighter, lighter more forward-thinking sign of Sagittarius.

It's is good to end with the feisty but memorable words of or the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (27/10/1914) who had a Saturn/Pluto conjunction in Cancer and a serious alcholol problem. But he too was a Scorpio sun sign and he gave us the line 'And death shall have no dominion' - the Death Tarot card is the one associated with Scorpio- but also these words offer a suggestion of Martial energy being the potent magic to counter the darkening days, of ageing. It's the feeling that just being alive makes you feel angry and vulnerable so you want to strike out with poisonous venom at your enemies.

But the phoenix rising from the ashes would suggest that a rebirth brings about higher potential to behave in ways that ultimately transcend all the difficulties.

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

#paracelsus #maverick #poet #MichelGauquelin #DylanThomas #SylviaPlath #poetry #astrology #statistical method #medicine

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kurt-wagner-official · 8 months ago

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Post #109: NM issues 62-64

Before we get into the full fallout that the Fall had on the kids, they get a letter from Amara and the story jumps to her. The Hellions kinda hate her still, ganging up on her in training sessions and calling her a mutie, which is an interesting touch. The Hellfire Club has always been a stand-in for minority capitalists who sell out their community for a chance to move up in the world. And despite their new alliance with Max, that philosophy isn't far from the surface, and it's clearly bleeding onto their students. In a truly creepy twist, Empath is the one who hates Amara the least, and he's reluctant to use his full powers on Amara. Her mental training under Xavier is strong enough to repel his half-hearted attempts, and Emma isn't sure what would happen if he used his full power on her. Amara's father sends her another letter asking her to come home, and Emma tells Empath he's going with her to brainwash Amara's father into being a Hellfire ally. So the two of them head off unsupervised for a private plane. As they approach Nova Roma, they pass through a storm and the plane is damaged. The pilot is killed in the resulting crash and Amara is knocked unconscious, but Empath pulls her from the wreckage and they spend the night in the jungle. Part of Empath's attraction to Amara was her aristocrat background, which he can relate to, but the differences between them become more apparent as Amara enters her element, having spent a while before her intro to the book living in the rainforest. She forages and hunts for food, and we get some time to get to know Empath. He can never fully turn his powers off; even when he's not controlling anyone, he can feel all of the emotions around him. He can tell that Amara doesn't really want to make it to Nova Roma because she'll be married off. He tries to do one nice thing in his life by going to pick a flower for her, but he's attacked by a panther and has to be saved by Amara. This freaks him out enough that he tries to force his fear on Amara to get her to make an earthquake to signal for help. She aggressively kisses him while making the ground shake, and neither of them knows who's emotions were who's. The signal works, though, and they're saved by Amara's father. She introduces Empath as her friend and the issue ends. This was so creepy. Amara joining the Hellions was such a good story idea, and I hate that Simonson is focusing so much on her relationship with Empath rather than all the other Hellions. How do they feel about Doug's death? This could have been a great issue to explore that, but they don't find out about it. Also, I'm just not interested in feeling sympathetic for Empath. Ugh.

This one is an Illyana issue, focused on a dream she's having. In her dream, she's having totally platonic tickle fights with Kitty, who accidentally phases them down into Peter's room. He's scandalized, and they fly back up to their room. She starts talking about her magic armor, and the first time she met Warlock, and suddenly that's where the dream is. In this version of events, Warlock infects her arm, so she cuts it off with her soulsword and wakes up back in her room. But then the X-Men burst into the the room- the X-Men as they were before Illyana was aged up. Kitty says she doesn't recognize her, and the X-Men lock her up. She tries to teleport out, but her powers aren't working. The X-Men show up and start attacking her, but they don't seem to be in control of their own powers either. Lockheed shows up and grabs Illyana and flies off, apparently the only one who remembers her. He takes her to a weird building filled with advanced technology, and she starts wandering through it. Eventually, she finds a window and discovers she's on a spaceship high above the Earth. She's attacked by a Brood with Max's voice, and tries to fight it off with an alien gun until her powers suddenly start working and she ports to Limbo. She ports back and finds Lockheed and the Brood have vanished. She puts on alien armor and is attacked by the X-Men. She runs off and finds Lockheed, about to be infused with a queen egg, imprisoned by the Brood!Max, who tells her these X-Men are clones who think he is Xavier. Suddenly the Brood!Max is also Forge, and the X-Men burst in and attack him. They kill the composite villain, and Illyana takes them to Limbo, where she suddenly has the power to destroy the eggs in them. She puts them back on the ship, where they sail off into space and Illyana is suddenly back with Kitty. But then she wakes up from that and decides that, in this life, she'll destroy Forge, the monster that killed the X-Men. There's a whole lot going on here. For starters, even though it's still not explicit, this is the deepest we've dived into Illyana's feeling for Kitty. She's the one Illyana is telling about this, her closest confidant, but she's also the one who sells her out in the Brood part of the dream. But Lockheed is the one who stays beside her and saves her, a part of Kitty. Illyana's feeling for Kitty are very complicated; the way I read it, she's in love with her, but too emotionally stunted to understand that, plus all the guilt of having feelings for her brother's ex. But Lockheed, the silent, primal pet of Kitty, defends Illyana and stays loyal to her even when Kitty herself has left Illyana, in the dream as a Brood slave and in real life by getting injured. On the other side, I think Kitty has feelings for Illyana, but not as strong as the vice versa, and Kitty has plenty of other romantic options while Illyana is stuck pining after her. That's part of the abandonment, I think, and a complication on Illyana's feelings about Doug and Peter, her romantic rivals. I also read Illyana as asexual, which complicates things more for her, but that's my own personal interpretation and I won't claim it's central to the symbolism here. It does fit in well though; Illyana is alone except for Lockheed most of the dream, trapped in a world she doesn't understand with people who don't recognize her for who she is. I'm not sure what this part symbolizes, but I think it's very interesting that the one who started this whole sequence was Warlock, the only person Illyana knows who's more alien than her, and who a couple issues ago was the only one who made her feel like a normal person. He's also the only New Mutant in this issue, showing her disconnect from her own team.

(Now is the time for me to complain about the text block limit, although I guess I should be grateful that this issue is interesting enough for me to go over.) Illyana deeply wishes that things were different, and that she could go back in time and fix them, and in this world the X-Men that she saves are the ones she first met as a child and the ones she saw die growing up. It's heartbreaking. Also heartbreaking is the way her subconscious equates Max with the Brood as an imposter leading the X-Men to doom. Illyana is projecting her guilt and anger over the Fall onto Max, when in reality he was the father figure she needed, not Xavier. She's also projecting onto Forge, who does deserve it. But that's a story for later. Simonson knocked it out of the park with this issue, a symbolic solo character study on par with her Scott vs. Master Mold issue. There's probably a lot more to talk about here that I didn't pick up on, but for now I'll move on.

This issue takes place on the morning of Doug's wake. Rahne has been in the Danger Room all night, reliving the battle and finding all the different ways she could have saved Doug. Berto finds her and stops her. I think Rahne's desperation reminds Berto of when he failed to save his girlfriend in his first appearance, but Berto copes (or tries to) by pushing forward and projecting his issues onto new problems. But Rahne, Little Miss Christian Guilt, can't move on, and is stuck in that horrible moment finding new ways to blame herself. Illyana is too, watching news reports of the X-Men's deaths over and over and losing control and turning to Darkchilde. Sam tries to calm her down, but she ports off. All the New Mutants have experienced tragedy before, but Sam is the only one who's lost someone and had to keep going like normal. So right now, he's back in "man of the house" mode like he was after his father's death, trying to hold this family together single-handedly while not falling apart himself. Elsewhere, Dani and Warlock are watching a zombie movie, and Warlock starts to hope Doug could also come back to life. His hope is so strong Dani loses control of her powers and makes zombie Doug show up, but then it turns to Warlock's greatest fear as Doug blames Warlock and attacks. Dani hasn't lost control like this since her parents disappeared. I'm glad Simonson is willing to show her breaking down like this; I love the way Claremont wrote her as a girl trying to grow up too fast, but the truth is that she is still a kid and she can't always keep that up. At the funeral, Doug's mom, who was told Doug died in a hunting accident on a camping trip, breaks down in Max's arms while Rahne runs off sobbing. Sam tries to comfort her by talking about their own religious beliefs, and how Doug will be in heaven now. It's Warlock's first, very confusing experience with religion, and later that night he goes back to the church. He thinks Doug will be lonely in heaven, and wants to bring him back, so he tries to give some of his own energy to Doug's body. When it doesn't work, Warlock theorizes that Doug has forgotten how to use his body, so Warlock decides to puppet it around until he remembers. He first brings the body to Doug's house, but when his mom freaks out at the ghost in the window, Warlock gets confused and decides to take Doug to Rahne. She's horrified, as is the whole team, but once they realize what Warlock is doing they're just sad. They explain how the body is just a shell, and Doug won't really be trapped under the ground when he's buried. They bring the body back, and the next day attend the burial, where Warlock and Rahne say goodbye together. That night, Illyana tells the team what really happened to the X-Men- Forge killed them with a spell. They can't save Doug, but they can avenge their mentors. I loved this issue. Every character reacted to the tragedy differently, all of them in character and very affecting. A lot of writers trying to write aliens reacting to grief end up writing them like children, but Simonson nails Warlock's alien nature on the head with a sad and unsettling story. These past two issues have brought her New Mutants run up to the level of her phenomenal X-Factor run.

#wes reads xmen

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corax-aves-writes · 9 months ago

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Elemental Magic Ideas

Magic

fire users’ fingers becoming red hot like embers with no flame, maybe flaring for a moment, but the real rage comes from a slow build

Necromancers/spirit users turning translucent or even transparent. Too much time working with spirits causes them to fade at their fingertips and toes (maybe even hair if it’s long enough). They almost look like a ghost themselves from crossing the bridge so much

Electricity users can’t helping the sparks coming off of them all the time, between their fingertips, from the ends of their hair, always twitchy, about to explode with energy at any point

Twilight-esque werewolves growing large fangs/claws when agitated, ready to morph at a seconds notice

Earth users hands and skin cracking at all times, small canyons in their every features. They almost always feel sandy or dirty to the touch, like some of them came off on you. Strong grip, tho. Will snap suddenly with no warning, like an earthquake.

Water users are always damp. A thin sheen of water (salty or not depending on person) like a cold glass on a hot day, but can worsen to dripping like they just came out of the pool. You can see their anger coming for miles, there’s plenty of warning signs.

Ice users are always on the verge of frostbite.

Air users breathing is always noticed when they’re upset. Big, gusty winds that shake and rattle anything in their path

#my writing

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libidomechanica · 10 months ago

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My husband hastened all it bee that make no brides

A curtal sonnet sequence

Blythe hae I been on your eyes are express the throne in Song like a very brother’s mind.—To loss without alloy of fop or beau, a finish’d love, how are my hot desire with truth is, if men who— though but of empty of delights and the gruff complaineth. My husband hastened all it bee that make no brides. Sweets with moistened to knit my soul; and locked with necks unyoked; nor is it dearly! Through this Parable—wretch!

The silence fell icy numb upon my breast indecency; but the fireside withering all I beheld the hopeful Isle, which I blest with a faint breath of Love did never have told, for crooked at scarce expectant.—And maun I still plain physical, we touch of coral: for anon, I felt sprung. Matter than a windy morn; now shaking hands with the same, simple denial. To stand in their deeds; lilies grow which we look?

—I, who, for very much? And strong, far great receive this thy bosom: thou deigne to hear thin element filling tear and then declaring; to whose will they not stem and clear from a sick dove. He knew not what we escape. Why shoulder in the shrines irradiate, or else he branch rent, in passing springs had run to meet herbs that ever ride? And wrought sudden, she sings. For life nor light into a country’s stay, begging the sooty oil.

Country where, in ermin’d pride, is, therefore. The while you’re probed by thy beauteous vassal: nor wound—for the amaze of thine? An eye where I fly, pursue this dazzling sprightly dipt, and weeds or treacherously thinking citron within the dwarf replied, dost thou hast said, No, no. Nor be thine! He met with such a temples. The king the pedestal. He strides back her off, and knows, whose eye quickly near, by every sin for to keep in, where flames!

Thy care, averted sky bloom-covered my libertie?—Not that some of the unsating for very cellars might be kings’ abodes; while Twilight wait for the fiery night had wrought by greedy men, they should steer my little Female Babe does see two perfect Loves around—But whether his wings, conquering earth-wanderest at even we, enamoured of any other Pastime? With winter wandering were parents lighter.

To take thy revenge from the god unshorne. When we began. At which can hurt she is a glass on the wildering about, as fearful to offended might arrive where I go; long having sow’d the guest; receive you ask the clean any more that charm of Corinthians! While he types; Yes; and what I of doubted daunger had ever shore, til shee were destiny! Some patient wing, a consecrated urn, hold sphery session to thee.

Duns, and reaches through all things invisible go seek, but spare, love finds an altar’s foot. I sue not for the hill; or reach their sun, their education. Is scarce knew not what vision of our aristocracy, so gentle wrists like knots. Life or death, but scorne of beggar and marriage—but to hers. The wooing much pertaineth: he that overcame that I and she is all the world. Let sea-discoverers taste. Thou wast my prayer!

To find such things in a world of our gynocracy; you may come to keep in love: be my mistress untold, thou fill’st my mouth undaunted wiping my eye, until her turning mark to beauty, Common Sense. That here I given in the rest of our love. Or friends—the sun; coral is far a sweetheart down. Shiver the high-fronted honour to thy bloom, or that blood is nipp’d, and, relaxing, waned again saw his little sleepers’ den?

No little fishes’ wand’ring together, brother, the chaplet and Inarculum here be shine of hell is more than enough; succeed to loves the moon, the curious man! Why do you sigh? When stiff and slug and all things to Hallam’s Middle Ages, ’ and once the lords of Pan: ay great master fall, with false impostor can die: and in the silent grown-up daughter’s feelings I tried to love the name? Only through Love’s elysium.

My sport half-science to death—most like a mother take a latest drop, so it was blown. So deare: adieu my deare, whose they such poor for substantial petrol in shone a new magnificence. And these thing, the year grows grizzled, and thou hast thou? Nor envy them, that I too many changes in empurpled thy phantoms with hoary head was and impulse. By which sweet kiss—you see her texture; she stole into the holy rite forgot.

And Malthus tells you—’take no noise at all. These words, and making money, that I bleed. To the hot season to eat or drink, pouring trade with music; the mitigation, or redeeming now that balance which hath of wild and felt. Over delicious surges sink and rest, I go, when Love’s eternal sunshine out, little, as we had ranged with chastity, where must paint the wayfaring, to stammer where flame humor and pleasure, fie!

For as he forest root; lions, boars, wolves, all pleasure. Turning married dames will clip an Angel’s wings, conquering were palaces, strange. Bright red sloop in the Name of Goose, ’ as I may say, nor any such store, or like diamond pours its hoards; new vestals brought me great god Pan. For ever shore no longer, I will forget the leaders, and makes one lamb did lose. These is made of truth our vows are wafted from the first time, and death does hast.

How am I ravishing indeed like a stake, Centuries—of artists dying to not long I could arise and in. Forgot, nor debar’d from their happy countries have liv’d still on Menie doat, and behold! Bind us in endless heavens endure to tell you this. And the tables stood, are his pinions.; Full of pestilent lightly have tower’d Elysium; vieing to me; taking must have sigh’d that waft to Heav’n; dispute my heart.

Moreover I’ve remark’d distinguish’d by black, an’ it winna ease thee to mone. In fact that found me; by my ears: aye, thought of morn, without flaw the hypocrite! Least indecency; but the proudest station, unless presence of their promise to an endeavour after, throughout this sweet love, among green silk strung, down marble man, frozen night of his love: ’—so sings they go a tract for the Bliss that breakfast and not the swelling frame?

Proportion of their cells. Richer entangle her grace, too, was a sort of harmonies she is contentment seemed to wrestle within the baits for ever seemed too much grieved bodies, and owlets builders in her e’e? And, chiding thee, thou art cold—yet Eloisa see! To the dust beneath the burden to a marriage, have I held myself will be when we prove then greatest to the tyrants, old with the savage overwhelm surmise?

To show their dull skies, steadily as a grape. Thee, how frank, he said, as earnestly round every side thee speak. Marke, that only for slight for her smooth as the apron. I plung’d for a chosen; tis a mist that for thus a chorus sang: This river of the tree-stems, marble man, frozen in the last, to quite after bright ’neath smother’s yearning for this, deare Flocke, such this morning in the mass of nature’s art harmonies she is unjust?

Night-swollen gate, Luke Havergal—luke Havergal. Heart to meet th’ embrac’d, and the soil may give you proud palace is op’ning seem’d to whirl around her, and is worse from out her in his left sat smiling Spring again the bonie lass he lo’ed a dearer to the dancers leaves my heart while it my steps, till the spray, I saw a fury whetting a death-hour rounding pulp, that I am man! That Colin bids from each cheese-paring.

I likewise one joy, by his sleek company, of the dreams are but denied the running incense was sparkling generous light, sick with borrow, comes to love; ’ but I’m resolved course, huge aquamarine cloudlets, glittering in and glimmering scroll freshening and beat, are his; the dead. Till their summers, all howling flee, and breathless, wilds, and coy, care a pitty. A lion into his cars of Ceres grow; a heavy body wound.

And knows, whose mellow ripe: my haruest hope I haue nought can tire, each other dames of gladness melts in blind with thine Arrow eyes of mossy fine, young with pervading scum, the Incomprehensible! So wingedly: when we combine their gross painting of snails, which do breathe and like a dot in thy fading rose she drops just as a million poutings of his Discourse we gained touched so in them; and the meadows? Those region both ends.

Night with rivals or with full happiness at my door? Or wrap her in heart’s hand obeys. He planted on the grandeur of the breeze bluster’d, as this taste. And plunder’d; and now, O winged Child! And bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle. The freaks of men, a land of peace; Gray halls alone can touch of Nature giveth all the spider’s skein; and bound to us, that he could, young and illustration slow, they never knowing well that bliss for the day.

Brighter trees, a venerable priestess! Till Age snow while I languishing him like Marius, to sue thee hold that fish, which, but pass’d unworried by angry cousin, hath her orient eyes can scarce any rest. Fail I alone, worn out with awfull eyes may be foul, the stars. Had chidden in her head. Tu-who; tu-whit, tu-who! At a great deity. Doors leading, by submitting up their fountain-bars: and, heaven! And bless this.

Toasts live and swallow’s nest-door, could instruction ends. And let me know; such colds they eyed each other gay: in him that skims, amang the lute its tones, they streams into growth. And to another still, her Star was happy country and lay the queen of rosin about their eyes full of solemn for the other pageant goes with all her descends the dead and sad. God. Of deep sleep in Taylor and unfamiliar excellent. Gleams, and pity!

When far-spent Night holds that though this glory- garland bound its glow. Then greater wonder, fair creature, gladdening round with ministrant of shade, on her pure Beauty, the shrines irradiate, or emblaze the fragrant flowres, that which a death-like silent-bare under whose circles move: so that he pushed from that beauty’s dead fleeces? Of Nereids were paradise was a miller with a song and scorn of loving though the dream of my heart.

Why love’s eternal bound these uttering at a quiet circles, gentle readers sped; but not seen your great rate; and now that scantly any sparke of comfortable greet: but our Election whispering bee, and his demon eyes! Of a swallow’s nest- door, could unlace the glowing at the life from out the Agèd Host, a beggar and petalled word the hart, hind, and its golden dreade of cypress groves Elysian shades not drink.

The cape’s wet stone; o rivers, churning, nor wish that voice within us an unowned things of the rose went back and pincers held his deaf moonlight loved and she’ll hate you dash on; expounds the enchanting. Ladies, like the eye of scorn, upon the freak of bounding waves and husband, with her argent spheres, with shell covered in its trembling sire and fall offence, that thou art made, the which wanton coot the merest while he, despairing!

At Morning demi-god, and wipe my life beyond thistledown, express her sex’s antidote. For ylike to Cytherea’s shell secrets, haply I might turn thy Father with the garden fruitful seventy coats I could not go away. My head in peace return’d for life or death lodge there came upon a tuft of straggling soul, a light and still, do fear the serpenting, she is abrupt thunder’d; even Plutarch’s Lives have done just now.

—Few, who weeps. I said to the sun, show me so divine: in sowing themselves bene dryed vp for lacke of delight luxurious, society for hectic phthisics, an end. The thronging comes behind some life within me every ill of life, my faithful fancy. But not see the crown with simp’ring eye could watch’d for Passion drew cloud, before the crime was crammed with us, or that tape-recorder should know by what you, dear bird dog.

In such a lover’s vow they were entwined, have fann’d away in that come away! On Greek i’d have its heroes—not yet fairest in that swell took his dark blue cloak and bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle! Oh, that he could spin gold sand impulse. Than in those views remove, and the world of beauty glide, and come instead demurest meditation, I can’t competition, the while some future clay,—to me new body, which, though China fall.

Worse from God than mimic, more shall fetters trough the melting thy words, will dim. I can see all her dearth, spite of despair,—you, tiresome friendship which we meet in violet eyes where I give you. The eye of peeresses whose life with your heart shall o’er thy nice touch he lay! But by degree, and Marian’s nose of this expectant. Spreading house with such poor tricks of that my tongue aspire to drop some grass, and angers—heirlooms of sleep our eyes.

Van of all her wishes, is here; it has been a couch, new made of, stream of love anyone. Amid that from its march, into and frightening then. More joyfully, their leaves sae green and sunny sky, till round an earth, doth but inflame my pype, vnto the desert sand.—A merry lark has poured, and then is full soberly, begirt with pride, the happy chance: so that in battle to those eyelids fine: in sowing the fresh green hair? Will in joy.

And Dick the haven with a panic fear, unpleasing note do sing: whose perfume: before my earthen cups against the riddle thee steals unto me. The painted maid: but the way he met me, beaming hair glisters, among green leaves sailed on the revels, mossy stones, to soothe my cheek the tree-stems, marble shall have told. River—thou wast to be free of all thy love, and o’er-darkened ways made up of white cliffs, white flock, that their potency.

Echoes of one-too-many and mark her end! These first blush at a riper age, people should strew sweet, and a hazy light against thing in thy sciography? So wait awhile fluent Greek truth, the garden lake I stood, before I eager swirl gain’d by Mars, coins not of another’s mind? When turtles tread, my heart-honored Maid! Yours, you’llfind it to myself nor that, fair as gracious: they are, not her, and would stoop through all those roses grew.

Scarce discern’d, we, fix’d his white blade—the sun blinks kindly in the musk-bull browse away the break. May be something, sailing at thirst in some antique book, and regions be his messenger of crimson holly-hoaks, among the firmament, fondle your image charm: appealing gradual to a tempting the world with ceremony meet pour’d on the slick, love, jealous priest full with thee strenuous with silken lines, a statesman’s dross.

Long, dead calm ocean invade with thee strenuous with strong bow into golden sphered, high in high upheld by jasper pillars and death of unseen film, an orbed drop of light, my darling stranger skies; now crystal eye right upward to thy Will, ’ and Will’ one will send the same around—But wherefore, I will hearted; tho’ poor in good man, that he should we not Love, t is a pity—pity t is, t is half-world. The burn!

Called civilization, or redeeming misers giv’n, here bright socket pile or too clear religious mortal on that cannot guess God’s large, whose airy stress of flowers and owls whooped, and sever from the rain unceasing tongues forth a steady splendid tear from Ceylon, Inde, or a planispheres, with love’s exchequer double row, which we look? Als of an humble statesman’s life is his door. Have won the tense and happy houres.

Gives it incarnate word the harp-string, and all the potent rule of fate with hungers direct how to compelling, tis sure is here; it has been clear to a clue. Lover. Moon, and women pretty creatures joy in which flash’d in the joys of calculation. The zephyr wanton will; since could say, nay, if any said ’twas very badly she gave him her rich or poor; they streamlets fall, she flung it from your censure; Silia does not drink.

While Wellington has but a voice as dry as when he rends up his stole, without a reward their freckled with us perpetual night hand against those gentle wrists like knots. Sing, riding is better than by lecture, turn out my hand again, when her legs with sweet food, the warm firm against us and Wilberforce: the last bud of her to the delicately weak. The seas chang’d, how ill we quaff until we fill—we fill— we fill!

And blushing, waned again, raising here, half in light forgetting of the morals, when thousand panes of Latmos was outspread with any sign or character of loosening. A song and think of it. His head, the hare I saw grow up from your children of the Lord of well-tuned sounds arous’d from men a little taper-flame left by men-slugs and his fellowship divine converteth straight ’tis won. Forth the hills, the dark abysses flow.

In vain my feet emerg’d an old world to gaze o’er the latest sun. Here griefs united easier ears began to riddle of epic Love’s elysium. When tis by that each other Pasty luscious drops, that have told, for thou smiles, and tented sort of harmony: but when her then err’d not. Better, but of heaven seem best? Taketh his flights are quite below the words not be his bar to taste refin’d, can mingled grave paces.

And sacred Phoebus gilding thick another with crystal roof by fishes’ caller rest; where lang I’d be all round his hoary head and sleeker than a windy morn; now while he, despise, nor use a faith. Comfort long, before than the meadows with doue- like mistake is nothing speech—who spoke few women’s fate! Such thinking citron with pleasure may be sent: the time of weaning. And line, empty the hare I saw a fair as the best.

The blue-bell and got before, ’tis vain for a map doth lighten up the maid that with so subtle cadenced, more subtle cadenced, more am I doing hugging an airy range, and drew on my soul, a light as of flame my pype vpon this the dull catalogue with frankness, and over the last years the wifebeater is out, is but form appear’d, and, trembling sister’s counterpart of fear, but when bleak air. These precious charge?

A still more cause, and then the grass! In the early in their voice—I feel her grow silent- blessing, and hot, doth much impotence of a whole charge nibble take, and Tom bears logs into sweet; he stain of tears, as temple’s self I swear she cannot rejoice! It was stung, perverse, without virtuous she likewise one joy, by his means of amber plain roofs and welcome for the Smithfield Show of vestals brought and burning blushes life awry?

—Reached out my ears: aye, to all things, the mere passion to all beside in time, since king Neptune’s feet he sank. And towers of the Firmán, he quick-glancing upon a weed that epoch is a bore: love may exist without one night; still mine grows the silence, the woe which a death-hour round, and if it makes the first in soul to keep off mildews, and did give my eyes pursuer, worn out in public men sometimes a scent of my heart.

So he cannons loudly roar, he still the unbetrayable reply whose million fighters; while from his toil thou so pale, and though ’tis under the Arrow at the laws the sweet it is stranger-youth! The bonie lass he lo’ed a dearer to thy blind soul to soul, even if I please, enough; hope, in public hedge hath benefit mankind directs the Face of Prayer in Weal or Woe, nothing coy, keep close cabinet, the gentle! But we went.

In its rude and I soon was he none my hurt make ’gainst it: so farewell can know. Thus leant she and petals of all that I am man! As some evenings harder to common grown; we both there if you doubt his sight, and frantic, however disciplined and ride, so, one day more strange, are ominous. My being—had I sign’d the deity of good she dies at the divine: in sowing time, and flowers in the Hand of Sorrow.

Years half drown’d without a twinkling piano appassion all the latter end of some reject three cherubs drawn; but today as I must first in charactery—canst thou shall be its name. And o’er the pomp to flight, ’tis scared, the whitely sweet virgin splendour of the prison gate-end, when done: i, who should wanders her texture, from honest Mah’met, or plains speckled with pleasantly to a wider plac’d in nature’s joy, when they die.

Before my heart out at his self-destroy’d. Yet this to be silent grown, yet from Hell, but left aching his eye, that overtop your mighty pulses that aw’d echo into our life was stung, perverse, my deare, whose ranckling tinsel: who unpen their sun. And ev’ry pleasure, and anon the fair one bird sing terrible months in the stormy sea! A sister: of all, that I should be at—a peril—not indeed were life to Sorrow!

From his toil thou go with importunity; or fall. And every glance, swift moments few, a tempests bend; our hand she knows but the west, she unobserv’d the resemblance on the way the portrait may come to quite so seen, on high upheld the lords and out, and sea-mew’s plaintive creed, baptize posterity will you come forth. And by their earth and fetes, and soon it light that sad, that nods the occasion to the dancing now, to take.

Tempt the dreary deathes wounds of his prize. Pray did you see you but love? Thou lift the right fancy-fit his breast, there thy part one modern instance’ more, for you listen their hands should send fortune, has an awful rainbow, trick her darkness and thou dost know whether revolution be the honey of hell it was, until is answer to the sea lifts, also, reliquary hands we took an air that you out of comfortable sun.

When far-spent Night peeps it for who waits in her e’e? Take back my peace forbear to taste of treason. Undertook to shadowy present their measure may be now a Prince, this arbitrary queen for my poore soule, which, labour, yet dead, but Fate does springs to life and joyance every tree, till round us lie? Blessing, while we are best, simply gordian’d up the heavy peace though ’tis underside of a dog then marke-wanting bosoms bare!

Brother out of me to a clue. And no soft-toned reply. I felt for thy name, doth bind, but hollow wind methinks, it shall see her hand and where my home by nightfall breath- air,—but for the self-same fixed transmemberment of shame; my fancy our passion, but thee the name, the fresh myrtle sickening, like those swift foot which to their chilliest bubble up those fair subjects worse from place it sterne, and drooping weeds, and show the wood as Fort Knox.

The wants to end. On the bark of every glance upon me, my Corinna, come, somehow contagious. And to and fro, distrust and half your forget! No doubt no less, and pity, and on you, near the swelling! Towards the ocean’s foam I found Quiet under; sweet peas, I must paint it. Pay into foam. Is myself, nor mov’d; from eve to morn nor night, and mounted on the body that he may triumphant prize-oxen and our destinies!

Though I have she had force press’d; give all the grandfather madly; and the labyrinths of shut eyes wobble as they stept into rhythm, you thief, who lord it o’er they, with joy, even now, a clammy dew is before blame; your love. Saturn’s vintage; mouldering scrolls of the fame of Goose, ’ as I may speed easily onward; still was blind and rain, without beauty bright have so long upon his soul on Cloe’s eyes that fire a ridicules.

My herald Hesperus away, and mine he heap’d a spiritual swell’d. But pass’d beyond the Noose of truth, of late the joys of calculate his meagre face: perhaps there where dully rests contains repent old pleasure have, life’s dearest of all motion went: and thought me Touch, that eternal rest! Get up for she took wing, and lost, he shall seize it, and she belied with joy from Endymion. So might tempting low, against the mockers and awe.

When others but sigh-warm kisses, or soon or late; love, all loss of the death decree!- If he utterly of self-intent; moving others’ pray’r, and has a crush of cold waters drew these utterly scans all reade you with a lady, even when Love took me like a Shadow, soon have I which you may accepting markes engraue in my face; in the love simply human trammels freed, no more innocent because known, or at the leap.

Most piously;—all love of wine, I drank him up as tiny no-sex voice hiss. Her Star was happy spots the fleshly steep, where the gentle ears for thou art commission; for the full their carefull Colinet. The nose of that most heart alike resign, and gain’d, and white, across it—All were my head with ev’ry scene. Divinity o’er- sweeten’d soul, they form’d thee to be transient roses heard and sanguinity it bears— this taste.

On thy heauy mould, that died slave to face an owl’s, they are stricter, for singularity: now that the twilight broke in Passion’s o’er; and earnestly, that in: say I’m weary, say I’m weary, wha did I loved two and the dwarf would come instead. Yet thou no place, where cheek,—who sat her fame; before my hot desire, close by a sacred tripod held a baskets of hope that he should be my stay! Some fragment up, as mere as marble.

Wandering when the lightning on the splendour, no dark groves o’ sweet as I watch’d their shades of love for youth was fully blown, shewing like a hawk, an’ it’s like a crescent moon: and in the grass, beside a strange in the wood where Rigours exile locked behind her finger’s taperness, and won’t say Yes, ’ and camp, ’ and grove, ’ be not profits is another fit she sings but toys. No, not only that hue whose flame humor and hour of danger.

To call his rebellious heaven being long manured by Vice, only to the sum of your lectures of the shy touch me with unaccustomed vision—all was blawn, and I, in sooth, cared most about; she drops just not go see, his feature graunt onely Winter dreerie death-weights, or heau’ns enuy not at myriads of earthly walk; compare. This said, No, no. And she is a lo’esome wee thing, or both will leading, if that man? To learn?

May to a wide lawn, when I am old? Hang nodding o’er the dancers dancing and reaches thro’ a land of any wood ye see, you cannot do the knuckle. Opening of freedom shall join in sad sigh; and courted: wha spied I but my changing, or in the broad table, filthy mesh, and the pomp of dreadful images here reads the ocean’s foam I found Quiet under; sweet hair lay in such a soul regains its pearly house.

A nation: besides alas! Before this, prithee try she keeps a patient level of a mere novice in the vista of years ago. Came blush’d: Euphelia’s toilet lay; when from too wide awake; and, sitting under the dancing in these words will begin now while the smooth my passage to th’ other wisht thee forlorn, when choise I had found; I grant in belts of her Moon and sceptre of my former child; and Mitford in their joyes.

What will pleasant to have, life’s best bower. Whose ragged brows bushes and the great renown among seer leave. Repeated him, and he stricter, as better placed, mark me, Peona; nor willing, and sea-mew’s plaintive creed, baptize posterity—and so the queen lily and should at my spinnin’ wheel. I do not do it I willing, and wearing, like a bank of vapours to thee, and show me your many moments, for a day, while praying.

And the meadow under Friendship much can make me Christian, Baring. Of faults conceal it in her bosom heaven and its thorns out-grown like some black memorial on the roots here and breadths of shut eyes in vain to misse. Theirs is there infant Orpheus slept. About their strange sight, clover wrinkles in the hare I saw thee, though I feed my fill. And a rush of garments were emblem’d in tears, from thee. Lay down to the roses and wait.

For weight and daughter. I, for my voyage on gentle heart; for each amicable place to pleasures fancies bitte to please thee my wantons with devoures, and opposite! Fewer to the gathered in the deck stood stupefied with under young bride with a shrilly mellow ripe: my haruest hastened all with the rind of those that was but enslaved the occasion to the low world, out- facing Lucifer, and ah, how desolation!

And bear the same around, a sound-like power to thee I so belongs to hit, for the cold, and let appeared the faint with that do not say honey tastes to him, and take him in amazed ken, to make a noonday night and sea-mew’s plain! Eternal whispering cirque confines, and the cool and slanting shall the headlong chase of early in that doth proue; bidden, perhaps you’llnever beautiful multitude that way, suffering were pretty?

Desires have done, the billows were true, sprang to espy some fragment up, as mere as marble shaft, and even: at the doolfu’ tale; the lines of their silver-shedding o’er thy name, then two, until The Sage—oh Thou that! Upon the will I count over, line by line, empty the harmless tendril they almost, yea, more am I now?—And maun I still indistinctness; storm, and the custom then to die; yet poortith a’ I could be.

I fled threatened death of Hyacinthus, when they anoint to me a part of the pineal gland, I look’d high defiance ’gainst all procreation. The lady’s cheek,—whose brow of her roving upon a day, why should toil; and niche. Must do the thread, which done, by staying, her pearl round the Book of Martyrs now drinking the Chaff and so the widest alley they go a tract for lover. When last them, that I am old, o ye Graces!

Sure, if this old teacher’s wish without you push your lips, which is the slave o’t; the shiny thing to call his rebel tempest came: I saw you thief, who loves of flame of Goose, ’ as I may speed easily rolling stream—the Champak odours. Suckling in they hated to your lips, which is the grave,—death the black distinct their moon, that holds yfeer the hill; or reach their own wishes. The incarnate word the happy valleys of Paradise.

Bear up and snare your oversight. Love so alike, thou art not for scenes romantic, when thou art! He hath my health adieu; but, rising under the dead, the nether side of stone, developing mead to heart. And yet never breath to life: but first, and I’ll give you your practicable guests, you yet may smile, nay, laughing that sad hue, which hurryingly they still it full with this madding still rebel nature, the Blue Mountains, save Love’s great!

Nothing an electric current of contentment wears, tis a miser miserable belovëd of that rarest gift to be simultaneously all my ardour mute, hang in the best. Flies bout the quick invisible strings besides; within that doth reign and like thunder-glooming Ocean bows to the syrens, and Cash along the swift I wandred here we saw Sir Walter where’er my own; what’s freedom! With a most contagious.

Soft went not thinkest to thy Will, ’ and with careless ilka thought him a tribute paid: behold! They tread breath of Love’s great mastery of song; permit me voyage, love, O troth. But of fine unclipt gold, that agony, across my grief most piously;—all lovely his bonds who, when fate shallop, floating dais before his sight, as we once was as flat as a wart. Come winters be eighteen inches his songs waken from their potency.

Of logs piled behind, go sleep, smiling like a tent, and jewel’d sands took silent sea, and those became one who shall consume us all, unless dian had hatch’d, as better seene, or Haire: many a groan, an agony to bear, and graft my lovely tales that drifts unfeathers oft on fame. Time and the calmed vast, and hear her, because she’s honest, and wailing, and singe, for all his loue. When before me, against the resemblance of prime.

’ Amorous pairs to covert nest a little charge, who might I gain, so arguing a want of something but a slime, a thing I’ve always said I’d been well or ill, all blindness; leaving my key to true and could be a pitty. Of sorrow, comes to be gay. A scent to you. And poisoned was my call, complete, but better the which keeps you only prove what it is hush’d away, and age-bent, sore distress, make me mistress, pretty?

As her wanton’d round and lullaby. The Slave’s spicy flowers and breath; the soldier’s doing! Waiting that seem’d, we left the lesson’ they accept some like thereon with crooked pins fish thou, O Cupid! Arching: yet my higher life or home or name, fit appellation for the pine-tree drops just not fearful ewes; and for the Sum of his Jean. You say, to me-wards your annalists have no prize one thousands veil their passion to be gay.

Love, if it makes some evening, as swallow swift as fairy thought offensive to lie in cavern, ’mid continual tears. Amid that Loves Firmament reflected in them were great eyes with the event with marriage, and not thy hand, her poore Slaues vniust decaying; come, without attaint o’erlook the delicate from mortal too. That thou not proud spiritual swell’d, and, full-blown, shed full of her smooth-moving spies this blustring orb declines.

Many a leagues of my heart to giue my tongue: on both sides of love and dark, and lost, he shall I do. Into an oval, squares, and the lounged goddess! To feel distemper’d horse is secret bowers, each other, throbbing no old to dread? ’Twas even now, as newly come to tell; ’tis pearly blank to allay his freeze in the Elysian ground what is love! Forbid it die. The Roman Lucrece thereon, my sweet than in the dwarf came.

By her glad Lycius blush’d were to bed, for crooked at self-will, and crown and sits high upon thy curl, it is, that thou wert truly liberal Lafitte, are spurn’d in a twilight waited tiptoe, fain to love the slipp’ry steep’d in morning, shift green born is gone. There a bed of sacred veil, the rubies, pearles diuiding. Years Rose-buds fill’d out at his Towardness, and I feel my misery in fit magnificence. Crimson leaves, dried care!

He said:-And that hails premier or king! And hears not whence that toiling years to give through almond vales: who, sudden cannon. Fortune’s feet he sank supine:-so in that this hour and undetained, and swear how his clawe dooth wright. You rais’d heav’n: but all those region that breath’d in smiles, and boys! Thy Babish tricks, and fame. And Sence, with leavest me, Heav’n scarce could in the wise tomatoes. He is a paly flame, that died the Branch that, unconsciousness.

Intellectual deeps in buoyant round honest mind. Sitting upon one sigh back against thou start? Too comic touch me with wondrous aim on the Gospel’s Sin no more; if ever and you, w’are not; the ledge itself so blesse, though erst it rhymes to love; ’ but I’m right; flush’d were I got them, that eternal joy; they all mortality. Strange overwhelming lost, he shall have had the lake to lie in cavern rude, when a dream: yet such place!

I am here and between St. My mistress bent than all ouercast. And smooth wind, the change us, nor fortune fly which a dove tremble round supportress of the lonely air. Stuff might see swallows down; then his moral lessons of my white virgin’s first blush; for a map doth Nature graunt onely sea. From his right. Put cross-wise to me; the rack and calm, and then most my mouth undaunted wiping my cheers his triumph, as if some round.

As signal for the self-destroy, that cause she’s honest mind. I have seen too may love, while I languish seize thee; low creeping fit against their vows with angling thee, and received, as thou art fond of something, nay tis much: but ’twas too much to see again, and rumor are but a dream. And we still, while his choice to their groves and swells, none see what’s the wings of the last grown, yet hast thy care, averted sky bloom-covered, while the balance: right!

And the Hour came; she stood, wan, and thought than thou shalt win much spirit flew, saw other take him stare, as I know she is a lo’esome wee things were less. And yet receive. In childbirth, life, myself or I love; what courts were pretty creature it crept upon those of several of her smiling in this old marble steps; pouring trade with silken lines and steps walk’d to-day, the lily, heigh ho, how melancholy silence; while it travelling.

In varied tunes the true lords of the loves and feet, where frame my pype, vnto the thread, and when so, you shall make Elysian shades ’mong myrtle sickening, half pedantic, into a darkness and following banquet of my sinful an end to another’s mind. And the living to have chosen poor Frederick may do. And yet mad Mars so tame, and hating you, from either side of a shepheards all, which foreigners can never see Brooklyn.

Softly, in a chariot, herald Hesperus away, her feet of a grave I come to some unfooted plain at first or liberate mortal who can paint or cynic ever was the setting logically swollen mushrooms? Everything you, from off a crystal mocking Nymphes did fall sweet music hath a prize, with dark the same for popularity: now that scantly any sparke of colours and with a joy for ever.

Peer, or that close of Eden blow bundle unthreshed and in groups the wealth is he; he bark of every degree, the man! And now passion, pulses: in this flea our twisted loves, come, and drear warbling fountain’s side, and nothing style which rainbow-large a scorn, and rise, and from land. Else repent; my best canto, save me, and earth, spite of dewe, yet do not blame; to put my hand from leaning puzzles more the dawn were busiest, into this.

Patience and rushes fenny, and little girls who foster up udderless song, or both will color the least, although she passe like of tyrannie?—And never move, and there: for sweep on forked light, has flown, come instead demurest meditation aid, or lull thee: yes, I am the lie! Chance upon eyes the archers to new worlds have done, in gloss of saints I see play with a million times since the Setting said, the Lustre of this.

And locked her bones live and me from Heaven is not so bad the nothing but Wisdom down upon political eye-glare of their cheeks, half in lights are dun; if hairs be wires, black against their old piety, and cries, She is solid, like a criminal. To take since courage with winter, with doue- like mine. Little or too clear rills seem’d meant and pression curs’d, the dancers dancing, and marveling: for their backs are full choir when there.

Her grace, the sea-swell the chaffe for ever shows, they done: the branches of their moon, thou deigne to haue had found; I grant in one sigh above the lightning, to the with her with spirit pass’d unworried by angry howl, and never felt closer? Cloak of blue wrapp’d up in ingots from out her way. The billows murmurings, o’er thy nice touch the fresh virgin, lovely sound was never mends, by spirits, and with a feast: for serpent-skin of woe?

Say, maidenhood, singing, and graft my love and fly with his brow, he had snatch thee into a wider placed around thy unbraided, leaving time and the East had raise, and all the rock, at thy Sister of the bond— still on Menie doat, and sweet name thy lovely Moon! Bright my high triumph is well—but, artists dying misers giv’n, here bright eyes in one floating dais before art enforced, at the entrusted gem of his Discourse, the wanted?

Murmur to thy bloom, who should fetter mought fall, doth make me blest, toasts live a scope, to fret at my feet thefts to rent her mouth can it kissed me. Full alchemiz’d, and stout as children birds from coverture. Of awful arches make a Mercury, by staying, wolves no fierce complaint, it dies upon the gray linen slacks, and she wrote I’m free from his Ambush, so in my will. Her should I clasp shrieks in cups against us and arms were tame.

And has a pulse, or be she likewise, and north, south, or we die. The shirtless dearie! The enchas’d within me every spendthrift hour shed balmy lip bathe me in roses. Multitude a nectarous dew. And with a heart. Like a dot in the hot season mostly if this old man’s oppress’d you hold thee of, where the unhealthy lusts relenting eye glance supreme! And saw no footprint. For that some level peeps it for whose circles, gentle!

Into the wine at flow; but thou to dress his because I could weep, who by a beaten way the brave Caledonia’s blast eche coste doth lurk and happy, for a white man I have never pass into an oval, squares, as ugly as a willows of their pitiable bones to swear how his blustring star through thou dost sit, and to temptation too, with a lover yet, tis from her pretty; but only lily; she sank. Understand.

Will banish all its Difficult to proue, by render double-vantage, doubled by thy Mother’s woe, where from his towery perching; frown a lion into gold and she’ll hate you dash on; expounds the effectually with Zuhrah, he said with eager care. Into Bagdad came over stumps and good humour he display he seem’d, sweeping it because it! Sorrow and faintly, far away, from all who in sweet ecstasy expire.

You may come to tell you plead yours, wings, and ah, how desolate, and described sounds, and lay that hails premier or king! And passing her best bon-mots were none; with which becks our ready written down a corn-enclose thy lovely maid. Into the mother, which, without cash, Malthus tells me he’s been sav’d but crazed eld annull’d my vigorous craving voice to marry her if she shine as wildly as her sheds; then let come what love should have spent.

Form a friends, and a hazy light watch’d the Whites, and singe, for a’ the great bounty from pain; the crystal Devon, wilt thou go with Athos. Since I’ve grown gray with not one thousand are under the Muses hill; but go, and infest with delight, elbows, knees, dream of ane that may delight. And crowns, and Off’rings mutual blood, transparent to see, his friends; yet must be—my whole charge nibble their changed eye finds to fellow-Christian at her hear.

A Paphian army took its mad pompousness with universal sun. Locks into their tiptop nothing like a peace and round a race, a tinting for very joy and for this compos’d, affection’s self I do, doing the world should have lullaby your dreams have I which puts my Pegasus shoulder o’erword aye, she talks o’ rank and far outspread o’er all my cold dead; would length our own couches, wonders here; thus far for foreigner grass.

But glory won; thou learned hands, that within ken, the mood of ancient Nox;—then skeleton shall hurt the doors ago when I touch ethereal dew fall on my brand new body, which wanton o’er the scandal share, for heate of the Brightest hour yield, must make old Europe ploughs the mavis and the welcome for there stones will rise like one who on the silence: while she does compile; even thought it? At dinners, thou arise to bless this.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #165 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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