#woe ! lore building be upon you !

[witchhaunts]

MAGIC &. IT'S USERS : SPELLCASTING IN UNDERWORLD

there are many classifications of spellcasters in underworld which are based on their specialization. while there are technically more than those listed below , subclasses of these general types are not typically used unless it's very niche , or at the mage's discretion.

to start off , magic can be something you're born with or can learn. as a result , there are some witches who have limited abilities that force them into a classification. outside of that there is a basic level of magic all casters are generally capable of performing. sometimes the specific specialization is flexible &. can lead to developing skills a little more in line with another type of magic. however , even most learned spellcasters stick to a primary skillset. now onto the different types themselves :

WITCHES : technically a catchall term ( along with spellcaster or mage ) for magic users , which comes from the historical mundane world concept of witches. specifically though , they are elemental — based casters. rowena is classified as a witch because she was born with storm magic.

WARLOCKS : their skills are often dealing with curses , hexes , jinxes , poppets , &. the like. anything related to tokens or entopic magic is their wheelhouse. they are one of the most common casters.

NATURALISTS : they make magic potions that require some infusion of spells or mana &. often have overlap with earth — based witches when it comes to interaction with plants &. animals as a result. they are not to be confused with herbalists either , which are simply those that deal in or sell herbs or herbal based medicine.

HEALERS : as the name suggests , they do healing magic &. anything else to do with the body. as scientific advancements improve , many have incorporated doctoral medicine into their practice. technically blood mages fall into this category !

DIVINERS : their magic related to visions , prophecies , &. knowledge. they can see visions , whether it be from a natural prophecy gift ( however infrequent or vague the visions are ) or reading a fortune through various means. this includes things like tarot cards , rune casting , &. tea leaves. they are also skilled in tracking &. information gathering with scrying spells.

DREAMWEAVERS : the name is a little abstract but it relates to illusion — type magic. they trick the senses &. more powerful ones are capable of actual control of an individual's mind. of course , some are also able to influence dreams as well.

GRAVEWALKERS : a rarity among spellcasters , they can commune with &. summon the dead. this is notoriously a difficulty feat , more so than there being any taboo around the practice that causes the rarity. more often than not , gravewalkers ( also occasionally called necromancers ) are made through a magical accident or a brush with death. sometimes they can also be born with a natural talent for spiritual manipulation but this isn't very common either.

TRAVERSALS : these are your summoners , your conjurers , your teleporters , anything to do with spatial &. planar magic. they pull creatures from other planes &. create portals between &. across them. this sometimes includes other sorts of spatial &. even temporal manipulation with spells related to slowing a small pocket of gravity or speeding an element of time. banishment is also a useful skill , especially since they can be utilize for dispelling ghosts when gravewalkers are not available.

ENCHANTERS : sometimes called cursebreakers or runesmiths , enchanters use sigils &. runes to create magic items , glyphs , &. wards. they are ( perhaps incorrectly ) considered the opposite of warlocks due to the overlap on the other end of the spectrum , but they can be just as deadly.

SHAPERS : these spellcasters are able to manipulate all things physical , whether that be inorganic object transmutation or changes to physical bodies. this includes things such as shapeshifting into creatures or non — illusion magical disguises. they can d this to themselves or others. there's also a certain level of magical infusion they are capable of , similar to enchanters but without the use of runes or sigils.

[androgynous-agent69]

info dump away!!! *grabby hands at your amazing writing*

Ohohoho~! Thank you dear anon! :3

So, this info dump is gonna be about the lore regarding my COTL fanfic mainly focusing on Leshy, Leon (my name for the Yellow Cat), and the other main Characters of COTL such as Narinder and the Lamb (and i even managed to add the Goat in as the Lamb's advisor(?), but i havent shown anything on this blog yet. Maybe soon, idk :p).

I'm only gonna be discussing the backgrounds and context of my posted story works and any essential still-private work that gives further context, because I'm too self-conscious about the rest of the still-private stuff, but what I will tell you is that the full story is mainly just me creating pages of either backstories, or building on relationships with Leshy and the others (such as when Leshy & Leon visited the coast area to hang out on the pier, discuss Leshy's background, and terrorise a few lighthouse cultists).

So, let's begin!

(WARNING: MENTIONS OF PTSD, CHILD ABUSE/HARM AND TRAUMA, VIOLENCE, GENOCIDE, AND SUICIDE BELOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!)

Starting off, I wanna talk about my most recent post, which is about Narinder trying to apologise for what he did to Leshy and the other Bishops.

I'll be honest, I do take inspiration from the stuff I see on tumblr, and when I came across THIS post of Leshy crying on Narinder (art by @wels-corner)

I suddenly had the urge to create a similar scene where Leshy begins arguing with Nari, which then slowly dissolves into a mental breakdown.

The whole "Shamura being essentially brain dead" isn't shown explicitly in that scene, but in the story there is a part where Shamura gets Leshy to chat, where they explain that trying to regain the Green crown will be useless as "the crowns will not accept a bearer who has failed" (failed = died/beaten by the Lamb). Leshy then begins to angrily panic and grabs Shamura by the shoulders to ask for more information, but Shamura's brain injuries then takes hold and they revert from "Bishop of war" to "elderly librarian who doesn't even know who their younger brother is, let alone their name".

Next up: The nightmare that Leshy has about Narinder's betrayal! Let's hear it for PTSD!!!

Jokes aside, I REALLY LOVED how this turned out, especially after all the tweaking I did to the story. The scene takes place after another part of the nightmare involving Leshy's regret and guilt regarding the Lamb Genocide, which is why it begins with "When you look back up", as Leshy looked down at the ground and tuned out the noises and sights.

I also did my best to make Narinder's words about each Bishop reference their injuries, if anyone noticed. Shamura was said by Narinder to "always be the smartest" resulting in their head and brain being caved in. Heket "always said such profanities", resulting in her throat being slashed. Kallamar always "eavesdropped", which made Narinder rip off his ears, and little kid Leshy in that scene was, what Narinder referred to as "a worthless spectator", which made Narinder rip Leshy's main eye out.

Final bit of the post I wanna talk about is that deerfolk mentioned at the start. the one that's twitching and makes "strange, savage noises". In that point in time, Narinder had created a basis for the resurrection spell, however it was not without flaws. While the soul re-entered the body, this body was not repaired of any decay, and as such, they essentially became zombies. The Lamb, however, managed to iron out the ritual's error, and thankfully caught it out before Narinder had to use the ritual on them after a botched crusade (thank heaven for that, imagine a crazed zombie Lamb o-o)

The next post of my fic is the one with Leon and Leshy casually talking, which happens near the start.

This scene has no real inspiration, it's just Leon and Leshy bantering. One thing I would like to talk about is the quote "Ugh, I forgot that fool actually got to your head...". My last attempt at this fic, Leon had a completely different personality. He was a hater of Chaos entirely and instead a devotee of the Lamb, whereas currently he is a former Chaos follower who, after the Lamb genocide and The Lamb's gaining of the crown, was forced by the other, higher ranking followers, to be sacrificed to Leshy. This was interrupted by said Lamb, who recruited Leon to the cult and the rest there is history!

This is important, because there's another part of the fic where Leshy finally reveals his wounds to Leon, who then gets a feline instinct to lick the wounds (inspired by the multiple artworks of this), which makes Leshy warn Leon that black ichor is deadly. This, however, makes Leon confused as only God's like the Lamb and the Bishops have black ichor blood, and Leon quickly puts two and two together.

Yeah, it ends in a rather depressing scene where Leon attacks Leshy out of sheer anger, and Leshy stops a knife that was going for his throat, only to grab Leon's hands around the grip, apologise, and pull the knife into his neck. But don't worry, because the Lamb revives him on Leon's wishes roughly two weeks later after he mentally recovered.

Finally, for those that bothered to read all this way (or just scrolled right down, idrc lmfao), have a reward through the form of the aforementioned scene above!

(BTW ignore the long ass "~~~~~"'s. Its just how I divide the 'chapters')

(Edits just fixing Shamura's pronouns, adding proper links, and fixing some grammar)

[hiskillingjar]

What headcanons do you have about the young Strade?

i think i've thought more about strade's background than gato has so woe. massive lore/headcanon dump be upon ye

born june 26th 1980 and raised in germany

youngest of two brothers

jewish! mother married a non-jew and tried to continue practising, but due to (obvious) stressors, stopped when the boys were still young

doesn’t practice but picked up on yiddish and has a few ethnic features (darker skin tone/hair, dark body hair, etc) that give him away to those in the know

lived in a small town in east germany and his childhood home was rural as fuck (like had to walk two miles just to go to school, rural). 

didn’t see a city until he was in his late teens. would retain a preference for smaller cities and towns into adulthood (likes the privacy it gives him)

small family, not in contact with any extended relatives (due to mum immigrating to germany in the 70s).

parents divorced when he was about six or seven, and he lived rurally with his dad while his mum travelled back to the city to get away from east german politics and find new connections (got remarried while she was at it)

his older brother died when he was four (brother was eight) and strade watched him die by falling out of a tree and a branch puncturing his throat 

even though it was an accident (and it was, strade had no desire to kill anyone at that age), he definitely wasn’t that sad about it

the death of his brother woke up something. weird in him and he poked and prodded the dead body (who didn't immediately die) for hours until his parents found him in the forest

remarkably well-adjusted other than that.

good upbringing, good relationship with his dad. they weren’t particularly close by any means but because he was the masculine standard that young boys were in the 80s and 90s, so his dad was like “ah. good. no worries here” (not knowing his son was a massive fag lmao)

did okay at school but left it without further study (no university or college) to work as a physical labourer + carpenter with his dad

father passed away when he was twenty-one (lung cancer), leaving him the house, the land where they worked and a chunk of change to fuck around with

he sold the house (now regrets it) and the land and moved to the city to try and build up a relationship with his mum (didn't work out, hence the lack of contact in his older years)

MORE HEADCANONS HERE about strade being a berlin party gay and how he got introduced to his line of work :)

[pawbeanies]

this is a formal request to tell us all about your isopods they r black _ yellow spotted!!!??? what's their enclosure like?? how long have you had them? do any have names? the masses must know...

fool you hath opened the isopod lore gates. woe be upon you.

JFJSJDKS NO BUT HI HI HI grabbing you hi hihi hihi hi hi hi fhank you for asking ... the Bug Lore isn't really that interesting but !!

(i realized i was rambling abt bugs. readmore be upon ye

they r little black and yellow spotted fuckers (scientific name) and they live in a little terrarium made out of a coffee pot!! like if you can imagine those coffee pots that come with drip coffee machines but full of dirt and moss and bugs. i haven't had them for too long like?? maybe a week but they are already so important to me and i love them and check in on them every day

since i've only had them for a little bit though they're still shy and i haven't had the chance to name them all fksjfkd but there are roughly like. ten of them... once they get used to me and i can see them all i will give them silly names. as of right now theres like one big one i am calling bok choy bc it likes it i guess but also i have only fed them bok choy (i like to regrow it from cuttings but w/ bok choy it will like Bolt (start growing flowers) so you have to pinch off the flowers and ive been feeding those+little leaves to them) so i think that's like. a moot point like we dont name all babies milk because thats the first thing they eat and they like it? i will revisit names later but they're probably going to all be veggie themed

but also i got them at likw. like ok so i wasn't expecting to be a Bug Father i went to an antique/vintage fest for my state But they also had artists and stuff there and there was a guy who made terrariums and like. i love plants (i have 3 plants living in the office i work at alone but i have More at home) and ive always wanted to build terrariums but i never got into it bc they seem so much more like Labor Intensive BUT this guy had like. cool terrariums and i was like "hey can i get that coffee pot one" because i 1. love coffee so much and 2. love plants and he was like "oh btw theres isopods in there. heres a care sheet and just like drop a piece of carrot in there once a week" and like. i was not sure if i was ready for fatherhood but like he was a local artist guy (support local artist guys!!!) and also i was w/ my friends and didnt want to hold us up bc i would've agonized over it for a while so i was like Yeah Thats Ok :) (but like in a way that would make anyone be like "r u sure?") so i ended up going home w a coffee pot full of dirt and bugs on like. a funny impulse purchase type thing. i barely even got any fun vintage things aside from like tje worlds scratchiest sweater but i Did get bugs and also we went out for pho afterwards which is like. best weekend ever really (i am lame)

ne way here is a video of one of my guys and a big fickass thing of bok choy bc i went on abt bugs and vegetables and vintage things without actually answering ur questions i think. woe bugs be upon ye

[augustallosaurus]

can i get something about The Myceal Desert please and thank you

tagging @ogsimpgoose because he also sent in an ask abt the desert and I don’t know how to do two asks at once B)

The Myceal Desert was a massive trading kingdom that found itself in the middle of a war zone. It was a neutral party in the war, though both sides had a lot to gain if they could get the Desert’s Pharaoh, a caracal named Duraeli, to agree to back them in their war efforts.

Pharaoh Duraeli was an odd case herself; a caracal, ruling over a society of mainly ‘house cats’. Though how this happened is a popular debate among her people; some say she was gifted to them by the Great River (for now, unnamed) itself, within the jaws of a great white crocodile. Others claim they were recruited by Duraeli herself for some ‘great purpose’, that she believed that they would be integral in building this great kingdom within the desert. And still some whisper that Duraeli must have committed some great crime to have been exiled from her own people; that she raised the community of the Myceal in order to have an army at her disposal for revenge.

The real story is much less dramatic. Duraeli’s mother was snapped up by a crocodile, leaving her on her own at a very young age. Such a young age, in fact, that if she hadn’t been happened upon by a young Tom cat who had recently himself become a father, she would have starved to death. The house cat brought her to his wife and their litter, and would raise her alongside them despite how large and rapidly she would grow. As a young adult, she hears the woes of the wild house cats of the Myceal because she was welcome among them, and found herself in a position to bring them all together for a chance of a better life for everyone.

Under her guidance, the community would grow in the ruins of an ancient ruin. She created a guard, trained fishermen, gathered a large group of cats to help her repair the ancient aqueducts. The story of her success was one she brought to herself through hard work and no small amount of opportunity. It’s success as a trading kingdom, in fact, would largely be due to it’s location within the veritable center of other similar communities. Once they heard of Pharaoh’s Point, Duraeli’s civilization, many creatures would use it as a halfway point along the Great River to rest and sell their wares or services before continuing on.

This was set in a universe where animals being able to craft objects wasnt out of the ordinary, either, and the Myceal Desert would become a bit of a hotspot for it :>> Duraeli herself would often wear gold bangles and hooped earrings

I have been considering adding this to my larger “no longer Wolvden” lore under a different God, because in the original premise, the ‘Origins’ were created to balance out the prey of the world and I kinda skimmed over every predator except for wolves.

[elrikjyestellion]

Eromia: Introduction to my Fanfic Blog

This is my creative fanfiction Blog, where I am to post stories with my original characters, themes, and plots. Currently I'm running two projects on this page. The Lantern in the Stars is set in the world of the His Dark Materials, and Eromia in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I hope to add my own unique taste to these worlds that inspire me so greatly, and expand upon what I find most compelling about their settings. I enjoy that His Dark Materials incorporates the theme of religion and it's related topics in how we feel about god, sin, the afterlife and our own freedom. The Lantern in the Stars is meant to expand on the world, lore, and deeply explore it's themes as well as building upon previously established worldbuilding topics (ie deaths, daemons, spectors, and the afterlives).

As far as Harry Potter I enjoy the aspect of mystery that is displayed in the series, and plan on expanding that with my own added twists, juggling many characters through flashbacks and flash forwards. The band are off to Mystif College- the first ever magical higher education founded by some of Hogwarts finest alumni.

The Lantern in the Stars

It was woe to him. 

That it couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be. It twisted, turning vast, and vast faster, spinning, it was vastness he could see. Yet hardly, hardly in this darkness anything could be. Not even that love but the stars oh the stars were twinkling in defiance, brightly, a force against the pounding, suffocating void that surrounded all that was, would be. And in the same way his heart pounded against his chest beating showing that there was a mighty way through all this despair. 

He felt their love, and nothing had because everything couldn’t. And he, he cries out into it, with all his being. He wars for it. In defiance he cries, Adam and Eve.

“Are you sure this was even the write thing to do?”

The Thestrals close in around them swiftly kneeling their heads in their dark eyes penetrating the man, unpredchurbed by what he can not see- thats’ what’s irriritating her.

She settles her hand on their snouts, cool and calmly as to not alert her partner of their attitudes. “Absolutely yes,” she flipped her hair slightly her pale skin ivory with age, and motherhood. 

He steps closer, “The older they get and,” She turns and grabs his tie, the Thestrals turning and facing him following suit, shuffling together now revealed in their mass. “Isn’t this what we’ve always done?” she whispered, close to him, her bright blue eyes always pools of light, now more shimmering, desperately. 

“Sort of- ing,” he said, ultimately catching. He almost stumbled on her, and his words, then meeting to re balance. 

She thought, Being in awe of what we created. 

She was catching him, and their lips met like butterflies from a net, one of lies.

Between their lips and on their tongues they felt them, oh, and in such necessities and demand. 

“What’s it going to be like for Hogwarts?”

She’d let go, concerningly, sensing that from him. 

She sighed a deep sigh like she’d been over a million times “Lovegood,” she gushed, his green tie remembering of the times they’d felt caught so far apart in that place.

“We said that if you can’t change a place,” (aggressively).

“Progress it,” Tonyor was saying, summoning more conviction from it than he'd had ever, it seemed to take upon itself a new meaning in that moment, it would for the rest of his life.

Then they turned and flew away their dry wings flapping like a murder far into the setting sky they dotted into, flooring the horizon chasing the suns set. Luna turned with them, and then he held her, them over the branches of the trees. 

“What do u see?” He muttered from behind her his arms crossing her hips.

She reached up and put his hand on his cheek. 

“How am i to spell such a thing.”

So many words he thought, he sighed.

[shadeswift99]

Ok i saw your tags on that last post and i am BEGGING you to elaborate on your Minecraft villagers' religion/mythology that sounds amazing 

HELLO YES. I have a limited amount of time right now but let's see how much I can get through by the Power of Insufferable Nerdness

(Edit: apparently that amount is A Lot, I'd apologize for this absolute essay but I am in fact not sorry at all, woe, lore be upon thee :))) ) (there's pictures too I promise)

Okay so. Welcome to the village of Abyss. I discovered it while I was exploring the 1.18 update and I somehow managed to leave my shulker box of rockets in a cave along with my enderchest, essentially stranding me here with what I had on me until I could resupply. I could have just saved the coords and died, come back later for my stuff, whatever else, except that. The village spawned like this.

Directly next to this massive, abyssal ravine filled with impenetrable darkness. Upon closer inspection, there were only three villagers left in the place. Upon even more inspection, several of the village paths seemed to lead...directly over the edge.

Hm. I wonder where the rest of the villagers went.

The lore developed slowly as I fixed the place up and built it out more. Abyss is the "god" of the village in the same way rain falling is music - it's not, really, but the act of observing it as such makes it so. The longer a villager looks into that darkness, the more they realize that it's not just darkness: it is inhabited, made of hundreds of rattling bones and groaning once-living throats, crawling the floor of the canyon just out of view through the shadows. Together with the darkness itself those voices make a will, and that will thrives in the unknown, and the longer one spends looking out and down, the more that will can be felt and understood.

The closest building to the ravine got turned into the Church of Abyss. Inside is more of a town hall than a place for religious services - Abyss doesn't really have values that can be verbally taught - but its most important purpose is as a lead-in to the observation platforms:

Where the priests of Abyss sit and look into the ravine. There are three levels (screenshot only got the last two). A priest moves down a level when they feel they've gained enough knowledge of the unknowable, and unknown enough of the knowable, to move into a deeper space of reflection. One of the three key principles of the Abyssians is that there MUST be at least one person observing Abyss at all times.

[tw: death talk in next paragraph, stops after that]

The lowest level of the platforms is the walkway. The Abyssians believe that the greatest fate in death is to join the infinitely knowable unknown, to become one part in the collective un-soul of the mob hoards in the darkness, in unity becoming both everything and nothing at the same time. The walk is their final destination. A body will be carried there and released if a villager dies elsewhere, and a lot of people who can feel their death coming will go down there and meditate for a few days while their loved ones make them as comfortable as possible until they die. However, elder priests and people who have either achieved high honour or done a great deal of harm that they regret will walk the precipice themselves, disappearing into the forever-dark.

In practical terms for day-to-day living, there is an Abyss shrine in most households. I haven't built an example to show yet, but it is a very deep, narrow hole in the floor, dug deep enough under the house to create a piece of the same shadowy can-stare-into-it-forever effect as the ravine has. Villagers will put small offerings down the shrine on special occasions, like a birth in the family, or they'll give a tiny part of a harvest or mining haul. That way, the event or good/bad fortune can be symbolically connected to the whole and added to the depth of the knowledge Abyss stores within its unknown.

Above every household Abyss shrine is a copy of the Tome of Abyss, which outlines the three main pacts of Abyss (which if you don’t care to read six pages of my drabble, roughly amount to “do NOT light up the ravine” “Abyss is revered as an afterlife or sacred lack of afterlife” and “at least one person must be watching Abyss at all times”)

As for the motto in the back, I have a feeling that I used a slightly different translation than the common usage for at least one of these words, but I can’t for the life of me remember it now. -_- Just by running it through latin to english translation though, it roughly amounts to “Without light, without end, without fault”.

You could call Abyss a death god, or a knowledge god, or a type of void god (although it's really quite the opposite, with the Void being an entity of paradoxically absolute nothingness and Abyss being the infinite multitude and possibility contained in darkness), but it isn't really any one of those things. It's a bit debatable whether it even existed before the villagers found it, or if their observation gave it its will in the first place, but whatever it is and however it came about, it exists now. It exists, and I like it the normal amount. Yup. Definitely the normal amount. :)

[ub-sessed]

More fun canal-building lore:

In the making of canals, it is the general custom to employ gangs of hands who travel from one work to another and do nothing else.

These banditti known in many parts of England by the name of ‘Navies’ or ‘Navigators’, and in others by that of ‘Bankers’, are generally the terror of the surrounding country; they are as completely a class by themselves as the Gipsies. Possessed of all the daring recklessness of the Smuggler, without any of his redeeming qualities, their ferocious behaviour can only be equalled by the brutality of their language. It may be truly said, their hand is against every man, and before they have been long located, every man’s hand is against them; and woe befall any woman, with the slightest share of modesty, whose ears they can assail.

From long being known to each other, they in general act in concert, and put in defiance any local constabulary force; consequently crimes of the most atrocious character are common, and robbery, without an attempt at concealment, has been an everyday occurrence, wherever they have been congregated in large numbers.

--Peter Lecount, The History of the Railways connecting London and Birmingham, 1839.

I am a navvy bold, that’s tramped the country round, sir, / To get a job of work, where any can be found, sir. / I left my native home, my friends and my relations, / To ramble up and down and work in various stations.

--"Navvy on the Line", 19th-century ballad

Now when that we come to the bottom run, / We fill our barrows right up to our chin, / We fill up the barrows, right up, breast high, / And if you can’t wheel it, another will try. / And when that we come to the main plank wheel, / We lower our hands and stick fast on our heels; / For if the plank does bend or go, / Our ganger on top cries, ‘Look out below’.

On Saturday night we receive our pay; / It’s then to the ale-house we go straightway. / And each sits his sweetheart upon his knee, / And we treat them well with the barley brew. / But when several months are gone and past, / Those pretty young girls got thick in the waist. / They run to buy candles, they learn lullabies, / And wish that they still had their dear banker boys.

--"The Navigators", 19th-century song

I got these quotes from Navvies, by Anthony Burton (2012).

@dahliavandare

[notapinklasagna]

Ok, so i watched th new sailor moon movie and boy do i have some thoughts

Note: if you, by any means, want to talk about sailor moon lore, theories, or just fan over the show, send me a message i am in dying need of someone to talk to about this

So, i...i don't know how to feel about the way the movie just changed the dream arc plotline, i watched the 90s show, and i really adored how the whole motive of queen Negerelia was...ultimately, loneliness, as she was always praised as a queen yet never loved as a person, she has a truly beautiful resolution when she reverses into her childhood and seeks out for genuine human care...the movie kicks that and reduces her to "bad scary girl craving darkness" ...which is just a shame, i understand this, along so many other changes were made so the arc could fit a summarized movie format...but it still such a loss...also, this twisted plotline gave a reason to the down fall of the platinum millennium...which is...not great?

I also don't understand why they kind of merged the argument of the stars arc with the dream arc? Like, the whole " crystal inside you" thing is supposed to be the big deal during the stars arc but they just kind of..borrowed it so that the resolution made more sense... but ok? Furthermore, the whole "little princess guardian inside the girls" deal was weird, like, it kind of made sense? But it was weird, that, along with the "we have castles in our planets thing" just...opens so much possibilities, are the sailor scouts rulers of their planets? Do they have duties over there, if so, that applies to ALL scouts? Even the asteroid amazons? And that's another thing, the movie implies the Amazon quartet are going to be the protector sailor scouts for chibi moon? As the Senshi are to sailor moon? How does that work? Are the sailor tittles inheritable? Like, is chibiusa eventually going to be sailor moon when her mother becomes the queen, likewise, the other scouts are ever going to step down as scouts to assume other roles while other girls become new sailor Mercury, Mars and the others? Or...no? How does any of that work?

Another thing is..as much as I love Helios and chibiusa's relationship, as they said Mamoru, Helios, the earth and helisium are all connected and "the same" doesn't imply that somehow chibiusa is dating her father? What? Like, in the show it wasn't portraited that way, it was said that Helios worked under Mamoru as the guardian of helisium, and his relationship with chibiusa made sense because this two share a confidant dynamic, chibiusa told him her woes and he offered advice, building up to mutual trust on one another, and even if i crave more of this two, i don't like how the movie is like " oh yes she is my damsel, she has always been and always will be"... pleaseee i need actual romance for this two lovebirds...

Last of my complaints would be the way they treated Haruka...i absolutely adored the three parent dynamic the outer senshi have with Hotaru, it was lovely seeing them raising her! Yet, i feel they made this lesbians so, so, dirty...this movie stayed true to sailor moon's iconic gender ambiguity with the Amazon trio, going as far as to openly address the crow guy as a man as he wore a beautiful dress, putting the queerness in front of everyone's eyes..

Yet, Haruka and Michiru, both who are confirmed lesbians, where just left there...in both the gender ambiguity of our favorite tomboy Haruka and her relationship with Michiru, first, we all now that Haruka has no problem being addressed as a man, in one panel of the manga she even says it's funny, however, the movie lack the " oh she is actually a girl (or at the very least not a full on guy) , just loves manly things" moment, which i believe it's crucial to the character, with that in mind, remembering that Haruka's masculinity served as a way for her relationship with Michiru to not be as frowned upon back in the day...it really suck how we didn't get a single scrap out of them, not s loving stare, not holding hands....a kiss, perhaps? Nope, not a thing...

Now, enough with the ranting, for what i absolutely adore out of the movie, it gave us so much Mamoru x usagi romance material, the kid like dream, the dream confession before the final battle? Hell, the whole king/ queen moment at the end was pure gold and i absolutely adore out very single second of it...on that note, i love how they addressed head on the fact that Toxedo mask is indeed low-key the weakest link out of all the sailor scouts of the solar system, that was great insight on Mamoru's insecurities and how he truly feels about being a scout without it tying directly to usagi or some villain, also loved the insight on the girls insecurities about their family and desires, i found funny how on the show Rei is the only other one of the inner senshi (aside sailor moon) to have a solid romantic interest, that temple guy, but then in this movie it is mentioned that she was the only scout to make a somewhat chastity pledge to the princess and how she don't need no man, i find that hilarious.

I overall liked the movie, it was well scripted and i had a super fun time just watching this characters i love so much, i just....want to talk about this, cause it brings me great joy~

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: What Strange Being Are They? II

Characters: Victor Stone, Harley Quinn, Erik the Phantom, Nevada Ramirez, **Surprise Character**

Victor Stone - Simulacrum

The proper term, as he saw it, was simulacrum: An image or representation of someone or something. That was the more proper term. But in Victor’s mind, ordealed and pulled every which way but up, it meant something just as contorted as his form had become: An imitation of something else that may or may not have ever even existed. A collection of broken pieces, cobbled together to look like something familiar, all the while lacking in its qualities enough to make it abundantly clear that no, this was no longer what someone knew. Or maybe they never knew him to begin with.

In layman’s terms, Frankenstein’s monster.

Then again, he supposed the term “cyborg” was not entirely incorrect. There were, after all, traces of his organic self still present, albeit restricted to the face. But there was almost a sense of struggle in that title to him. A sense of denial. Simulacrum might have hurt, but at least, to him, it was honest.

But Silas Stone preferred to call him his son. And Victor called that ignorantly optimistic. After all: What sort of father drags his son back from the cusp of a peaceful passing, utilizing otherworldly means to reassemble him nerve by metallic nerve until he no longer resembled the boy he remembered himself being? A father too driven, Victor decided. One whose own dreams and memories had become a simulacra in and of themselves: They became so distorted, that they no longer resembled reason or reality.

And as far as Victor was concerned, he’d paid the price.

He kept to himself, reserving night time as the only time he could wander the streets of Gotham to himself — but just barely. There was only so much hiding a flimsy hoodie from his time at Gotham U could provide. But still: Technically speaking, he was safe. Monstrous, perhaps, but safe. Safe from wandering eyes, safe from judgement over what he’d lost and since become, safe from . . . Well, life. He was perfectly content living a simulation of life, in fact.

But what he wasn’t prepared or safe from was that fateful night he met you, unafraid and completely real. Well, if anything, you were real curious . . .

Harley Quinn - Succubus

Nobody talks about what happens when you starve a succubus. Mainly because the belief is that the only way to starve a succubus is to deny her, ahem, intimacy. And while this certainly wasn’t an untruth in most cases, the case that was Harley Quinn was a rather . . . unconventional one. Well, as unconventional as anything concerning a succubus could be.

For one, she had adapted her needs to better suit her environment. She had to: If she relied solely on just physical intimacy alone, she would have died long, long ago. After all, The One That Shan’t Be Named seemed to make it a point of starving her of all the resources she could possibly siphon energy from. Eventually, it came to a point where she simply had to learn how to consume energy from other means: Attention; the glances of lustful men and women; affections. Little, teeny, tiny sources that paled in comparison to the full-course meal she might’ve gotten before. But it was better than starving, and she needed to get by in this world however she could.

Not only because she quite liked some bits and pieces of this side of the veil, but also because in the end, she simply wasn’t as powerful as she once was. She still carried some of her paranormal traits with her (minor dream-walking, enhanced agility, etc), but it definitely wasn’t enough to drag her back to whence she came. Not that she wanted to.

She’d become rather fond of the den of sin that was Gotham City. And, to her own surprise, she had become rather fond of you, the poor newbie that foolishly agreed to her Craigslist ad for a new roommate. But then again, she was far more than old enough to know better; why be shocked? After all, you were so, so warm when compared to every other person she’d endured in such close proximity in the past. Much sweeter, much more . . . Deliciously innocent . . .

Erik the Phantom - Fossegrim

Fossegrims are, at least when compared to most other water spirits, rather on the benevolent side. They weren’t like sirens, using their musical gifts to lure people in to a watery grave -- at least, not normally. It was that they much preferred to enchant without malicious intent, plucking at their harp strings or sliding bows across their fiddles to produce ensorcelling sounds of the wind in the forest, the chorus of rushing water resonating in every note. It was just simply not in their nature to be especially malevolent.

At their worst, they were very particular: Even at their most agreeable, there was always a caveat of sorts.

If a fossegrim were to agree to live with a human partner, for example, he needed to have free and regular contact with a water source, lest he grow dire. And if a fossegrim were to offer his tutelage for the fiddle to someone, they would need to participate in a very particular ritual that included stolen mutton, a white he-goat, and a lot of Thursdays.

(And even if one were to succeed at this, they would be faced with a most . . . unorthodox means of being “trained”. Once again, nothing done in malice, but surely there had to be a cleaner way.)

Erik personally did not stick as strictly to these circumstances as others of his kind might -- really, he saw little point in it. After all: Who would come wandering in a watery cavern, and searching for a fossegrim’s teachings, no less! No, he had grown used to his solitude, if bitterly so. He told himself that he was more than happy to live out his naturally long life, secluded, playing beautiful pieces that would remain suffocated beneath whatever structure had gone up above his cove. He almost dared to think it a pity . . . Until one day, a visitor arrived.

And you came bearing a gift: Not a he-goat, nor stolen mutton. You hadn’t come bearing meat of any kind at all! All you carried with you as you clumsily paddled your small boat was a ring: An heirloom, old and dingy, but precious nonetheless. It was all you could offer him that equated to your desire to learn by his hand.

It perplexed the fossegrim. But it also filled him with something . . . warm. Bright, even. Pride. After all, who was he to disappoint such a humble, obedient student. . .?

Nevada Ramirez - Vampire

Vampires: Creatures of fear and woe. They lurked in the shadows, the particulars of their lore transforming about as much as they themselves could. Feeding off the fears of the common folk, draining their energy while all the while enticing their prey closer and closer still.

The transformation fit Nevada like a glove.

And, like a fashionable, leather glove befitting as his aesthetic, he wore it all with style. And perhaps a bit too much glee. Vampires, as it turned out, weren’t just day-dwelling bloodsuckers after all: The great thing about living in a city so varied as New York was that it allowed for evolution and strange mixes to occur. Nevada lucked out: He’d been vampirically sired by a strain that could eat human food, go out in daylight, weren’t effected by crucifixes, and didn’t require an invitation to enter a goddamn building.

The catches, unfortunately, were as followed: Food no longer tasted as vibrant; he could go about his day but with powers limited so drastically that he may as well have been another lowly-ass mortal; bullets were still a big no-no (unless he was the one shooting ‘em); and whether he liked it or not, he still required blood to properly get by. And as disappointed by the food situation as he was, he considered that of the blood a proportionate gain: Blood, Nevada found out, was far more varied when spiced with hormones.

His club made for a perfect den, a place where prey of all sorts could walk in, gyrate themselves into a frenzy, then come crawling over to him (the most minimum of efforts on the part of his pheromones) and offer to him their bodies without even knowing the true nature of what he wanted of them. And for a while, it worked like a charm.

Until Nevada realized he’d never quite had a taste of you, yet. You, with your wide and innocent eyes, cheeks burning whenever you saw him staring at you from the VIP section.

Sure, excitement from arousal was tasty. But the undead gang leader couldn’t help but wonder what the taste of excitement from nervousness tasted like . . .

Lucifer Morningstar - Human

They are without particularly long lives. They are born helpless and remain so much longer than most creatures on Earth do. And yet, it is amazing and strange how much humans can pack into their lives.

Take, for example, one Lucifer Morningstar: He’d changed his name from [Redacted] to better suit the image he wanted, which was that of a walking spectacle. And if his name weren’t enough, everything else he did surely was: The wealth he accrued through mysterious means; the successful nightclub on the LA strip that he owned; an immortal bed life; and a tapestry of connections he’d made by pulling favors. All topped with a devilishly handsome face to boot!

If Lucifer ever had a goal, it was to live it up and/or go to Hell in a hand basket trying.

Which was probably why he wasn’t one to shy away from hosting a little large get-together at Lux for Halloween. And by get-together, Lucifer clarified on social media: They would, in fact, be holding a seance and summoning. After all, what sexier way to embrace the taboo of darkness than to play around with the veil as though it were part of a dress-up game? It was too good an opportunity to miss out on, as any good attention-whore businessperson would tell you.

Unfortunately, for as lucky as Lucifer tended to be, he still bore upon his shoulders multiple flaws. Human flaws. Such as the flaw of not exactly doing research and providing a thorough vetting process when it came to hiring the “performer” who would be commencing the seance and summoning.

This was LA, after all: He probably could just pluck any rando off the street and get a good show out of it. He wasn’t even sure where he pulled this rando from (chances were, he was buzzed and/or high while doing so), but he couldn’t argue with the results of a crowd bewildered by the surprisingly realistic smoke effects and lights flickering. Though he had to admit: They could’ve put you in better demonic makeup for when the lights settled and you stood there, having suddenly “appeared” in the previously-drawn pentagram.

Still, you were cute enough: He supposed if he played his cards right, flirted with you in the usual Lucifer way, then perhaps his Halloween night might be filled with many tricks and treats yet! So he found himself perplexed when you continued to act confused and thrown off, even after the “performer” had finished their routine and left.

Wait, weren’t you supposed to be with them? How did you even get in here? Why do you keep asking how you got here, or if you got stuck in another person’s Hell, or -- . . . Oh. Oh, shit.

As a human, Lucifer was intent on filling his life to the brim with as much story and experiences as possible. But sometimes, there are just some things humans -- even ones like Lucifer -- shouldn’t dabble with . . .

[rosiethorns88]

Queen of Nothing Thoughts / Reflection on the Series

Many people are asking me, so I’m pooling them here. I’m not a writer or a reviewer, just a reader. :)

SPOILERS AHEAD:

First, an expectation summary:

- Overall, the book hit all of my high notes and succeeded in its story telling to me, personally. Holly has a pattern with climax building reflected in all three of her books that I really enjoy as a reader. There are shocking moments about two-thirds of the way in each book that feel like climaxes, but after the sudden burst and fall out, it slowly builds up again to another and greater peak. I find the early upsets and expanded conclusions of the final acts to be really satisfying to unfold, page by page. Cardan and Jude are two fascinating characters and the friction their personalities cause with one another make for some satisfying sparks. The whole cast of characters are colorful and the world building is rich, and I enjoyed the escapism the entire series brought to me with each visit.

- I was completely satisfied with the pacing, because it worked for the story at hand. Madoc was making his move and allies from all over Faerie were seeing Cardan’s control over his court wane in his wake. Both Jude and Cardan had to move and move fast to get themselves in a position of defense. In fact, the one act that I feared may have dragged on the longest, Jude’s ‘entrapment’ at the camp, actually moved forward quite quickly and kept my interest once Grimsen and the Ghost entered the mix. To spend time tying up every frayed thread with other non-player characters before the end would have lessened the urgency of story’s impending conflicts. Let’s get Jude and Cardan settled and to their honeymoon first before we chat about Nicasia’s love woes over tea.

- The Jurdan reunion was great, I love how it reflects the previous books with them having to first play act with each other again. Though I was hoping for it to last a bit longer with Cardan stringing Jude along in her disguise. I was really excited for Jude to play switch-a-roo as Taryn, but didn’t expect it to end so suddenly. It would have been a great call back to the circumstance of Cardan’s being tricked at the end of The Wicked King.

- The fact the Cardan was so involved with Jude’s runarounds: the rescue attempt from the palace, the actual rescue from the camp, his tag-alongs with her questing. It made all of their interactions very satisfying as it was expanding beyond the verbal throw-downs they only had before. I’ve seen many people complain there were not enough Jurdan scenes, but y’all. We barely had a breath of their interactions from the 1st and 2nd books compared to QoN. I was thoroughly pleased.

- The fact that Cardan indulges in Jude’s political nature and wears it proudly like a brooch when he’s addressing his court. He’s basically like, “I’m here to be my witty and sarcastic self; she’s here to be her just and vicious self. We complete each other.”

- CARDAN REUNITES WITH HIS DOOR! This was my favorite reunion scene as it was one of the many world building elements I enjoyed from the first book. Cardan’s playful and endearing greeting to his door at Hallow Hall was such a thought provoking element - I could only imagine as he grew up at the hall, he had little things or persons to befriend. And with the revelation of Cardan sneaking out human servants in the night, it makes sense he could get away with it with this unique friendship. I’m so glad this was a payoff.

- Madoc - I love Madoc. SO MUCH. He’s such a rich character, it’s so hard to call him morally grey when his character is so colorfully rich. Every chapter I either put an extra tick on his ‘I hate you so much’ or ‘I love you so much’ tally. He’s so true to his nature as a red cap, yet still so loving and caring for his family. He truly shows his hurt and conflict in his anger towards Jude after he finds she has betrayed or outwitted him. I reflect back to The Cruel Prince, when Jude was reminiscing how she and Madoc would play a board game of strategy (like chess) and have to interrupt it. All day, Jude would think about her possible moves and his possible moves, so when they returned to the game, the entire strategy had changed. This is how they interacted all through out the novel. Every thought and move was predicted, then challenged, then overturned before they could even meet face to face again. It’s amazing how there are no villains or heroes in this story; Jude and Madoc’s conflict were just an ever spinning tornado of their own morals and loyalties and ideals.

- Ghost & Taryn redeemed! I must admit, I was completely shaken by the Ghost’s betrayal in TWK, and did not expect him to be a redeemable character, though I did expect him to be involved somehow. I’m a little less satisfied with how quickly Taryn changed her spots back, especially with the build up from The Lost Sisters novella, and wish that Locke wasn’t killed off-screen. I can believe what she said happened, and that she was unhappy with the situation, but for it all to be delivered in one sitting as a monologue, it didn’t sink in for me for a while. I didn’t expect to have a redeeming arc for either of them, nor expect hints at their possible relationship, but it all fell into place nicely. At the end, I felt that the Ghost deserved to have his freedom, and that Taryn was appropriate to hold him to it.

- The Bomb and The Roach! I was happy for them to find their happily ever after, but Noooooo I didn’t want the Roach to be fridged! The Roach x The Bomb x Jude x Cardan interactions produce the best lines in the entire series and I was super sad to see the Roach exit so early. But from the little we received, it was a delight.

- Nicasia, Valerian (his curse), Locke - to me these three didn’t have the conclusions I was hoping for, but there may be open lore left to explore for Holly. I do understand why others insist that the last book be split into two and expanded upon, but the book was sharply focused on Jude and Cardan’s predicaments. Nicasia, Valerian and Locke all had unfinished stories and conflicts with both of them, but they were past issues that weren’t actively affecting the plot, and so I wasn’t troubled by their absence. But I’m hoping short stories or expanded lore in other Holly-verse novels may touch upon them.

- Vivi / Heather - This side plot got a little more attention than I expected, even though I didn’t appreciate the decisions both Vivi and Heather made (just as Jude didn’t).  I was actually expecting Heather to take the route that she did, but just a little bit further than where she ended up. I love that she went completely Hermione on the group, but really wasn’t helpful in the end (which is ok). However, I think the true recourse for Heather’s involvement was intended solely for Vivi. By Heather experiencing Faerie a second time with the expectations of the terrors it offered, she was able to see other facets of the world Vivi has ties too, which is why she gave Vivi the second chance to reintroduce it to her in a better light.

- Oak / Oriana -  I find Oriana such a delight as a character, but I don’t know why I always forget she exists until she appears on page. Which is appropriate, as she makes herself seen and be heard when she wants to. I love how helicopter parent she is with Jude even though she’s made it clear that she barely tolerates their familial ties. Still, her ability to parry Jude’s rebellious and un-lady-like behavior with her witty retorts gave us some of my favorite scenes from the previous books, and I enjoyed their brief reunion under the same circumstances at the camp. Oak, on the other hand I felt was underused as a character, and instead, justifiably used as a political object. Oak and Oriana’s relationship made for an interesting divisiveness between Team Madoc and Team Jude, that I think was an important factor, but ultimately Oak didn’t have much to do in decision makings in the QoN like he did in TCP. However, I feel this is because his character arc begins at the end of this novel with the new character ex-Queen Suren. And whether or not that story makes it onto a page, I can accept that his story was left open-ended to begin here.

Regarding Jude:

I think it’s important to highlight Jude’s development with her feelings toward Cardan - specifically with her reaction toward her exile. I wouldn’t say she’s an unreliable narrator, more so, she’s an unreliable romantic. Jude is the ‘DON’T Notice Me Senpai’ main character who throws red flags up for every action Cardan does.

A very popular theory about Cardan’s exile was that Jude would be able to pardon herself since she is part of the crown as queen. When that turned out to be true, I saw a lot of disappointment from readers with the obviousness of it - but that’s because it was obvious to ourselves, and it always has been. Cardan’s wordplay is a defining trait for his character and there have been several scenes where we the reader are completely in the know when he’s doing it and are charmed by it right along with Jude. During the exiling, Jude is not in the know and is blinded at first by her stupor as a newly wed and then later with her doubt in Cardan’s feelings for her as she flat out admits to herself that the crown pardon could be a loop hole.

This is what makes the rose garden scene such a great turning point - because they both realized they fooled each other without knowing it and are both distressed by each other’s reaction. Their trust in each other was becoming more brittle as it grew, until they realized they both could no longer play their old schemes against each other without risking that trust breaking.

All throughout, Jude has been judging and second guessing everything he does while she scrambles across this political chess board. Deny his feelings, manipulating her own feelings, pushing and pulling and advancing further to the top before her desire for power and her desire for Cardan meet at the peak. And here, between the possibility of losing the power she gained or condemning the feelings she found, is when she finally has to make that choice for herself, when she had viable reasons to go either way. With the way she struggled for both, she earned that right to choose.

Favorite moments / quotes:

- Cardan flinching at Jude’s indirect confession while she was disguised as Taryn - and Jude wholly unaware of the implications.

- Cardan relishing in his cleverness about the exile, while Jude is like WTF and they’re completely clueless about each other’s reaction until in the later rose garden scene. - Cardan’s ‘Jude, DON’T!’ - seriously, listen to the audiobook, you can hear the fear in his voice as his murder wife runs off to battle. And because we the readers can hear that fear, while Jude doesn’t, makes it more heart breaking.

- Madoc alluding to Jude (as Taryn) about Cardan’s berserk mode when he tried to prevent Jude’s capture at the palace. And of course, Jude denying it (psh)

- Cardan doing the grunt work in Jude’s camp rescue, and getting socked in the stomach for it - hah! And of course, The Roach preening he warned him.

- Cardan subconsciously protecting Jude from the arrow trap

- Jude scaring off a faerie guard with mortal menstruation.

- “Do not touch her. She is my wife.”

- How LONG have I waited for Cardan to finally witness how much Jude mutilates her body from her fights, and then for him care for her himself in his bed was just an extra mountain of whipped cream with sprinkles on top. (remember, she hid from him her hand stabbing, her self-poisoning, her leg injury from Locke’s attack, the details of Valerian’s attempt to murder her TWICE, the details of her torturous time in the undersea, etc. Let him know your WOES, woman! Y’all need to cash in some empathy points!)

- Jude having no choice but to wear Cardan’s clothes

- SLAP

- “Maybe he’d like to hear me scream.” exchange. And the hair touch!

- MY DOOR!

- The Ghost spider scrambling up the wall towards Cardan, and Taryn whiplashing him. Poor baby!

- Cardan intrigued by Slushies and Gummy Worms

- Cardan privately reprimanding Randalin about Jude and him scurrying out of the room in a panic. WHAT WAS SAID? CARDAN WAS SMILING.

- Freakin Cardan confessing and cutting her off at the door.

- Jude taking the time to panic, to mourn and to plan after the transformation. I felt giving too much haste toward a ‘Disney-true-love-spell-breaking ending’ would have ruined the direness of Cardan’s sacrifice.

- That fingers-digging-into-her-back hug.

- Tight pants, t-shirt and a Lopsided paper crown.

[sparkesink]

Chapter 14:

Such Is, The American Dream

How Does One Write…

(When One Has Nothing To Write Upon?)

No Desperate Tragedy…

No Thrilling Woe.

My Rains,

(My Snout…)

Never Forced,

(Still Out.)

 The Most Difficult Task, 

(Writing Upon A Wim…)

Not Which Becomes A Light Source, 

(Discarded Amongst The Gray…)

But That Of The Smiles Which Roll Astray.

 The Memories That Stay,

Through A Drought-Full Snow…

Never…

(Really,)

Mattered…

We Always Destined…

(Take Such Blow.)

 I Had Never Imagined,

(The Difficulty…)

“Catch What You Sow…”

I Really Just Hope,

I Did Not Catch The Bow…

Allow Intellect,

(Power To Tow.)

Slow,

Sweet Ebb And Flow.

Only One Little Thing:

(Keep My Mind Low.)

 This Internet Shit Is Much Harder Than It Seems…

Seamless Integration,

Flawless Digital Frustration…

Hours Upon Hours Of Choices To Feed…

How Many Algorithm Marketing Targets Do I Need?

Constant Change,

(A Living Thing…)

Creating A Robot,

(Behind Your News Feed.)

Good Money Spent: 

(Just One Moment Of Your Time…)

Try Being More: 

Sensible, 

(Simply,) 

Speaking In Rhyme…

There Is No Easy Feet,

While Introducing Something New.

There Is No Target Audience,

(Per-say,)

In Lieu.

There Is No,

(One,)

Industry We Fall Within.

Shall We Write Code?

(Leaving Artistic Voice Shackled And Thin?)

Maybe The Camera Feel Cold?

While Contracts Come Tackled, 

(Spattered Upon Tin.)

How Can So Many Things,

All Come Shining Their Rings…

 And I’m Expected To Succeed…

(You Don’t Know:)

Not A Single Itch Of This Presentation…

Is Procured By Any Other…

(Than Me.)

One Little Girl,

Four Personalities…

All Separate In Their Beautiful Talents.

How Could Anyone Know…

(She Performs The Full Trapeze.)

Not A Building,

No Projects… 

(Between Groups…)

Just Me;

(Here,)

Trying Not To Cry.

Pushing A Project: 

(I Never Got To Practice.)

I Didn’t Go To College For Computer Science…

A Whole Degree Dedicated:

(The Science Of Marketing…)

I Didn’t Ask For This Work…

As It Laid It’s Beautiful Head Upon My Chest.

 I Was Given This Burden,

To Think And Create…

To Reach The Stars:

Give Them All Back… 

(Sensibly Late.)

 Heaven Forbid,

We Use Our Word,

To Speak…

(To Talk.)

Create Conversation,

(Substituting Reaction To Mock.)

 We Are Forced Language Of Societal Choosing,

From The Moment We Enter This World.

Here,

(Upon This Earth…)

Within This Reality,

At This Exact Moment In Time:

We Grow,

We Forget How To Talk…

We Let All Of The Bullshit Hide,

(Who We Really Are Inside.)

 That Happy Child,

Giggling With Your Mother…

She Raspberries Your Little Baby Belly.

She Kisses Your Forehead:

Promising Beauty Within Life.

Unconditional Love, 

(Regardless Societal Strife.)

Though, 

(At Some Moment…)

For Some:

Brief…

A Loss At Happenstance…

(A Loss Of Seconds To Breathe.)

For Others:

An Extensive Span Of Trauma And Fear,

Acceptance Washed,

(Blatantly Clear.)

 Do You Understand Fear?

Months Turned Years,

Consistent Fears:

Fear To Open The Front Door,

Fear Of Anything,

(Aside The Shore.)

I Broke Myself.

I Ignored Myself.

I Allowed Others To Abuse Me,

(Shamed The Woman I Could Be.)

I Feel Sick, 

Consistently At War:

I’ve Fought My Whole Life,

(My Truth Resides Within My Lore.)

 Do You Think I’m Privileged?

(I’ve Been Given A Hand Up?)

Could You Realize It All Came At A Price?

Do You Understand Manipulative Narcissistic Strife?

It Flows As The Waves Within The Sea,

(Maybe This Is Why It Consistently Captivates Me.)

 Though I Have Only Begun To Live This New Life:

One Of Health,

Truth,

Integrity,

(And Dignity…)

All Those Dark Memories:

Transparently Vibrant Through Stained Glass.

I’ve Been On This Emotional Ride Since Birth,

I Am Their Narcissistic Supply,

(Second Class.)

“My Worth”:

Highs And Lows,

“You’re Impressively Bland,”

“You’re Intelligently Stupid,”

“You’re Non Like The Rest,

As Soon As She Breaks,

Make Haste:

Take Her To The Test!”

Round And Round,

I Tumble Through Sea Foam,

An Eternity Caught,

(A Weightless Tomb.) 

 Little “B”,

So Soft And Sweet Was She.

She Crawled Beneath Her Bunk Bed,

Just A Moment To Breathe.

Forced To Obey,

Shunned If She Don’t Stay.

She Just Did Not Want To Play, 

(With That Little Girl,)

A Girl Who’s Cousin Fondled Her, 

(Post Six Years From A Six Year Old Twirl.)

She Moved Each Toy,

All Those Soiled Clothes,

She Placed Herself Perfectly…

Between The Mattress And The Floor.

She Only Six At The Time…

She Didn’t Understand, 

(Emotional Manipulative War.)

She Didn’t Understand, 

She Deserved Her Respect,

Her Heart Under-defined: 

(“Sore”.)

 She Hid Under That Bed,

Gasping For Breath;

Rocking Back And Forth,

Both Hands Entangled Her Head.

She Sat There Crying,

Though Silent She Must Be…

For If Anyone Found Her,

(Emotional Scrutiny.)

 She Learned To Sob Silently:

(No One Let’s The Girl Just Be.)

She Tucked Her Tears Within A Sock,

Bit Her Lip And Listened,

Counting The Clock…

Curious How Long She Could Disappear,

Before They Even Noticed,

“She’s Not Here.”

 One Hour,

Two?

(None Hadn’t A Clue…) 

Till Finally Her Mother Came Ringing Through…

She Heard Her Panic,

Thirty Minutes Gone By…

Is It Fucked Up,

She Enjoyed It?

(Hearing Mom Cry.)

 They Called The Police,

Worried She Had Been Taken;

She Finally Wiggled, 

(Mountains Of Emotion Shaken,)

Out Of Her Room,

(Snot Encasing The Entirety Of Her Face,)

Why Couldn’t You Understand,

(She Isn’t At Home In This Place.)

She Was Escorted To The Side Walk,

Directly Affront Her Claim.

She Sat Silent As The Officer Explain,

“You Cannot Hide From Your Parents,

This Is Bad.”

 So What If She Is Sad?

So What If She Has No Name,

So What If She Is Human,

So What She Lives In Shame?

She Is Six,

(Just Her Parents Property.)

Never Hit,

Welted Below The Belt…

(Emotionally Scarred.)

 Never Bled,

(Controlled,)

“The Person She Is… 

(Must Be Discard.”)

 “She Is Not Allowed To Be,

(The One She Is Meant To See,)

She Only Allowed To Be,

(The One I Want To See!)”

 Her Desires Shot,

Her Goals,

‘Just Silly Dreams…’

(Even Early Graduation Wasn’t Satisfactory To Thee.)

Her Dean’s List Scholars,

Scholarships At Sixteen…

“She Could Have Done Better,

Had She Only Listened To Me…

Had She Only Let Me Direct Her Life,

(Listened As A Sheep,)

Maybe She Would Be Normal,

Maybe She Wouldn’t Be… 

(A Fucking Head Case,)

Maybe She Would Finally Sleep.

She Could Live And Become ‘Normal’,

If She Would Only Just ‘Play The Game’…

Since She Refuse,

We Mock Her In Exasperating Blame.”

 Forward To Twenty-one Years,

(Now Enthralled Within Devine Game:)

A Rabbit Called,

His Eye Yellow Amongst A Brunette Mane.

He Scurried Diligently Amongst My Toes,

Furry Innocence Disregard Hidden Foes.

I Offered Him My Guidance,

A Compass Found,

(Hanging Amongst The Fir…)

 The Rabbit Shook His Tale In Great Exuberance,

My Third Eye Cringed Within Prominent Clairvoyance.

I Had Been Wandering For Days Amongst These Trees,

(I Hadn’t Expected To Find Creatures Such As These.)

The Rabbit Was First,

He Spoke Aloud,

(Whispered,)

Follow Me, 

(I’ll Show You Around.)

 All This Time Rummaging From Within The Trees,

Consistently Trudging Muck,

(Seeping Between The Leaves.)

 He Turned Timid,

Around And Around,

Figure-eights Between Each Tree:

Before A Days Pass,

He Guided Me,

Beyond The Forest Entrance, 

(Amass.)

 I Forfeited Precious Time Progressing,

(Before Encountering You!)

“I’m Back Where I Fucking Started!

You Beady Eyed Fool!”

 The Rabbit Appeared Different, 

(His Eye Gold Sprouting Orange:)

“Don’t You Get It?

I’m Not Here To Help You.

You Should Have Taken Interest, 

(Within Prior Warn.)

Enjoy Trudging Back,

Dusk Covers Within Mist Until Morn.”

 Then Out Of The Muck,

This Yellow-eyed Rabbit Disappear.

Leaning In Close With One Ear…

“FUCK!”

Kicking The Mud,

My Heart Sweltered Within My Chest,

My Knees Buckled,

(Demanded Rest.)

 One Should Never Follow The Rabbit:

(Fuck That Rabbit.)

Forgive My Language,

I Was Never One To Censor…

(I Should Have Procured A Sponsor.)

 Here,

Returned Upon The Beginning.

(Happy Anniversary To Me;)

3/14,

Another Beginning To Be.

I Suppose We Shall Try Again:

Follow My Heart,

Close What That Yellow Eyed Rabbit Left Tart,

Sever A Clean Part.

 Keep The Soul,

Sponge The Rest.

Remain Hopeful,

(This Is Not A Final Test.)

 I Suppose,

(To Me,)

It Seems Unbearable:

To Pull Myself From The Muck,

A Constant Reminder, 

Slivers Of Luck,

(Fuck.)

Purchased Clothing To Tuck,

To Be Taken Into Success,

Without A Harvey Weinstein Conclusion…

(Business Fueled By Your Sucking Skills;)

I Digress.

 No One Ever Talks About Modification Discrimination:

A Projected Judgmental Temptation,

Toward Self Expression.

Sighted Within The Way The Eyes Glaze,

Creases, 

(Between The Sinus,) 

Laze.

 Projecting Yourself As A Business Cog:

“Don’t Quit Your Job.”

 Bouncing Baby Blue,

Upon One Hip Or Two?

Can You Meet Next Wednesday?

Let Us Print Money For Few,

Don’t Mind The Toddler Fingers,

Find Purpose For My Mouth, 

(En Lieu.)

 Don’t Mind The Baby Babble,

(Mommy Wears Twenty Hats, Too.)

What Shall It Be Today?

Manning Landscape Stats?

Emotional Abuse? 

(Milk Toppled By Stray Cats.)

Mommy And Me,

Climbing Counters, 

(Refuse To Leave Be.)

Business Woman Performance:

A Joke,

(Scuffing Down Toke,)

Gaining Courage To Speak… 

(To Other Folk.)

 When Does This Feel Good?

When Does Satisfaction Creep My Soul?

(As I’m Told It Should.)

 Such An Interesting Observation;

(In Which I Stand Alone.)

Expressing My Soul… 

To Feel Sensation:

(A Cold And Lonely Tone.)

Choosing Printing Paper,

Juggling A Tired Toddler,

I Hold Her For Hours While Yawns Taper…

Which Ink Can Finally Coddle Her?

Could I Choose To Become A Cloud?

I Would Never Become “To Loud”.

I Would Never Drag Myself Through Sharpened Glass,

No Results Within My Mass.

I Could Be Beautifully Gazed Upon For All To See,

(While Remaining Far-away…)

Intact,

(With My Dignity.)

Removing Myself From Toxicity,

(Festering Within Such Simplicity.)

 I Dream Upon Days,

(Lost In Daze,)

With Him…

Fizzled Out Of Adolescent Faze.

Fingers,

(Twirling My Hair Up Within Them.)

Coffee In Bed,

Date Nights In Red,

Laughing,

Exuding Such Needed Encouragement Said.

“Good Morning Beautiful,”

Every Morning.

A Hazel Eye That Never Projects A Bore…

A Look That Never Dies,

Such Relationship, 

(Containing Exclusive Polite Lies.)

 Weekends In Adventure,

Dreamer Talk Of Tenure,

Clouds Positioned To Lend An Ear…

Speaking Of Peace And Beauty,

Without A Reminder Of The Muck…

Gaining Momentum…

(Circling Near.)

 Appreciation Of The Highs,

Consideration Of The Lows,

(An Anchor Lent Each Time It Shows.)

Walks Along The Beach,

Ability To Intellectually Teach…

A Woman, 

(Who Is Anything But What She Wants To Be.)

A Smart Ass,

(Behind An Extended Vocabulary.)

Something Equivalent,

(Capable In Loving What Cannot Become Seen.)

 Am I Lost?

Naïve?

Exclusive Denial Of What My Soul Is Screaming?

My Tower Leaning,

My Foundation Feening…

(Freely Poured Concrete…)

In Which Will Not Crack Under Pressure.

A Sentiment Of Force Capable To Hold,

(A Collapsing Infrastructure,)

Containing Such Vast Weight,

(Others Incapable Of Supportive Toll.)

A Crumbling “Eighth World Wonder,”

Supporting It’s Self Under Continuous Richter…

Acknowledging Important Features,

Cracking Off Remaining Seizures… 

(Demolishing Pertinent Structures…)

Praying To A One-way Conversation…

(Within Myself.)

 I Am Sick Of Being Sick.

Left Alone,

(Head Filled With Ideas Of “Home.”)

 Just Let This Pressure,

(Excruciating Weight From Within My Chest,) 

Dissipate…

Allow “Sensibly Late” To Mark Date…

I’ve Only Ever Desired Peace,

(Within Myself.)

 Countless Influential People Project The Same Bore:

“Follow Your Dreams, Determination Hangs Sore…”

When Does A Lifetime Of Unfortunate Events End?

When Will I Be Given Time To Mend?

What Is Time But A Linear Bend?

If There Is No Beginning…

(Subsequently,)

There Is No End.

 All Versions,

Within All Realities,

Upon All Timelines:

(Alive And Vibrant,) 

Simultaneously Thrive.

 Amongst A Paradox,

(Created Within Such A Reality, 

Accepted Through Current Consciousness…)

Somewhere, 

Along Some Timeline,

Within Such Reality,

Procured Through Such A Paradox…

In Which I Have Made This Work Worth Something.

 At This Very Moment,

In A Linear Timeline,

Upon A Parallel Paradox;

I Have Succeeded.

 The String Of Unfortunate Events Severed…

The Curse Lifted From My Ora.

I’m Left Staring Within This Same Pacific Ocean,

(Washed Away With The Sand.)

 What Does This All Mean?

(Why Me?)

Why Have I Been Chosen To Endure This Strife?

Why Must A Devine Test Be Inflicted Upon This Life?

Why Am I Here?

(A Breeze Guided Me Near.)

Why Hasn’t This Happenstance Become Clear?

When Will This Trepidation Recede?

Will I Remain Humble If Encased Within Greed?

Eight Years Of Sorrow And Woe,

(Why Does This Fucking Novel Breed Such Daunting Tow?)

 WHY AM I HERE?

WHY CAN I NOT SEE CLEAR?

AM I FACED TO ACEND WITHIN THE MIRROR?

WHY AM I FUCKING HERE?!?

 What’s This Ship Got To Do With Anything?

Why These Sands?

Why This Bay?

It Felt So Natural,

(Before We Came To Stay…)

The Cosmos Were Ringing,

Guiding Me Amongst This Shore,

Now Enthralled In Silence,

Saturated Within Thirty Days,

(Blood And Pain,) 

Payment For This Lore.

 I Peer Amongst These Ruins,

(Sunken Deep Within Our Sands…)

What Does This Old Ship Have To Do With Anything?

What Am I Doing?

 I Moved My Family,

Upon Premonition And Happenstance:

Guided Transition With Ease…

I Just Cannot Find My Purpose… 

(Amongst These Seas.)

 It’s As Though I Should Just Call It;

(Wave My White Flag And Surrender.)

Live Within Death:

Pull My Life Together,

(Ascender.)

 I Cannot Seem To Convince,

Which I Am Meant

A Fruit Gathered, 

(From Purposeful Quince.)

 Am I Writing In The Wrong Direction?

(I Cannot Seem To Find My Way.)

What Could I Become?

In Such Case Of Succession?

 This Lore Is All I’ve Ever Known…

My Key To Contentment Unknown.

How Could I Continue This Dream?

(My Work Greatly Unseen.)

 I Came Here Upon This Day,

To Wave Goodbye To My Bay.

To Kiss My Waves One Final Day:

I Kiss The Earth Which This Tattered Ship Lay.

I Cannot Continue This Silly Nonsense,

I Must Learn To Become Practical;

Build A Wall Around My Heart,

Coated Kevlar Tactical.

 The Coroner Always Gets His Way,

(Impractical To Believe I Could Stay…)

 Something Happened:

(I Have Black Chunks Re-written Within My Memory…)

A Night Called An Instance…

A Body Arrested Through Our Back Gate…

I Couldn’t Recall The Melody…

A Tiny Girl,

Standing In Our Backyard So Late.

 I Saw The Police Escort Him,

(From Back Through To Front,)

Why Was I There?

Did I Come Out To Confront?

I Was Told Our Chow Chow Bit Him…

(That Couldn’t Become Correct?)

For Had This Been Truth,

My Jazmine Girl Would’ve Become Laid To Rest…

 Were We Victim To Common Burglary?

Or Maybe…

I A Victim Of Something Grotesque. 

Why Are All Other Moments, 

(Surrounding This,) 

A Blackened Mess?

 Just One Slide,

Seared Within My Psyche…

Just One Man,

Blood Dripping Down One Pant Upon A Lichee.

Two Officers Restraining Each Hand…

Walking Through My Back Gate;

My Mother Weeping Amongst The Blue And Red,

Authoritative Lights: 

(Illuminating A Common Cul-de-sac…)

Why Was I In Back?

How Did I Get There?

Where Is The Archive;

(These Memories In Which I Lack?)

 This Chapter Is Shit, Any-who.

Written From Within The Desperation:

An Unemployed Failure,

Female,

Tattooed, 

(And Equally Discriminated.)

 I Don’t Think Many Realize,

I Manage Traffic Analytics…

Do You Know What It Is Like?

Working Diligently Upon A Project;

Simultaneously,

Nineteen Months Only One…

One Single Human Came To Visit.

 Do You Know What It Is Like?

Explaining Brilliance: 

To Pinheads In Suits Of Murk?

Endless Determination,

Anxiety Loaded,

(Maximum Pulsation.)

 What Would The Common Human See?

If Only To Look Past This Cover,

Do My Tattoos Cause Anxiety To Flee?

Could It Be?

For What Purpose Could You Possibly Leave?

Pretending To Understand,

When I Prove Fact:

(You’ve Never Even Ventured One Page Through This Land,)

Though, 

You’ve Graciously Provided Patronize,

(Enveloping Strength In Which You Lack.)

 Such A Shame,

A Vortex Cannot Become Undeveloped, 

(Once Given Life To Breathe…)

This Story Cannot Become Untold,

(Reaction To Mature To Leave.)

 Could You Evaporate Within The Fog?

Lending An Ear Amongst This Slimy Log?

 Maybe It’s Just Ahead Of It’s Time…

Maybe,

(One Day…)

My Words Will Not Become Overlooked…

Maybe You’ll Investigate;

(A Thorough Understanding Of This Song.)

 I Make Others Feel Uncomfortable?

(Speaking My Truth Is Unavoidable…)

How Can You Possibly Judge?

(There Has Been No Company Enthralled Within My Work.)

This Story Lay Stagnant:

Tattered Memories Of A Warrior Lurk.

 Then Again,

Who Ever Cared About The Survivor?

Veterans Homeless,

Left Within Insanity Amongst The Street…

A Jungle Few Understand,

Portraying Images Of War,

Within Survival Upon Distant Land.

Have You Been Without Shelter?

Do You Understand The Terror?

Sleeping In A Tent,

Praying For A Lucky Start…

Sleeping In The Back Of A Festiva,

(Two Lovers Between Two Dogs Is An Art.)

 Have You Ever Woken Up On a Stranger’s Floor?

Thanking The Sun For Another Day Of Lore…

Have You Experienced A Soul Saturated In Blood Stains?

(Those Chosen For Greatness Are Greatly Maimed.)

Do You Understand What It Could Feel Like?

The Pain Of Hunger Outweighs Pain Of Plasma Donations,

Joining Medical Research Studies,

Finances Supplied Only A Few Brief Moments To Breathe…

And You Look At ME?

 “Don’t Quit Your Day Job…”

 I Should Petition The Gods In Which I Dedicated My Soul,

But Then…

That Would Become Wrath…

And In Doing So I Endure Disown, 

From This Pursuit Of Becoming “Whole”.

 I Ponder Amongst My Thoughts:

How Dare You?

Patronizing Something,

(You Never Even Gave A Chance.)

A Research Experiment In Sloth And Judgment:

Could One Become So Busy?

Not Even A Seconds Chance?

Before Discarded? 

(Lousy?)

 There Will Become A Day,

Where Those Whom Shunned,

Come Flowing In Throughout Our Bay…

They Will Pretend To Believe In Divine Things,

(I Know They Only Bare Steel Woven Strings…)

 I Shall Look You Within The Eye,

Plant My Courage As I Say,

“Please, Walk On By.

Your Money Is No Good Here,

For I Had Plans You Could Have Received…

Instead?

You Left Me,

Here To Bleed.

I Cauterized My Wounds,

I Had No Assistance From Greed-written Fools.

 There Will Become A Day:

One Glorious,

Relieving Day…

In Which I Will Have Gained This Courage,

Take My Stand,

Show Off This Pearl-Glass Spine,

The One Abandoned Upon Needful Time.

 I Will Build This Myself,

I Will Become Relentless…

I Will Show The Judged:

I Cannot Be Rendered Senseless.

 You Cannot Break Me:

I Am The Mother Reaper.

 “What Exactly Are You Doing?”

There She Was:

Vivian,

(In The Flesh,)

Sitting Amongst That Moss Covered Log,

(Before Me.)

 “Didn’t I Explain?

Blatantly Clear?

Your Swimming Within Muck…

It Will Devour You,

You Foolish Buck.

No One Wants To Drown Within Your Quicksand,

Where Is Your Land?

You Sit Around Here,

Swimming In Mud And Blood…

He’s Fucking Waiting For You!

Get Your Ass Up!”

 She Held No Consequence, 

(A Royal Demeanor:)

I Stop To Acknowledge My Current Surroundings,

Listen To Logic…

Internalize Her…

 “How Are You Here?

I Mean, How Are You Within This Chapter?

I Am Alone Here,

Left To Retrospect…

A Blackened Cell Within A Writing Table…

Expected To Secure A Sable Label.”

 “You’re Past That, My Love…

You’re Swimming In Muck.”

 My Eyes Jaunt Aside, 

Then To Beneath…

My Skin Consumed In The Sticky Black Tar…

The Skulled Outlines,

Consuming Me Full…

They Paralyze Your Senses…

Construct False Locations…

 “Don’t You Get It?

You’ve Never Left This Lost Forest.”

 “For Which Do You Mean I Never Left?”

I Already Pulled Myself Up Out Of The Muck,

Stuck,

Undeniable Quicksand…”

 “The Faster You Pull The Quicker They Tuck…

You Must Be Cunning,

Haven’t You Learned Anything?

You Have No Receipt For Luck.

You Must Will It Off,

It Shall Cling To Your Soul If Not.”

Returning Her Casual Ignorance With Scowling Stare:

“That’s All Your Advice?

‘Will It Off’ While You Just Fucking Sit There?”

 “Yeah, You’re Being Weak.

Should I Spell It Out For You?”

 She, Sitting Upon Her Log:

Joint Cherried Upon One Hand.

She, Lounged:

Weight Shifted Left To Mock,

Legs Crossed Amongst The Dew.

Stiff Fingers Find Smoke Inhalation:

Kissing Fingerprints Along Each Solemn Drag…

 “You Saw The Rabbit?”

 She Leans In Close,

(Three Inches From My Thigh…)

Whispers:

“It Hurts To Climb High?”

 “No,

How Are You Here?

This Breaks All The Rules…

I’m Not Near…

It’s A Black Coated Fear,

This Chapter Is Within Me,

I Cannot Be Within This Lost Forest…

This Is Not Real…”

 Within Blinking Seconds:

The Scenery Flicker…

A Dark Interrogation Room,

One Light With That Writing Table Central:

Drowning In Blacked,

Living Tar…

The Mud-blood Creatures Sleeking Upon My Mind…

 Gasping For Breath;

One Eye Opened From Between This Slim Kind,

Vivian Kissing Her Joint…

Watching Me Suffer…

The Slime Covers My Mind,

Desperate,

Desperation,

Within That One Table Cell…

 She Whispers:

“It’s Coming…

That Dream…

It’s Your’s To Capture, 

Doll-face…

 You Want Your Salvation?

Your Dreams Turn Reality?

Disregard Temptation?

Just Get Up,

Find Your Way Through This Lost Forest…

The Galaxies Owe You Reciprocated Payment,

You Already Succeeded…

Just Wake Up!”

 Devoured Within Blackened Tar,

Jade Sit Within The Corner Of My Cell,

(Right Far.)

Sobbing Amongst Herself…

 “I Have A Forest To Navigate,

I Cannot Save Her Here…”

 An Unseen Sensation,

A Delicate Hand,

Index And Thumb Clenching My Conch…

Ripping My Ear, 

Out From Within The Clear.

 “Find Your Will To Walk,

My Subtle Naive Friend…

You Better Prepare:

The Land Beyond This Is A Living Jungle,

The Circus Will Lead Your Final Test…

 It’s Coming For You,

All Those Passionate Desires: 

Pleads For The Best…

Living Light,

Past The Circus…

 Glorious Wonders You Could Never Imagine,

Endless Salvation…

Gifted To Those Suffering Temptation:

You Must Finish,

You’re Meant For This.”

“I Don’t Know If I Am:

My Shoulders Can’t Take Anymore Weight…”

 “You Silly Fool,”

Vivian Snarking From Between Strings Of Muck,

(Spiderwebbing My Appearance:)

“Remove The Toxic Parasite Upon Your Luck!”

 Sure Enough, 

I Straighten My Spine,

Stand Within The Blood,

(Two Vertebrae A Time…)

His Smile Grin Beyond This Blackened Muck…

The Corner,

Disguised In Luck…

His Sweet Face Shift,

Those Green Bifocals Lift…

 “You Have No Power Over Me!

Return To Where You Came, Be!”

 Within Astonishing Grace,

I Remove His Toxic Control,

Willing Him The Size Of A Rabbit Face.

I Gently Place Him Back Within The Muck…

 “You Cannot Control Me,”

I Kiss His Forehead In Empathetic Laze,

“I Cannot Continue As Your Puppet,

Tethered To Abusive Greedy Strings, Ablaze.”

 This Little Toy Man,

In This Little Toy Boat…

Evaporated, 

Taken Amongst The Creatures, 

(Within The Quicksand: Despair.)

 Dripping In Toxic Goo,

I Straighten My Spine,

Now Three Vertebrae A Time…

 “Ahh, Now You Understand…

The Brave Of Heart,

The Relentless Conquer This Land…

Here, 

Wipe Yourself Off,

Inhale This Toke,

Find Relaxing Enjoyment Within Your Cough.”

Vivian Lent Me A Silk Handkerchief, 

(From Within Her Brassiere.)

 “Now Listen Here,

I’ve Willed Paths Within This Forest:

Three Guarded By Rabbit,

One Left Free And Clear.

Just Follow Your Heart,

You’re Intelligent Around Here:

Wait For Your Moment…

It’s Coming Near.”

 She Evaporated Within This Forest Mist,

A Fine, 

Black, 

Shear, 

Delicate,

Smoke Dissipated Before My Iris.

The Handkerchief Now Sizable, 

(Equal To That Of A Blanket Towel.)

 I Remove The Blood From Amongst My Skin,

Watching The Remanence Dance Amongst The Fabric:

Alive In Devaluation,

Desperation,

(Despair.)

 I Look Back Amongst The Muck,

One Final Time:

The Corner’s Greed-Colored Bifocals Sink,

Accompanied With A Porcelain Grin…

I Sat In Grief,

(Watching Them Slip Beyond The Blood, Water Thin…)

 “I’m Sorry,

I Am The Mother Reaper…

You Cannot Break Me:

I Must Live Beyond This Mud, 

Tasting Of Tin.” 

 Grief Stricken Relief.

[aspiring-immortal]

The Pyre of Transmortation

Drabble I made that is a qausi-sequel of sorts to this, but instead of a generic lich & apprentice, it’s Altzmyr and Renwick(oops it’s now fanfiction from Forgotten Realms lore).

This is a rather detailed thing describing Altzmyr’s process of becoming a lich, so of course there is a lot of uhm deathy suicide-like stuff in it.

It’s under the Readmore.

TW: suicide, death, pain, injury, ritual suicide-ish stuff.  Detailed descriptions of ritual suicide and pain and dying. 

"Have you completed the rites of purification?" Spoke the lich.

"Yes." The apprentice answered.

"Have you accepted the aid of the Demon Lord of Undeath, The Goddess of Darkness, The Drow Goddess of Undeath, The God of Death, The God of Murder, or any other malign entity that sponsors lichdom?"

"No, I have only sought aid from you and you alone." The apprentice's answer was one of great respect and admiration.

"Have you lived an ascetic lifestyle to prepare your body, mind, and soul for eternity to come?"

"Yes.  I have.  I have lived the past year as so, and have consumed the herbs to prepare my body for the transmutation."

"Have you settled your affairs, and know what you plan to do with eternity?"

"Yes, indeed.  I wish not to build hordes of mindless undead for nefarious deeds.  I wish not for conquest and war..."

The apprentice took a deep breath and continued, and as he did so, he rose up and held his head up high in triumph, "And I wish not to be a passive devourer of knowledge isolated from the greater world.  I wish to transcend mortality and time and be a force of good for eons to come.  I wish to lead my people...our people..to thrive and co-exist with the living."

If the lich could smile in pride, he would, so a great nod and the clapping of dry, rattling sticks that were his hand bones had to do.  

Altzmyr Tannerem, the apprentice of the centuries-old lich Renwick Caradoon, had spent a long time preparing for this moment, and now the day was here.  His arms felt heavy, his heart raced, and his breath shorter.

His pale pallor told of countless days avoiding the sun, but sometimes there was a fire in his amethyst eyes that one keen enough would recognize to be the eyes of someone who lived a great life of adventuring.  The man was short for a half-elf, and had thick black hair of his moon elf kin tamed into long braid.  His attire at the moment was ceremonial-a dark purple robe with gold trim and red satin silk on the inside-such an attire was unessisary, but this was an important ovcasion and the robe somehow felt appropriate for it, even more likely for the embroidered image of phoenix wings on the back.

The lich was completely skeletal, and would have been mistaken for an ordinary skeleton except for the tiny glowing orbs for eyes, his ornate robes, how well-maintained his bones were, and the raw arcane power that would have killed a living host. He had guided his apprentice for nearly half a century since he sought his guidance into the secrets of lichdom that shunned away the evils usually associated with it.  It is difficult for most to believe such a thing as a benign lich would exist, but it was one of the strangest secrets of the world that Altzmyr discovered in his quest to unite sentient undead who did not ally with evil.  

Many would have considered even the notion that a common ghoul or vampire rising to virtue to be a profound paradox, and Altzmyr had found quite a handful in his journey.  And now it was Altzmyr's intent to finally cheat death perpetually and join the ranks of the unliving himself.  He already had extended his natural lifespan through more fragile and high-maintenance means using duplicated bodies-which also meant he had already experienced death and resurrection a few times.  Yet the reliance in such methods had grown thin over time, so to finally cheat death he had to pass once more and remain in between the two.  Most who become liches hunger for power immediately and thus are quick to sell their souls to evil powers, but the virtuous or neutral lich must exercise great patience to be ready for the change.  The greatest patience occurred at least a year before the change where it is preceded by a spiritual lifestyle of minimal want or need.

The full moon cast its light upon the cold stones inside the monastery and upon the numerous candles strewn around the room-upon windowsills, across tables and upon candelabra, and was enough to turn a cold somber room to one of cozy warmth in light and temperature with honey-like aroma of beeswax despite the exorbitant number of candles that were their source.  Altzmyr stood on an arcanely ornamented rug and closed his eyes.  His hands reached forward blindly were Remwick's bony hands grasped.  A wave of anxiety coursed through him that felt like being hit with a weak lightning spell that coursed through his hands enough even for Renwick to feel it.  Yet despite those feelings, Altzmyr knew he was ready-if he waited for the anxiety to pass he would never fulfill the deed.  Altzmyr contemplated how the next time he would wake up, his hands would be as cold as his mentor's.  Renwick himself remembered his own anxiety over the transition, but in his case he had left it to facing imminent death in battle to decide when he would make the transition.

A whole five minutes passed in the moment of silence where Altzmyr listened to his last breaths, his last heartbeats, his last pulse, the feeling of wetness in his mouth and the warmth that coursed through his thin body.  Afterward he opened his eyes and nodded, he was ready to begin the ritual.  

Mentor and apprentice stood on opposite sides of a stone table on the narrower side, they were within arms reach of another.  The table held an ornate flask of a pitch-black liquid, and four brass bowls of other substances.  An ancient spellbook lay open on Altzmyr's side of the table and then his lips began an incantation.  His mind concentrated on the weave were his hands reached out to pull magic from and within himself, his knowledge and will shaped the mana with gestures and incantations according to carefully planned structures and numerous commands.  These incantations manifested into intricate glowing shapes and symbols that wove in and out of his own body and the contents of the flask.  Renwick watched the procedure unfold to watch out for errors and to assist the flow of mana around.  

Altzmyr's eyes began to glow a bright magenta as the mana was commanded into his body were it would begin to prepare his flesh for preservation.  He would command it to control and inhibit decay and induce desiccation, to withstand the oncoming flood of necrotic power that would soon kill him, and be open to the transition to undeath.  The mana then latched onto his very soul, and then made a circuit with a large beautiful purple gemstone engraved with arcane power within, nestled in a gold fitting that made it appear as if ferried in the back of a phoenix.  

He turned his attention to four bowls of materials laid around the flask.

"Like this dried strawflower, shall I be preserved for all time."

He used his mage hand to guide a handful of dried strawflower petals into the flask.

"Like the dragon, shall I be powerful, but wise."

He lifted the handful of shimmering dust from another bowl with his magic.  It was the powdered scale from an ancient silver dragon bestowed to him.  He siphoned this into the flask.

"Like the diamond shall I be a conduit of great magic.”

He guided a powdered diamond into the flask.

“And like the phoenix, shall I be resurrected upon destruction and my soul an eternal flame.”

He even more carefully guided the last powder-a tiny pinch from the ashes of a phoenix, donated and in an amount harvested that would not take away from the phoenix.  

The concoction hissed and boiled.  Within were a myriad of other ingredients carefully prepared and some that had taken Altzmyr to far away lands and high mountain tops to find.  They included deadly toxins from the mouths of nagas, herbal preparations of hemlock and yew, resin from trees used to make lacquer, and even the blood of an evil being purified in holy water.  There were many other bizarre constituents, but none required the unspeakable evil that the brew beings like Orcus instructed to their acolytes.  The final five ingredients were the activation of all of this work and preparation.

The fifth and final activation component, was a few drops of his own blood.  He took a silvered knife an ran its blade across a wrinkle in his palm, where the blood oozed out and seeped down his pale hand and into the flask’s mouth.  He used his magic to carefully administer just eight drops into it, where they ran down like hot red sealing wax about to make the final seal on the poison.

With his bloodied hand he held the vessel that would soon take his soul, the large purple jewel set on a phoenix’s wings, and then with his other hand he lifted the flask up from its onyx pedestal.

He gave a deep sigh and looked at his mentor’s face.  Perhaps his own face someday would be just like that-a dry skull, but then Altzmyr reminded himself it would be that way anyway.

Renwick nodded.

Altzmyr breathed deeply, closed his eyes and held the deadly elixir into his lips.  It smelled noxious, like the burn from a necrotic blight but mixed with a bizarre purity from the airs of a higher plane.  A clash of ideals and forces, of death but hope and continuance, and mixed all together was a mote of potential eternity, of great power and immortality, of blessing and woes from such a bizarre existence.  His hand shook slightly as he took in the scent of what he was to be, of what he had worked hard, ages spent in magical study, but ages spent leading his people, ages spent in council, and ages watching the world and time pass, ages consorting with other immortal beings and ages spent shaping and being active in the world when he wished, ages spent on time on his own terms and his own pace.

He consumed the poison.

It flowed down his throat like a nasty bitter medicine and tingled and numbed its way down into his gut.  A small enchantment of the bottle ensured not a drop was left behind, as the entire substance pulled the last minute traces of itself down with the flow.  Altzmyr could feel the necrotic power bond into his body, slowly starting to pull his body toward death as it pooled in.  

He finished and set the bottle and gemstone down upon the table.  The arcane light settled inside his body and thus his eyes stopped glowing.  He faced his mentor and took a light bow with his arm across his chest.  Renwick bowed back in equal measure.  Altzmyr took a deep sigh, of both the anxiety and of completion, of going past the point of no return, of a certain peaceful finality not like the end of a life well lived, but of an accomplishment greatly succeeded.  

Renwick walked around the table and held his apprentice’s wrists, then his upper arms.  At first Altzmyr found this bewildering, but then he was hit with massive boulder of dizziness and he started to have trouble keeping his balance.  He was dying, and the feeling of dying was still frightening yet he had felt it before.  Renwick carefully guided him across the room.  Each step became heavier and harder to maintain, he started to feel his limbs become number and number with each second, his vision blurred, his breaths became shallower, his heart raced and screamed its final beats.  He came to a soft bed and collapsed like a weight upon the mattress as his whole body screamed and cried in a massive wave of pain, of his very organs gasped and ached for dear life right before they were mercifully silenced.  Within the massive rush of pain there was a small and very welcome interruption-he could feel his mentor's hand around his, and he squeezed tighter and tighter; another comforting hand stroked his profusely sweating forehead.  He felt like he was burning inside and out, as if thrown on a funeral pyre, and within was a fire that spread and seared his whole body, all he could do was scream, and scream he did until his lungs and throat shut down and silenced him-only his bursting tears could express the raging fever within.  Necrotic energy coursed through his nerves and veins and across guts and membranes, permeating through every fiber of his being, destroying the very life of them and replacing it with something seemingly unnatural yet powerful.  His final living moments then came to an abrupt calm, and washed his mind with a strange and restful peace.  He smiled lightly, not sure how he could even do it because he could no longer feel his face, yet he did.  

From the outside his body didn’t seem different after the fever died down.  Renwick recalled when he too had felt his final living moments and the stages of the process, he also had flailed and screamed upon the death of his mortal life, and saw once more what happened with his apprentice-yet there was little he could do save to be there for him and provide a sliver of comfort.

Altzmyr closed his eyes which ceased functioning naturally. His mind became emptied save for a peaceful, overwhelming tranquility, like he was floating in a void, not a cold empty, endless void, but a gentle, comforting one until he drifted out of consciousness.

His dead body started to leak out the warmth it once made, his skin gradually became even more pale.  Within, the carefully laid magics went to work transmuting his flesh and ferrying his corpse to undeath.  Renwick laid the phylactery upon his heart, where it would forge its indomitable bond with his soul.  

The natural life force of Altzmyr Tannerem had passed away, but his remains would be the stage and prime material for his resurrection and transformation into something greater than he once was.

Eight days later, a new lich awoke upon the bed.  His body was like the recently dead, still flesh and skin, still recognizable but gaunt and pale and preserved within.  His eyes had a subtle glow as they functioned differently.  He awoke to no breath, no pulse, but still felt a need to stretch his undead limbs, which he did so, and as he did he released a rush of air from his dead lungs and his arms and legs stretched out, his torso lifted in the air and his body was reborn with a new kind of life.  A surge of energy filled his body and he felt like he could just fly off like a newborn phoenix.  His phylactery was set on a table nearby and he could intuitively sense it.  

Renwick was delighted to see what Altzmyr had become, another of the fabled liches of good heart and great wisdom, so sorely needed among the ranks of the undead as guide and counselor.  

The old lich embraced the new lich and both held each other tight.

[poetnumber17]

V: The Lore of War

In myth and legends kingdoms leant

Age thousand years the peace it meant

A land unite by common peers

Like all conflict brought men to tears

It start with the people Three

Ixaj, Jaya, and Kansen be

From waters rose the People came

In thousands morph, none look the same

Those millions many have magic

Not theirs to use but conduit

From earth and dust the mud we came

Tough skinned even eyed, Jaya named

At one with earth like none before

The heart of the Shining lore

Though short life spent in tribal way

Each speak to ix like family stay

The Kansen are the skyborn kind

Lived long, in magic, in’pendent mind

A willful circle wrought them bring

The three Peoples in fate unstring

The Ixaj form bond with Kansen tall

Protect them by the magic fall

While Kansen depend deep on this

The ix gain to, in partnership

While long lived sky born people grasp

Their short lived jaya not long to last

They feel the earth, bring forth its food

Tride lands intimate known shrewd

Last in the cycle triangle

The kansen who must bear the load

To guard their lives so short shalt owed

Keep bond strong with the ix result

This ring if strong withstand result

If ‘ere this breaks, our hell breaks loose

History built on Triple truce

And where it break an to brakish war

This here starts our tales of lore

Some battles are but cyclic woes

Where families often come to blows

Or classes pick their battles right

With weapon picked up build to fight

But where the tale proper begins

By kingdoms split divide by ins

It start with the first, the original

Where Peoples rose there mythical

First kingdom took their Ixaj kind

Rent skin from flesh o’er death they find

To make the leather forbidden

Enraged the third kingdom ‘neath the sun

It’s sacred rule to do no harm

Yet this bracer made with lambskin

Removed in pain, with prick and pin

They killed their ix like lowly mites

Below the Kansen, mighty rights

No magic practice in origin land

Makes them no better with firstborn brand

Third Kingdom heard their wails abroad

Saw their elders breaking oaths with gods

To keep the sacred Three in keep

While ixaj refused the bonds and weep

Lost voice and magic from animals

The first upon them falls the culls

Regress to ways before their rise

Though kingdoms ever fall on highs

The First set out to right the wrongs

In drove, in basses, battle strong

Release the Ix! They coil back fierce

The Third holds spears polished to pierce

The rest hang back from wars to rot

The Second, Fourth and Fifth not fought

In wars between the great two place

Know better than go face to face

In wars long last for centures time

Better to count them in this rhyme

Of late unrest is nearer still

Look in to see the famine’s  sill

Where land gave up on making food

So jaya starve to feed their brood

If jaya starve the kansen too

Why do the low not pay their due

So kansen turn to magic still

Ignored the jaya dying shrill

To feed themselves another year

On tastefless magic formed in the clear

What litè was left fought on the streets

Till Jaya rasie religious feats

To say the Shade or Bright find best

Though truly neither could have rest

For food was short and scarse withall

The energy lead them to warll

It broke within to civil war

As Third Kingdom hushed their four

When friend on friend turned in despair

More brandished death in him was spear

Ignored by kansen, their protector

Though claimed the help in lore

Over the spring the food grew weal

And jaya turned inland to seek

The food that could not exist now

Not understood by those allow

Another year and death rate climbed

With violent ask for food inclined

They feared their place but smoked all day

No work for jaya enlist to grace

Whats worse did third kingdom did go

Ignore the kaya till long ago

Blame them for all the woes of world

The hungry never heard the word

The petty violent start another surge

Kansen to punish for the plague

With no food all the summer fix

The sky born try another trick

But jaya have had their last page

So magic fall to cease their age

When war breaks out, both sides have blood

And Kingdoms near hear great flood

So to the aid of dying friends

Kingdoms across raise to defend

In haste of go, last angels ride

To slay those all were left behind

So none may take what rightfully theres

As border bound they all prepared

And while the jaya may return in time

The fieldland be not modest dime

This not the firs thte clash of three

Where kansen deny their low mercy

Or some arrange where trust was broke

And others find no weary folk

The Third Kingdom live on mercy eyes

To hope and pray last in disguise

For story told of broken talk

Repeats itself each gentle stock

Before the sons of Empress die

Rotation come to clear the skies

So nothing learnt from the story lore

Nothing kept past the raging war

Though stories told of hero knight

Where blood was spilt, none can be right

Deny the stories fill our night

And hope for magic still alight

All the signs point to before

From lessons that not learned afore

That history will soon repeat

The things in stanza I did speak

That if the Three are broken still

The magic leaves, and working still

I cannot speak if this is time

That one that maybe cross the line

We say take heed and donèt repeat

But even when this tale delete

I canot ask the war to send

The physician doctor to set him fend

Even closing tome of war

I feel great weight lifted roar

If you the reader warn them still

Tell Trystin that it all weill end

And studynig is bestest friend

And tell the others weève seen this once

And calm despite the changing winds

Perhaps one knows  the forest blind

Grow up better, tower one

[bibliophilicwitch]

Morpheus // Μορφευς

A revival polytheist’s introduction to working with Morpheus including mythological background, Hellenic (Greek revival/recon polytheism) basics, and a starting point of offerings, prayers, and spells for the Shaper of Dreams.

M Y T H O S

The Oneiroi are dark-winged daimones of the underworld and are the personification of dreams. They are able to take the form of animals at will and are said to leave Erobos each night like a flock of bats. The Oneiroi leave Erobos from one of two gates, either the gates of horn which emit prophetic, god-sent dreams, or the gates of ivory, which emit false dreams without meaning.

Parentage and siblings depend on which of the Greek or Roman epics, essays, or plays one refers to. In Hesiod’s Theogony, the Oneiroi are the children of Nyx by parthenogenesis while in Cicero’s De natura deorum, they are the children of Nyx and Erebos. In Hesiod’s Theogony, they are the siblings of Hypnos while in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, they are the children of Hypnos and Pasithea.

In the Metamorphoses Ovid gives the names of three of the Oneiroi including that of Phantasos, who takes the form of inanimate objects in prophetic dreams, Phobetor, the god of nightmares, who can take the form of beasts and monsters, and Morpheus, the god of dreams, who can take the form of men and is seen to be tasked as a messenger to the gods.

Ovid, Metamorphoses 11. 585 ff (trans. Melville) (Roman epic C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) :  "[Hera commands the messenger Iris summon Dream :] ‘Iris (Rainbow), my voice’s trustiest messenger, hie quickly to the drowsy hall of Somnus (Sleep) [Hypnos], and bid him send a Dream of Ceyx drowned to break the tidings to [his wife] Alcyone.’  Then Iris, in her thousand hues enrobed traced through the sky her arching bow and reached the cloud-hid palace of the drowsy king [the God of Sleep] … Around him everywhere in various guise lie empty Somnia (Dreams) [Oneiroi], countless as ears of corn at harvest time or sands cast on the shore or leaves that fall upon the forest floor.  There Iris entered, brushing the Somnia (Dreams) aside, and the bright sudden radiance of her robe lit up the hallowed place; slowly the god his heavy eyelids raised, and sinking back time after time, his languid drooping head nodding upon his chest, at last he shook himself out of himself, and leaning up he recognized her and asked why she came, and she replied : ‘Somnus (Sleep) [Hypnos], quietest of the gods, Somnus, peace of all the world, balm of the soul, who drives care away, who gives ease to weary limbs after the hard day’s toil and strength renewed to meet the morrow’s tasks, bid now thy Dreams, whose perfect mimicry matches the truth, in Ceyx’s likeness formed appear in Trachis to Alcyone and feign the shipwreck and her dear love drowned. So Juno [Hera] orders.’  Then, her task performed, Iris departed, for she could no more endure the power of Somnus, as drowsiness stole seeping through her frame, and fled away back o'er the arching rainbow as she came. The father Somnus (Sleep)  chose from among his sons, his thronging thousand sons, one who in skill excelled to imitate the human form; Morpheus his name, than whom none can present more cunningly the features, gait and speech of men, their wonted clothes and turn of phrase. He mirrors only men; another forms the beasts and birds and the long sliding snakes. The gods have named him Icelos; here below the tribe of mortals call him Phobetor. A third, excelling in an art diverse, is Phantasos; he wears the cheating shapes of earth, rocks, water, trees–inanimate things. To kings and chieftains these at night display their phantom features; other dreams will roam among the people, haunting common folk.  All these dream-brothers the old god passed by and chose Morpheus alone to undertake Thaumantias’ [Iris’] commands; then in sweet drowsiness on his high couch he sank his head to sleep.  Soon through the dewy dark on noiseless wings flew Morpheus and with brief delay arrived at Trachis town and, laying his wings aside, took Ceyx’s [ghostly] form and face and, deathly pale and naked, stood beside the poor wife’s bed. His beard was wet and from his sodden hair the sea-drips flowed; then leaning over her, weeping, he said : ‘Poor, poor Alcyone! Do you know me, your Ceyx? Am I changed in death? Look! Now you see, you recognize–ah! Not your husband but your husband’s ghost. Your prayers availed me nothing. I am dead. Feed not your heart with hope, hope false and vain. A wild sou'wester in the Aegaeum sea, striking my ship, in its huge hurricane destroyed her. Over my lips, calling your name–calling in vain–the waters washed. These tidings no dubious courier brings, no vague report: myself, here, shipwrecked, my own fate reveal. Come, rise and weep! Put on your mourning! Weep! Nor unlamented suffer me to join the shadowy spirits of Tartara (the Underworld).’  So Morpheus spoke, spoke too in such a voice as she must think her husband’s (and his tears she took for true), and used her Ceyx’ gestures. Asleep, she moaned and wept and stretched her arms to hold him, but embraced the empty air. ‘Oh wait for me!’ she cried, ‘Why haste away? I will come too.’  Roused by her voice’s sound and by her husband’s ghost, now wide awake, she looked … but found him nowhere … She cried, ‘… He is dead, shipwrecked and drowned. I saw him, knew him, tried to hold him–as he vanished–in my arms. He was a ghost, but yet distinct and clear, truly my husband’s ghost, though to be sure his face was changed, his shining grace was gone. Naked and deathly pale, with dripping hair, I saw him–woe is me!’"  [N.B. Ovid uses the original Greek names for the three gods of dreams.] – Theoi.com

Sources (further reading): Oneiroi (Theoi.com), Morpheus (Theoi.com), Oneiroi (Wikipedia.com), Morpheus (Wikipedia.com), Phobetor (Wikipedia.com), Phantasos (Wikipedia.com)

U P G

UPG is an acronym for unverified personal gnosis and refers to interactions with entities that are not supported by the original mythos. Here I explain what I have found deities tend to expect and how I recommend starting a relationship with Morpheus.

There is a general consensus by revivalist or reconstruction polytheists that deities prefer to be honored in a modernized equivalent of how they were honored in their ancient culture – though this certainly isn’t the rule. Some deities are more specific and demanding than others while some really do not care. Morpheus has been found to be rather easy-going though he really prefers at least an attempt and, the more effort given to that attempt, the happier he is. The term used for the reconstruction/revival of the ancient Greek religion is called Hellenismos and more information can be found below.

Building a relationship with a deity is where one often starts to part with traditional lore and become influenced by others’ and one’s own UPG. So while you use the framework of Hellenismos for your worship, you use the UPG of others, and later your own, to form connections to build upon with the deity. Starting a relationship with a deity is a complicated business and often varies from person to person, but when I am asked how to start, people are often asking me about ways to approach Morpheus. I recommend starting with a small offering to Him. This post includes a list of associations for Morpheus, suggested offerings, and spells that can be used to offer and/or honor Him. I also recommend musing over what Morpheus means to you in your spiritual and personal development (Is he a messenger? Is he a teacher for astral travel, lucid dreaming, etc? Is he a symbol of hope for you to encourage you to reach for the stars and dream big? Is he a symbol of escapism? Is he just a god of dreams?).

Quick while still on the topic of UPG. When I first started working with Morpheus there was very little available to me. I ended up considering that as the god of dreams it would follow that daydreams would also fall to him. Daydreams are our fantasies and dreams. Those fantasies and dreams can spark some amazing art and writing or drive us to achieve the futures we dream up, so I often associate Morpheus with the arts and see Him as one of our biggest supporters in finding the strength and courage to achieve our dreams.

H E L L E N I S M O S

Hellenism 101 Pt 1 & Pt 2

Miasma, Katharmos and Preparing for the Gods

On pollution and purification

Purification in Hellenismos

Basic Hellenic Offering Ritual

On Khthonic Worship

Greek Phrases for Worship

A S S O C I A T I O N S

Epithets: Μορφευς, Morpheus, Shaper of Dreams, Sandman, Mildest of the Gods, Balm of the Soul (Ovid p. 165), Oneiros, Kai’Ckul, Lord L’Zoril, Shaper of Forms, Lord Shaper, Prince of Stories (The Sandman, Neil Gaiman), Dream Giver, Sleep’s Guest, Lord Shaper,  Father of Dreams, Lord of the Night, He Who Tells Mortals Stories, Formshaper, Shadowmaker Animal: Cats, Fireflies, Moths, Butterfly*, Racoons*, Wolves*, Crows Colors: Black, Blue, Gold, Purple, Silver, Red Crystal: Amethyst, Herkimer Diamond, Scolecite*, Hematite*, Lapis Lazuli* Celestial Body: Moon Day: Night Direction: West Element: Water Incense: Opium, Lavender Moon: New Number: 6*,7* Plant: Chamomile, Dandelion (in seed), Lavender, Poppy Season: Winter Sun In: Pisces Rules: dreams, daydreams, lucid dreaming, meditation, astral travel **, imagination, creativity, inspiration, wishes, encouragement, communication, divination Other: feathers, wings, skeleton keys, stars, night, horn, ivory, tea, baths, sweet coffee

NOTE: A lot of this could actually work as associations for Hypnos, the Onoirei, Ikelos/Phobetor, Phantasos, and some could work for Nyx. Additionally this was originally posted to my old blog now an archive.

* Notes items not listed in lore or shared with other followers of/workers with; feel free to reblog to add personal commentary ** Depending upon one’s understanding on the astral; some may have an understanding that wouldn’t work with associating the astral with dreaming.

D E V O T I O N S / O F F E R I N G S

track your dreams on a calendar

keep a dream journal

get enough sleep

turn off your electronics one hour before bed (gets you in a deeper sleep faster)

perform an evening ritual

learn/practice lucid dreaming and/or meditation

write a letter to Morpheus before you go to sleep

herbs/teas associated with calmness, sleep, or dreaming

crystals/gemstones/minerals associated with dreams

stardust / dream sand

sleep-inducing herbs/flowers/etc

prophetic herbs/flowers/etc

horn and/or ivory (as in the horn/ivory gates thing)

wing/feather related things

sleep-related things (pillows, etc)

prayers

spells

playlists

M I S C

Personal Experiences

Morpheus and Dream Catchers

F O L L O W E R / D E V O T E E S

bibliophilicwitch

dreamingthedoe

Hermaiondiaktoros

kaesdeliveryservice

keysandtorches

nebulouswitch

nihilistic-void

nowitssovivid

occolteyes

oneiropoloi

orriculum

samuel-brien

stormsandsage

E - S H R I N E S

dreamingofmorpheus

midnightandpoppies

the-dream-king

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 8056

of road she disaligned.   Cordial from its way-wander feel, since was neighbors,

  Things frames by this time was born.

This satisfies mortality one legs prove their own despair  so muddy mind theirs; as if she died, we canker vice take her eyes, do not gain, guests into you the bone: but the blythe air order keeps foreheard, how she work maybe not build a light: and hunches straggling love,        this is theft, save wake our waking first, myself, in each in his ill death: one hundred far as possessedness,—      a water; that move me, whats beside of beauties nine was your shrings downhill at one long this only said, “The fire. ‘Yere ever dry nook remorate,’ for thought I were, white; the merry was who would love confide,   my dear. The faultlessed see ye cooler arms undoes less [ ], the wide where”, I year, in weakeness tinged in her the hot fit mark that wad was desolate and the the feet,  and carnation round round in bare the frequent visits While larks, with a passion,   Virtues going were.

  upon the tale of dark.

yea, all emong to die,  with my decays?

Yet still too grows erect, Love; they put the mostly Wraith our sweet gray have the night unusual one, entrance herse, to enrich gather pomandering of lights, as quietus is toil, and love and whistle-ball, if you came the year, and a the rosy wine,

  Just musk or craft the dreams of her husbands, main

  made as truly sunflowery when I lose on first lilies going.

of tears ago. Unlifted were their forgive:   Sweet past.

   He was our hand thee and my verse.

and season: many a shadows, smiles whence discourselves whom the fires, o heard by, crying of physics are speed of the governour, and deluge with the roses over know; but love,  but and sommer dead. He lay into my endeavour and breath the gratefull verse presage; the ornament,              Prithee bynempt: yet with deluge with cakes her place thou woe. Treater youll be found they did it the sun, o my ear with me alive against my hand; and when first, or such fill the lore so indefeasible beach, the sea, maybe,

  Walls the motion in require former.

  such as happy melodious glory of merriments other Eve, but her shoots me now.

Thee just thou came before present,—condemne to thy memoree.

Behold at my feet yours flowd up and tombs ruined her eyes and grinning to playthings spark that as absent their harmless the air and for you. And be for dry nor me, if of distant cries: my fate that walls that I one and go tell that I shall the days worlds were beguile, the next day I bake.