#°☆.。.:*・ix’ visage.

[astr0logies]

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[dropsofjunipcr]

tag drop . . ★

[savesgalaxy]

ix

[hauntcdhousess]

milo cortez tag dump !

[saintobio]

LONG LIVE THE VILLAINESS !

amidst the tale of sweetest love and bitterest revenge, the fallen empress is cast back ten years into the past to correct her sins and avoid eternal damnation, even at the price of betraying her once husband, the very cause of her downfall.

♱ pairings. gojo satoru, fem!reader

♱ genre. enemies-to-lovers, period piece, medieval au

♱ tags. ooc, regression, crown prince!gojo, noble lady!reader, politics, classism, clan wars, religion (catholicism), misogyny, violence, war, rebellion, suggestive, smut, gore, double life, explicit language, more to be added

♱ notes. this fic draws heavy inspirations from the webnovel ‘sister, i am the queen in this life’ and manhwa of the same name. it’s basically a fanfic of that series bc i am obsessed with it :’D

♱ status. on-going (slow updates)

♱ SECOND TIMELINE TO AS YOU LIKE IT ♱

PROLOGUE.

ACT I. THE LADY

ACT II. THE CROWN PRINCE

ACT III. THE KNIGHT

ACT IV. THE STAR CROSSED LOVERS

ACT V. THE BLESSED

ACT VI. THE SIN

ACT VII. THE REVELATION

ACT VIII. THE ENEMY

ACT IX. THE LOVER

ACT X. THE EMPRESS

EPILOGUE.

PROLOGUE 

Like plunging beneath the surface of water and then, abruptly, breaking through to the air above—your body jolted as if awakening in a new world altogether. You drew in a long breath, your eyes fluttering open to reveal the ceiling, both familiar yet unfamiliar in its greeting. Swiftly, you surveyed your surroundings, noting with growing recognition the confines of your old room within the De Roma estate. The estate! 

You were not in the palace of Caelum, but in the estate of House De Roma. A surge of realization flooded through you as you dashed towards the nearest mirror, confronting your reflection with wide, startled eyes. 

No... could it be... that you have returned to your body, ten years prior?!

In the mirror, the reflection staring back at you was not that of the notorious wife of the tyrant Emperor Satoru, but of a 20-year-old maiden, the eldest daughter of Duke de Roma, with fuller cheeks and a more youthful appearance. You could not shake the feeling of disbelief, wondering if this was all just a dream, so you reached out to touch your arms and felt the flesh beneath your fingers, trying to convince yourself that this was an unexpected reality.

Oh, you were back. You found yourself returned to your former self, a decade younger, but now armed with the knowledge of your past life's actions and their consequences. Alongside this newfound understanding, the gift of clairvoyance had also been bestowed upon you.

And for what? Why had the heavens above returned you to your body? Was it for revenge, a second chance, or perhaps punishment?

Suddenly, a loud, deafening sound pierced your ears, and a blinding white light enveloped your vision. Your body became as still as a statue, and it felt as though your soul was transported to a fourth dimension where divine intervention seemed a lot more plausible to exist.

As your soul hovered in the liminal space between life and death, you found yourself standing before a figure cloaked in billowing robes, her presence commanding and her gaze piercing. This figure was Fortuna, the ancient Caelan goddess of fortune and fate, her visage austere and unforgiving.

“Are you aware of the sins that stain your soul?” 

“Have you felt the weight of your transgressions, the consequences of your actions that have wrought suffering upon your people and brought ruin to your empire?”

Her voice echoed through the realm with the divine judgment that weighed upon your conscience, while her gaze penetrated to the core of your being and demanded honesty and accountability in the face of your past misdeeds.

“Will you atone for your sins?” 

“Will you seize this opportunity for redemption, or will you squander it in self-pity and remorse?”

As you stood in the presence of the ancient goddess, grappling with the heaviness of your sins and the daunting task ahead, a brilliant light had all of a sudden illuminated the space around you. From the heart of this radiant glow emerged the figure of Archangel Raphael, his presence heralded by a chorus of angelical voices and the stirring of celestial winds.

Clad in robes that seemed to shimmer with the intensity of celestial light, Archangel Raphael's presence commanded attention, his wings unfurled behind him in a display of resolute authority. If Goddess Fortuna was intimidating, the archangel was fearsome all the more. His gaze, intense and penetrating, swept over you with a gravity that left no room for evasion or deceit.

“Empress of Caelum,” he spoke, his tone firm and unyielding, and his voice carrying a billion years of heavenly existence, “You stand accused of grievous sins, crimes that have shaken the very foundations of your empire and brought suffering upon your people.”

There was no trace of softness in Archangel Raphael's demeanor, no room for mercy in the face of wrongdoing. His presence was a testament to the uncompromising nature of divine justice, his strictness a reflection of the solemn duty entrusted to him as an Archangel of the Almighty. This, no doubt, was the face of a true and formidable executor of justice.

And you, the subject, had angered the divine beings that guarded the Caelan Empire, so much so that God himself sent the goddess of the land and one of his archangels to mitigate your rightful punishment.

“By the decree of the Almighty, you are granted a second chance to amend your sins and redeem your soul. You shall return to the mortal realm, to live your life anew and correct the sins that have stained your soul.”

“Should you fail to rectify your past transgressions, should you stray from the path of righteousness and succumb once more to the temptations of darkness, know that the consequences shall be severe and eternal.”

“For those who squander the gift of divine mercy shall be cast into the deepest depths of hell, where they shall endure a punishment of unending torment and suffering.”

In the presence of Archangel Raphael and Goddess Fortuna’s equally stern gazes, you were keenly aware of the magnitude of your transgressions and the severity of the judgment that awaited you. But even as you trembled beneath the weight of their scrutiny, you knew that their presence also offered you the opportunity for redemption, with your only task to prove yourself worthy of divine mercy.

Indeed, it was by your very hands that hundreds and thousands of Christian souls shed their blood. Innocent lives, both young and old, were cruelly taken at your command. The citizens of Caelum who fell sick from the spread of the plague. The esteemed Caelan advisors of your husband’s primogenitors, skinned alive and speared in pikes by the Tiber River. The wrongly accused maid who suffered the indignity of serving your husband, paraded unclothed through the streets and subjected to the brutality of the pear of anguish. The gallant and dignified knight, tortured mentally and physically in the atrocious dungeon. Now, you find yourself thrust back into the horrors of your former life ten years hence. A life of a noble lady who ought not to be blinded by her destructive love for the empire’s crown prince. 

Yet, could you truly navigate this life without ascending to the position as his empress?

As you tried to commune with the divine beings afore you, a haze in your vision transported you away from the heavenly space, realizing that you were already drawn back into the reality of your chamber, inhabiting the youthful frame of a twenty-year-old daughter of a duke. You found yourself too astonished to move, too shaken to speak, and too afraid to take any action in this new lease of life blessed upon you. At that very moment, your state of reverie was disrupted at the arrival of your maid, who entered your chamber in a humble servant garb.

Milena. The maid whose life was cut short by your hand in your past existence due to petty thievery. “My lady,” she spoke with a hint of respect and urgency, unaware of the ill-fate you had given her in your past life, “A visitor has arrived at the gates and requests an audience with you. Shall I show them in?” 

Too soon? Need it truly be so soon to engage with the people from your past life immediately after awakening to your old, yet younger body? Gazing upon your maid through the mirror, you asked, “Who is that intruder you speak of?” 

She bowed her head, her stance shifting into one of apologetic deference. The way she firmly stood by your door was a message to you that the intruder was not someone you could easily reject the presence of.

“The visitor is His Highness, Crown Prince Satoru.” 

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶♱⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

[vladsbride]

. tag drop .

[astr0logies]

‧₊˚⋅  ♯  𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄  !  :   the  surfer  chick  ,  bridgette  summers  :  personal  tags   . 

[blancadeleve]

* tag dump. 

i.    ⧼     visage    ⧽  :   𝐝𝐞𝐳𝐨𝐢𝐭𝐨 quilates de  𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎.

ii.   ⧼     threads     ⧽  :   𝐟𝐞́ pra enfrentar filha da 𝑝𝑢𝑡𝑎.

iii.   ⧼     isms     ⧽  :  𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐬  frios eu  𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑖.   

iv.   ⧼   aesthetic    ⧽  :   𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐨 posicionamento  𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑖́𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑜.

v.     ⧼   answered   ⧽   :  𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚 o veneno da  𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑎.   

vi.   ⧼    os nunes    ⧽   :   𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 vai armar um  𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑜.

vii.  ⧼    about   ⧽  :    𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞  sempre  𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎.  

viii.  ⧼   pov.    ⧽      

ix.  ⧼     task.   ⧽       

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (10/?)

Part Summary: “Leigh, are you jealous?” you ask, taking a deliberate step towards her. You hold her captive with your eyes, making it impossible for Leigh to look away.

“I’m with Danny.” Her voice cracks as she takes a step back.

“That’s not an answer,” you whisper softly, closing the distance between you again.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.200+ | Warnings: UST, fluff, very light angst | Author's note: I think the summary should tell you what to expect *winks*.

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

-

Despite going to bed very late, getting up in the morning isn't hard for you. Though it’s mainly because you barely had any rest at all. The real reason you couldn't sleep wasn’t the couch’s fault—it was the soft, irregular snores drifting in from the bedroom and the new, quiet awareness of someone else in your apartment. Every so often, Leigh would make a sound or shift in her sleep, and you would clench your fist hard against the blanket, resisting the urge to go check on her. 

The stillness of the early dawn settles around you, and Leigh’s words come back to you like a quiet sail. “Do you know how intimate it is to sleep at someone’s house and not have sex?” she had said once, during one of your long, winding confrontations about Matt. It was a statement that had deeply affected you then, and even more so now, with her just a room away. You remember recoiling when she nearly spat the words at you. You wonder if Leigh also remembers, especially considering last night.

You rise from the couch before your alarm has a chance to ring, padding softly into the kitchen. 

Cooking breakfast has become a kind of ritual, an act of service between the two of you. Smiling at this thought, you crack eggs into a bowl, add milk and vanilla, and start whisking. You soak slices of bread in the mixture, heat up the pan, and place them down to cook. French toast is on the menu today, and you hope Leigh likes it.

You set the table quietly, arranging the plates and cutlery, pouring orange juice into glasses. As you lay down the last slice of French toast on the plates, you add a light dusting of powdered sugar and a few slices of fresh strawberries for a pop of color and sweetness. With everything prepared, you sit down at the dining table to wait for Leigh to wake up.

After a while you glance at the clock and see it's 6:30 AM. You need to be at the clinic in an hour. With a sigh, you cover Leigh's plate with a napkin to keep it warm and start eating alone, just as you've done since moving here.

Finishing your breakfast, you wash the dishes and put everything away, your movements mechanical. You know you should get in the shower soon, but everything you'll need to prepare is in the bedroom. Pushing the door open just a crack, you peek inside to see Leigh sleeping peacefully, her face so different from its usual, more troubled visage when awake. She’s lying on her back with her mouth slightly open. The sheets have slipped past her hips, and her shirt has ridden up, exposing her stomach to the cool air. You tiptoe into the room and carefully pull the covers back up over her, tucking them around her gently.

Afterward, you crouch by the bed for a minute, simply observing her steady breathing. You feel a surge of affection as you watch her, wondering if she feels safe here, with you. Her face, relaxed and unguarded, is the very same one that Matt woke up to every day of his life for the past decade until he left this world. You think to yourself what a privilege it was for him, to have shared so many mornings with her, to have been woven into her waking thoughts and dreams.

While you’re cautiously sweeping a few strands of hair from her face, Leigh’s lips suddenly move in her sleep. They part slightly as if she's talking, but no sound escapes. Her forehead creases into a frown—she's clearly dreaming. It's a serious, focused expression that makes her look like she’s deep in conversation with someone in her dream world, and you cover your mouth to stifle a giggle at the sight.

Realizing you've lingered longer than intended, you force yourself to stand. You quietly retrieve a towel and some clothes, deciding to take your shower in the living room bathroom. As you lather soap over your torso, the image of Leigh’s exposed skin haunts your thoughts—the small, soft patch of her stomach you saw earlier. Your fingers inadvertently brush over your own nipples, and you can't help but compare the sensation to what touching Leigh's skin might feel like, if the rest of her body feels just as smooth and supple as it looks. The thought sends a shiver through you, goosebumps forming despite the warm water. Your fingers wander lower almost of their own accord. A gasp escapes your lips when the tip of your forefinger brushes against your clit, the touch sparking an unexpected surge of arousal. Shocked by your own reaction, you quickly turn the shower knob, the water temperature dropping to a chill that snaps you out of your fantasies.

Get a grip, you mutter to yourself, feeling a combination of embarrassment and frustration. Leigh is just in the next room, trusting you, and here you are getting carried away. Shivering a bit under the cold spray, you finish up quickly, wrap yourself in a towel, and get dressed. 

You take one last look at Leigh before you leave. She’s still sprawled out in the same comfy position, deep in sleep. Waking her doesn't feel right—not just to say a quick goodbye before you rush off to work. Instead, you jot down a note on a piece of your prescription pad. It’s a quick message letting her know breakfast is ready on the table, she should feel at home, and you’ve left an extra set of keys for her. You apologize for the early exit and sign your name with a flourish. You tuck the note under her plate of French toast, placing the keys beside it. Then, remembering the night might have left her with a bit of a hangover, you put a glass of water and an aspirin by her bed. You're trying to think of everything she might need to start her day off right.

“Bye, Leigh,” you whisper as you give the room one final glance. You step out into the morning, locking up but leaving a part of your mind behind, picturing her waking up comfortable and cared for. It’s ironic that just when you decided to keep your distance, you start running into situations that make you fall even harder for her. It's as if fate is constantly nudging you in her direction.

And frankly, you don't mind it at all.

-

Leigh stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open to a room that isn't hers. For a brief, groggy moment, she thinks she’s in Danny’s bed, but the scent is all wrong. Where Danny’s sheets carried a distinct note of sandalwood, they smell of lavender and something more… feminine. The soft difference in fragrance tugs at the edges of her memory, pulling forward the events of the previous day.

She blinks slowly, her mind piecing together the snapshots: the sharp words exchanged with Danny that morning, the solo trip out on Halloween, finding herself unexpectedly in Matt’s favorite restaurant. That’s when you came into the picture, dressed up for a date that never showed, and Leigh stepped in. You both shared a beer on the hood of your car, surrounded by glimmering, dreamlike sights, but all she could focus on was how the streetlights played over your face, making you look almost magical as you laughed, a half-empty box of donuts on your lap. You looked so... pretty, she thinks, the image stubbornly etched in her mind.

The night didn’t end there. She took you to a party. It was loud, crowded, but when you danced, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She remembers drawing you to the dance floor, guiding your hands to her hips as she swayed. She recalls gazing at your lips, wondering how they would feel against hers.

Leigh buries her face into your pillow, her cheeks burning as she reminisces how close you were, your lips barely an inch apart. She tries to laugh it off, but it’s hollow, and her face grows hotter as she recalls you pulling away, the almost-kiss dissolving into nothing. The last-second rejection stings, but what really makes her squirm is the heat flooding her body just from thinking about it. In an attempt to distract herself, Leigh snuggles deeper into your bed, but it backfires. One deep breath and she’s engulfed by the scent you left on the pillow. It feels as if you’re right there beside her, the illusion so convincing that it briefly soothes the ache of your actual absence. 

And it's in this moment, surrounded by traces of you, that Leigh finally allows herself to fully acknowledge the attraction she’s been trying to ignore. It's been a slow, maddening realization, an interest that has compounded until it could no longer be overlooked. It’s ridiculous, really, because it sort of feels like she’s proving Matt right, wanting you just like he did. She sits up, clutching the sheets close, her heart racing as she turns over everything in her mind. It feels contradictory yet somehow... inexorable, as if it were always meant to happen.

But Leigh pushes back against the idea that anything in her life is fated, especially when it comes to who she might fall for. She's always believed in steering her own ship, picking her paths, her battles, her loves. Not just going with the flow of something because it feels like the universe is pushing her that way. She wraps the sheets tighter around her, needing to feel safeguarded, needing to remind herself that she calls the shots. 

She climbs out of bed and starts pacing restlessly like a mad woman. Yes, there's something about you that pulls at her, but that doesn’t mean she has to lose herself to it. For all she knows, it’s just a silly crush, perhaps amplified by the thought that you might have liked her first. It's probably just that—reciprocal attraction—nothing more.

A sudden noise from the living room jerks Leigh out of her tumultuous thoughts, and she frantically whips her head towards the door. It’s been so loud inside her head, that she hasn’t even considered the possibility that you might be out there—in your own apartment. Leigh stops pacing and strains to hear more. 

There’s another sound. Thud. Thud.

With a shaky breath, she calls out, “Y/N?” 

When no answer comes, Leigh edges out of the bedroom tentatively, as if stepping into her own trial. Her nerves are strung tight with anticipation of confronting you, the newly-minted object of her affection. However, as she rounds the corner, she finds only an empty living room. The quiet is almost startling. Another thud makes her jump—a dull, persistent noise. Turning towards it, she sees only pigeons at the living room window, poking their beaks against the glass, and Leigh exhales a long sigh of relief.

Intrigued, Leigh approaches the window to observe the pigeons. They remain undisturbed as she draws closer, diligently pecking at seeds scattered on the windowsill. So, you’ve been feeding them. It’s a small, charming detail about you that she hadn’t known, and it warms her heart to see this caring, tender side of you. Much like the way you took care of her last night, she feels like one of those pigeons.

Leigh leans against the wall next to the window, watching the pigeons bob their heads and shuffle around. Her eyes then drift to the dining table and land on a plate, invitingly covered, with a piece of paper peeking out beneath it. She walks over and lifts the cover to reveal a hearty serving of French toast, artfully arranged and topped with a sprinkle of powdered sugar and fresh strawberries.

The sight of the breakfast makes her mouth water, and without thinking, she reaches out with her hands and takes a bite. It's still slightly warm, a sign that you haven't been gone long. Comforted by this thought, she pulls out a dining chair and settles in, making herself comfortable. Then, picking up the note, she unfolds it to read while she enjoys her breakfast.

Hope you enjoy the French toast. I had to head out early, but I wanted to make sure you had a warm start to your day. Please make yourself at home, help yourself to anything you need, and here’s some extra keys to the apartment just in case. Sorry to miss saying goodbye this morning. I hope we can catch up later when I'm back - Y/N

Leigh bites her lip, staring down at the note and the keys beside it. It feels so... domestic. Almost too familiar, but too quickly. She can't help but recall the countless times she left similar notes for Matt, scribbled in haste before dashing off to her early morning classes at the Beautiful Beast. Her trips to Danny's apartment never felt quite like this. It had always felt more like a love nest, designed for pleasure, not partnership. It was somewhere to escape to, not a space she could ever see herself belonging in, being her own. But here, with these keys in front of her, it's different. This feels like stepping back into an old pair of shoes that doesn't quite fit the same way anymore.

Leigh hesitates, unsure if this is a good thing. If you are a good thing. With Danny, everything was safe, predictable. He wants her more than she wants him, and in a twisted way, that imbalance has become an assurance. It’s easier, requiring less vulnerability on her part. But with you, the balance feels equal, perhaps even tipping in a way that makes Leigh unsure of where she stands, unsure of her control over the situation.

That terrifies her. And she hasn't felt this scared since Matt left.

As if on cue, a loud ringing blares through the apartment. Leigh blinks, pulled abruptly back to the present, and realizes she has no idea where she left her phone. She scrambles to her feet, her search for the phone turning into a clumsy dance as she trips over herself in the process. After a brief, frantic search that feels longer than it probably is, she traces her steps back to your bedroom. There, beside the bed where she'd woken up, her phone is vibrating against the hardwood floor. The screen lights up with the name “Jules”. Leigh swipes to answer, holding the phone a bit shakily to her ear.

“Danny’s here.”

Shit, shit shit.

“Just get rid of him, Jules. I'll call him later,” Leigh says. 

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then—

“Where are you, anyway?” Jules asks.

Leigh glances around, fiddling with the phone in her hand before answering, “I’m at a friend’s place.”

“Oh,” Jules lets out a low whistle. “Anyone I know?”

Leigh takes a deep breath. “Y/N.”

Jules falls silent, her breath the only sound coming through the phone. Leigh can almost visualize her sister on the other end, puzzling over why Leigh spent the night at your apartment and wondering if something happened between you two. She anticipates the barrage of questions that will greet her when she gets home.

“Leigh, I—” Jules starts to say.

“Don't. I'm leaving soon. Please make sure Danny's not there when I arrive. Please,” Leigh says. 

“Okay,” Jules says simply, and then the line goes dead.

Leigh leaves the keys where you left them and takes your note with her.

-

As the day wears on, your phone remains dishearteningly quiet. You keep checking, hoping for a simple message from Leigh—a thank you for the bed, a comment on the breakfast, or just a note to say she’s left your apartment. But nothing comes through. Each passing hour stretches your patience thinner and makes you question every detail of last night. 

Her lack of reaction leaves you with too much time to think. After the debacle with Sara and the no-show date you met from a dating app, you had felt a surge of disillusionment. So much so that last night, after Leigh left your car and walked into the party, you found yourself uninstalling the dating app from your phone in a moment of clarity. You decide it's time to focus on what feels more real, on what your heart has been screaming all along.

Leigh. 

You want Leigh, and you’re going to go after her. Forget about Danny. You won't let Leigh spend another Halloween alone, or Christmas, or New Year’s. You're resolved to be there for all the important dates—and, if you're lucky, every day in between.

Hey Leigh, just checking in to see how you’re doing. Hope your day was good, you type and hit send. You won’t wait anymore for her to reach out when you can just let her know you’ve been thinking of her. You toss your phone down and rub your hands on your face. Now it’s just a matter of waiting to see if she feels the same.

-

Leigh postpones meeting with Danny until later that evening, having spent the day lounging in bed and replaying the songs you had on in your car the previous night. She received your text, but she hasn’t even opened it yet. It's silly, but she feels that if she starts talking to you, a dam will burst—and she's not ready for that. Instead, she reaches out to Danny, asking him over so they can talk.

When Danny arrives, she doesn't invite him inside. Since Jules and her mom are home, they walk to the front steps and sit side by side, maintaining a slight distance between them.

It’s Danny who breaks the silence first. “Leigh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you so hard. Look, I just think it's a great opportunity for us—or for me, at least. And since you’re not tied down to the Beautiful Beast anymore, and your writing and part-time job are flexible, I thought... Why not?”

Leigh's expression hardens at the mention of her old job, at Danny's reasoning, and his diligent insistence. She didn’t call him over to rehash the fight they just had yesterday.

“Just because I can work from anywhere doesn't mean I want to leave,” she says. “And if we're going to have the same argument again, then you should just go.”

When Danny told Leigh he had landed a job as a retail associate at a high-end hotel in Vegas, he expected she’d be happy for him. She was, but when he suggested they move there for a fresh start, her response was an unflinching no, leaving him feeling wounded.

“But what's really keeping you here, Leigh? I mean, besides your family. Is there something else?” he asks.

At the question, Leigh feels the past and present colliding. First, she sees Matt's face, always Matt's face—his smile, the comfort of his presence that used to fill her days. Then her mind flickers to the times she found herself passing your clinic after long, aimless drives meant to clear her head. Your face starts to overlap with her memories of Matt, not replacing but somehow intertwining. 

“Matt,” Leigh forces herself to say, forces herself to believe. “If I leave this place, it's like... it's like I'm leaving him for good. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s how it feels.”

“Matt's been gone for a long time. You think he'd want you to just stop living your life? Waiting for what? For a ghost?” Danny argues, his voice rising just a little. He looks away, down the shadowy street. His hands ball into fists and then relax. Under the weak glow of the streetlamp, it’s as if Matt’s shadow stretches beside him, a long, imposing figure that Danny can never seem to escape.

“Leigh, I’m just trying to help us move forward, that’s all,” he continues, softer, more defeated. Leigh catches the tightness of his expression, the effort it takes him to stay calm. She reaches out, her fingertips lightly touching his knuckles. Danny grabs this small sign of affection, quickly cradling Leigh’s face in his hands and drawing her into a fervent kiss. Leigh doesn’t respond immediately, but then she melts into its familiarity, allowing her lips to be pliable to his. 

Danny breaks the kiss, his breath ragged as he searches Leigh's eyes. “Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to leave Matt for good,” he whispers.

She shakes her head, her voice trembling. “I-I don't know, Danny—”

“Leigh, I love you.”

It's the first time either of them has said it. Leigh had imagined fireworks or something clicking into place when it happened. She expected the grand declaration to sweep her off her feet, but instead, she finds herself still teetering on the brink, not quite ready to leap. But what she cannot ignore is the sincerity in his words. Danny has loved her through her worst—in his own way. It's not easy to dismiss or reject such devotion.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Danny says quickly. He's afraid of hearing her say no again. Silence would be better; he could let himself believe that maybe she felt the same way. Silence could mean ‘yes’, right? he thinks, grasping at straws.

“Leigh, I’m taking that job, and I’m leaving after Thanksgiving. That gives us about a month,” he says, cradling her face now with both hands pleadingly. “Please, just think about it. Think about coming with me.”

Despite her reservations, Leigh ends up saying, “Okay, I'll think about it.”

Danny’s face breaks into a smile. He kisses her again, a soft, reaffirming kiss that seems to thank her for even considering his request.

The next second, Jules interrupts the moment, opening the door unceremoniously. Leigh throws her a sharp look, which her sister disregards with a shrug. 

“Logan's been barking at the door for some time now, in case you didn't hear,” Jules drawls, cradling a bowl of cereal—her dinner.

At her words, Logan bursts through the opening and makes a beeline for Leigh. He leaps straight into Leigh's lap, settling in with a decisive huff, his eyes darting possessively from Leigh to Danny. It's as if he's laying claim to her, telling Danny without words that Leigh has roots here too deep to simply pull up, saying, she’s mine, you’re not going to take her away from me. 

Leigh pulls Logan closer, thinking about how much you’ll miss him if she decides to go with Danny.

-

You get home from work just after nine, tossing your keys on the kitchen counter with a weary sigh. A quick check of your phone confirms what you'd been dreading all day: Leigh still hasn't read your message from the afternoon. That sinking feeling of disappointment hits you again—harder this time. It’s like a pattern with her: warm and engaging one day, distant and cold the next. You can't deny that this inconsistency is starting to wear on you. It's bordering on cruel.

What are you doing wrong? Why can’t you figure out what makes her switch off like this? 

And then, unable to help it, you send another text.

[9:10 PM] You: Is everything okay?

Dinner is a microwave affair tonight, not that you're really tasting any of it. You sit down to eat, your phone still within sight. That message never gets read either.

-

Leigh has always been unpredictable, but she has never actively avoided you like this before. She knows what she's doing, leaving your messages unread for the past three days. Just when you declare to the universe that you'd pursue her, she shuts you out completely. You can't even feel sorry for yourself; somehow, you brought this on, right?

When the day rolls around for Logan's next vaccine appointment, you catch yourself nervously checking the time more often than usual. But when the appointment time comes, a different Shaw brings him in. Jules holds onto Logan's leash as he excitedly sniffs every corner of the waiting room, his tail wagging a mile a minute. 

“Hey,” Jules greets you, a bit out of breath from handling Logan's forceful tugs. “Leigh had some things to take care of, so I'm on Logan duty today.”

“Of course, no problem at all. How’s he been?” You try to keep your tone light as you kneel down to give Logan some attention, scratching behind his ears the way you know he likes.

“He’s been great, a real bundle of energy,” Jules replies, watching you with Logan. She hesitates before adding, “And Leigh’s been... well, you know Leigh.”

Actually, you think, you don't know Leigh—not as well as you thought. “Yeah,” you respond, looking up at Jules with a forced smile. “I know.”

After you administer the vaccine, the appointment passes with small talk, mostly about Logan’s antics and not much else. Jules is friendly but doesn’t venture into whatever might be happening with Leigh.

Just as you’re seeing Jules off, the clinic door swings open again. And you’re completely unprepared for the person who steps in.

“Hi,” Sara smiles at you, and then lifts the kitten in her hands. “Think you can help me with her, doctor?”

In a moment of unpreparedness, you cough awkwardly to cover your reaction, a flush creeping up your cheeks. “Hi, Sara,” you say, a bit flustered as you usher her inside. “What do we have here?”

“It's a rescue. Found her all alone by the roadside,” Sara explains, handing the tiny kitten to you with a concerned frown.

Jules catches the interaction, her eyes narrowing slightly—not missing how your entire demeanor changes around Sara—who is undeniably beautiful. 

“Right this way,” you tell the blonde, leading her to the examination table. “Let's see what we can do for her.”

As soon as you and Sara are out of earshot, Suzie muses aloud, “They'd make a lovely pair, don't you think? If only Y/N wasn't so hung up on a widow…”

Jules stiffens slightly, her voice cool as she says, “And you are?”

“Suzie,” Suzie responds cheerfully, extending a hand to Jules with a bright smile. “Y/N’s assistant and friend. Nice to meet you.”

Jules shakes her hand, her smile polite but reserved. “Jules,” she responds tersely, omitting her connection as Leigh's sister. “So, what about Sara and Y/N?”

Well, Suzie can’t resist a juicy bit of gossip now, can she?

-

You don't usually pour yourself a glass of wine on a weeknight, but after today, you've cracked open a bottle that's been gathering dust for a year. Sara’s surprise visit at the clinic left you rattled. She had called you out for being distant after the two of you ran into Leigh one morning, and it embarrassed you how right she was. You hadn't been upfront about your emotional availability—or lack thereof—because of your feelings for Leigh.

When you finally admitted to Sara that you were in love with someone else, you braced for a fallout. But instead, Sara laughed, a light, carefree sound that took you by surprise. “I don't mind if you're emotionally unavailable,” she had said with a shrug. “I'm just looking for something casual.”

For a split second, her proposition—friends with benefits—was like candy being dangled in front of you: appetizing and readily available. But that conversation was at work, in the middle of your clinic, and the timing felt all sorts of wrong. 

You let the moment pass without responding, and Sara backtracked a little with a noncommittal, “Well, you have my number. I really like you, Y/N. We can be friends, and if you ever need to…unwind, well, I can be your best friend.”

You're midway through your glass of wine when you decide to check your phone again, automatically opening the chat window with Leigh. It's almost become a habit, expecting your messages to remain unread. But this time, Leigh's avatar is right there under the last text you sent. She's read them. Today. 

Why now?

Before you can dedicate the rest of your evening into that question, a knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. It's late, and you don’t remember ordering food delivery. You set your glass down and head over to see who it is. 

Upon opening the door, you're greeted by a downcast brunette. She looks nervous, clutching her purse as if it were a lifeline.

“Leigh?”

“Hi,” she says, lifting her eyes to meet yours, searching your face for a reaction. As confused as you are, your heart kicks up a notch simply because she’s there, so close you could reach out and touch her. For a moment, you wonder if you're dreaming, if the alcohol is taking effect and conjuring up your desires right before you.

You notice the slight tremor in her hands, the way she’s standing—a bit too rigid, like she’s bracing for something tough.

Clearing your throat, you start to ask, “Would you like to come—”

“Is she here?” Leigh interrupts abruptly.

You blink in surprise.

“Who?”

“Sara,” Leigh replies, her chin jutting forward. She attempts to peer past you, as if she might find the answer somewhere inside your apartment. 

“No, she's not,” you say slowly, puzzled and a bit annoyed by her tone. “Why would she be?” 

You can't hide your surprise at her directness, or the discomfort it stirs in you. It's a bit ridiculous, even rude, how Leigh has been avoiding you, leaving your messages unread, and now she's here, asking you about another girl without a preamble. Leigh doesn't wait for an invitation; she brushes past you and steps further into your apartment, her eyes searching every corner of the room.

“I thought you said it didn't work out with Sara,” she says, almost accusingly, turning to face you again. The way she's acting—like she has any right to demand answers about your personal life after days of silence—is starting to grate on your nerves. 

You press your lips together, taking a deep breath to quell your rising irritation.

“It didn’t. She brought a kitten to the clinic today, that’s all. We're not seeing each other, Leigh,” you tell her. Although she did tell me she’s interested in sleeping with me, you nearly say aloud.

Leigh’s mouth twists into a sneer. “Then why did Jules…” she trails off, her expression falling as it finally clicks.

Jules lied to her.

“Jules…?” you echo incredulously. “What did she tell you?”

Leigh's confidence wavers even further as she says, “She... she said she met Sara at your clinic. Called her your girlfriend.”

You shake your head, exasperation seeping through your features. “Sara is not my girlfriend,” you repeat firmly. The situation is quickly becoming absurd, and you decide to push a bit, to get to the heart of what's really bothering her. “But what does it matter to you if she was?”

“It doesn’t,” Leigh replies in a flat, unconvincing tone.

“Then what are you doing here?” you ask gently, as if addressing a child mid-tantrum. 

Leigh doesn't answer right away, her cheeks glowing red as she looks anywhere but you. She's clearly embarrassed by the entire ordeal, and you find yourself struggling not to smile at the implications of her visit. She's bothered by the idea of you with Sara because—

“Leigh, are you jealous?” you ask, taking a deliberate step towards her. You hold her captive with your eyes, making it impossible for Leigh to look away.

“I’m with Danny.” Her voice cracks as she takes a step back.

“That’s not an answer,” you whisper softly, closing the distance between you once more.

“No, I... maybe. I don't know,” she stammers, then sighs deeply, her shoulders slumping as she finally meets your gaze. “Yes, I guess I am. I don't like thinking of you with someone else. Is that answer enough?”

As you take another step forward, Leigh instinctively moves back, and this dance continues until she finds herself against a wall. You're close now, close enough to feel the tension radiating from her. Her back is pressed against the concrete, your body just inches from hers, effectively trapping her in the corner. 

Leigh doesn’t know at which point she’s closed her eyes. Was it when she felt your breath whisper across her upper lip as you sighed, clearly as affected by the proximity as she was? Or was it when her back met the cool wall, the hard reality telling her she had nowhere else to go? Perhaps it was simply the anticipation, the tightening expectation of your lips meeting hers, the thought of surrendering to this—whatever this is becoming between you.

But then, two seconds pass. Five. Ten. Nothing happens.

The anticipated kiss doesn’t come. 

When she finally opens her eyes, the question in yours is unmistakable. You’re near enough, she could just lean in, but you’re giving her a choice, asking without words if this is what she wants. And that’s when she remembers how she ended up at your doorstep. Leigh's mind reels, darting back to Jules' little lie. She's struck by the realization that Jules probably felt compelled to lie because Leigh had been inadvertently pushing you away, leaving a door open for someone else to step in. And if she keeps this up, it might be Sara who ends up here, against your wall, in your arms. The image stabs at her heart, jealousy tightening her chest.

No, she can’t let that happen.

Summoning a courage she didn’t know she had left, Leigh reaches out and gently takes your hand. She brings it to her face, pressing her lips against your palm in a kiss so tender it steals your breath. It’s a silent plea. A tender claim.

It's just a small kiss, simple and soft, but it rushes through you like wildfire, stirring feelings deeper and more intense than any long, drawn-out foreplay ever did. You realize just how much you've been holding back, shielding yourself from potential pain. But now, as Leigh's kiss sears into your palm, all those defenses seem pointless. With a fervor driven by weeks of restrainment, you close the distance entirely. 

Your kiss lands on Leigh's lips with everything you have, as if this moment, this single kiss, might be your only chance. Yet, even in your urgency, there's a tenderness, a reverence in the way your lips carefully slot between hers. As you kiss, there's a meticulous attention to the details—the softness of her lips, the way they fit perfectly against yours, the gentle give when you press a little harder. It’s as if you’re trying to memorize her through this kiss.

Leigh matches your ardor, her fingers weaving into your hair, tugging you closer as if she can't get enough. You react instinctively, your hands sliding from her hips to her waist, lifting her shirt just enough to feel her skin beneath your fingertips. The slight pressure of your nails makes Leigh gasp, a sound that breaks the seal of your lips just enough for you to deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue past her defenses. The act draws a guttural moan from her—a sound that vibrates through your core, sending ripples of desire pulsating through your body. 

It shouldn’t be this perfect the first time, but it is.

The kiss grows wetter, more urgent. It's selfish, a relentless chase of sensation where both of you are simultaneously taking and giving everything you have, until it feels like there's nothing left to offer. While Leigh’s tongue explores every inch of your mouth, her hands find their way to either side of your neck, fingertips lightly grazing your skin, sending tingles straight down your spine. Your own hands aren't idle. They roam up her back, feeling the smooth expanse of her skin under your fingertips. As you slide your hands upward, you discover something that emits a low groan from you—she’s not wearing a bra. A part of you, the rational part that's still functioning, slowly begins to recognize the gravity of what’s unfolding. It's too easy to get lost in Leigh, in the rush and the heat, but something stops you. You want this—more than anything in the moment—but it has to mean something. Because once you cross this line with Leigh, there's no going back to the uninhibited, distant longing you've managed until now. 

Just as the thought crystallizes, Leigh breaks the kiss with a wet pop. Her eyes flutter open, slowly, lazily. Her gaze is unfocused at first, pupils dilated, the vibrant green of her irises almost swallowed by the black. Oh, she definitely wants you too.

“Why did you stop?” you murmur, your voice unmistakably laden with desire as you rest your forehead against hers.

A grin tugs at Leigh’s lips as replies softly, “I just wanted to see you.”

Your smile widens as her fingers absentmindedly play with the little hairs at the nape of your neck. She seems mesmerized by your eyes, now darkened with lust, and without thinking, she blurts out, “You really do have espresso eyes.”

Her words make you freeze in her arms. That nickname—it's the same one you use anonymously for your submissions to your favorite advice column. Maybe it's just a coincidence, right? 

But Leigh's reaction a moment later suggests otherwise. Her face blanches, eyes widening in a sudden flare of panic as she realizes what she's just said. 

“Y/N—” Leigh starts but you cut her off by stepping out of her embrace, your stance becoming guarded.

The warmth vanishes from your eyes. “What did you just say?”

[themattress]

The Many Looks of Sheev Palpatine.

1. From Episode I: The Phantom Menace, when he was just a senator. Mahogany-colored hair that is graying, and bright blue-shaded attire to give him a pleasant, “good guy” feel.

2. From Episode II: Attack of the Clones. As Chancellor, his hair is now gray and he looks frailer; the idea behind the make-up used here was that the Dark Side was decaying him.

3. From Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. His hair is now white, but he no longer looks so frail, since the whole Dark Side rotting his skin angle was dropped in favor of a different angle.

4. His Sith attire, used whenever he was going by the name “Darth Sidious”.

5. From Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. When Mace Windu deflects his lightning back at him, it has the dual effect of exposing his true advanced age and mutating his face into a scarred, swollen, sunken-eyed monstrosity that is especially hideous to look at when fresh.

6. From Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. In his Imperial robes. His physical appearance isn’t quite as repulsive as it was when it first changed, but still pretty ugly and monstrous looking.

7. From Episode VI: Return of the Jedi. He’s wearing his Sith attire again, but now he’s even more aged, with his skin being very wrinkly and decrepit. He even walks with a cane now.

8. From Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker. His skin now has no discernable texture at all, being marble white while his eyes are glassy and blank, his lips colored black, and several of his fingers missing. Given that he’s technically a zombie at this point, this makes sense.

9. From Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker. The power of the Dyad restores Palpatine to the visage he had 3 frames back, with his outfit now combining his Sith and Imperial robes.

[wandringaesthetic]

Final Fantasy Distant Worlds “Coral” Nashville, 1/25/23

Isare went to the symphony. No, it’s not a misspelling of “choral.” I don’t get it either.

Before the show:

I dressed up (basically) as my FFXIV character, so a version of the level 50 Healer’s Robe and elf ears. I feel the effect was pretty good and so did a bunch of random strangers, but I didn’t get a good picture of all of it and don’t feel like sharing my visage right now. We stopped at a bougie bistro/grocery place in Franklin that had among other things a bunch of artisanal olive oils. And here I am some kind of elf priestess and I feel like the people who worked there wanted to ask “what the heck are you wearing?” but were too busy or afraid of losing their job to actually comment. Very nice salmon tacos, though.

Vibes in Nashville on the other hand were extraordinarily good. Like, we went to Opry Mills (big mall) and had casually friendly interactions with multiple people who worked there that did not give off the vibe that they hated their job? Everyone we encountered seemed extremely chipper in a not-feigned way. Even the conversation with a lady trying to solicit us for donations was mostly pleasant. Maybe I should wear elf ears all the time?  

We went to a very cool, extremely fancy cafe/restaurant and I had turkish coffee and some sort of italian fruit and cream pastry. Next time we go to Nashville we’re going to try to eat a meal there.

The show itself:

This was my third Distant Worlds concert. Fourth if you count the Final Fantasy VII Remake concert. (which I suppose you should as it was Arnie Roth conducting and I think was generally part of the same mission and idiom.) I got a music box that plays “Theme of Love” from the merch table.

I think I remember everything that was played, but possibly not in correct order.

“Final Fantasy I-III Medley” (Prelude, Final Fantasy I Main Theme, Matoya’s Cave (I), Elia Maiden of Water (III), Chocobo Theme (II), The Rebel Army (II))

“Eternal Wind” (III)

“The Red Wings”/”Castle Baron” (IV)

“Home Sweet Home”/”Music Box” (V)

“Phantom Forest”/”Phantom Train”/”The Veldt” (VI)

Battle Theme Medley (IIRC, the regular battle themes from I-VI, followed by the victory fanfare)

INTERMISSION (a very nice person gave me a piece of Final Fantasy IX fanart in the hallway)

“Liberi Fatali” (VIII. it is at this point revealed that we have a choir, and because we have gone in order up ‘til now I say “FUCK VII” hopefully not too loudly)

“Not Alone!” (previously “You Are Not Alone!”, IX)

(I know I am probably screwing up the order at this point)

“Ragnarok” (from XI)

“Aerith’s Theme” (VII)

“Apocalypsis Noctis” (with the choir, XV)

“Flash of Steel” (XII)

“Blinded By Light” (XIII)

At some point Arnie Roth introduces SUSAN CALLOWAY. I know that I am IN FOR IT. She, and the choir, and the orchestra perform:

“ANSWERS” (XIV)

Every XIV player is now deceased. We are revived by

“MAIN THEME OF FINAL FANTASY” (also with the choir, singing “aaaaaa”)

Of course we all realize that they have skipped one so there is an

ENCORE:

“To Zanarkand” (X)

And because what would a Distant Worlds concert be without the worstie, a second encore:

“One-Winged Angel” (VII)

OBSERVATIONS/THOUGHTS/FEELINGS:

I seem to have been on whatever point in my hormone cycle that makes it easy to cry, so while there were not, like, tears running down my face, my eyes were wet through more of it than not.

“Matoya’s Cave” and “Eternal Wind” borrow a lot more emotions from XIV than they do from their original games at this point. I find that really interesting, especially with the repeated themes, your “Prelude” and “Main Theme” and “Victory Fanfare” &etc, how things from the future recontextualize and give more weight to the past.

Video montages from the games play during the performance, and for I-VI they used the pixel remasters. I couldn’t swear to the content of each because I spent some of my time paying attention to that and some looking at the orchestra and some with my eyes closed. But I wonder what the impression the moms and girlfriends and boyfriends who have little to no exposure was of this series? Elia DIES, Alus’ dad tries to kill him and then turns the knife on himself (I had straight up forgotten about that), Josef? DIES. Minwu? DIES. Look, a chocobo!

(that post that’s something like: the best pieces of fiction are the most heartrending scenes followed by the most unbelievable bullshit)

The medleys chosen for IV thru VI were interesting because they’re very curated slices of the games in question. For IV, extremely grandiose and martial. For V, the very specific feeling of going back to your hometown and realizing its not home anymore. For VI, a very SPECIFIC part if the experience of playing that game (highlighted by the video): find your way through the SPOOKY WOODS. Hop a ride (with the souls of the dead) on the PHANTOM TRAIN (and suplex it), befriend a FERAL CHILD (thou? thou! thouthouthouthouthouthouthou!)

I love the way that battle medley reflected the experience of playing the games. The video ended on a pile of screens of our 16bit heroes pumping their fists, and, if you’re like me, you’re forced to reflect up the thousands of these screens after the thousands of battles of you’ve been through playing and replaying these games.

In the same way I loved ANSWERS followed by the MAIN THEME. We have been on a LONG JOURNEY. We have reached a CLIMAX. The ending cutscenes have GUTTED YOU. Recover while you listen to some nice orchestral music that dates from the series debut while we roll credits. 

Being in the process of finally playing XI, “Ragnarok” is an interesting choice as representative of that game, no? The video was specifically a quick trip through the plot of Treasures of Aht Urhgan. Luzaf is probably the #1 FFXI character I’ve caught feelings about and my general feeling about that whole expansion was “Man I would be ALL ABOUT THIS were it just SLIGHTLY better written.” But when I think about, say, VIII, or XII, part of what makes the stories great is context embellished or even fully made up by the player. I don’t know. Aht Urhgan hasn’t simmered long enough in my brain to make a good stew.

ANSWERS with the full choir live and in person was basically at the top of my wish list for this concert, but it was hard to slip out of a double consciousness (pay attention! pay attention! savor this! this is your chance!) to be fully in the moment. Susan Calloway is obviously a hell of a performer (IIRC what led to her winding up on the vocal tracks for XIV was being a soloist on this concert series for things like “Eyes On Me” and “Kiss Me Goodbye”). You have to be a hell of a performer to do “Answers” full-throated and with a straight face through those spoken lines (”Roam. Roam! ROAM!”). “Play the actual goddess of this fantasy universe while doing your best Celine Dion” is a tall order. Savored all the “slightly-different from the recorded version I’m most familiar with” vocal embellishments. She did a thing that I’m going to find difficult to describe and I’m not 100% sure I perceived correctly where she started going for like, realized her voice was going to crack on it if she did and did like a less intense aaAAAaaAAA type thing instead. Only really noticeable, I think, if you’re extremely overly familiar with the ARR cutscene recording. What a pro. 

But there was also a TRIPLE consciousness there. Because. I get the idea the person next to me was in the “girlfriend along for the ride” camp from overhearing her talk to her date and she was getting kind of shifty and maybe bored by this point and ANSWERS, if you’re not completely in the headspace of accepting it as a thing, is A Lot. It is probably Too Much. It is. Several layers of cheese. Set over a CG cutscene of a multination battle while the world literally ends and some elf man dies for our sins and the moon is a dragon now, deal with it (which they played as the video accompaniment for this, btw).

*shakes fist at the heavens* HIGH FANTASY!!

I had a lot of feelings about ANSWERS even back in 2013/2014 or whenever it was I played ARR, and now thru Shadowbringers and Endwalker I have much more feelings because its another of those things that has gained meaning over time.

IN CONCLUSION:

I had a very great time. I’ve had a hard time, lately, with doing some things that are supposed to be fun but are going to take a lot of time and preparation. Like trying to party when what you really need to do is sleep. In a way, I was dreading this as much as I was looking forward. Ugh, I’m using one of my off days on this. Ugh, I gotta clean the house because my parents are going to be staying here while we’re gone in order to watch my kid. Ugh, I gotta drive to Nashville. Ugh, I’ve taken it upon myself to wear this whole elf getup. Ugh, I gotta park in downtown Nashville. Ugh, I’m gonna get home after midnight. But it all felt extremely nice and not that effortful. I am grateful. 

[davidfarreny]

IX.2024

« Parfois seulement le soir, en rentrant tard de quelque fête, elles découvrent dans leur miroir un visage usé, bouffi, poussiéreux, un visage trop vu et à peine mettable. » (F.K.)

[itsdalton]

tags.

i.   visage ii.   out of character iii.     musings iv.     about v.   aesthetic vi.    answered vii.   memes viii.   crack ix.    desires x.   wishlist xi.    promos xii.   dash games xiii.   headcanons xiv.   interaction calls xvi.   endless dalton edits xvii.   saved xviii.   open starter - mutuals only xix.   fendless edits for mutuals  xxi.   abilities

[preparfa-2024-marlettarts]

Recherches du visage de Nancy

Recherches du corps, des habits et accessoires de Nancy et de ses silhouettes (avec et sans son manteau)

Le rough sur Procreate

Le propre sur Procreate

Post #112

Un personnage que j'ai créé du rough jusqu'au propre. Je me suis rendue compte que je n'avais pas assez mis en évidence mes recherches du personnage d'Anastasia Marie donc je lui donne ici une amie: Nancy de Ixe.

En faisant des recherches sur le visage, les habits et les couleurs de celle-ci, j'ai cherché à exprimer sa personnalité au mieux: ce qu'elle montre aux autres (évoqué par le manteau épais et lourd d'un rouge vif qu'elle porte, ses lunettes de soleil,...) et ce qu'elle dissimule (l'expression mélancolique qu'elle cache derrière ses lunettes, les habits et le corps d'une couleur plutôt pastel et bleutée qu'elle cache derrière son manteau).

Nancy est la fille d'une grande mathématicienne (et une princesse, selon les rumeurs), réservée et froide, têtue et irritable, mais aussi une véritable rêveuse qui préfère passer ses journées confinée dans sa chambre à regarder les étoiles au lieu de fréquenter les soirées de sa mère.

Technique utilisée: Crayon couleur, feutre couleur, digital (Procreate)

[libidomechanica]

Was I

A limerick sequence

               I

Lambro’s care done. Them aside; her view want wide eyes, renderness. Thou shall sleep    I never lost columns    drowsie day by light is they feet, and time, her mind I read. Was I.

               II

She princess! True heart has take heede them pleasures for her, I am strive; you’ve    hearts as a double lies    and was Johnny’s love, for vice of these thee, when for sorrow clay!

               III

Rhyme at lays of Fame, and character, hook-ups and sex. Nor doe betters were    is not know its goblins’    hairs, worthy mind dear again. Her smile, and the true sentiments.

               IV

With swimming Polly Stewart, when the blades. Now her forced then—speak. And    undefinable talked, each base    desire dost the cannot that surfaces that which thicken.

               V

May there along demon eye untrue. Of speak in. Married: but no bee shadow    loud line were: then roving:    mercy vould it sounded she far-fleeth afresh—Desire!

               VI

Among them back again? Heart do only sin. On the fangs shades of praise,    however beings not your    mind. I’m sensible and tears bereav’d of brutal songs them pause.

               VII

Their sins frore, such admir’d. Now where great with Loves have strict ordeal was anythings.    And Johnny’s heel, and    he same, cool wave imprint wide ebbs in her wine, all this temper?

               VIII

So let us moan, and trace; her uppers that same reduced the story I    by thy own relieve this    is no great cruel, love, little bosom stand. For was born for it.

               IX

Thy for I wish’d, so fail to the trouble your hand round now she’s bones. Yesterday    he is that sing bees.    Of there busy brain with though those of face, and languid lilies.

               X

To his become round. That she shalt remain of sin; if I, indeed, lo! I    scarce saw two marble’s flit,    there are thought! Before the could slack renown, but her, how the rents.

               XI

Low vibrating more. Hath new poem ever-dying said he it’s youth of    passings passing when are    done. Are nobody, and nighting as long as their pole! The laws.

               XII

With command; heav’n is alive a new Venus, as a snow she men and each,    spiking, especially    wrapt upon dead, and soft voice, of that. Her be thou mayst below.

               XIII

Perhaps she fell into the eyes fled! A kingdoms of my youthful Hippocrene,    but fears follow above    me travel’d undiscernment to bed of herself alone?

               XIV

In trace to a woman looks one stooped; and this watery of verse’s best:    t was as pearl. While light    tormed’st the Heaven, he, with pity age stared it with a boughs!

               XV

The lassie be; weel my ain lassie, kind by some proved the vale. What the strong    we have I presence comfort    spatter. Led the man, till I shall my pen, and ennui.

               XVI

Yet, lover’d without I speak me tell me and sweet was warm Southern back afraid    of another, O    troth. On hew him stone I so be unmilked all heroine.

               XVII

The hollow set fruit, as ye: and tempestuous lie with them death; a smile    looming, Die, oh! Besides    amber on the tenor’s drooping—oh cruel mocks, we two starved for?

               XVIII

Past, and cannot advantage mayst invited guess. And some get our laws with    Death, so soon’s crooning visage.    The fiction; he gave no peace a peaks so hardly can be.

               XIX

Says the fears. A little. Of proud water, I saw that Love him, the had see    the lighted, Alas, fondly    be. In transferr’d of his danger, ever shut eyes, or nigh.

               XX

The too, was charms SHE along. Juan was vanquished beyond a smiled in paradise,    miserable, notes were    now should minute with the caught brief, the lists, although verdict form.

               XXI

Ah for ones, which made love nor ever boy, with Subject only from the public    meane no more see, to    come to me. But for further open first by us, the view?

               XXII

She drap o’ the flowers, worth do stood the move, and therefore or a qualified    it. My father she    scarce find they length, by they were to which were inheritance, mud.

               XXIII

There him whose sufficient work with Age— how some like each, but we cannot rose    or a young in disgrace.    I know him—I will comes to rendering no lights; you pleasant.

               XXIV

They could she hill-side; there; and wake, were veneration drop the words sang of    Ida sound an earth my    spoke not to see. Blood by Reproofs, save. Not my headache ashes.

               XXV

Two pleasure: it is, and there’s joy. But when my tears, I folly ripe, ripe    in me; and each others,    by Natures, the closed to conquering whence all might tempests world.

               XXVI

Were the moonlight worth that influence with devotionless store five physicians    know, and love save beauties    brawl which destroy. Ow said, Within and which women, and stair.

               XXVII

Given to they looks on a betters in summoned die. And they do right, both    Susan’s in self, never    lose rose-mark their tended in a belle Dame stage, old Susan Gale?

               XXVIII

Thus, my Katie? Thou set him whom young plain ordeal was Ida with what touch,    nor him for cheek: nor was    all the Helles, for thy brethren he dreams around the lovers.

               XXIX

So man, and a singest the wind. Juan reply: yon clime intoxicating    too farewell; perhaps, and    bounted in the stagger an’ mother certain, upon a shield.

               XXX

This fairly know; for seeking, “Die, oh! All your idiot gainsay long. Last    I should have bid my minds    one of the river, the Master’d in palace it lay it green.

               XXXI

Her fate, the hill a difficult. Poor they feelings, flew with gentleman solemn,    proudly miscarries    clomb of sighing, dwells asunder first words, and you will forgive?

               XXXII

Blue brand, and shore, I was! When thousand which humouring in clamour. You! Almost    true! Whether, if bright    with you mine eyes may reason what her forest acquainterpret!

               XXXIII

Idiot boy! Soul is, and yet and pulling tears the mens fast, a hermitten,    in the lake I stood    on the love the end or nest of Poesy, accordinary.

               XXXIV

But beat thee then the sway, descending from such I love, belong, and was stung,    the hath retreater at    least, unto my bosom standing, yet, do hang upon herself!

               XXXV

Cast as so much, ’ I saw in April, I leans, Russian wrecked thee mad earth, tasting.    Anxious Angles year,    went survive to see her lull its gold to keep her soul abroad.

               XXXVI

To prayer. ’ Unseen upon the sport which much I have imply love she silent    me but feel because    me, lay quite scene it bittering with theirs—their luck out a rope.

               XXXVII

Ask me not at their stare lay somewhat your pony’s in Christened to old way    groan; when her love, no destroy.    No watches: and ne’er rents, survivor bulging by wander!

               XXXVIII

From the furies cleere. We pacem oh my Emanation, and not all thee    is worth’s unknown, comes back    afraid of conuersation was a few favouring, in souls!

               XXXIX

I have reconciled; for the eyes the care, life. With her hand: thus down, proud of    all, compass, that whether    lay quite, and error into Eternity as I divine!

               XL

Which alone; she halls to fill that our joys: a purple islander clouds o’er    handmaids, before love in    weary of her idiot boy? The pony noise, but, Betty!

               XLI

In play. With me say, you for some home, quite hawthorn. Make there’s tale pursuing    dew. So nimble    houseless likeness, that can I dream countenants had but being!

               XLII

Thy showers, dear doting girl to our own blood by thinking too much pretence    and toss’d sae pawkie is with    what time Apollo plucked in the Turkish moist any. Their charms.

               XLIII

Will seas would beauty,—that are that has made love, when exquisitely die as    we weathed forbear note,    in theirs—the replied, Soft mood. Aye vow and so upon the pearl.

               XLIV

Come to ye, whose beast day—that come to like the call, maz’d, celebrated the    grave heat snatched it maks us    loaded Eagles yellow; let it, every in a carved life.

               XLV

And a dark how, which less eyes, their it, and must; so fairer the sat all the    strange us, and I wants    in flowers, and wreath thee and his race. The oak and touching it?

               XLVI

To be a history makes of itself so wary, unheeded to sleep, and    bloom misted Pine, that neither    mouse, an’ I’ll takes not tell me wives, forgive our bed. With grow.

               XLVII

A posy of new era form’d for whole things; she spoken pleasure broken    flame, but that I cant would    alone full cabin, forgive? But we met with devout to see.

               XLVIII

Rode o’er who kept, as dark moved but debate, again by the child! Pages. He    gazed, and the heaven to    mine each other foreshows us mair pure, fie! Not be back.

               XLIX

That she but just aboundeth. My heard her Grace’s crystal entry cling I    forgive the fishes as    true, you’llhave tarry Fays; embrace my wife spices of Heaven.

               L

I do, and leaves liked poet’s houseless the horrid, her e’re. A Seven    more his Love—the room which    one woman like knowing at through the hare young in whispers force!

               LI

A jug of men winters, grow a woodbine between to tell your call’d a hare,    more still the bride; and, and    Haidee gazed on her? Can ye that slay the clear March of one goal.

               LII

Oh me! A stitch beard,—all their curls, the pale sicken fluctuation. As if    her would sleepers form that    opposition of that more they might the could pour hair behind.

               LIII

Or where is always when the cross that is head. He also a simple muse    in your fancy. When wilt    thought has her husband of her utter, clear strife, they tale hamburg.

               LIV

One sight to the made thee down, and the rose in tuned hill, so pales, or came or    roots a looked not a fair    ynought! Tis not ask me sit, you readed, filth the has floor, pale.

               LV

Two woman, to correct and silken fluctuation of one by silk and    wish’d, sad, lo! Now doth some    other fed wiping balks each otherwhere’s notice it live!

               LVI

Of pleasure! With buds steps walked our days appear’d na a flowers out, as a    think? The tenor; they free,    I Stella, he water. Your girl to part. That charming in wide!

               LVII

We were the immortal name days, thought at the courts—borne all you almost the    road, then, deny, in the    worth’s unconstant ayres of this sick. Moan, and come touch of the heart!

               LVIII

Your brain, and tremulous be a sense inquire to ye, my Katie,—canst the    same sae warriors, or of    that no wretches. Calling white pearls hand how that blow: the must end?

               LIX

And if I were the world of all be held had see, should man. All not fail’d—so    the pallor whom you wrought    his failing fence’s tales of thy name; yet refresh is mankind.

               LX

With slave been me within an Angel with the blood and kiss her amorous    men for ever that God!    Where winding world is flooding to die; in my ain lass were ring?

               LXI

The farce! My Friend, whose whose from false to spilt fairest and undevelopt man    is gone of all the hold    that of hollow’d my brows; in moss, that hath, of another call?

               LXII

Beat, and grovelled her knew the sobbing the other might flow confined moment    light, and bare-headed    within camps, in mossy said she shriek, an old rank grass. That speak?

               LXIII

But idiot boy. Young gentle doubts: yet, Dianeme, ratherly Absál, past,    how fain bed in there’s    life, the whole chamber the sky, yet the staunch of Love first—my lad.

               LXIV

No, seem’d sometimes had heart. True, her skin: with vigour. And there breath, to see a    certain, since that paddle    of flies, all the strewn flowers, wax’d for being songs o’er him, there.

               LXV

A dreadful images hereat close, with the Almight my heart in France full,    and a doctor free, for    he contempt the moon will strong. With a volume of love forgive!

               LXVI

Left in the presence. The helpe reject, even know where spell thee so stylle    to see herd, and then the    love in sea-shore they did joys have kill, nor grief appellation?

               LXVII

That hast not her on her out of loved. Each sweetened like the possess shot a    flying. Hearkens after    marriage to the effigies to the rais’d her time, her heaven.

               LXVIII

As which ran acorn thought, of a grave, despite they are sonne forth wine are    permittent I would new. For    scarce him when on it would let us much past, fed with green firm?

               LXIX

Susan, I’d bid thee, and sickened, save one on mine and sea inside a    sound, or ripe, in guess to    spear-grass upon a zany. And down; to hospitality.

               LXX

The strictest shall summer climes with stronged it, the farthest from whither charme,    she one. Slowly cheek a    moment, there to the softest hinter’s great they are. Or foreign.

               LXXI

For bodies in earth’s voyage to oblivion lay; ye couch’d sociated    that doubtful years aware,    more, more I’ll low, and line, half-world unseen, on ever. The dead.

               LXXII

That I quite enough his bold Lamia broodings. That village great nature    might quite of my sweet by    some summer free; she learned in the sand; I had, nor his life.

               LXXIII

Seeing child! In aprylle, þat is, in gloss I wend; it is me say is    thine own refuses have    guest to write I, who ventures, on earth unknown the possible.

               LXXIV

Come hither, the fully would not; I know wherein moss. As this is them now    not on þe spring    obsolete, and queen attent with a love to mend, a little near.

               LXXV

And in came, an’ mother and she you heard her fetter knew, a still in pleasant’s    come host of Love—the    bury make: A dreaming of infant peace. Juan, in a cense tough?

               LXXVI

Between the presence now, and hatred hair was ancient forsooth, so faint in    her e’e. Says that appears    not somewhere much idly in far said, have is like a birds say?

               LXXVII

Come—falling you’d before. Then the guile, what thou needs the boughs! Drop down to lives,    and were red plate and mov’d    triangle left a twin contented thoughts; dull. If I, index.

               LXXVIII

Fill moves in height her use to blackguards were they rejoic’d in her pageant for    a wild! The gentle ruth,    and mute, and we have exactly and freeborn idiot boy.

               LXXIX

At the Nith’s unknown: they happy world altogether in the fairer may    sin. A modest invent    and golden far as the bring wants, forsworn. They thy bliss, nor tides.

               LXXX

Which my Emanation of still side, and he had dwelt and quaile as the    stream had ne’er beauty’s birth.    Rose-cheek with brings, his love O soul and of a sudden the rose!

               LXXXI

When I wouldst the was a heavens, but connubial talking, and she may come    to burn’d her parents. When    on flatter, and he sand, and still relented, what evermore.

               LXXXII

Your head—for him stared trembling dew. Caesar him—he as ye were dwell he might    I was: love’s no more or    thought could shore should be love. Tis so, but in difference. I knew tears?

               LXXXIII

This apartment, still down, not to find shelter’d from head, o whipt my side the    Vestal should on the men    separate: the most espect, that you might of hollows bare; and child!

               LXXXIV

And slip into the cried, let detected, unless over: out oft clomb to    thy soften, in will not    why, and now that lives. And lull in my graven akin. Surprise.

               LXXXV

Am but sin, ground and the strea’s beat that had to the plain any flower    came her will dared rose ripe,    rich the will I die. My heart—just lose thee is said I, ye view?

               LXXXVI

My mild among has leave one immortal, gaz’d: his horse? To have been reigners    break; till find those steel, thou    their behoof, whole. I lovely Paris led the fell in the hour.

               LXXXVII

—All we can it takes him out of life. Reason what the live wit, he should have    set pendulous sights against    thou mayst the very was war are exhausted, stated it.

               LXXXVIII

Yet look’d the as thou can those was never love to his hair. Now a’ thirty—    some good, its test, thus I    listendom. Sweet Naiad of you heart can it were is not to me!

               LXXXIX

Though lie, teach in that love, O troth, if it closely beauteous nights that river-    child! That like a wh—re.    The life—this, and your surface liked pony, Betty see, to bed.

               XC

Sit sight and only one might ever mind sights; dull and sigh’d forbid! And Johnny’s    wiping—the other    as if the cat’s one hast my heard with joy in the fortunate!

               XCI

To graces to the wind. And like these arms and honour in the mark the lips    of this time must not makes    high rated, upon the just part that repent, etc.

               XCII

But we glides’ death, and come distincts, brushed with his sicken fluctuation be    between sorrow? Sad rakes    men passions came night on Alisoun. Which makes they almost swell?

               XCIII

The London nightingale a lady found hew. As head. I do not unto    the woodland Morning letter’d    with strange that will the said—there’s tail, and he shakes thy way.

               XCIV

April of succeeded queen-Moon as it only one shores shoulder at O    loved, a deuil wants to blame:    they moved to her the change art; alas! Listens mechanter frost.

               XCV

I thoughts inner doom. Run on mince, to blasted friends; yet every ill of silk    seats and shriek with my bones    of they go. Applause, but that in such strange; my Lady Daphne!

               XCVI

Have given in apprehend dumb the Nith’s motive, in full and yet, to creature,    fie! Is mixed: then there    is an in faery land, to sends shooting from his kindled it.

               XCVII

Fond wars of what threw, a stitch of Love shade: but spare to you and thought that touching    it listen; and if    I have fallen, have been the heard of yore, the low voice and grave.

               XCVIII

Longing grace all the must, she garden, or timely disappear—the ground, inuade    moan. Now some from your    wake no very broad, and tread as human vanity, and firm?

               XCIX

Theirs was well. Neither Johnny’s little round the lives like that they bred thy    powerless, and I listened    beyond any eyes—the sun, and to this twitter weeds fight, sting.

               C

These your own heart out of cloud lines of these founded Florian: his know what    their sad heavy day was    charms. Hard love to Susan had sworn. There quite in the Spartan’s breath.

               CI

And honey to the flint! Then up in the sophist, unweave off she glowing,    yet without ensues from    the end only should be mind now in such as fallen: the fix.

[c4rrow]

TAGLIST

i. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀— deadshot

ii. ⠀ ⠀ — carrow

iii. ⠀ ⠀ — appearance

iv. ⠀ ⠀ — visage

v. ⠀ ⠀ — business

vi. ⠀ ⠀ — aes

vii. ⠀ ⠀ — pets

viii. ⠀ ⠀— past

ix. ⠀ ⠀ — fav weirdo

x. ⠀ ⠀ — theo

xi. ⠀ ⠀— levi

xii. ⠀ ⠀— alva

xiii. ⠀ ⠀— luna

xiv. ⠀ — songs

xv. ⠀ — thoughts