streetgoats

[streetgoats]

merrily enough mabil sheepishly itches away at thy palm. pushing thy thin thoughts into better energy. mostly expecting to not be noticed. as amelina finds thyself gazing within a mirror. fluffing thy pretty locks. mabil eyes thou sister warily before speaking. faun ears twitching, " is it ..... dangerous ? " thy glances shift once again to thy banned object, " perchance one little touch cannot hurt it ?? " or could hurt thyself - thy thinks.

' aht-- ' the sound he makes is sharp, sudden, accompanied by the lifting of an open palm: his warning is clear. ' don't touch that, please, it's very volatile. '

[streetgoats]

🐐// The goat twins.

[streetgoats]

Lucrezia's look after Cesare's words "Look at me"

[streetgoats]

Dream by Arthur Hacker

[streetgoats]

Fixed my biography link. Should work now!

[streetgoats]

thy own heart hammering within thy ears. caressing thou wind seemed to do - embracing even. sending chill airs upon thee. mabil shivered not only by thy eager questions thou company served to ask, but by thy remarkable cold winds that swept past thine own meadows. planting hoofs firmly under layers of dresses , only enough peeking between white skirts.

thine own understanding that thee was a poet seemed at most obvious to thee as mabil had once tuned into knowledge of how a poet behaved , or at least spoke. in words always telling tales of times to come , as well as times past.

" you-you . . . " thy stuttering words soon gave way to sheepish reddening of thy face and cheeks, " ask a great deal. " simple enough for a not so simple question. mabil hid thyself behind thy thoughts before answering, " thine heart no longer beats for one of simple qualities. even still . . . " thou voice sped up as answering thou question fervently, " thine that can call thou a place of love, thine home within thy ribcage, but thine heart must flutter for a thousand fold! " thy breathed, " an ounce given out to measure thy love is enough for thee. " truthfully, thy still loved finding these qualities in thou companies.

thy eyes finally looking once more upon thee, " now . . . thy answer thine own question. how do thee know so much ? with accomplishments of thy heart , or, something more? "

“And why not that sacred, pink Concept of the Storybook?” refutes Roland. “Why not that delicate blueprint to write the first Draft of the ever-blooming rose vine of Love? That ever-flowering flower that blooms forever and grants a kaleidoscope of enlightenment for thy inner breast and stalwart Heart?

“Prithee, and humor me,” and suddenly comes Roland, lounging in his seat as a Prince come to find succor within Goodly conversation. He bobs his palm, now, open in affection. “What wouldst be the notch of Nature for thine pretend Cause of a fantastic suitor? What of the demeanor?” asks he. “The attributes? Wouldst they be pretty?” inquires he, bouncing at his handsome brows for playfulness.

“Stalwart? A shining knight of many-points seated upon a shining, noble steed? A cacophony of jangling ankles ready to swing bells and full of deep-bellied, cackling laughter? A poet?” asks curious Roland. “A lutest?”

[streetgoats]

I LOVE. having multiple threads with my rp partners !! it’s like on some days i feel like writing long stuff, on others i feel more like writing short stuff, sometimes i’d rather write some intense situations, and other times i’m more in the mood for lighthearted topics. having several different types of threads with a person enables me to keep rping with them even if i’m stuck @ a reply for another thread we’re having !! it’s great, honestly !? if you wanna have 1 more thread or 20 more threads /w me that’s 10/10 👌👌👌👌 just write that starter or send an ic ask & we’ll go from there or hmu for plotting k man i love threads i love writing all the things

[streetgoats]

[streetgoats]

thine own heart led to simple contemplation. to truly know thine own fruitless battles of love's kindest retort. not merrily so. more at ease in one's own desires to dance upon wooden floorboards. to swing thine own playful demeanor.

" a lutest? " thy question sat almost aggressively so against thy knoggin. Settling down within thine own memories. of a far off place where lutests and poets alike sat hand in hand. mabil discovering that thine feelings held simple truths. that thy held thorns instead of roses.

" ask thy words loudly enough, " thy stuttering words bleeped like thy shyiest of lamb - kins. holding truths to thy own weakened heart.

" ... poets are dangerous creatures. " thy admittedly drooped thy book in hands up to thy nose to cover reddened cheeks. thy own remedy to hide face , though meaning thou heart was left flayed at the thought of letting a poet in.

mabil collected thy thoughts easily enough, " th-thy is mistaken by own in-intentions! asking frivolous , and dull things! " thy own heart affirming worst fears. that Roland has pierced thy own armored organ easily, and without remorse, " you have quickened thy words for thyself! " ( though thy meant only flustered words )

thy huffed, and puffed, " but thy know more easily then thee ever could. about love's passions. " though it begged to be a question, " how could thee know so much? with needed accomplishments? "

@streetgoats;

twas a spectacle of meek, and well trimmed goat hooves, and flowers kissing collarbones. yet twas not made for the sulphur that settled in thine head, and thy heart.

thy own words brought by thy swoon of foolish hearts that try to prey to desires of thy whims. thy own wonders only a bereavement to testify thy own lack of a loving dove to nestle on thy shoulders, and in thine heart.

thy words beheading thy very idea of a much need acquitted love , ” nay. thy words do not sway thy own swollen heart. thy is needed for trouble , and thy workings of hidden devils. “ she wasn’t shy enough to say it , so she added in slightly bewilderment , ” why doth thy know what love feels without thy sting of an angry heart ? “

thy own endearment comparable to a method of healing , or some vague reminder of thy shyness in all of us , ” thy only speak truths , yet thy find without agony , love is nothing. “ thy only understanding past lovers calls , yet mabil knew none.

” thy answer is clear .. nay , mayheps I know nought of thy lover’s callings , yet thy witness a plenty of tears thine leave behind on plush pillow. thy sister cry merrily for many , nay , thy merely a witness , yet thine see all. “ she cleared her throat , a slight blush upon pretty blonde locks, and thy prettier round face , ” it - it cannot be lover’s embrace that sooth all remedies. thy cannot imagine such greatness. “ thy was without a single tale of love , and adventure , yet already avoided where one could thy gentle reminder of a love that was not more than family.

And Roland’s handsome expression wrinkles within his audible bewilderment, as thus in cosmic swirls that Knowing of heartbreak, and that sympathetic purr of Knowing in that string of new Words. “Thou hast dabbled with unconscionable persons,“ murmurs he, and sighs hard in a flex of his strong breast.

“To speak is to uncover that fret of buzzing infinities; to Understand a misguided amount of too-quick speech and the littlest of the Language of the Body in flinching and too-hard slams of an olde creaking Door. To speak with one another, even if shouted and borne to hurt tears, is always Good and fine whence loved and loving of another. To communicate,” says he.

“‘Tis naught that Well of golden ambrosia to soothe all hurts,” confirms he, and bobs he his head into an agreeing nod. “But the World moves and the Underground is vibrant for that longing Sound of tonal Love, and the flowers bloom for that sweetness, and the birds call for entwining beaks. Dost I encourage thee to hath, at least, one vital, incalculable Adventure that wouldst weep thee to happy tears if thou art long of Life and vitality in similarity to mine own sapphire, sweet Being. ‘Tis fun to find that companion, if thou art swift ‘pon thy cloven hoof,” joys he, and bounces his brows in a happy thrice.

“As thus for learning that wholesomeness of the Universe, if thou art bed down to finality. Be flit! Be bound as oft as the buzzing bees in beauteous Summer!”

[streetgoats]

As amelina and mabil are twins they share the same fc !

[streetgoats]

"I think Holliday and I had a really strong chemistry from the start, and I just really enjoy working with her. She’s amazing and she has those great big eyes that you just want to stare into." — François Arnaud 𓆩♡𓆪

[streetgoats]

"The degree to which the Pope bore his daughter in mind is illustrated by the gifts and messages conveyed from the Vatican to the palace of Santa Maria in Portico. Lucrezia was the first and most welcome guest at all receptions, balls, plays and sermons." — Maria Bellonci, The Life and Times of Lucrezia Borgia.

[streetgoats]

twas a plenty of merry met and merry left as Mabil stuck her hoof out from behind her dress. briefly dipping it into thy cold hard ground of thy grand library. nestling into thee own book with a jostle flick of thy wrist. thy hands holding onto thy page with as much forsought as thy needed.

thou scrambled to speak, " thee speak in mysterious wonderment , truthfully , as if thy teachings hold true. " thy did not doubt. thee seemed a teacher , or mentor of sorts. thou keeping in rhythm with own merry heart , " thine company lay in thy family , and thy hearth. " thou had yet to learn of any other way.

" doth thou speak of family often ? " Mayheps thee felt embarrassment of lack of story. planted in thine loving trusses upon thine head , and thy horns that curled so. human , and creature alike avoiding thou such as thee. though gluing thineself to sister like silvers to men's pockets.

" thy learn with grace , and speed! " thou pressed into a laughter - one with melodious charm. only thineself not seeing it as such , " a turtle's race could not come quicker! Yet , thou learn what books write about first , fair tutor! Fairy - tales upon thy thousands. " ahh - a stubborn student , but made of good intentions. mabil clasped thou book closed.

@streetgoats;

twas a spectacle of meek, and well trimmed goat hooves, and flowers kissing collarbones. yet twas not made for the sulphur that settled in thine head, and thy heart.

thy own words brought by thy swoon of foolish hearts that try to prey to desires of thy whims. thy own wonders only a bereavement to testify thy own lack of a loving dove to nestle on thy shoulders, and in thine heart.

thy words beheading thy very idea of a much need acquitted love , ” nay. thy words do not sway thy own swollen heart. thy is needed for trouble , and thy workings of hidden devils. “ she wasn’t shy enough to say it , so she added in slightly bewilderment , ” why doth thy know what love feels without thy sting of an angry heart ? “

thy own endearment comparable to a method of healing , or some vague reminder of thy shyness in all of us , ” thy only speak truths , yet thy find without agony , love is nothing. “ thy only understanding past lovers calls , yet mabil knew none.

” thy answer is clear .. nay , mayheps I know nought of thy lover’s callings , yet thy witness a plenty of tears thine leave behind on plush pillow. thy sister cry merrily for many , nay , thy merely a witness , yet thine see all. “ she cleared her throat , a slight blush upon pretty blonde locks, and thy prettier round face , ” it - it cannot be lover’s embrace that sooth all remedies. thy cannot imagine such greatness. “ thy was without a single tale of love , and adventure , yet already avoided where one could thy gentle reminder of a love that was not more than family.

And Roland’s handsome expression wrinkles within his audible bewilderment, as thus in cosmic swirls that Knowing of heartbreak, and that sympathetic purr of Knowing in that string of new Words. “Thou hast dabbled with unconscionable persons,“ murmurs he, and sighs hard in a flex of his strong breast.

"To speak is to uncover that fret of buzzing infinities; to Understand a misguided amount of too-quick speech and the littlest of the Language of the Body in flinching and too-hard slams of an olde creaking Door. To speak with one another, even if shouted and borne to hurt tears, is always Good and fine whence loved and loving of another. To communicate,” says he.

“‘Tis naught that Well of golden ambrosia to soothe all hurts,” confirms he, and bobs he his head into an agreeing nod. “But the World moves and the Underground is vibrant for that longing Sound of tonal Love, and the flowers bloom for that sweetness, and the birds call for entwining beaks. Dost I encourage thee to hath, at least, one vital, incalculable Adventure that wouldst weep thee to happy tears if thou art long of Life and vitality in similarity to mine own sapphire, sweet Being. 'Tis fun to find that companion, if thou art swift 'pon thy cloven hoof,” joys he, and bounces his brows in a happy thrice.

“As thus for learning that wholesomeness of the Universe, if thou art bed down to finality. Be flit! Be bound as oft as the buzzing bees in beauteous Summer!”

[streetgoats]

Diane sortant de son bain by Guillaume Dubufe (1893)

[streetgoats]

Hans Zatzka

Austrian, 1859-1945

[streetgoats]

[streetgoats]

twas a spectacle of meek, and well trimmed goat hooves, and flowers kissing collarbones. yet twas not made for the sulphur that settled in thine head, and thy heart.

thy own words brought by thy swoon of foolish hearts that try to prey to desires of thy whims. thy own wonders only a bereavement to testify thy own lack of a loving dove to nestle on thy shoulders, and in thine heart.

thy words beheading thy very idea of a much need acquitted love , " nay. thy words do not sway thy own swollen heart. thy is needed for trouble , and thy workings of hidden devils. " she wasn't shy enough to say it , so she added in slightly bewilderment , " why doth thy know what love feels without thy sting of an angry heart ? "

thy own endearment comparable to a method of healing , or some vague reminder of thy shyness in all of us , " thy only speak truths , yet thy find without agony , love is nothing. " thy only understanding past lovers calls , yet mabil knew none.

" thy answer is clear .. nay , mayheps I know nought of thy lover's callings , yet thy witness a plenty of tears thine leave behind on plush pillow. thy sister cry merrily for many , nay , thy merely a witness , yet thine see all. " she cleared her throat , a slight blush upon pretty blonde locks, and thy prettier round face , " it - it cannot be lover's embrace that sooth all remedies. thy cannot imagine such greatness. " thy was without a single tale of love , and adventure , yet already avoided where one could thy gentle reminder of a love that was not more than family.

@streetgoats​;

the thin jewelry of silvers and golds carried upon mabil’s small head , and when she tilted it ever a little did the jewelry shine. sitting upon the forest’s woods. a fancy meeting spot and a place she grew fond of , sat buried deeply in her heart. she pressed her hands together. inclining her shoulders and straightening out her posture. her chin poised.

“ thou hath a great deal of time to find something like the word love speaks of. ” she cleared her throat, “ yet — thee only find the stories more fascinating. ”

she meant those words. etched into her heart and her wrists. calloused in old memories of feverish nothing’s. not that she’d bring it up to him. she had a lot of time to learn how to avoid cupid’s strike.

“ have thou not come close to burning for thy sake of love ?? a burning that spits fires and troubles ?? ”

her sister was not at her side and it made her feel meek and sheltered. by the comfort of a braver lamb - kin speaking in her stead , yet she did well to not avoid eye contact , at least , not while she could help it.

“Thou hast never tried?” comes he, more deliberate in that bold way of companionable sounds. And then Roland clears his throat. “Forgive me, naught is thus my personal attention a'fore thine own Heart’s inward privacy.

"But hath I,” confirms he, and sits with her upon the Wood’s floor. He crosses his legs to better assign that meditative Quandary, and looks to her keenly upon her sparkling face. “Hath I loved and lost, and buried many spouses in my ancient Days of eternal Youth. Art all worth the shatterings of porcelain cracks,” says he.

“Naught wilt I persuade thee to find Love if naught art thou bereft,” says Roland, and bobs his offered palms in a noble Gesture. “For the sacred Arte of the Pen and Quill is fine and Goodly for that mystical swirl of the Individual what dreams through their third Eye. But to shirk it in fear of broken glass is ne'er meant to offer the Beauty of the Known and Unknown World. Art there vast relationships to be found if one is flung upon it with Goodness and innocent joy,” beseeches he.