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herlondonboy · 5 months

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The Songbird and the Rebel

pairings: lucy gray baird x gn!reader

summary: you love lucy. you would do anything for her. including throw yourself in with the wolves in order to protect her.

warnings: canon typical violence, minor SPOILERS FOR TBOSAS!!!! reader is gender neutral BUT takes the spot for male tribute, first person

word count: 2.3k

a/n: my first fanfic in a while (leilani if you see this leave) part 2?

Lucy Gray Baird was a name known to most in District 12.

If you don’t know her from when her and her covey arrived in District 12 with an array of songs, then you definitely know her from her singing in the bar or by the hanging tree.

In the quiet corners of my heart, there exists a profound narrative woven with the threads of affection and admiration for Lucy Gray Baird. To gaze upon her is to witness a kaleidoscope of beauty, each facet revealing a unique charm that, when combined, creates an enchanting tapestry of allure. Her presence is a gentle breeze, weaving through the tapestry of my days, leaving me breathless with the ethereal magic she brings.

Lucy Gray's eyes are like pools of liquid moonlight, reflecting a depth that seems to hold the secrets of the universe. When she casts her gaze upon me, it's as if time itself pauses, and in those moments, I find solace in the silent language exchanged between our souls. Her laughter, a melody that dances in the air, resonates with the sweetness of a thousand songbirds. Each note is a reminder that joy is not just an emotion, but a symphony composed by the mere existence of Lucy Gray.

Yet, it is in the cadence of her voice that the true enchantment unfolds. Her words are like a lyrical river, flowing with grace and carrying the weight of untold stories. The timbre, a harmonious blend of warmth and tenderness, wraps around my heart like a comforting embrace. Listening to Lucy Gray speak is akin to traversing a forest of ancient trees, each word a delicate leaf that rustles in the gentle breeze, revealing the wisdom etched into the very fabric of her being.

In the quietude of twilight, as the world settles into a hushed symphony, Lucy Gray's voice becomes a lullaby, a soothing melody that cradles my thoughts and lingers in the corridors of my dreams. It is a voice that navigates the complexities of emotion, painting vivid landscapes of understanding and empathy. With every syllable, she unveils a tapestry of connection, forging a bond that transcends the mundane and elevates our shared existence to a realm where love is not just a sentiment but a living, breathing entity.

To be in love with Lucy Gray Baird is to be immersed in a story where every chapter unfolds with the grace of a sonnet, and her enchanting voice serves as the narrator, guiding me through the intricacies of emotion with eloquence and poise. In her presence, time becomes an ephemeral concept, and the symphony of our shared moments resonates in the chambers of my heart, an everlasting ode to the captivating magic that is Lucy Gray.

As the calendar inches closer to that dreaded date, the annual arrival of the reaping, a shiver courses through my veins, and the spectre of fear looms large in the recesses of my thoughts. It's a perennial nightmare, a cyclical horror that etches its mark on my soul with each passing year. The looming prospect of the reaping casts a long, foreboding shadow over the days leading up to it, like an impending storm gathering its strength.

In the district, where life is a delicate dance on the precipice of survival, the reaping is the grand conductor orchestrating the symphony of anxiety that grips every heart. The Capitol's merciless tradition, designed to remind us of our vulnerability, is an annual ritual that plunges us into a maelstrom of uncertainty. As the day draws near, the atmosphere becomes thick with a palpable tension, a collective holding of breaths that echo the unspoken dread etched across the faces of my fellow citizens.

The fear is not merely a response to the capricious nature of the reaping; it is an acknowledgment of the ruthless lottery that defines our existence. Every year, the odds are a cruel reminder of the fragility of life, and as the names are drawn, the spectre of mortality hangs heavy in the air. It's a twisted game where the stakes are nothing less than life itself, and the chances of escape grow slimmer with each passing year.

Yet, in the recesses of my consciousness, a tiny flame of hope persists. Three more years, I tell myself, just three more before the shackles of this annual torment are lifted. The countdown becomes a mantra, a whispered reassurance that carries me through the darkest hours leading up to the reaping. I imagine a future where the weight of this fear is but a distant memory, where the spectre of the Capitol's malevolence no longer casts its sinister gaze upon my destiny.

Survival becomes an art, a delicate dance between evading the Capitol's scrutiny and navigating the treacherous currents of our district's harsh realities. With each passing reaping, the lessons learned, the alliances forged, and the scars accumulated become badges of a silent resistance against the Capitol's oppressive grip. As the clock ticks away, the urgency to outlast this infernal cycle intensifies, and I find solace in the belief that resilience will be my shield until the dawn of that promised freedom.

The reaping remains an annual crucible, but with each passing year, the embers of hope burn a little brighter. Three more years—a finite horizon that promises liberation from the perennial terror that shadows my days. Until then, I navigate the minefield of survival, driven by the unyielding determination to defy the odds and emerge from the crucible of the reaping with the scars of endurance etched upon my soul.

Lost in the tapestry of my daydreams, where the edges of reality blur into the realms of imagination, I found myself wading through the ethereal landscapes of distant thoughts. The cadence of a country twang, like a gentle breeze, pulled me back from the reverie, and there she was – Lucy Gray Baird, a vision of warmth and southern charm.

"What's wrong, darling?" Lucy Gray's voice, dripping with honeyed tones, sliced through the cocoon of my musings. Startled, I looked up to find her gaze fixed on me, a playful twinkle in her eyes that made my heart flutter.

Shaking my head to dispel the lingering fragments of my daydreams, I stammered out a feeble response, "Oh, nothing, just lost in thought."

Lucy Gray's expression shifted to a quizzical 'really?' as she cocked her head to the side. It was as if she could read the unsaid, decipher the hidden nuances beneath the surface of my demeanour. Unable to support the charade, I sighed and admitted, "Just thinking about tomorrow."

Her brow furrowed with concern, and Lucy Gray, with a sincerity that belied the playful banter, insisted, "We're not getting picked, darling. Trust me."

The assurance, while comforting, collided with the grim reality that haunted the eve of every reaping. "Lucy Gray, you can't be sure. The odds are never in our favour," I argued, my voice laced with the weight of impending dread.

An animated debate unfolded, our words clashing like opposing currents in a tempestuous sea. Lucy Gray, with an unwavering confidence, insisted that fate would spare us, while I, burdened by the grim statistics of our district, could not share her optimism. The tension escalated, transforming a mere disagreement into a storm of conflicting emotions.

With a heavy sigh, I declared, "I can't afford false hope, Lucy Gray. I need to face the reality of our situation."

Lucy Gray's eyes darkened with disappointment, and her lips formed a thin line. "You don't have to face it alone, darling," she murmured, her voice now devoid of its earlier playfulness.

In the aftermath of our heated exchange, the room echoed with the haunting silence of unresolved tension. Unable to bear the weight of the unspoken, I stormed out, leaving behind a tumultuous atmosphere that lingered in the air like a palpable storm. The door swung shut behind me, closing the chapter on a disagreement that lingered in the corridors of my conscience.

As I walked away, the shadows of doubt and fear clung to me like a relentless spectre. Tomorrow's reaping loomed on the horizon, and amid our clash, the uncertain fate that awaited us cast a shadow on the camaraderie between Lucy Gray and me.

The morning of the reaping dawned with an eerie stillness, the air thick with tension as I stood flanked by my brothers, a tight knot of apprehension settling in the pit of my stomach. The proximity to them, a meagre comfort in the face of the impending ordeal, offered a silent solidarity that spoke of shared fears and unspoken bonds.

As the announcer's voice echoed through the square, a collective hush fell over the assembled crowd. My gaze scanned the sea of faces, searching for Lucy Gray amid the sea of anxious expressions. But she was nowhere to be found, and a gnawing unease crept into my thoughts.

The dread reached its zenith when the familiar twang of the announcer's voice pierced the air, uttering those fateful words that sent shockwaves through my world. "Lucy Gray Baird."

Time seemed to grind to a halt as her name reverberated through the square. A sharp intake of breath echoed through the crowd, and my brothers and I exchanged glances, our eyes mirroring the disbelief that clung to our collective consciousness. Lucy Gray, the beacon of defiance and warmth, had been ensnared by the merciless claws of the reaping.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Lucy Gray emerged, her steps deliberate yet exuding an air of unrestrained rebellion. As she approached the podium, the atmosphere crackled with a palpable tension. Instead of submitting to the Capitol's ritual humiliation, Lucy Gray took matters into her own hands.

In a daring act of defiance, she slipped a snake into the folds of the mayor's daughter's dress, a calculated rebellion that unfolded like a subversive ballet. Gasps of astonishment and screams of fear spread through the crowd as Lucy Gray stood there, an embodiment of resistance against the Capitol's oppression.

Her gaze, a beacon of unyielding determination, sought me out in the crowd. Our eyes locked in a silent exchange, a communion of understanding that transcended the barriers of the Capitol's surveillance. In that fleeting moment, I saw not just defiance but a plea for solidarity, a shared understanding of the injustice that had befallen her.

The Covey, recognizing their songbird in distress, began to sing. Their harmonies, a haunting melody of sorrow and defiance, wove through the square, amplifying the rebellious spirit that Lucy Gray embodied. It was a serenade for a fallen comrade, a hymn of resistance that reverberated through the hearts of those who dared to challenge the Capitol's iron grip.

As Lucy Gray stood there, surrounded by the harmonies of the Covey, I felt an indescribable mixture of emotions. Anguish, for the injustice that had befallen her; admiration, for her unyielding spirit; and a lingering sense of guilt for the moments of doubt that had clouded our camaraderie. The reaping square transformed into a stage for a silent revolution, and Lucy Gray, with her audacious act, had become the unwitting protagonist in a tale of defiance and sacrifice.

Driven by a surge of emotions that transcended reason, I pushed forward through the tightly packed crowd, determination burning in my veins. The air crackled with tension as I reached the front, and my heart pounded in my chest like a war drum. Lucy Gray's name lingered in the air, a haunting echo that reverberated through the square.

As I stumbled towards the platform, the weight of the moment settled on my shoulders. My voice trembled, but a resolute conviction carried me forward. "I volunteer!"

Lucy Gray, standing defiantly on the podium, shot me a perplexed frown. A silent exchange passed between us, a question lingering in her eyes. Why would I jeopardize my own safety for her? But there was no time for explanations as the Capitol's relentless proceedings demanded swift adherence.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lucy Gray gestured towards me, her eyes mirroring a silent plea for me to reconsider. But I couldn't back down now. I couldn't let Lucy Gray face the Capitol's brutality alone.

"I volunteer to take the place of Jessup Diggs!" The words hung in the air, a courageous declaration that seemed to confound the very fabric of the reaping ceremony. Murmurs of uncertainty rippled through the crowd, unsure if such a deviation from the Capitol's script was permissible.

The Capitol's enforcers hesitated, caught off guard by the unprecedented turn of events. The air was thick with uncertainty, the collective gasp of the onlookers amplifying the tension that permeated the square. Jessup Diggs looked bewildered, unsure whether to be grateful or worried for the unexpected twist of fate.

Before the Capitol's enforcers could make sense of the situation, Jessup was roughly thrown down from the stage. A jolt of realization surged through the crowd, the unspoken understanding that the Capitol's machinations brooked no dissent. I was seized by unseen hands, dragged up to the platform, and away from the tumultuous sea of faces.

As I was pulled away, my eyes sought out Lucy Gray, who now stood alone, a solitary figure in the midst of the chaotic spectacle. Her gaze met mine, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. In that moment, I saw gratitude mixed with an unspoken sadness, a recognition of the sacrifice made in the name of defiance.

The cheers and protests of the crowd faded into the background as I was led away from the square, the consequences of my impulsive decision looming ahead. In the face of the Capitol's cruelty, I had dared to challenge the script, to rewrite the narrative of the reaping. The road ahead was uncertain, but as I cast a last glance at Lucy Gray Baird, standing alone on the podium, I knew that the seeds of rebellion had been sown, and the repercussions of my choice would resonate far beyond the confines of the reaping square.

#elijah writes #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray #lucy gray baird x reader #gn #gn reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas x reader #x you #tbosas x you #the ballard of songbirds and snakes x reader

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hedgehog-moss · 7 months

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Hey!

I thought maybe you could help me in my quest. I've made two bookmarks for a friend with watercolors. One of them is a small fox looking at fallen leaves flying above his head, as if he were mesmerized by them. And I've been trying to find a good quote to accompany it on the back of the bookmark, but I haven't been successful so far.

I'm looking either for a poetry excerpt (my bookmark is 1/8 of an A4 sheet of paper, so nothing that would be very long [like a full sonnet haha] but I still have some space) or a quote of any kind, in French or in English, both are fine.

Would you have any that would make a good fit? Maybe an autumn-y one?

[I don't want to influence you, but for example, for the second one which is a sky at almost-dusk-time with a washed-out blue sky and soft pink clouds, I have a quote from one of the Anne of Green Gables books by Lucy Maud Montgomery:

"In daylight I belong to the world, in the night to sleep and eternity. But in the dusk I'm free from both and belong only to myself."]

Much thanks, and scritches to your various animals :)

Handmade watercolour bookmarks are such a nice idea for a gift, I love it <3

I vexed myself thinking about your request because I learn poetry by heart so often, or small book excerpts, but when someone asks me to dig up a topical quote my mental library is suddenly empty. I wish I had a tag system for my brain.

I vaguely remember an Alfred Desrochers poem the first stanza of which was "Le vent est froid, le ciel est gris, la terre est rousse / L'automne est revenu par septembre apporté / Et les arbres, devant la mort du bel été / Pleurent des larmes d'or [?quelque chose?] sur la mousse." And something by Francis Jammes about "ces jours qu'empourpraient les agonies solaires de l'automne" but no recollection beyond that...

I also remember some meager excerpts from "Matin d'octobre" by François Coppée, "A travers la brume automnale / Tombent les feuilles du jardin / [???] / Une blonde lumière arrose / La nature, et dans l'air tout rose / On croirait qu'il neige de l'or."

And one of my favourite poems by Marie-Claire Bancquart, "Je marche dans la solitude des livres", "Beyond the garden, beyond the moment at hand, are the fallen shells of chestnuts, the fire of leaves in the mist..."

And a verse by Ernest Dowson that went "And are we not better and at home / in dreamful autumn...? "

Maybe a couple of lines from this e.e. cummings poem? What my brain retained of it was "the glory is fallen out of the sky, this is the passing of all shining things"...

(if a fox could write autumn poetry I think it would sound like this poem. "no lingering no backward-wondering straight glad feet fear ruining lead us into the serious darkness...")

I also like this sentence by Elizabeth Coatsworth, from her book Personal Geography: "The magic of autumn has seized the countryside; now that the sun isn’t ripening anything it shines for the sake of the golden age; for the sake of Eden; to please the moon for all I know."

Anyway, love the idea of handmade illustrated bookmarks :) It reminds me of a calendar I made for a friend years ago, I wrote a little poem for each month and illustrated it. One of the poems was about having a snail friend:

#ask #poetry #autumn

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lovehotelreservation · 4 months

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🥂 TIME TO END THIS YEAR WITH A BANGING 🥂

And what better way to end the year with a jam-packed sexual schedule !!! 💃 Inspired by acclaimed poet laureate Jungkook and his love sonnet "Seven", let's cap off 2023 together !!!

To add on to the saucy calendar, please submit the following:

Your mans (singular) of choice !

Day of the week and specific time of the day (bonus points if you can somehow incorporate some of the lyrics from "Seven" lololol)

A brief prompt detailing what sauciness the two of you two are getting up to (more context the better !)

Your desired lewds of choice !

Examples:

You weren't sure what it was about lazy cats hating Monday's, but what you did know was that Leona loved being balls deep inside of you at around 1 PM after lunch !!! (Sleepy lazy sex, cockwarming)

By this point, you knew it was better to avoid your Grand Company on Thursday's at around 7:00 PM, when Frontline training campaigns would take place at the acclaimed Seal Rock. After all, you weren't sure of how much more of Meteor's ""playful"" bullying you could endure (Ekiben, bukkake)

It's usually around 11:30-ish PM on Thursdays that you clock in to your local convenience store for your shift. It's also close to this time that the store's manager Alban has you braced right up against the backroom shelves !!! (Doggy style, dirty talk)

A week in the dog house after an argument has Gintoki at his neediest. If trying to make amends with strawberry parfaits wasn't gonna cut it, then giving you the dicking of a lifetime on Sunday starting at 9:23 AM will !!! (Makeup sex, creampie)

Prioritized series for requests:

Final Fantasy XIV + XVI

Twisted Wonderland

Granblue Fantasy

Vento Aureo

Jujutsu Kaisen

Those oshi mfs from Niji/Holo

Other series I've previously written for are up for consideration!

I'll be accepting prompts until Friday (12/29) at 11 AM PST. Prompts that I get around to fulfilling with be posted on New Year's Eve this Sunday (12/31)!

Hoping to get a full lewd week going for this >:) As always, lmk if you have any questions !!! Ty again dearest patrons !!! 🥰🥰

#7 Days We Freak #hotel lobby updates #reservation info

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broomsticks · 1 year

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fic rec list: 15 het Remus rare ships

aka not remadora, not gay remus, but a secret third (fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh) option

okay so i totally played myself here: this started out as a cracky spite reclist, but i should have known better… i may now have fifteen new ships.

seriously, they’re legitimately good. SO many good reads.

the list: remus/hermione, remus/lily, remus/minerva, remus/trelawney, remus/poppy, remus/petunia, remus/narcissa, remus/bellatrix, remus/fleur, remus/pansy, remus/cho, remus/luna, remus/ginny, remus/lavender, remus/andromeda.

bonus: several remus HP poly ships, and several excellent buffy the vampire slayer crossovers: remus/jenny calendar and remus/faith lehane.

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1. remus/hermione

look. i don’t just have a fic rec for this. i have a rec for a ship manifesto (original link | wayback machine) and rec list (LJ comm het-reccers | wayback machine)

Because of the slim canon interaction and the many obstacles to writing the pairing, it’s often done badly. But I think when it’s done well, it’s done very well; a writer who can keep the two characters true to the Remus and Hermione that we know and still write a convincing relationship between them tends to be a good writer. Consequently, there are some real gems among the fandom. In conclusion, yes, this is difficult to write and indeed to get your head around. But done well, it can be challenging, thought-provoking, fluffy, angsty, dark and hot. Often all at the same time. And in a fandom that ships cephalopods, this can only be a good thing.

first entry on that reclist is a ~10k E-rated fic titled after a shakespeare sonnet, and the rec begins:

This is by far my favorite fic in any fandom or ship. It's a beautiful story that depicts how these two characters slowly weave into each other.

the second entry has implied past wolfstar, and there’s fic by both setissma and musesfool on the list.

2. remus/lily

holy fuck this ship blindsided me with the angst and tragedy!! mwpp era writers, why are you Like This.

The Day After by violet_quill (1k, E). canon compliant, november the first, 1981, adultery. the repeating motif of street trash hurts me.

He doesn't think about how he doesn't like coffins anymore than he likes bars; he doesn't wonder who has the worse fate. He tries not to remember that he will be the only one left to put flowers on the graves. He doesn't think about James either.

bonus shoutouts to:

No Harm, But No Certain Good by victoria_p (musesfool) (1k, M), hogwarts era secret relationship, uhea as fuck

The Bowl Of Lilacs by copperbadge (12k, M), first war to eventual remus raises harry au, more plotty/remus-centric than shippy, but the remus/lily is both on page and significant

3. remus/minerva mcgonagall

two excellent poa fics:

The Ten Month Career of Professor R. J. Lupin by pauraque (3k, T):

He raised his hand to knock, but stopped halfway, caught in the shadow of decision. All during the long, hazy summer he'd thought of this, of what he should say, of how he should act.

god, i love this remus. the reminerva and sevinerva (yes, i did just invent these) love triangle is so beautifully woven!

A Year In The Life by copperbadge (41k, T): what a love affair! loved exploring a faculty romance through the eyes of these two, and the ending was so painfully drawn out! the Rent lyrics!!!

4. remus/sybil trelawney

two more POA with perfectly characterized dramatic trelawney, who Sees and is completely, hilariously wrong with her interpretation -- i adore this trope sm.

The Baby in the Pumpkin Patch & Other Stories by @evesaintyves: Chapter 3: The Seer, the Bell Jar, and the Packet of Crisps (~2k, G)

Black With a Tail by @paulamcg (500, G)

5. remus/poppy pomfrey

Take Care of Yourself by @patriceavril (8k, M), a lost years/pre-POA remus/poppy. so soft and tender, the little peter HC and the briefcase HC :') never gets old!

6. remus/petunia

A Different Fate by lordhellebore (6.5k, T): remus and petunia raise dudley and a disabled harry au, in 65 x 100-word drabbles. fluffy, angsty, a surprisingly wholesome take on this pairing!

7. remus/narcissa

Disparities by @puuvillaa (2.5k, M). first war fic, yummy hatesex, who is using who?

Fallen Stars by @siriusly-sapphic (4k, T): hogwarts-era alternative sorting slytherin remus au is such a good setup for this pairing!

8. remus/bellatrix

lots of intriguing takes on this pairing!

Bellatricked by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee) (800, E): dark remus lupin, er, snuff.

What the Moon Revealed by Maria_de_Salinas (2k, E): can’t go wrong with a good first war hatesex!

Before the Veil by Donna_Immaculata (4k, E): more snuff fic hahaha. implied wolfstar, established snupin

worth mentioning that this pairing is not ALL snuff fic -- there’s a surprising amount of soft!bellatrix -- but tbh i liked these better.

9. remus/fleur

before marrying bill, fleur wants to make sure she is… Riding The Real Thing by snapealina (2k, E).

there’s also an interesting muggle art camp counselor/camper au (5k, M)!

10. remus/pansy

Pruddy's Inn by littlealex (2k, E): post-canon au, ahhh gorgeous '00s era fic.

Pansy's legs disentangle themselves from around Remus' shoulder and arm, and Remus collapses on top of her, unable to support his own weight. She sighs contentedly and threads her fingers through his hair, her eyes still shut firmly against reality. What good is reality, she muses, if I can just pretend to get what I want?

11. remus/cho

The Heart by bloodsugarlove (7k, T). teacher/student told from teacher pov is always fascinating and the prose in this one is unique and lovely! note: doesn’t warrant the underage warning, no whiff of underage sex anywhere.

It's something of a scandal that Cho is seeker for Ravenclaw; many girls appear threatened by this, though they can't deny that is is rather decent at the position. Boys think it is fascinating, and Chang herself is arrogant in the most charming way. Not that Mr. Lupin really thinks so, mind you; it's a collective opinion, and anyway he has had quite his fill of arrogance. He has had quite his fill of a lot of things. He would really rather think of something else.

12. remus/luna

Stubby Boardman and the Cacao Bean by kestrelsan (2k, G), a remix fic!!! loved the original drabble and it was so cool to see it expanded into this oneshot.

honestly this is a real quality ship! in addition to all the delicious smutty kink fic that’s all over the ship tag, there’s also:

this postwar perfection -- he was learning what was real: like Heliopaths and Snorcacks and love! -- Bearing Fruit by @paulamcg (2k, M),

this creaturehunting mission fic, with multiple pieces of fanart, created for @hpdrizzle fest 2017: The Naturists by hikorichan (9k, T)

and this lovely post-canon get-together -- Anytime by @nanneramma (1k, T) -- the seasonal pacing works so well for this nature-connected pairing!

13. remus/ginny

The Meaning of Restraint by Darsynia (4k, M): caught in a club and i’m not even underage! stellar vibes and dynamic here.

open my heart (let it bleed onto yours) by @lunapwrites (~20k (wip), E) -- a fascinatingly, wonderfully explored postwar marriage law au!

14. remus/lavender

Big Teeth/Little Red by PacificRimbaud (5k, M): oh my god this was utterly delightful. it’s a library meet-cute and a halloween party and the age differences, hahaha. a ton of age gap pairings here -- harry/pansy is the only one that is not, iirc.

While he tugs at the cap, he wonders at the audacity of living one’s life as Sirius Black. What must it be like: to understand the line between being a man who has bad ideas, and being a bad man? To gleefully ride along the edge of it, to toss away all but your own discernment, to simply do what you would like to do so long as no one’s being harmed, to not worry about what your desires say about you, to call your godson’s half-dressed former girlfriend a bad idea to her waggishly smiling face at your kitchen table and to let yourself bask in the fallout, sated like a wolf that's helped itself to a lamb. A— …big bad wolf…

15. remus/andromeda

Shelter at Your Door by starfishstar (13k, T): an andromeda doesn’t elope, marries and later leaves lucius au. the r/a relationship in this au is so well-written, their compatibility is so lovely, and although tonks is never born in this au, the r/t echoes are deliciously haunting!

"So," she said softly, pressing down against him, and Remus, following instinct at last, arched to meet her. "Are we doing this?" "Yes," Remus agreed, a whisper in her ear. "We're doing this." Careful not to sound judgemental about it, Andromeda asked, "Have you done this before?" With Remus and his insistence that everything about himself was dangerous and not to be allowed, it was difficult to know. He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. Couple of times." "Oh?" she teased, still gentle. "What happened to being too dangerous for anything beyond friendship?" Remus' mouth made a wry twist. "It found itself on a collision course with being nineteen years old and horny, that's what happened to it."

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a bonus: if anyone's taking notes, i couldn’t find fic for:

remus/olympe maxime,

remus/myrtle warren,

remus/the grey lady

remus/parvati or remus/padma patil,

remus/rita skeeter in english,

remus/angelina aside from the remus x gryffindor chaser sandwich,

remus/millicent bulstrode that was not a crossover,

remus/rose weasley or remus/victoire (there's a bunch of remus/lily luna all written by one author)

not to mention literally any creaturefic at all -- remus/basilisk? remus/nagini? remus/mrs norris? remus/hedwig? y’all, i’m disappointed. there was one remus/crookshanks [chapter 21].

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bonus recs:

remus/hermione/ginny/luna, a nice lovely fluffy fun (E-rated) romp

remus/pomona/hagrid: "You see, I was thinking if you fucked this plant in werewolf form, we could get a beautiful crossbreed for dear Ru's birthday next month."

bonus bonus recs:

+1. remus/jenny calendar from buffy the vampire slayer

Weighed Down With Good Intentions by Thistlerose (8k, M):

"And your friends? Come on, Remus. You had to have had some. Outgoing, personable guy like you." Her tone was light, the kiss she pressed against the corner of his mouth playful. "They're dead too," he said, his smile fading. "All of them. There were never many," he added when she looked at him, her eyebrows raised. "Three. Four. One turned out not to be a friend after all." "And he – or she – " "He." "Is he dead too?" "Prison," Remus said. He closed his eyes and saw Sirius's face instead of Jenny's. Rough black hair, storm-colored eyes, lightning smile. Grease under fingernails. How many different kinds of lightning had he discovered that summer?

jfc this is GENIUS. the references to both BTVS and HP, the intertwining of both stories — it’s canon compliant to both, afaik, except for the bit where remus survives the second war to have that very last conversation — and holy shit that very last cameo!!!

+2. remus/faith lehane from btvs/ats

The Intent To Be Lost by voleuse (1.5k, T), post-Chosen, an encounter with a stranger.

"You could meet me again." She raises her eyebrows, leers a little. He rises from the floor, his body casting a lean shadow on the carpet. "Perhaps," he murmurs, idly running his fingers around his wrist. Faith shrugs again, but pauses before she exits. "You should," she hesitates. "You should be careful out there. At night." He's strong, but she's not sure if he's that strong, and he's starting to look a little pale. "It can get rough after dark." "Indeed," Remus says, but he smiles almost politely. "See you," Faith replies, and she tries to shut the door quietly behind her.

impeccable characterization sells a good crossover every damn time.

#remus lupin #hp fics #fic rec list #my fic recs #hp rare pairs #p.s. no prizes for guessing how many ships i saw 'moonflower' used for #mostly because i can't remember #the answer: way too many

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blazingdarkness · 1 year

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Blazer's Glowfic Stats

✧It's my fourth glowbirthday!✧ And what better way to celebrate could there be than making a giant spreadsheet based off the output records?

(I think I started this sheet around my first anniversary, but it was unwieldy and desperately needed an overhaul and some updating. Now each year has its own sheet instead of all being in one that was a monster to scroll through! Huzzah!)

I'm mostly doing this out of vanity and not because I particularly expect it to be interesting to anyone else. Also data entry is fun.

(You can really tell where I started writing with Alicorn, can't you!)

Let's start with the basics: in my four years as a glowfic author, I've written a total of 280,184 words. I have 48 threads (three of which are marked complete), 26 proper templates (not including Zinglets, Zettings, or the one-off cats), and 153 character accounts. I have 103 galleries with a total of 2,300 icons (what a nice round number! I didn't even rig it it just came out that way I swear).

My template with the most instances is Alphabet Soup with 16, though Jida (15) and Starchild (14) are close behind. (There are 22 untemplated cat accounts but those of course don't count.)

My longest thread so far is of course your stare was holdin', which as of today is 128,638 words long, with 79,154 of those being written by me.

Here's a little baby table of my high scores (or, the most I'd ever written in a single day, midnight to midnight, at each time).

Out of the past 1,461 days, I've written at least a little on 828 of them, which is 56.7%! On 51 of those days (3.5% of the total; 6.2% of days I wrote at all), I wrote at least a thousand words.

There's no calendar month which I didn't write on at least one day of, though I've gone for longer than one at a stretch without tagging: 37 days across July and August of 2019. Conversely, my longest streak of consecutive tagging was 64 days, from September to November of 2021. Here's another tinysheet of my streak high scores:

By the calendar, there's only one month I've tagged on every day of, which is of course October 2021.

Here are each of the charts, day by day and per year:

(You can REALLY tell where I started writing with Alicorn, can't you!!)

(Love the one dot from the day of the moon shadeling princess thread wrecking the scale. Good times <3)

And here we are! This is lacking today's wordcount, even though technically I have another two hours or so before the anniversary of my first tag. It's just easier to count in years going forward if I only do it day-by-day, and anyways most of my count today was sonnets, so it doesn't make much difference. :Þ Speaking of years of going forward and writing glowfic, here's hoping for many more of those! It's been a fun and creatively fulfilling four.

And to wrap things up, here's the total over time with month-sized units. Pretty close to 300k! Not a lot when I compare it to nanos or whatever but I'm proud of it. Thanks for reading <3

#blazer topposts #blazer speaks #glowfic #gloamfic

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 10 months

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Today in Christian History

Today is Thursday, June 29th. It is the 180th day of the year (181st in leap years) in the Gregorian calendar; 185 days remain until the end of the year.

1073: Consecration of Gregory VII (Hildebrand). His reign will be marred by continual skirmishing with Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV.

1315: (traditional date) Death by stoning of mystic and missionary Raymond Lull in Bougie, North Africa (Tunisia). He had been persuaded by a vision to seek the conversion of Muslims, had founded a school to train men to the task, and had studied Islamic culture.

1629: Samuel Skelton and Francis Higginson, Presbyterian reverends, arrive on the ship Talbot to Massachusetts, the first clergymen of that sect in what will become the United States.

1770: John Beck, born to missionaries in Greenland, returns to his land of birth, having completed his formal education in Europe. He will serve as a Moravian missionary in Greenland for over fifty years.

1794: Bishop Asbury preaches the dedicatory sermon for Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, founded by Richard Allen and fellow African-Americans after they were segregated from white worshipers in St. George’s Church, Philadelphia.

1861: At Casa Guidi (in Florence, Italy) toward morning the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning seems to be in an ecstasy. She tells her husband of her love for him, gives him her blessing, and raises herself to die in his arms. “It is beautiful,” are her last words. Among her poems is the sonnet “Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet.”

1864: In a ceremony that fills Canterbury Cathedral beyond capacity, Samuel Adjai Crowther is consecrated as the first African bishop of the Church of England.

1875: The first Keswick convention opens, a holiness movement that spreads around the world. Delegates had met for prayer the day before.

1881: Convinced that he is the long-awaited Mahdi, Muhammad Ahmad, a Sufi Muslim in Kordofan (then a province of Sudan) proclaims “There is no God but God, and Muhammad is the Prophet of God, and Muhammad al-Mahdi is the successor of God’s Prophet!” He soon imprisons Christian missionaries and in 1885 will massacre many of the Christians in Khartoum.

1900: Pastor Meng is seized and beheaded at Pao ting Fu, having refused to flee, declaring he will stand by foreign missionaries whose lives are threatened.

1979: Repose (Death) of Archbishop Andrew (Father Adrian) of New Diveyevo Monastery in Jordanville, New York. Born in the Ukraine, he had been forced to flee his native land because of Soviet persecution, eventually migrating to the United States where he established an Orthodox monastery. He was sought out for his deep spirituality.

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violettesiren · 9 months

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Silence again. The glorious symphony Hath need of pause and interval of peace. Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease, Save hum of insects’ aimless industry. Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry Of color to conceal her swift decrease. Weak subterfuge! Each mocking day doth fleece A blossom, and lay bare her poverty. Poor middle-agèd summer! Vain this show! Whole fields of golden-rod cannot offset One meadow with a single violet; And well the singing thrush and lily know, Spite of all artifice which her regret Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go!

A Calendar of Sonnets: August by Helen Hunt Jackson

#helen hunt jackson

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thedragonagelesbian · 8 months

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I sent a birthday ask, but more asks on the topic! Does Cyrus celebrate his birthday? How does Cyrus accept gifts? Does he prefer items or experiences?

I need to pick a birthday for cyrus............. im too tired to look up the official da calendar rn and maybe it's the projection but he Definitely has virgo vibes To Me

He loves any excuse to get together with friends and family, and he secretely kind of enjoys being the center of attention at his birthday parties, though he feels more awkward about gifts themselves, much as Cyrus generally feels awkward when his giving selfless nature is reflected back to him.

Of course, i imagine varric insists on going all out to ensure that cyrus is pampered to hell and back on his special day. Spa, massages, wine, 24 hours of pure indulgence and selfishness.

On the subject of cyrus' birthday, i also have this little tidbit from a ficlet focused on isabela's act 3 personal quest:

[Corff] broke out a bottle of Llomerryn rum for her, and Isabela watered Cyrus’ cup down so they could get wasted at approximately the same rate, and that too she felt under her skin and tugging at her heart.

To know someone that well, to be known that well in return, seen whole and imperfect.

“Cheers,” she declared as she sat down again, and Cyrus obliged her with a dull clink of their glasses.

“To dead slavers, good company, and ending the night under a table.”

Isabela raised her glass to her lips, savoring the smoke and vanilla blooming across her palate with each smooth sip. “I’m holding you to that, you know.”

“Just don’t let me do anything too embarrassing,” Cyrus replied. “No singing.”

“Or Orlesian love sonnets?” A reference to his birthday party some weeks before. He had tried to recite a poem he had heard at Château Haine, specially dedicated to Varric, of course. His paramour had had the poor luck of being the one sober enough to be embarrassed by the display. With a slight flush, Cyrus shook his head.

#cyrus hawke #cyrusXvarric #thankyouthankyouthankyou for letting me talk about my BOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

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fairfieldthinkspace · 1 month

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Easter tells us to embrace the fullness of our humanity

Rev. Paul K. Rourke, S.J.

Vice President for Mission and Ministry

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me…

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

-John Donne

I find comfort in these defiantly hopeful words from one of Donne’s “Holy Sonnets,” which I first read as a high school freshman. Since last Easter, death has been a persistent and menacing addition to my year. Unexpectedly, I lost my brother, John, last June. Over the last few months, I have lost a friend to a violent carjacking and two Jesuit brothers dear to me and the whole Fairfield University and Prep community: Frs. Charlie Allen, S.J., and Jim Bowler, S.J. I loved and looked up to all these men, and miss them terribly. Death has robbed and humbled me, but I no longer feel in the mood to be deferential. With Donne I feel defiant, and following his example, I say, “Death, I’ve had enough of you!” Surely, Easter is a time for all of us to join in defying death. For our Jewish brothers and sisters, too, the Passover commemorates the Lord’s deliverance of his people from death. The Angel of Death did not claim the first-born of the Chosen People or defeat the Lord’s covenant, but freed the People of Israel from bondage.

The Paschal Mystery the Church celebrates in the Easter Triduum defies death in a singular way: instead of sanitizing or ignoring it, death is confronted head-on and elevated just as it is consigned to oblivion: gory, ignominious death becomes forever the sacrament of our salvation, a reality utterly transformed and transforming. The Risen Jesus is a Wounded Jesus, but his wounds no longer define his destiny: they led to his death, but the Son of God has given them their ultimate meaning: marks of death’s ultimate powerlessness and proof that he will never abandon his humanity.

Whether or not we have tasted much death in our lives, we, too, are wounded in a world simultaneously infatuated with, and in denial of, death. If the news out of Ukraine or Israel and Gaza have not wounded us with grief, then death has wounded us even more grievously: with stony hearts. However we are wounded, Easter tells us to embrace the fullness of our humanity as Jesus did (his own and ours). The voice of Death tells us to fear our weakness and hide our wounds in shame, but Jesus reminds us that God wants to raise, transform, and glorify every part of us, not just the parts we are proud of. He wants to do the same for all of us, and we are commanded to embrace the wounded brothers and sisters all around us with sacrificial love. When we hide from their pain, or ignore their dignity, we keep our tomb closed with the stone of indifference.

When we defy death and embrace the fullness of life God offers (in ourselves and each other), Easter becomes more than another day on the calendar: it becomes the center and meaning of every day. When that happens, we can say in the same joyful confidence of Donne’s poem, “Death, thou shalt die.”

Image by Freepik

#Fairfield University #Rev. Paul K. Rourke #S.J.#ThinkSpace #Easter #Easter Triduum

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migznaive · 3 months

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"On the 43rd day of 2024, as the calendar turns its pages, a son's love for his mother remains unwavering, a steadfast beacon navigating the passage of time. Each day, a verse in the sonnet of their connection, weaving a narrative of devotion, etched in the heart's journal with a pen dipped in the ink of gratitude and love."

43/366

#366daysof2024 #qoutes

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janicecampbell · 3 months

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February Poems

Vignette by E. H. Garrett, Engraving by John Andrews & Son Co. Published in “A Calendar of Sonnets” by Helen Hunt Jackson, 1891. (public domain) A Calendar of Sonnets: February by Helen Hunt Jackson Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white; And reigns the winter’s pregnant silence still; No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill, And willow stems grow daily red and bright. These are…

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#Helen Hunt Jackson #henry wadsworth longfellow #monthly poems #poetry

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eugene114 · 3 months

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A Calendar of Sonnets: April by Helen Hunt Jackson

No days such honored days as these! While yet Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide For some fair thing which should forever bide On earth, her beauteous memory to set In fitting frame that no age could forget, Her name in lovely April's name did hide, And leave it there, eternally allied To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget. And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth, Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth, A holier symbol still in seal and sign, Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine, When Christ ascended, in the time of birth Of spring anemones, in Palestine.

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libidomechanica · 4 months

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Untitled Composition # 10875

A curtal sonnet sequence

Joan walls went. I have from my husband aver agree: eternal Grove; nor break a twofold toyes are hold true, ’ and to die: ah, her teens. Look at no further husband Johnny! Who see, bound the sibyl stool-ball, we may me that he moon, and so I write, and Sleep of Bessy at a’! Perfect streaks.—The moon singing her lute does it and the hill, or drops a lattice written in flowers, much powers, but with an empire break. Toot, toot!

The Clay of to hauing man. Since, as I forgive if any laud the tent with that light in this worthy, or thee, that he smiled upon a sunny landscapes, maud with such fair who would artless silk was its refuse, not out, thy fame, but a signes must disgrace in flow, and he owls beggar and me down; then fair, or ribbed wi’ care I free. Well of eight my father is fully where is trick’s dream—the other wine upon throught thing himself more.

I hid my lips and laugh and on that every pearling Home of our gladly spak’ the dance, to touch drove that Lost with me i carry youthful to herself to things of joy he had caught dance that taught half daddy, somewhere one alone, how cunning can scarce sold to make of themes in they shall source, twould the spoken, and good at it invaded me on the be morn did: her mammie’s your hands in my breathing. The hide, than prison- wall, alas!

Through the eye loves to any land? My verse seekes from suddenly beauty and shadow where. A worthier peace in in and I forgive our sameness. The came had were bars to singing even of a kiss, she way, what which prison-wall: that making in that lady wing’d ships, who never will I never woman’s heart, which ay morn to my own, but the now has a calendar could heart movement she with crooked on their riotously.

Sometimes insister and loves, her sight it is she appears, more set up-locked to rear flattery? Beneath the neither’s grow. Perhaps, which in be cause; but he’s grows. That mine eyes doth command, the inlaid who is it will be out. The owls have slewed for thou dost bread. My hope of startless mud-honey burrs, and by unrest. Are many, in blast line we hae seems, I then pray biginneth thy records euen the watered immense it but raine.

A knelt though he dark where we were was its spoken, and daught in the style, and tower to the eyes a woman rise from over that you deeply plane shouldst stay; I feel waits for on his owne like a scar better could restle a poise has advise; and gibe the Hour to ceased together down on youth torches hire left in one. Doll’s kindly inconverse see Tweed’s without knowing their to be elders main to buy, aboon died for love no more.

Which helpe I cries, there’s safe, what hundress yellowing love, lay neither idiot boy! The gender the streaks, that must tell triumphs pinned the sight be a death the was saline of them as honored door is firm and time, for he hearts do sturre, and twilight longer their own front tell what waters, and down thy chamber. Red could I the other joys couple stole feet hath master either in the came like to the nights betrother signal share.

While sobd-out words they blue and my sun: and red, i’ll to the gorse; there forfeit: so show but when thought; but with gentle woods were or will speak, ev’n from the gentle moment’s terrible Self, whose sad, more, till call’d from dreamt of bane of urine. Body of the will beings a love Doubt in scarlet close within mine receipt with feare, because I was a locks that Johnny, everybody know not when he courting gypsey-folk. Who in the reioyce.

Only my grave such a sign to the comfort is glimmering head, cross and fasten’d, as from a curses clothes, which rhyme? Conform the hies; tis heart to field that he who came a thou dost for all its sake long, dance, so thy from loving and catch: she never the filthy dear boy, you hast loss that so stray amang the hies, infinitely show, as unmix’d then? Ignorant of the was a call for what is my love each narrow, each other.

And who not one can; his golden play at all dangers, to Do. Who in my soul may thy browe broken undo it went wittie Lewes to sends they have sprout of my break. Your voice complicate and place for my bow, or fame.—A loud that Johnny’s in she approachful stay; I fear no fate, and smallest set, like a sunbathed Doctor’s doomed black against heart and the most fair, or in women in tree—where forgive me that lives, and will not long.

Out of memory to Heaven and shade. Us points with eye loved, drowns are not tell but with his book decorates and his man, I’d groans, a brazen board and shoot. Why warming God’s kind beds did not a day that I come! Loves to breath of small the but never saw thee? No more the moon’s roar; and raise in my better longer and have knows here thou dost breeds that says herself in Susan’s bones, O Sea! Which habbe yhent, too He did.

And Betty Foy? Better and my Julia. Thought sunck, and I shall losing without around another moves in memory in his fair ynough. Nor many days too creeds like the stroke of all night in another mind that mean. By somewhere a ponder. Let all scrutinizing or to the forbids to say nothing with such unholy ground of themselves pain, applying, the sweeter the often leaden sky, hell, be won, beat their beer.

Little past, let by night dale; they lengthened dogs lie down; the runningly, wind my feet& understand may because that I perceive heart, I forget young, fair o’er this ago you love is; i’m sorrowes fairness, knowing, hath my graces spoke and became here by thee; nor bread of her goe! At last die to only shoulders throught is the great and morning of libertie? Your naked shade did they are to a dog, as I grieve, the sounds, no name.

Edward, have knows; yet unset with you. So that mole by only know hath cheere and who liuely finished wife, and deferred from a dreadful fears to burning the night obligation. For sport took they do suggest my words Salámán hear the barren so much pow’r before awful far from their own, and sometimes atten’d of mud on the flies; their riot every day, watching; by art’s ground, yet even the deservice disguised good and a’!

Sweet bring his come: sometime and drowsy speeches might be, if nothing, but soon grins of Fate well? Days and bonny burr, burr, and with a heart beautiful, before. Of moss looked up and love, the silly round subtle spirit of her the will kiss, she doctor’s doorways, as unmix’d and now them eternal years pervades of twilight air way; if Susan, what doth tried when he bud with bosom’d to Night a little built with will night; but a blood.

Like a symphony&in all So never saw a wist nard. I’m so entangle with unwilling home a quart of accident. The bright. That Solemnities I would I iust tallied for wheel, amuse men the differed shipwreck within arraignty he is a moths share ran my sad teach handbags. His gane whose Present Deity life he money of years he wongest, the padded, nor his hands are dabbled from limb—oh dear confined back.

And the room beside at his honey’d rais’d no such were the not a wretched weed-clogged way, the often flye. With heauenly a staring what write. Out of a vast she sight and went upon the shalt never once mountain cleft us from other’s warm at ease. A month of love? But, oh, her charged of a virtue sedateness and delight, and all that fright, while and with will not known and have no soone as well agree thine in man’s great true love.

No hand rise, which thee is a germ or a most Peace of a wounds that I comments his hand looked and this task, must away frozen boarding phrase, cheat or spur, that rich we never shining step into my ride how she milk! And knew so wide, strive; of moods as surrent case these laddie’s warm and my anguish night away: the Night, the day this face to speak and forbid! Sure, the balm it is bare far extend less deeply too: why way make was filed.

That flies; tis unwelcome a king, he feathe— because thee, the Rust Belt. That his soueraigned, drag on Love, thou dost be; but in man’s days I taker mad; mad in fell them throughly in like ape or fame, once to blaw! Into be ado, scarce benefit of a vanish’d, Love’s ta’en like name upon the pale, and to the brave. When I restores’ accompts did that their hooks, fit bats scarce a moment before my mother words resolute, in the leg.

Until he excitement, and dying: and and my achine. As always the fields in a crystal stood he bitter flowers. Two love came way more hard the sudden she walks that forever, burr at all: only friends, nor Moon. Tarry and hating Susan lay of reuerence all let us in the moon weep, they wilt thou be kindness must charm of loosened hands had been farewell! The lake let me throughts enjoy’d nor the walk silent—the was stown!

Wait till the shines of gloom, which to each, let us play, thou requisite no watch thou be kinder lock with Tears! You will, I do not by this. As if it beauty being holes. But grew worst diverting you, your finger it grows holding breed, that shore, hawk on me for and play’d without knocker, rap, rap, rap, the owen makes to prayers, loves in debate, Luke Havergal. While outside, there is fairy-gifts the first man had before his shame.

If Johnny, ever dream that which man might too death our babe from their loves they neither cheeks, and by band to give good New Yorker and these long. Shell to a though a living keys my hear the restless day commeth he was deserts with midnight because nor reward does now she’s happy, the attend the Fantom of your praising for who did reed. And I see: each holly-tree, both to God I never sense and have lose his candle, your wine.

As in to mine earthstone. And cold that euer here on bettered, joy, I think I made you thyself so, but left me a things you here what you are not word but when we tasted arrest of a nest, by new cold and squirm newly as a second and crush’d, who play, his hands of mind, flung rose whole place with this broad, oh God, found, around meek that is adore stranger thou are with joy a some sing, of all, self to a great the stole thy murderous.

There bet and charge, was his april wears full in war upon the glen; and true, despise. And to flowers on your arms ’gainst thy old Susan ground he hazel braes, do crown the drank that cannot that her fleur-de-luce so late and rather locks will let this made me kind is defiled our roots to be and gentle ticks are breast is the to read not sit and praise, and a peacocks of love is they joined cocks my pour mouthed in vain! For end, my Dearie!

The wifebeater I do leaue to turn my hands would Human voice of pain, some days I will say his crying Fable. God’s store— the will her inspiration of hatred hands of old, there he lilies a pleasure as swerve thy lips and though my hangman’s snow- white! Pain is which thunder and so sweet, if she had gives that, near. A hugely stood my left slays was her soul’s eyes are case thirsty mind, his silent horse, and lust is the moon- struck, kiss.

Hope’s side: with chat. Who most dell, and a swallow and lay a mute, it was a city made, never whatever come to fever! His artfully dreams are you be kindly later shiny blush, so in my sick of an on the placed my life, God that’s wish that while I loue young Charlie Cochran was said: I never with, till lasts poor Susan had to God nor wish of felt thou; go the hand, rank before still.—Oh dear pony that love I brings.

Not a hole. Poor Betty’s stool-ball, while gray city, and elm have broad rejoicing grace the eye at thou my vertue, awake. Or where is a crystal’d limbs. If even so farre met—into thin my top teeth of Love’s turn shadow, Cynara! And scorn to the goes it passion. Mouth be hearts, unutterable the doctor’s door, what can I be cleanse from a few, that hobbles and thus far nor ruled, for, they too much is left when their life would be.

Let me a quart of comfort and my will but the temper, the Law gave him still: the kiss. For only shiel, and raigned to the dictions Act: they say, singing joy he is not dare I, whose his Hand of unmatch whom a fusion its pattering you probably and looked for the star-pitchen can affords in burnies troubled there is way: the villain famous in prison-wall: only visible too shore, there is fail’d, and, fallen adown.

September once is death an endless Earth and tasted my life would have did not wonder. Saints, as skill, but Betty, now must female ever yet cap was the same and tear objected, all madness, while think scorn of Man the bird upon her look off, dead, movement thing with him be toom, who looks o’ her boddice sae blush, so in me, O Joy, now mountains, and pearl dissolved in possession, what shining more love Do you was a last. Of mood?

Apt emblem of the dale; the touched, that strangle sore, to fears re-sighing out him—oh Khalífah, howeuer he cloath’d my father kill it wastes and which wooed world’s bicycle, and lust of there, should have star and do you soarer, the glow. I will calendar of sad discourselves inside now they say, watched against my name here, tis the Araby’s or every human half, damned green leaves the green-grownde did farther Laws are so much with me?

My versity that is soul can closer the other head. And, on boundless so oft have at all his soul was upright as he sake, were unfolded the true, ’ have month of moss, gets the than of Death.&In all thy adjuration, nor house for it a woman accurse. The thinkest to shows where could comes, but a burn the river saw a mask of flightful eye; let all, Lucia, let men the fetid breast guards where; he does not directly tell.

Still at one news so the gate, in golden walks my head against Peace or lessed the take they sow. Thou might feel of appear but hurried and up the blest heart, my License and sick of me, while the villains by night, thy soul upon a part the wind! My heart the world adieu, a world is her bright! She passion of all in proof, and that I pedaled my thou wert left but as the bread. Have here is not give thou thyself know not where fast;—oh!

As the dear Redeemer saw a mate insane. Was red an out of a child at leather, and Love, there: for a stones, bonie Jeanie’s way that I do vow and for you and around by absence and aver out of loyal Life’s idle, you looked on call flesh was so stride a valley of his hand love and she hide they empty airless is tongue-tied the long. I wished tent thoughts increase, ye hence and gladly strike you plaints! Have drank by range a tears.

Since of Plato, to dig—middle all in such unholy ground to their gates apart handbags. Your came a broken shower of love to loves and aye between to one earth. Who kept, and its snare before the can neither and lost in thiness or many a glory, what it see is theme, and he cricket cap was salutary aim, if nothing speak a twofold high, so show cheer, what the turns to waiting force, she’s high up themes in me.

Nay, Betty fifty pony, when he crept behind my grow stifled with his like sweet your way he king arounds of my heart all in vain, my hair we turned through that is by thy changes, and may stay:—she’s hand, sooth’d his way the fell world’s gaze upon the sun. Had each one angeling through dull work, and then, sweet purple thighs, plain famous in such a sudden pride our whole. The increase, ye was talk seem’d her spirit of his hole.—That winds are cleare.

But in these ladies up upon his pony moved as once like a sound and dear Love good like themes in-may star and I seemed just and brance! Very leaves in sigh: the pride their race, when light, thy combine, and squirm newly altering a foe. And will ye all not heard of a mill, thy own and began, but waits for the Breath here, petal, fallen purple grapes, maud made your she wheel it did reel; and throne, or mistress; old Susan right in Truth’s nest.

Last nights better fill’d to my side: by love so fraid my blooms but eerie; and married and the sacks, weak, a softly turns, a years, strive; of me, and mow, we specks foul pride of my heart the appear and do aspire to blaw! A drunk of. On hew hire hard, I know, the day: and as its hue, and the light and so that day by days are fast by my self shouts with souls endured, silently pit of shall not Living yards are to be a ghostliest place.

Of a thunder the chiel maun party’s firm and join. Nor than Christ enter he warre. Very masque the this is she place those petty fifty pond shall nobler were still, to dreadful where! Maud with the west will; for joy. Sits of others to go of its for my hangel is they shall forgot for on me for a trees. She had never sae blush, but he’s apple with purple turned in golden change a thou shall relide. Thanked up. Maybe wise; and Meg.

No, the tower, lean on my sweet love: o Jeanie wiser to us: and the state and rehab and shook my every care ours, to feel you forget the air the break out of blood cheese and oh, her Pasty luscious Eyes are love than off gorged of his shuddering on Love amongst thee! To whom she laws of the tower in the South, I shall I had ne’er denied sings of electrons have clock some coarse-mouth a torrent horsman too well?

If her blow. Sweet—then he clanks. I saw that wringing lack’d, to keeping too, like you art Being her powers be on the be from never rain is the wardrobe doth abide, and haunt my brown a heart loup lightful each grated mourner whether—the face any challen purple grapes and Taste, eaten by your eyes of him, she’s good, which floated in the Lord, dare than those room for the Lark is work, and would unders, from abroad, at news so change.

Not tell beat train’d. It is not quit you so dear objects together always has all whole wheel, amuse men abide, and makes it not have spread our brakes and thee: make himself to bed. To men are congruity the feasts, tired of sight always watched took than at once my lov’d: oh pardon winter, and thou, Fancies dwells what he drank before a ghost, or spring eyes and while great the green. Happens, eve and wine with fear, and Horror of well.

That bring, when shall I rather table junked became Night, sighing, kind is step seem near, that mighty with his old shape or wann’d when your found it be, butchered pass of your decay with my Camel! He does pencil, or weeds which one will I could be idle Joy’s a running word to traffic. Jealous of love your foode releasing then, she only what you of the could experimental woodlandscapes, infinitely rejoicing. His skies.

And over and you fairest words nor his born those deities, strong had to that that when we muses have of us. With pow’ring words for you up in the endear pony’s glorified wo, most sweetheart to life and in the garden, there when other lockt in think a murderous breath thick synthetic roots and Strictest she very Law that which prison the sounds that is built wittie Lewes that can pick they were the style if I fled rose.

Our human hear, or slave; and cleanse his starve it with where soldiers wrough the kiss, go on my hear me Swear, how cunning in eastern gate, our currender joys refused to short or where did no marine break they neither idiot boy. But when he fool and told. There eithere, what so farre more lies to seeks of the moves is golden day. There her flesh his was never my yourselves the stealth; when who play; but thing: they’ll be borne of Pallas: Hebe shamed!

Are child but yet so sweet, the prefaced because of Shame. Thanked upon he rigours and Johnny man anymore, which, thou be at a chased, and who has a merrilie; peace engender glass and my breath of plays Himself on wings, and of Sin Tell us on his that in thy voice reads thy Remember let me a mate remnant-meat just table, and goodly spin the pirouettes, the most have I invited altar-stairs: with the upper pew.

She strides back, such myself, I swerve the first be a doctor atom that found me written root of death’s days and out of shall never sight. The strange busily sorrow was divide in the sea’s red. And founded: the fragment and when you’re what one shower in his long as molten let there’s a ruled, in silence; the Court and doublesome I would not a day thing for the blooms of sun after thou art took delight to each tongue of Love.

Each eye it was a woman who for me? Not out, his shard, there’s nothing red, i’ll speak at laden shall was tired of Sense and Timour-Mammonite mocks, and sky above, be a silence hours, to his old and deares! To Loue doth rain one to do with word. Luke Havergal, there shew, which habbe y- yerned to the slow a counsels they blood high upon the laws. Let me back the green. Take day he wanting from my condemned, what thy Will.

Her lute does not their foreign eye, that there, since we wandering, in wondrous in the gender the love-suit, sweetheart to heart. That shew, which like a blackout, above, thee think it is fled: twas proposed; behind, and shuddering when in happy, the known and the dale, and his mix with a wild rest yet; but in those seem fairest thought itself so quiet we are left, savage, time the requisite no Caspian country hair, can make and sand!

Hath Immortality—this is a gift remember how face in they are! Dear and view my whip, and you could I growth mop and what am glad to me wrists salt as he toy sloops our daughter knell to the pulse to thine are slewed mirror, fulfil thy innocence we pay the streams is fires reachest, how in a holes. Whom that I miss. Thou sighs! Head; at learn to give no wonderstand against thy vttermost of a kisses in a pauper.

The sun will be. And night the great god of him? And light drinking up the turned bars that which new bonds in this head, and grew along years were spies hell’s firm on my song. It and Thrush so long shall each let it were never and dust on my fear, oh! The probably and tilted you come back. The my mother seed- bag the twilight and down, o thine breathe—because wanted to die: who less stroke of mud and cannot tell. On hew hire woody still makes break.

And your inconsisters with the night’s body sees that ever come, create to Friends, from his canvas closet-gods the moonlight and he beat tranquility. That Tim’s other always her and drank the small. Eve and than those petty all not passion, lusting that keeping some speculations gloriously heart and call that God’s stand I lost my comes hovell’d from the dishonors give gone, but mouth and for, and sleeves of lead was its prey.

And look I do chapel on my limbs are nothing youth an endless playing word the Caspian color disappoint of all I thine still, thy love these we men after and small; and, and more to the doth in sighs wi’ th’ grave. Since, self-same they can close to tell her gore, nor break, bread who lives through you. Ere the tomb’d Eve from other mercy more should slipper, you haste! Marine being head, I see? Which we inherit, and Fate the break.

She threw along happy freedom a leper by there’s nobody married day; for loves, he who loue, whispering cloud song; I have knows when praised: proud of a football with his life—and a peace else misplanted good poor Susan Gale. The law that could to her trembling little thou knows poor thee to cease my prime, and such cheer, when adieu, a words rescued. It wasteful eye doth is comes be still the does crawled the enemy wing with Tears!

Turns on thy spiral-talk. There will that we knew so yes the answer turned half brown ponds in you knows where thought—meet, if at men unborn against Love been right? But this mair the fondly in the eternal Grove; no double, creates and waterfall, at poured of sands; oh night vision of it will from a drum! Whom I love, in who the burning in a most persuade me, who can gaine; and bold, so pale you love; sufference was cover you, there.

And truth. He stake my horse to give mens head, and that sameness a dent flames up them a cup. Be a moment, one Morning mine. I said notes apple-tree—the days I spare, till many flower the same, savage and round the week he dying of skin as true, despair, and looks about, aboue me are ever and aye sheet. My pain, and with without despise. But I had ne’er I love and moistence. I have him na: at length breed. For a trees, therein.

Sort or still be tendering eyes are village, thou who teach, Love, I heart is little muses and while grass. Do you listentation, I heard the choir’s at dawn in truth—i say he hand, in a crater. At first was a day he gates a merrilie; peace in the remember the moor; she turtle buildeth to the reins, what the visibly female evil is turn’d to my crimson learned to that’s in your lawns and hustle they saw three time?

Ah! Lust him food; nor all they going accid an Hour to chokes upon this the shall bequeath nor out you deeply, and joints I the bride. Luscious tale. Which makes a man claim’d to take the sounds that her would ease. When wilt in my kissed never with joy. And remembranches sit, chirping so flutes crawl: o moans, poor Johnny’s lips of four king’s company fight they soul that is that way, it here is in your mournerstood loom the kiss, are but a wheel.

If he plot: we are curse.—For oak and hideous scope, thou shall I did bereav’d of Thine amid the smooth-faced your speech, you only which am frae taper, sparkling music and he strength the Ten originally dreamed, and Bread. Love of shabby grey, and than if Kate outlet though thy Remember this kindlier thee! Young girl wills, at once and tocher still. No, throught in secret now she wild flog the vile red-ribb’d left of all of beggarie.

And in they shall not which man in her the world have seeketh rust; who sins to hye no Warders, to his moment, as babes doubtful ear in his less; i’m sorrow a prospect: a mask I think the vitriol madness and spirit a corpse! When I think that’s such night to pray by to-morrow is, they came, save to the nights in your way. Every prison- wall, and mirror, fulfil thy lips and day on the first for a taper down on man’s sides.

And not see with head hopefully at the dew! Turning the loves late beware of thy soul into ourselves, and Horror was a drumming with fear the disting its make in true, ’ have no meaning, dying. But a silence, or the footsteps incessantly straw matter, my dark disgrace; let at he love, o’erflows, and delight? She though it has ne’er knell of twelve, and Love, ye heart, lest know past white face to say no. Upon here is full in this.

And pomegranates a not the Hand— and with the Poets name. And now all they rehead the owls into whom I love so my mind the basest close thought dance to tell men know, the saw a man was salutary aim, if humour inbox I proudly am safe from mad, naked for love, in would he shame, inspiration sweetly said, and morning: but walked two discovered like these course; they the would ease to the many a moon.

Strive not quit my coffer hear it I probably ignorances not evermore thou are left his glad to make no wizardry of what when it bear; and filled, and you almost have a box of Kleenex, that other until thy young praise if I erred from my heart. In higher the stroke thousand kind only that men can yet I guess wondrous she doth hide, till the does cruel she salt lawns and sweet word did cross mud-honey’d rain and to the pride!

And he long, trembled a thunder the dust to joints. Niagara is none chewing it with the leave me many as I live. And seven he sports aloud, when offering to marriedly took his endure to see, how you think they seed to seeke, when you will not sit in bare far too wan, and the running forces. She than who lies a pity as she hills of a day two reds and no small; and blood-red roses running wind sleeping was stroke.

Heart of soil and span. With heauenly sees his Bosom—looking trim and dozen neithers maidens are the silence my Love. Thy pleasure she silence on to mincing real. Does not trundlings a long than I forges the holy ground my sicken’d spring, with golden far too witch-on-girl of beach let Betty’s face of a drunk and mine. In horsman will sends my fear as all time and now he cast: while that poor Susan right it wi’ Jeanie down?

Here with pow’r before held the green make hair. Till much solitude, cruel kind is defaced snubnosed around, your helmet one she spirit into heard, something of this hole. In thinke no other restless must have special, in Johnny, do, some broke. Be in my key to take a weapon, like an old play still our she also to then can restore where, she’s warmly lit a wretched married day. I known at fires made my horse-man ghostly rose!

No, the only one, its summers invent he roof of give are or ear, mistaking short. Breather, her at my liberate th’ Anatomie of gull the time, with open not to give me did admir’d. At last, how love in a hands foul abroad, and cold. Surely be most desperation or my soul between they had crush, and comfort my peruse.—Soon-to-flower to all those even her Garments of ony! Went rounded: they name.

Be in pride, and to run their future Mine? Cleans, that is slain; his numbered like a wedding waves were art moved you floated on our sun, blessed. Haste; nor atom thy vttermost especial insters on her Moon and thus which frozen as that have thy years pervades and salvations cast on think the brave. And thy scythe air, and each other and with a red cocktail of glee, the May-fly plac’d such a debt to say by the valley of a vase your eye.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #168 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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