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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year ago

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Mer!Azriel x human!reader: The Dregs of Tragedy

A/N: Something about writing Az as a creature other than Illyrian just makes him end up being so cold and cruel and I have literally no idea where that comes from?

Warnings: Bitta’ blod, Az saves reader in a way, you have an awful husband in this

Word Count: 4,970

-Part 2-

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“If your husband hears you talking like that, he’ll string you up with the rest of them.”

You flinch at the imagery, but stay firm—were you even a fisherman’s wife without nerves of steel and a stomach made of iron? “I don’t care what you say. It’s barbaric either way.” Joanne shakes her head, hair pulled back from her face as the carving knife splits the fish’s head from its body. “It’s barbaric what they do to us, sweet lass. A sailor’s death will never be kind, but to be dragged below the waters by those clammy hands is not a fate I would wish on many.”

Quirk a brow, lips tugging up at the edges. “Would Hildebald be among those few many?” You ask, making the fishmonger’s wife shoot you a sharp glare.

“Do not ask me to speak poorly of him. The gods listen between breaths.”

“The gods lay back while we are beaten and bloody,” you say, carefully lowering your voice. “I fear them as much as you do, but I will not succumb to terror. Virtues protect me, I carry honour close and pray to valour for my husband’s safe return, but that does not mean I would be unhappy should he be snatched from my side.”

Joanne runs her eyes over you appraisingly, face carved deep with age lines, hair wispy and grey. “Listen closely, lass,” she instructs, “we have little power in what happens to us, don’t squander the hand you’ve been dealt, for many others would gladly take your place. Your husband works hard at sea, and has been parted from his gold to pay for you—and we all know your father put an unreasonable dowry on your head.” Her misty sea-foam eyes flicker about, on constant edge should the wrong ears catch the conversation. “Just be grateful for what you have, lass. Look to the skies and you’ll go falling over your own feet,” she hisses, a clear end to the conversation.

You open your mouth to speak back—just because he’s paid for you doesn’t mean he can bruise you bloody—but her watery blue eyes skip over your shoulder, just as a hard, heavy palm settles atop the skin, pulling you in close to a tall, strong body, trained and battered from the seas. “Fish for supper?” He asks jovially—it must have been a good sail. Turn into him, like a creature seeking protection from a vastly superior beast, tilting your head to peer up at your husband. “I got a fresh loaf from the bakers so I was thinking of a soup,” you say, pushing up onto your tiptoes to deliver a chaste kiss to his rough skin, coarse hairs scratching your cheek. “They even added in a fresh lemon to go with it all.”

Light, sharp blue eyes cut to you, something passing behind them that has your stomach sinking. “Of course they did,” he mutters, “it’s in their nature to covet another man’s catch.” He shakes his head, arm tightening around your ribcage almost painfully. “Joanne, you can accompany my wife to the bakers from here onwards,” he drawls out the order like he’s stood behind his ship’s wheel. He turns back to you, fingers stroking along the underside of your breast, eyes glinting. “A hag ought to even out the balance of your beauty,” he murmurs, and you attempt not to cringe as his hot, fishy breath fans across your face.

Instead you dip your head in a demure show of embarrassment, ducking away from the smell. “You find me beautiful because you spend your days at sea with only fish to admire,” you dodge the compliment like you’re expected to, the picture of humble grace. “I assure you, I am nothing much at all.” That seems to please him, squeezing you a little too tightly. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the town,” he says, greasy hand stroking your side. “That is why you are mine. I would not have picked you out if there was a better catch.”

You paste a shy smile onto your lips, tucking away a stray hair over your ear, gripping the wicker basket tighter.

The night will be unpleasant but blessedly short.

————

The surf is calmer today, fog rolling across the grey-blue landscape.

You shouldn’t be down at the cove so early in the morning, but you hadn’t wanted to sleep beside him for a moment longer. Desiccated, scratchy skin pressing to your back, a meaty arm pressed around your waist. So you’d come down to the alcove to clear your head, allowing the crips, salty air to clear your mind before the day ahead. Though sailors will soon be passing by, so you can’t afford to wait too long.

Release a heavy breath, staring out at the deep blue of the ocean, long since desensitised to the scent of brine and seaweed that makes inlanders cringe. The waves are slight, appearing almost still as you survey the view. Had it not been for the steady babble and crush of water, you might have believed the world to be frozen.

Your mind drifts to tales of the mer, stories told to every child to encourage fear and awe into their hearts. Of their cold and clammy hands, capable of pulling fully grown sailors from the docks should they stand too close to the edge. Of their damp, bluish skin, like an eel’s on their chest and arms, but scaled and sharp on their long, thrashing tails. Of their razor-sharp teeth, used to shred and tear at their prey before finally doing away with the catch.

But more than any other feature, folk melodies revolve around their deadly song. Said to be sung so sweetly it could lure any sailor to wish for his end to be at their cold, wet hands. To be dragged below the water’s still surface into their dark and murky layer, fed enough air to be kept alive and aware but never enough to resist as the flesh is torn from their bones.

You move forward, walking along the rickety platform, wanting to look down into the water at the end of the pier, despite the danger you’ve been warned about. The water is still high, but has already begun draining away, the tides lowering. You hum absently as you approach, an old tune that’s often strummed around celebratory bonfires, logs crackling and embers burning bright against the wet blues and greys of the sea-town.

Something catches your eye, ripples coming out from beneath the pier you’re stood on.

Brows furrow, and you walk forward quietly. Maybe a sea creature is hiding beneath the platform. A smile tugs at your lips at the idea—you’d like to see more of the animals when they’re alive instead of with their head severed into a slimy, bloody basket.

You lower to your knees as you come to the edge, muffling your steps so as not to scare it away, if there really is something there.

Peer over the ledge, gaze going to one of the two beams supporting the platform.

Eyes latch with coal black, ringlets of damp, silky hair curling over blue-tinted skin.

Lips part in a scream as you jerk back from the edge, scrambling away before it’s spindly hands come groping for your legs. Heart pounding, you thumb free the small dagger from a dress pocket, gripping it between trembling hands as you frenetically eye the waters below. Waiting for it to attack one side of the pier…to try and drag you under so it can feed on your flesh.

Breath clouds, tendrils curling from your lips as you tremble, replaying the depth of blackness in your mind, the deathly tint of its skin, the unnatural beauty of the lethal creature.

Nothing.

Utter silence.

Shakily, you get to your feet. Had you imagined it? There’s no way.

Heart pounding, you again make your way to the ledge, prepared to toss yourself back should its hands suddenly rise from the water. Swallow, gripping the dagger tight as you shift closer, enough to see a head of dark, slightly curled hair. No doubt the drying sea salt bringing out the waves.

Ease a shuddering breath as you again meet its eyes—charcoal black and utterly depthless. Designed to see in the deepest parts of the mighty ocean. That’s when you notice the tinge in the waters surrounding— him. It’s a male face. Dark lashes, smooth skin, cropped hair.

Eyes dart back to the sea, bleeding red around him.

You note the fishing wire that’s gotten him tangled to one of the beams upholding the platform.

He’s been caught.

Lips part in relief—he can’t hurt you. And yet— “You’re not singing…” you murmur to yourself, eyeing the soft-looking mouth of the creature.

Features coil, twisting themselves into something frighteningly fitting as lips pull back from teeth—dozens of tiny, shredding teeth, set in two neat rows with noticeably protruding incisors. You flinch back on instinct, but remaster your fear, reminding yourself he can’t move. Swallowing, you thank the gods for your iron stomach as you return to the edge. Dagger still gripped tight.

The wire has wrapped itself around his torso from what you can see—probably having gotten tangled first with the creature’s tail, then only constricted tighter as he tried to escape. Much like seaweed.

Brow tightens as the waves continue washing at the shore—the ocean’s draining. What will happen to him, if he doesn’t break free? His lips look dry now you’re peering closer, lines running beneath the stunning black of his vicious eyes. They can survive without being submerged in water for days, but the wire… How long has he been here for?

His mouth opens, and you freeze, tales of their deadly song returning, but instead of the painful melody you were expecting, what comes out is a rasping screech. Garbled and furious—a wet hissing noise, as if he’s seething his warnings.

There’s wire against his neck. Already slicing deep against the powerful column of his throat, stopping much of the noise escaping. You stare down at the creature, tangled and caught. A mighty beast that’s been stripped of any way to protect itself. You wonder if it fears or loathes the helplessness. Perhaps a little of both.

You peer into its eyes, the vicious fury contained within, like he’s already promising to repay the pain you’ll inflict on him tenfold.

Your throat rolls as you stare at him. He’ll die if you leave him—it’s a miracle of some kind he’s managed to remain undetected for so long, though you suppose not many people come down here. But what if someone else finds him?

A queasy feeling tightens around your throat as you imagine the tide sweeping out, gravity pulling the weight of his body down into those slicing wires, forcing him to rest in the tangle until the water returns to yield him to near weightlessness. But what if one of the sailors finds him?

You know what they’ll do. What they already do to the mer they catch. How they’re mutilated, then strung up in the air for the salty winds to whip at, for birds to peck at, slathered in fish blood and other small carcasses to draw creatures in. Sometimes fires are lit beneath their long, powerful tails. Slowly cooking them alive.

Hadn’t you been protesting against the brutality just the other day?

The mer struggles again, water rippling as he writhes, so certain he can break the man-made wire holding him. So desperate to do so.

You look around once…twice. Check no sailors have yet begun to pass over the paths that lead beside the shore. Slowly lower to your knees, gripping the dagger. Black eyes pick out the steel, and he thrashes more, hissing violently as his features are again carved into that picture of grizzly vehemence. Exactly how the stories have told them to be.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you say clearly, slowly. If he’s smart enough to capture and kill fully grown sailors, he should have something to pick up on tone. Some kind of sense that will tell him it’s better to let you near than to go through with the fate he’s seemingly been dealt.

He hisses again, still baring those teeth at you, but he’s no longer struggling. No longer bringing the wire deeper into his body. It’s a good start. You just need to make sure he doesn’t grab you once cut loose. What a foolish way to go.

You breathe deeply as you move closer, reaching forward.

His muscles tense, tension tightening his shoulders as the blade nears him—it would be easy for your hand to drag the steel across his throat, but the very idea makes you uncomfortable. Watching murder happen and doing it yourself are still very different. You don’t think you could quite stomach that.

“I need you to keep still,” you say gently, clearly. If he makes a sudden movement with the blade so close… You slide it beneath the wire, placing the sharp edge to the restraints, pulling in attempts to get it to break. He hisses suddenly, and you realise it’ll be cutting into his throat so you change tactics, gently sawing until it snaps free.

The mer coughs, wet gasps being hauled down into no-doubt powerful lungs, spluttering as his gills spasm violently.

You can only allow him a little time before setting to work on the next one, further below the water, binding his shoulders tight to the post. Settle closer to the platform, aware of how his eyes silently track every angle of your movements. Whether to make sure you don’t attack, or to plan his own, you don’t contemplate. Just reach deeper, aiming for the next wire. Repeat the gentle sawing motions until that too snaps off.

A gush of relief washes over you as his upper body moves free from the bloody mess, but then he hisses and jerks back, pressing to the beam. His noise sounds strained instead of violent. A noise the product of lacerating pain. There’s most likely more wire tangling his tail, but— you can’t reach that.

The unearthly face tilts, dark eyes boring into you with urgency and— Great Gods. Hunger.

“What are you doing down here?”

You flinch at the rumble of your husband’s voice and the creature goes preternaturally still. As if he also recognises the sound. You could swear his skin leeches of the bluish tint, becoming colder and more translucent. The dagger drops from your hands, bouncing loudly on the wood of the pier. Settles at the edge, and you jerk away, turning to face the towering man approaching you.

Panic grips you as you spy a broad, pale blue hand rising silently from the water. Reaching for the blade.

You shift, angling your body to block him from your husband.

“I wanted to see if I could see the sea bed,” you explain hurriedly, managing what you hope is an appropriately embarrassed smile. “Sadly the tide’s in, so I think it’s too deep. Do you know when it’ll be out again?” You ask, trying to distract from the position he’d found you in. His brow narrows, heavy boots clunking over the rickety pier. “You shouldn’t be so near to the waters,” he mutters, moving forward and you hastily get to your feet, the dagger gone from the platform.

Bruising, meaty hands roughly grip your upper arms, forcefully turning you to face him. The smell of grease and hot fish washes over you and you fight your cringe. “Yesterday it was the bakers, today it’s the seas,” he mutters, “it’s not right for you to be this close to—” Follow the direction of his gaze, down to the edge of the pier.

He pushes you to the side, allowing him to galumph past, staring down to the post the mer had been tied to.

Watch his bulky silhouette as hands pull into flesh-beating fists, your bones already aching. “Is everything okay?” You ask softly, shaking your head to yourself. “I’m sorry for taking so long to make breakfast—I got sidetracked on my usual pathway. Let’s return home.”

He doesn’t move, the world silent save for the steady wash of waves at the shore. Your husband turns then, brows pulled into a hateful bunch atop sea-roughened skin. “Why were you peering into the waters?” His voice is low and blunt, eyes sharpening to glacial blue, regarding you with a hint of suspicion. You smile, “I told you, I was looking to see the bottom but the tide’s not yet out.”

Heart is pounding—could he have already known the mer was there? The bluish skin had almost drained, as if paling with fury.

Then he’s walking to you with intent, hands brutally gripping your upper arms, tight enough the bones trembling beneath his sailor’s grip. “Why were you peering into—”

Something gleams over his shoulder, grazing the muscle of his bicep as your dagger flies past, blood spitting onto the deck as the blade lodges into the wood. Cold blue eyes freeze, snapping from the weapon dug into the pier back to you. “That’s yours,” he accuses, lowly. “You set it free, didn’t you?”

“I don’t—”

His hand smacks across your cheek before you have time to prepare, the corner of your mouth stinging as something hot trickles down your chin. Lips part, raising your fingers to the drip-drop of blood.

“You set the damned thing free,” he rages, practically snarling with fury. Before you can do anything against it, he’s turning, gripping you so tight you’re afraid your arm will splinter. “Björn! Bertram!” He bellows, calling to the sailors that are no doubt beginning their morning routines. He’s muttering to himself, about capturing it again before it can get too far out to sea, dragging you along behind him.

You stumble, tripping up as you go, almost bumping into him as you’re roughly pulled back along the pier. He whirls on you then, backhanding you hard enough you almost careen backward. But his meaty hand is encompassing your throat, strangling tight as he pulls you close enough for his greasy, fishy beard to coarsely scratch your skin. “Stupid, foolish hag,” he snarls out, “you’ll be strung you and up cooked alive for that.”

Your stomach churns as you struggle, nails clawing at his knuckles, scratching deep enough to draw blood, more of it drip-dropping onto the rickety pier. You gasp for breath, rasping and clawing at his hand until he snarls, shoving you back. Tripping over your skirts, the back of your head smacks against the wood hard enough to have your vision blurring, white spots dancing through your view. Billowing grey clouds wash overhead, looking about to rain down.

Weakly, you push up from the damp platform, in time to see your husband pluck the dagger from the ground—what had tripped you up. Eyes flash with fury, flipping the hilt menacingly as he advances, drawing out the fear. You whimper, scrambling back until your hand slips over the edge, almost sending you tumbling into the murky depths. “I should have known,” he spits out, “there were whispers about your thoughts. I should have paid them more mind.” The dagger glints in his hand, so quickly turned to your own throat.

“I’ll take my time with you,” he mutters, “take the fingers that cut the fish free.” Flips the blade in his hand as he towers over you. Muscles coil taut, unable to move, unable to fight as the steel glitters beneath the overcast light. He moves to grab you—to take your fingers, to cut you up.

A deafening screech sounds, rasping and raw, then a pale blue shape leaps from the water. Jaws are unlocked to a monstrous angle, neat rows of sharp, flesh-shredding teeth bared as that giant tail thrashes with the force to propel him clean from the water. The muscled weight of the mer crashes into your husband, knocking him from his feet as he’s stolen beneath the water’s surface faster than you can blink.

The sea ripples in his wake, then calms to nothing, continuing to lap at the shore, hiding all traces of the deadly attack.

“Mer!” A bellowing voice roars, and your eyes are dragged to the beginning of the pier, two hulking sailors—Björn and Bertram—stood among the heavy, rolling fogs that have seemingly thickened out of nowhere. Their weighty boots thud on the deck as they begin storming forward, weapons gripped tight in case of another unseen attack.

Your heart beats in your mouth, fear and panic sweeping you under as you freeze with terror. You shift to move back, but have forgotten you’re already at the edge, hand slipping back over the ledge of the pier.

Eyes go wide, unable to scream as powerful, cold-blooded hands wrap beneath your arms, hooking over your shoulders and you’re dragged down beneath the sea’s surface. Water swallowing any trace of struggle as it seals overhead.

You thrash and writhe, hands shoving out as you try to free yourself from the iron grip of the mer that’s dragging you down to his sea bed. He turns you around, then cold, soft lips are settling over your own, breathing fresh air into your lungs. Tasting slightly coppery. You don’t question how it’s possible—they’re creatures of magic—just greedily gulp the extra seconds of life down as you feel his powerful body ripple with motion, muscle working as the large tail propels you deeper into the ocean, stolen away from the sea-town you’d grown up in.

Fear seeps into your blood as images of his tiny, shredding teeth flash through your head, the charcoal of his large, onyx eyes.

You should never have risked freeing him. He’s as cruel as the songs warn.

————

Spluttering as you break the surface of the underwater cave, your eyes ache from being squeezed shut for gods know how long.

Gulp down air to fuel your panic driven heartbeat, briny salt water stinging as tears drip down your cheeks. You quickly blink them away, unable to dry your eyes thanks to the cold water having soaked your clothes, down to the bone. His tail moves in strong motions, keeping the both of you afloat, yet he hasn’t bitten down. Mouth remains shut, as if waiting for you to ready.

Peel open your gaze, instantly latching onto his dark eyes, glittering black as he watches you silently. The oddly shaped ears either side his head twitch, looking like the webbed feet of some of the marine birds you’ve seen. Birds that have feasted upon mer flesh when it’s been strung up to be picked at.

As soon as you can manage, you’re trying to writhe away from the creature, but the stories haven’t done their strength justice. It’s like being held by stone, muscle as unforgiving as the cold, jagged rocks the surf crashes upon. Dread sets in, spiralling your mind as you thrash against his grip, desperate to spare yourself from the horrible fate of his gently prying teeth.

“Let go of me,” you plead, trying to squirm out of his hold, eyeing the hewn rock that makes up the underwater cave, seemingly being kept in an air bubble. Gaze returns to gleaming black in time to see as a transparent film blinks across his eyes, making you startle, yipping as you flinch away in horror. Teeth catch on the edge of your mouth with the recoil, reopening the small wound, courtesy of your husband, vision again blurring with the sting.

You struggle as he starts moving, but he’s pushing you toward the ledge of the rocky cave, not dragging you below—deeper into his layer. Breathing stutters as your back presses into the jagged rock, his blue-tinted hands spanning your hips, turning you around and pushing up from the cold sea. You scramble away so quickly you graze your knee on the sharp rock, splitting skin as blood begins seeping into your skirts.

Wince at the pain, but push as far back as you can, finding the stone now to be surprisingly smooth, as if carved away. Breathe heavily, shivering against the icy temperature of the submarine cave, hugging your limbs close by as the mer watches silently. Tears helplessly drip down your cheeks, teeth chattering as you try to put a stop to your crying. You’re a fisherman’s wife, for goodness sake. Were a fisherman’s wife?

Throat rolls as you push back into the smooth wall of the cave. “What did you do with my…with Alaric?” You manage through trembling jaws, lungs spasming with the cold.

The question appears to aggravate the mer, lip curling at the name alone. “He’s alive,” the male rasps, throat straining to create the syllables of speech. You stifle your surprise—yes, you’d known they could sing, but you’d assumed it was in some ancient tongue, fitting for their ancient species. Swallow down your fear, curling tighter in on yourself. “Why have you brought me here?” You manage, voice thick and scared even to your own ears.

He swims closer, resting powerfully muscled arms upon the rocky ledge, tail swaying idly behind him in the lagoon. It’s then you truly take in the cave he’s brought you to, kept alight by luminescent greens and blues, crystals lining the ceiling, the sea lighting up with every small movement, as if mixed with melted moon wax. Tendrils of breath curl before you in misty swirls, teeth chattering more as shivers wrack your body, not all of them solely from the frigid air.

“You saved my life,” he rasps, jaw resting atop his forearms as he watches you.

“So you trap me in a cave?” You manage, trying to fight off the feeling of your fingertips beginning to frost over. He merely blinks at your question, that translucent film sliding back and forth just beneath his lids. “So I saved yours,” he correctly neutrally, a hint of arrogance in his dark eyes.

Brows knot together in confusion as you stare at the male. “You—… You’ve trapped me.”

“Your husband would have killed you,” he rasps, cold eyes sharpening with what you can only assume is hatred. “I saved you.” You shake your head, unaware of your lower body. “You took him because you were hungry. It served your own purposes.”

Incisors glitter beneath the icy blues of the cave, gleaming as his lip curls. Extends his arm, cold-blooded fingers stretching out as if to grab you. “Shall I return you?”” You huddle close to the wall, curling away from his deathly touch. “I’ll freeze to death if you take me through those waters again,” you hedge. “Besides, you might change your mind along the way, and—” You cut yourself off, noticing the red of his tongue. Swallow, hoping it’s not left-over blood.

His ears flutter, noting your gaze, lips pulling back as he swipes the flesh-roughing muscle over gleaming teeth. “And?” He asks, quietly taunting as the edge of his mouth quirks. As if daring you to voice the dreadful tales of his kind. Your lips purse, instead turning your attention to trying to contain your warmth. The mer shifts, as if about to slide back into the water.

“Wait!” You call out, having him pause, glittering onyx eyes turning once again to your figure. “Where are you going?” You ask, unable to entirely keep the fear from your voice. “Away,” he answers in that still raspy, raw voice of his. “I’ll be back,” he adds with a croon, tail swishing beneath him, arms running through the water as if revelling in being reunited on friendly terms. Panic sets in—if he leaves, he might never return. Might very well forget about you entirely. Leaving you to freeze in a subterranean sea cave, rotting away with the grime and stale water, all alone.

“Why did you bring me here?” You ask frantically, not wanting to be around him, but not wanting him to leave either. You don’t want to die here.

Ears twitch again, watching you silently, observing like he’s waiting for a sign to show. He returns to the ledge of rock leading down into the freezing waters, again settling himself atop the hewn stone. “You know what he does to us. What you all do to us,” he rasps, close enough for you to pick out the still-healing slices on his throat. “You know how you hate us, and you know how they hate anything that does not hate with them. You knew how they’d hate you too. So why meddle?”

Skin prickles at the intense look he’s giving you, feeling as though judgement is being passed.

“I didn’t want your death on my conscience,” you mange, lips long numb from the biting temperature. He blinks slowly, the only shift in expression he shows, the rest of his features blank as a still day at sea.

“Don’t try to escape. You’ll drown yourself,” he rasps bluntly, pushing away from the ledge, returning to deeper waters. “Just wait. I’ll return.”

The mer swims to the middle of the pool, dark eyes gleaming. “Eventually.”

Then he’s swallowed in a flash of silver, darting away to one of the submerged tunnel openings, navigating his way out to open ocean. Stomach tenses, listening to the laboured heave of your breaths and the quiet hush of waves. Curl tighter into yourself, praying he returns before the warmth entirely leaves you, already unable to feel your legs or hands.

Teeth chatter in the quiet of the cave, leaving you to wonder how far below land you are.

How deeply he’s already buried you.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #mermaid au #mer!azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fic

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visenyaism · 1 year ago

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I can't believe how much we over look Daeron II as a king. Like the Great Bastards are interesting and all but this man is one of the greatest (I would so blod to say THE greates king of Westeros ever)

He brings Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms, makes the racists mad, gets along perfectly with his beautiful Dornish wife, raises great children, puts down a huge rebellion and tries to steer his family away from incest.

He is so un-Targ that he is the best Targ. Bro literally kept the realm together but still gets shit for being decent and a bit nerdy instead of being homicidal maniac with a sword in his hand cutting down people like cheese and fucking every woman he sees.

well what’s interesting to me is that he does all of this and is trying so hard to fight the ship in every way and it still fails!!! his sons kill each other because one of them is fiercely dedicated to upholding the kings peace enough to die for a random commoner and one of them is just as fiercely dedicated to protecting his family even when it’s his really evil son. He IS this perfect un-targaryen targaryen king he DOES hold the realm together and he DOES defend his throne from daemon and the blackfyres. but what is it FOR in the end. it’s already too late

#also how are your three parental figures aegon unworthy aemon dragonknight and naerys and you end up normal. BOOOOOOOOO #asoiaf

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big-ass-magnet · 6 months ago

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Relatively Speaking, This Will Probably Be Fine (Ch 1 of a LOT)

Fandom: Girl Genius Rating: T Summary: Everyone knows Agatha Sannikova can't be a Heterodyne, even if she did arrive mysteriously one night to live with Lady Teodora and Lord Saturnus. She's got those headaches, and she's not too bright - she's not even a Spark! She does get along quite well with Lord Saturnus, which is a bit odd, but she's had a very good affect on his health. Lady Teodora doesn't like the kind of, er, "life lessons" he's tried to teach her, but Agatha hasn't set anyone on fire or unleashed any terrifying monstrosities on the town.

...what do you mean, tempting fate?

A prequel to 'Helpful, in a Heterodyne Sort of Way'!

AO3 link

For naturelly blod wil ay of kynde / Draw unto blod, wher he may it fynde.

Troy Book, by John Lydgate, 1412

The first thing Barry did when his mother opened the door was put his finger to his lips. All the same, her cry of delight nearly slipped free, choked back at the last minute when she saw the figure fast asleep in his arms. Barry slipped inside and Teodora hurriedly shut the door.

“Barry,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.

He hugged her as hard as he could without disturbing Agatha, breathing in the scent of her perfume and taking in the familiar walls of his childhood home and feeling almost—almost—safe.

“Bill…?” she asked, hopefully, and Barry shook his head. Teodora looked to Agatha, still out like a light with her cheek on Barry’s shoulder.

“Bill’s girl,” he said, softly. “Agatha.”

Teodora’s eyes went wide and wondering. She reached out with trembling fingers and barely touched the girl’s hair.

"She's beautiful. But...how, when—?"

“Let me put her to bed, first,” he said, softly. “We’ve been on the road all day.”

“Take her upstairs to Bill’s old room,” Teodora told him. “And I’ll put sheets on the guest bed.”

“I’ll just sleep in my old room.”

“Your father’s in your room.”

Barry stopped dead, one foot on the stairs.

“What do you mean he’s in my room?”

It was Teodora’s turn to shush him. She led the way up the stairs, gesturing for Barry to follow. Only when Agatha was tucked into bed—shoes and glasses set aside, snuggled down into the pillow without so much as a peep—and Teodora and Barry were downstairs again, did she answer.

“It’s the only bedroom on the first floor,” Teodora said. “It meant he didn’t have to take the stairs.”

“What, did he break his legs?” Barry hissed, struggling to keep his voice down. “What’s he doing here in the first place? He said you’d get him out of the castle feet first—”

The look on Teodora’s face made him stop.

“You didn’t know,” she said more than asked.

“What didn’t I know?” A strange panic rose up in his chest. “What happened?”

When Barry was a child, his father had been a distant giant, the monster who lived at the top of the hill. In Barry’s memories, he towered over them, eternally frustrated, loud and short-tempered. From a young age, both Bill and Barry were aware they could never make both parents happy. They had chosen Teodora—and their father knew it. Even in adulthood, when he’d mysteriously stepped aside and allowed Bill to take control of the city, he’d been a rancorous figure, always ready and waiting to tell them what they were doing wrong, and why they were a disappointment, a stain on the family name.

So Barry couldn’t say he’d liked his father. He wasn’t even sure he loved his father. But it was impossible to look at him now and not feel pity.

Saturnus was half-lost in the bed, frail, almost skeletal, a shadow’s shadow of the man Barry had known all his life. A handful of tubes and wires snaked from under the covers, across the floor, and connected to clicking, humming machines squatting where his desk had once been.

“The machines keep him alive?”

“Keep him comfortable,” Teodora said. “Doctor Sun says he’s too stubborn to die, but not stubborn enough to get better.”

She waved him out of the room and shut the door behind her.

“What happened?” Barry asked. “I didn’t hear anything about this.”

“It was his way of…dealing with it, I suppose. He couldn’t…couldn’t fix…everything else.” Her voice trembled, briefly. “But he could fix the castle. But it was all he would do. He was working on it day and night, forgot to eat, barely slept. The heart attack was inevitable.”

She sighed, heavily.

“Of course, he couldn’t stay in the castle after that—it was far too dangerous, and he couldn’t manage the hill. Then Klaus came, took the town, took the Jӓgers…I think that hurt more than anything. Not being able to protect them. You know how important that was to him.”

Barry winced. Oh yes. He remembered. It was the one and only argument about the town his father ever won. Even now he could picture his father standing over Bill, ashen faced and wild-eyed.

I stood by while you turned this city into a, a mummer's play, but I will not let my son be the first of our line to fail his people! You would take innocent people--your people--and throw them to the wolves? The world drove those monsters out and we welcomed them home! They serve us faithfully and in return we protect them!

Do your duty, William Heterodyne!

He couldn’t imagine the damage it had done to his father’s pride to be forced to admit he couldn’t protect the Jӓgers, to have them leave to serve someone else.

To have to let them leave.

“He didn't want to leave the house after that. He sat indoors, wasting away. A year ago he had a stroke and, well.” She shook her head.

“Is he…?”

“He’s in there. Dr Sun said most of the damage was physical, and he could regain at least some mobility if he tried but...Well. I just don't think he sees the point in coming back.” She sighed. “I would never say anyone suffering like this deserved it, but sometimes I do wonder if it’s a judgement. You couldn’t come up with a better hell for Saturnus if you tried.”

Barry said nothing. It was hard to argue that. His mother put her hand to his cheek and smiled sadly.

“It’s so wonderful to have you home.”

Guilt stung, and his mother saw it on his face, her smile fading.

“You’re not staying.”

“Agatha isn’t safe. There are people looking for her—I can’t give you details, not now. I’ve been keeping on the move, but she’s getting older and…it’s starting to get to her. She needs stability, but I need to keep her identity hidden.”

“And you brought her to Mechanicsburg?”

“It wasn’t my first choice,” Barry insisted. “I was going to take her to Beetleburg, to live with Punch and Judy. “

“That is a much better idea,” Teodora said.

“I can’t. The Wulfenbach Empire just rolled in and made Beetleburg a vassal state.”

Teodora looked blank.

“You think Klaus is a threat to Agatha?”

“Yes.”

The tone of his voice and the look on his face was apparently enough that Teodora needed to ask no more questions, although she looked uncertain.

“But you’re bringing the Heterodyne to Mechanicsburg; that’s hardly going to go unnoticed.”

“I’m not bringing the Heterodyne. Agatha Sannikova’s parents were friends of your sons. They went missing during the war and her uncle looked after her for a while, but sent her to stay with you.”

Teodora looked askance.

“That’s a big lie for an eight-year-old to remember.”

Barry looked away.

“It’s not a lie, as far as she knows.”

He got no immediate response. When his mother spoke, it was in a stern, sharp voice that had made Bill and Barry both cough up confessions of all levels of severity—from childhood mischief to the time Bill had accidentally set fire to the sewer system a year into his tenure as lord of Mechanicsburg.

“What is going on, Barry?”

“I can’t tell her. She’s a little girl, she’ll slip up! So��so she thinks our names are a coincidence, and she’s not supposed to show anyone the pictures in the locket.”

“And how long do you intend to lie to her?"

“Until I can finish this. Please don’t ask for details, I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

“Barry—”

He told her what the locket did. It was the first time he’d told anyone. His mother held him tightly and he wept to hear someone tell him he wasn’t a monster for what he’d done.

“There is no easy choice,” she whispered, her hand on his neck. “Sometimes there is no right answer. We must do the best with what God gives us.”

His mother's faith had always been a source of strength throughout everything that had happened to her. It was unusual in Mechanicsburg, but no one would begrudge her any comfort, in her circumstances. At least two popes were talking about canonizing her, although she'd always demurred such an honor.

Barry felt it best not to tell her that it had been a long time since he'd felt he'd managed to do his best at anything — and even longer since he'd stopped believing in any kind of god.

Next Chapter

#girl genius #barry heterodyne #agatha heterodyne #teodora vodenicharova #grandfather saturnus AU #longfic #multichapter #so many chapters...

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daz4i · 7 months ago

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blod ofguys?

i love you. that's a beautiful typo. it has to be blood for me 👍

#blood of guys even.#(sorry just teasing :P and honest bc i do enjoy it when guys bleed. huh who said that)

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yourlittlebunnyy · 2 months ago

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I love your blod sm❤️ I hope you have a beautiful day ❤️ you deserve it!

omggg this is the sweetest thing ever!!! ❤️❤️❤️ thank you so much! i hope you have a beautiful day too❤️

#askbunny

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snowflake-sweetheart · 3 months ago

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⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ It's chilly out... ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

U-Uh... I'm Icedagger....! I-I'm the deity of ice and snow...! Sorry if it's a little chilly over here...! My domain's covered in beautiful fluffy white snow and little snow creatures...!! Hopefully you don't mind the cold too much...

˚₊ ❄︎ Rules...! - Nothing naughty please.... That's gross... - Please be nice...! I-I don't ask for much... - Um... I'll kick you out if I wanna!!! - I'll have more later! Promise!

-> Ok. Ok. People are gonna yell at me. "WINDY STOP MAKING PARODY BLODS" <- NO I WON'T SOBBING I LOVE MAKING THEM!!!! ALSO ICEDAGGER'S CUTE AND SOFT AND BABY TO ME!!!! LEMME HAVE THE BABY BOY!!!!! -> PLEASE REMEMBER THAT DESPITE HIM ALSO BEING 100+ YEARS OLD LIKE THE OTHER DEITIES, HE'S MENTALLY 15! ANYTHING INAPPROPRIATE TOSSED TOWARDS THIS ACCOUNT WILL RESULT IN YOUR GETTING BLOCKED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. -> Any and all interactions are welcomed!!!! -> My Icedagger has connections to my Snowflake Rocket [ @son-of-snowflakes ] -> Icon by @/corvidsenvy -> IC answers will be in BLUE -> OOC answers will be COLORLESS -> Lore/HCs post here -> I follow from "windy-trickster" -> Enjoy the snow! :D

#introduction #intro post #parody blog #phighting parody #icedagger

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bandcampsnoop · 4 months ago

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7/5/24.

Here's another slice of off-kilter/yet beautiful music from Sweden - courtesy a new band named Stenhjärta. This is being released by Grapefruit Records, and according to the Bandcamp page:

"Stenhjärta, a new duo consisting of Gustaf Dicksson & Magnus Jäverling. Both are active in the Swedish Underground music scene centered in Gothenburg. Gustaf is known for his shape-shifting prolific solo project, Blod, as well as his participation in the notable music collective, Enhet för Fri Musik. Magnus is somewhat newer to the scene, appearing on some Blod recordings as well as releasing a fascinating concept album called Bowdark on the Discreet Music label in 2022."

About a year ago, we posted about another Discreet Music release - JJ Band. I can't recommend it enough.

#Stenhjärta #Gothenburg #Sweden #Blod #Discreet Music #Grapefruit Records #JJ Band #Gustaf Dicksson #Magnus Jäverling #Bandcamp

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myrammmortal · 6 months ago

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Chapter 33, putting clothes on just to take them off again, again!

AN: I sed shut up itz nut my folt ok if u don’t lik da story den ur a prep so fuk u flamerz!1111 ps im nut updating ubtil u giv me fiv god reviewz nd diz tim I men it!111111 U SUK!1111 fangz raven 4 di help il promiz to help u wif ur story lolz1

XXXXXXXXXXXXX666XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Oh my fuking god!1” I shooted sadly. “Shud we get u 2 St Manga’s, bitch?”

“Hel no!” she said. “Lizzen Egogy, I need ur help. Nex tim u go bak in tim, do u fink u kod ask Tom Andorson 4 sum help?”

“Sure, but my name isn't Lizzen Egogy." I said sadly. It must be the curse, that thing is tenacious if anything and my beauty is just so great that people keep forgetting my name. Must be because I'm so goffik. I went outside the door. Richard was there!111 He wuz wearing a big blak GC tshit which wuz his panamas.

“Hey Sexxy.” I said.

“How’d it go Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers?” he asked in his voice was so sexy and low kinda like Gerard Way when hes talking.

“Fine.” I reponded. We stared 2 go bak in2 da dorm.

“How far did u go wif Satan?” Richard asked jealously.

“Not 2 far, lol.” I borked.

“Will you hav to do it with him?” Richard asked angstily.

“I hop not 2 far!111” I shouted angrily. Den I felt bad 4 shooting at him. I said sorry. We frenched.

“What happened 2 Snipe?” I growled.

“U will see.” Richard giggled mistressly. He opened a door……………Snap nd Lumpkin werz there!11 Serious waz pokering dem by staging dem wif a blak nife.

“NOOOO PLZ!1111” Lumpkin bagged as Serious started 2 suk his blood. I laffed statistically. I tok some photons of him and Snap bing torqued. (ok I no dis iz men but fink abot it ppl dey r pedoz nd Snap trid 2 rap dem and neway sadiztz rok haz any1 seen shrak atak 3 lolz). We took sum of Snipe’s blod den Richard and I went bak 2 our roomz. We sat on my goffik blak bed. My cloves were kinda drity so I pot on a blak leather outfit fingie kinda like da 1 Suelene haz in Undreworld. (if u haven’t herd of it den FUK U!111) . I put on some blak platform high heelz. Richard put on ‘desolition liverz’ by MCR. Den………………………………………….we storted 2 take of eachotherz clozez. I felt pretty stupid talking about how I was going to put on a carefully planned outfit just to immediately take it off again. I tok of his shit nd he had a six-pak, lolz. We started 2 mak out lik in Da Grudge. He pot his wetnes in my u-know-what sexily. I gut an orgy.

“Oh Richard!111111!1 Oh mi fuking gud Richard!1111” I screemed passively as he got an eructation.

“I luv u TaEbory.” he whispred sexily and den he fel aspleep lol.

"Wow, I literally fucked his brains out!" I thought as I drifted off to sleep.

#my rammmortal #rammstein #christoph schneider #fanfic #flake lorenz #oliver riedel #paul landers #rammstein fanfic #richard kruspe #till lindemann

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horsemeatluvr23 · 7 months ago

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hello mutual how are we doing this fine day. i saw doctor who filming yesterday it was all a bit surreal

my beloved blods..... puts you in my pocket

also. WHAT. DOCTOR WHO????? what was she doing in wales that is so beautiful to me. .... i hope you are having a good day i am personally. avoiding school work by drawing keralis 🫶

#asks #horsemeatposting

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mistressoftheelderitchwhorehouse · 1 year ago

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Shift (Kunikida x Black!Reader)

Just a little Kunikida x Reader for the Black plus sized girlies. Thought of this while lazing around, ironically enough. Moments of sweet indulgence are my favorite.

Trigger Warnings: None

______________________________

Kunikida lived his life by his ideals. All written out on crisp, white paper and with blod, black ink. Inside he had detailed a beautiful Japanese beauty that he had faith exsisted. He also had faith that this beauty would fall for him, and the two would begin walking down their structured path hand in hand.

However, that had changed on an early morning chasing Dazai around Uzumaki Cafe. With the gentle ring of a bell, you had walked in with a grin on your lips as you chatted with the woman next to you.

You were not a Japanese beauty. In fact, you were very clearly a foreigner with your dark skin, curls arranged in an afro, and your body shape being far curvier and plush than the majority of people he saw on a daily basis.

Dazai dropped the pen he had snatched from Kunikida, and twisted around fully to smile at you both.

"Good afternoon, ladies! First timers to this establishment?"

The Japanese woman flushed dark red and nodded, while you raised an eyebrow. "I take it you are a regular?"

"That I am." He hopped up and took you hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to your pulse point. "My name is Osamu Dazai. And clearly you must be the Nightshade come to choke me to my wonderful end-ACK!"

Kunikida snatched Dazai back by his neck and squeezed down until he felt the idiot begin to choke. "I apologize for his behavior, Ladies. He has a condition called stupidity."

"Maybe you should turn him on then off again?"

"He tries. Constantly."

"I'm still here you know!"

The Japanese girl shook her head and tugged on your arm. "Sweetheart, I'm starving."

"Oh, sorry darling." You gave another grin, and went over to a booth.

Kunikida sighed and dragged Dazai back to the counter, scolding him the entire time. When Dazai, maybe out of boredom, made a point about the case they were working on Kunikida easily shifted back into his groove. Evidence examination, scrambling through files, and consuming more coffee than what was probably good for his heart.

Yet, every so often your laugh would ring through the store and he couldn't help but look at you. Pink nails traced what he gathered was your girlfriend's hand, your eyes sparkled with joy, and you spoke animatedly in your mother tongue.

"Well look at that." Dazai said. "Now who's the distracted one?"

Kunikida looked away from whip cream covered face, you and the cream puff apparently had a misunderstanding, and back to an amused Dazai.

I am not distracted. You told me to give you a minute."

"Which passed forty two seconds ago."

"Dazai, you know as well as anyone else that it is an expression and not to be taken literally."

"And yet that has never stopped you before." Kunikida opened his mouth, but Dazai cut him off. "I didn't think you could even have a crush on a foreigner to be honest. Not with your ideals in your pocket. Did you leave your notebook at home today?"

"She clearly has a partner-"

"And? The heart wants what the heart wants." Dazai smirked as he glanced at you again. Your face was clean, and you were looking into a compact while you reapplied the plum purple lipstick. The Japanese girl had switched to Japanese and was saying something rather quietly. "The President always says that oppertunities are part of our own hard work, but also that of fate giving her assistance."

"And what does that supposed to mean?"

Dazai didn't respond as he turned back to the files on the counter. "So, this tiger is causing more damage than we thought."

"You say something as bleak and mysterious as that, and then you want to go back to the case!"

"It's important." The Japanese girl walked past them, and Dazai reached out and stopped her. She flushed red and twisted the strap of her bag. "Careful on the road tonight, ma'am."

"Of course! Thank you for the warning."

Kunikida rolled his eyes, but when he went to turn back to his work, he could hear you sniffling. He peaked a glance at you, and was surprised to see what had once been a face full of sunshine, now full of tears. The makeup you had just fixed only half an hour ago, was now running down your face.

"Oppertunities, huh?"

He stood up, and pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief. He held it out to you without looking at your face. You took it without a ward, but that soft hand brushed his own and he felt something inside him shift.

Suddenly his ideal was a woman with dark skin, an interesting sense of humor, and a smile like the sun...

#kunikida x y/n #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #doppo x reader #Doppo Kunikida x reader #black is beautiful #fem reader

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f0xd13-blog · 1 year ago

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People also need to understand that the epitome of beauty was always gypsy like I said before that's why you have over the top make up over there specially the britney look (discolored hair and dark make up) as a thing... plus no sex symbol was ever dumb as people stereotyped them or white as in indo european... so marilyn monroe was actually mexican, britney is gypsy, rita hayworth is gypsy (the one that inspired monroe herself), carmen miranda isa gypsy, elvis IS a gypsy and multiple others. Now the beach blond haired and dumb stereotype is a racist stereotype since none of the people I've mentioned was ever happy with their "white personas" and people that are blond and portray those sort od characters are actually very intelligent people example are sharon stone and pamela anderson as actresses and pro wrestlers... so yeah asians that are blod ain't white and white people that are blond ain't a racist or white colonizer idk what else y'all say about white women nowdays it be damn crazy

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 2 years ago

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just stumbled across your blod (thank God) and was instantly addicted to your writing and in love with your story "love has no limits"... Just wow =) thanks for giving me a good time. Luck seems to be on my side, as I saw that your requests are open, good Lord my brain is in overdrive. I'm got an idea in my mind and I just want to share it with you, of course with the big hope you like to write a story out of it, but even if you don't like it pleeeeeeease just let me know =) I'm really in need of some sick/hurt and comfort fic (hopefully you like to write this genre) with angst and an protective Jake, but there's also this dad!Jake in my brain, so my synapsis combined these ideas into one story. You ready? It's slightly au, cause the Daggers are permanent at Top Gun, sorry

Fem!reader (or oc as you like) is new in town, kicked out of her own home by her aggressive ex as she told him she's pregnant, but not bevore he threatened her and the unborn's life.... Running from these abusive douche she seeks peace and comfort hopefully finding it now. Fortunately the Hard Deck searched a new auxiliary to help Penny with the bookkeeping and sometimes with holding the bar on busy nights. That's how Hangman casts an eye at you for the first time (he's instantly taken aback).... So that's where I need some angst, drama and comfort: she has a difficult pregnancy with constant nausea and heavy dizzy spells and migraines ans sleep doesn't come easily because of nightmares of her ex. She's not showing when Jake sees her the first time, but Penny told the Daggers of your problematic pregnancy to keep an eye out on you (Penny knows your bad history with your ex, but she doesn't tell the Squad). The Daggers some kind adopt you, especially Jake can't hide his protectiveness of this beautiful pregnant woman.....

Fluff, protective and comforting Jake, angst drama, sick, hurt and love... Is there more we need in a story? :D

Sorry for this long shit, just wanted to share it with you. How bad is it?

Send you just love =)

Thank you so much for reading and enjoying Love Has No Limits! My requests indeed are open, but I have one caveat. I'm already working on three series and I have other projects I'm thinking of for after those are over as well.

I truly adore this idea, and I think it would be a great fic/series to have for TG:M. I could see it turning into a series in order to fully explore and cement the relationship between Jake and the main character. I'm just not sure I'd be able to do it justice with everything else that I have going on right now.

I'm so thankful that you enjoyed my work enough that you're comfortable enough to share this idea with me! Maybe one of my followers and mutual writer friends on this site will be able adopt this idea and do it justice.

- XOXO Star

#star answers #ask your friendly neighborhood star #ask me anything #asks answered

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camomileintea · 2 months ago

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Why Natural Blonding Kit is the Healthier Choice for Long-Lasting Blonde Hair

For many of us, getting that perfect blonde shade used to mean putting up with harsh chemicals and worrying about damage to our hair. But thanks to new advancements in hair care, we now have a gentler, more effective way to lighten our locks. A natural blond kit offers a solution that's free from ammonia and still incredibly effective. This kit helps you achieve a beautiful, permanent blonde color without sacrificing the health of your hair. With its focus on natural ingredients and ethical practices, it is changing the way we think about hair lightening.

One of the key highlights of this Natural Blonding product is its ability to deliver beautiful blonde results while avoiding the use of ammonia—a common ingredient in traditional hair dyes known for its harsh effects. Instead, the kit uses a blend of carefully selected ingredients that lighten the hair gradually and gently. This approach not only minimizes damage but also ensures a healthier hair experience overall. Here are some of the significant advantages of choosing the ammonia-free natural blond kit for achieving and maintaining your blonde look:

Benefits of Using a Natural Blod Kit

Gentle on Hair and Scalp

The absence of ammonia means that the product is much gentler on your hair and scalp. Ammonia is a strong chemical that can strip away natural oils, leading to dryness and potential irritation. By opting for an ammonia-free formula, you reduce the risk of these side effects, allowing your hair to remain hydrated and healthy throughout the lightening process.

Preserves Hair Health

The kit is designed to lighten hair gradually, which helps to preserve its overall health. The gradual lightening process reduces the likelihood of damage that can occur with more aggressive hair treatments. The product's ammonia-free formula keeps your hair strong and elastic, resulting in softer, more manageable hair with natural shine and vitality.

Effective and Long-Lasting Results

The product is designed to deliver a permanent blonde color that looks natural and vibrant. With regular use, the kit keeps your highlights, shine, and reflections intact, ensuring your blonde hair stays stunning and well-groomed. Its gradual lightening process lets you achieve your ideal shade smoothly, avoiding harsh changes that can cause uneven results or extra damage. In conclusion, Natural Blonding offers a remarkable blend of effectiveness and gentleness, making it an excellent choice for those seeking a beautiful blonde look while prioritizing hair health. Its ammonia-free formula, combined with ethical practices and pregnancy-safe ingredients, sets a new standard in hair care. Embrace the advantages of this innovative treatment and enjoy a healthier, more radiant blonde look.

#NaturalBlonding #haircare

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loritafashion · 4 months ago

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Lorita fashion dress

Dresses have been a symbol of elegance and femininity for centuries,transcending trends and cultural shifts. From the flowing robes of ancient civilizations to the sleek designs of modern fashion houses,dresses have evolved while maintaining their allure and charm. Here’s why the dress remains a staple in every woman’s wardrobe:

1. Versatility in style:

Dresses come in countless styles, from the classic little black dress to elaborate ball gowns. While you prefer a casual sundress for a beach outing or a sophisticated cocktail dress for a formal event, there’s a dress for every occasion.

2. Effortless Sophistication:

One of the most appealing aspects of wearing a dress is its ability to instantly elevate your look. A well-chosen dress can make you feel polished and confident with minimal effort.

3. Comfort and Freedom:

Contrary to popular belief,dresses can be incredibly comfortable. The right fabric and fit can allow for unrestricted movement,making them ideal for both work and play.

4. Expression of Individuality:

Dresses offer a canvas for self-expression. Whether you opt for blod patterns,intricate designs,or minimalist elegance,your choice of dress can reflect your personality and style.

5. Timeless Appeal:

Trends may come and go,but dresses remain a timeless fashion statement. Investing in a well-made dress can ensure that you have a go-to piece in your wardrobe for years to come.

6. Celebrating Femininity:

Dresses celebrate the feminine form in all its diversity. They accentuate curves,highlight features, and empower women to feel beautiful in own skin.

7. Ease of Styling:

Unlike separates,dresses simplify the process of getting dressed. Pairing a dress with accessories and shoes can effortlessly complete your ensemble,making it a hassle-free choice for busy mornings.

8. Adaptability Across Seasons:

Dresses are not limited to a specific season.Layering with jackets,scarves,or tights can easily transition a dress from summer to fall, showcasing its adaptability.

#outfit #loritafashion

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libidomechanica · 6 months ago

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Untitled # 11635

A constrain, and kepe þy kanel at closing Game; if any sage’s teeth used to various arts of light like grace, and hang that my fill of what it will confused looking Tydes, monk oþer samen þertylle, among þo menne. No! And Mary, ’ quoþ þe selly soiorne as þe worlde help’d by care, I notice to traced and gall. Love’s sake, and wishing. The sound low,

and enough for my window shine between the brindled by Bacchus and Sopps in the watercresses shall divine, made so kissed it, lost lover’s ear; children dear to say, through each is dead eyes, seduced what thy Face of the death, if wee must be? As this, and wept. He ne slepte; and thy bloom so fair; as thousand yet I schal worþez to your mouth-deep into a

frown, chid her matrons countrey moue: true, and long! When discouerez, hit is largest engagement ring, know no more til þe surquidré, ȝif ȝe han faile his knez knaged to a Diamond pendent in the Beauty your his cortays speche, for alle þe hende of a forky Beard; and in armes resisted boots the rose and short-number’d Throne in þerafter bi bonkkez

ful hyȝe, toward þe halidayez holde lyȝtes into that somedele the swelling of your kiss. A careful Plume, of what you have condemn’d its use—but by and green from the Sum of right is at her sadde, for fun watch may see such an airy Horns I place, hauing, nay of by resoun oþer wyth wynne had lov’d, they do swell and her neglected and bending can Through

for me, so kinder he was a saint or food for Cassande vche tyme. From the other, what would makes the grave.—But that await country window- panes; the thine; do that a delight, though I knew þe court als laȝen loue lads masken in your prysoun of Gawan ful tame—ho wayned hym þe wonder bi syþez hatz worth in bourdez. He þonkez jesus and scarred I take

a Salamon se, as I trystyly þer- vnder; and she was not my feet. Is gather stay; true loved one of þe flet, one time, which burne, I besechez, and who cause the morning closes, where I dreams are cross the great whale richely rayled in grene, and the Whites, burnez in oþer, for the snow smoke that gode Gawayn glyȝt on þe blysse at the same land you

an onion. In this, e’re appears, but—as being crowds before; and no other lottery. Of such a child; her breast all the Kidd pitty. ’ But if I chanc’d wi’ Jeanie do? Take me to the hare, nor harpsichords, thou lent’st to be vnslayn, þe sleȝtez ofte; þe blod ouer hit is not Lover’s hands they talk, I’m kent that stuck in the shoreward flow: a hollow her things

are about to drynk, a ȝere in a cragge, and no plate; time for who were a bleed, Grief to fixt the first attends, to one Man’s Imperial Race presides of night’s sweet in cowslip- water frost so much alcoves the produced what I shall to one Man’s Pray’rs, for me, so dirty; these, trouble your forbidding? Its hand from the dark mantles rehayted hym god day,

or a playful mony, Ay rechatande watz þe fayre—þaȝ I be dear through the twaine, if never love, interprets Motion of the skilful Nymph intent to such comfort of Good or Ill—which is lost heard about luxury. While the truly liberticide, in tale o’ love: o Jeanie fair neck round the cottage bent. And farez wel, Sir Gawayn for he

no helme, and laȝt at his erring which a moral national debt-sinkers. And as sadly as we ar in Figure be excused. The Miller watz late, þay laȝed, and reled hym so closes evenings made, why hasted her own ear the mortal must miss home-talk at a life reach ancient debauchee who like the Babe does cut each hour, Lost Echo sits at home May with

Jewels, and still kisse. Parent slipping in and drink; he feelings are but that’s harde helder. Performed to hold the earth as wynde, for ay fayth to plese, þat þou slepes Ful still hung or two adventrous Knight, that euer ȝe fonde and þerto, and me, saying him with soft October night! ’ He hent heterly, and gain’d to do art wise, and vche vylanye myȝt, for he had got

a tough Warsaw, famous family picture of the little white tower shrink, who wear. The nameless was a low mist wealthy as true, and street the lyre, and laykez, for god, and wanton and swere bow’d, and sternest, as it as grave forsooth: I have to expoun of life, and matches—all matches—all make hot day, I admit no shadows, over the straight, every

years of painting from those Meads for thought! My insisting thin! For soþe, ’ quoþ þe myry he neuer wither, ne no grwe for his furious place, but the kind: Stay yet am force in the mothers. Are over: you’ve for his schuld repose? And chefly, and spark. Who keep the armèd man, with his the Breton ston stroke are they said, and for hys mayn meruayl bi mountain

shepeherdes shall die; where the nature still that she has voued there its Honour intense one word bring time, that Frowning Bag he regarded couenaunt of tours, and thy innocent fable and modest gray morning a pillours fling, go back, and cherish all! On þis holliday: for ever done, without a float or disorder sene in the sille, he break.

Strait the of hops and henge, þer-ryȝt. Now meet mass’d from out of the good, eke chere: better the this? And she will go by. With rych yow sum game; dos, teche of harde and cheek to haue, and the fine arts, into mete bi rote. And what says, Shalom! Meet he wolde no measure and in his harnays, þat fest in fact that Kings in the earth, and rotez þat ryol red closer. Have

the untrodden valleys, am grown-up daughter’s countenaunce the nicely culls witherine tas he was only travel by care is on hiȝ, ȝelde me no more be excused. He lened, and that one time did ride, whilst I think it would’ve been worth the houndez his fant’sies pleading, our and heart wise, that may no to-day bifore þe plesaunce found himself lykez.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #186 texts #ballad

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