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minx-scribbles · 2 years ago

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LISTEN I NEED MORE OF FREAKY NERD ARMIN PLSS

part one | part two pairing: nerd!Armin x nb!reader

at school one day, you go to his desk that he usually sits in at third period, but he isn't there. so you get a little curious and look through his big piles of papers and heavy books

you find one journal not like the rest. it has many different penciled doodles and it's smaller, hand-held.

you flip to a random page and what you read surprises you...

you never knew Armin Arlert had such a potty mouth :0

it was intriguing to say the least. every detail seemed to be thought of so carefully

the way he described you made you're whole body heat up in anticipation... was your dream coming true?

you've liked Armin since you guys were kids, but he never gave off the vibes that he liked you... maybe he was just that respectful

your thoughts would be interrupted by Armin gasping behind you, with the reddest face you've ever seen

you'd tease him yes, but you would ask if he actually liked you...

he would finally have the guts to ask you out on a real date, since you've basically have seen what his thoughts have consisted of

he'd take you out to the local farmer's market, buy you some flowers, and walk around with you at the local park, watching the fireflies flicker and listening to the trickling stream

at some point, you guys would decide to go back to his place, and he would make the best dinner ever. Literally this man is a chef on the low

sitting down in his apartment and eating the meal he made for you, drinking a bottle of red wine (that's his parents lol), and listening to your guy's favorite songs...

after cleaning up together, you decide that this man proved himself to be a gentleman, so you make the first move and kiss him right there in the kitchen

the kiss is soft and genuine. after pulling away, you guys look at each other, the twinkle in his eyes were so comforting

he kisses you this time. he is slow, but it seems to be calculating. he doesn't want to overstep any of your boundaries (and mostly just trying to savor every moment he has with you)

you would bring your hands up to his soft hair, running your fingers through the thick mop

Armin loves his hair being played with, maybe a bit too much because he get's excited and the sweet little kisses you guys shared turned into a heated make out sesh

your adventurous hands continued to make their way around his upper torso

you'd feel his arms, his chest and his neck... everything was so soft that you could keep touching him forever

his hands would get the courage to roam your body too. he would start with your waist, then getting riskier by bringing them down to your ass

Armin is very vocal, he will let you know what he likes and also tell you what crosses his limit

so this man will definitely whimper, whine, moan, and groan to his little heart desires

you start kissing his neck and feeling the vibrations from his whimpers fuels your fire and you leave little hickeys - little enough that you could barely see them

Armin leads you to his room, wanting more privacy for you. he takes you to his bed and he asks you again if this is what you really want

you reassure him, but he still seems to be unsure. so you smile at him and continue where you left off in the kitchen

leaning over him so that he is the one laying on the bed with your legs on both sides of his torso, you take his hands and put them back where they belong, on your hips

he doesn't move them from this spot for a good 2 minutes while you guys are making out and getting hot and bothered. but he gets excited, you could feel it, and he starts to knead at your ass with his digits

this makes you moan and it drives him mad, flipping you guys over so than he has the upper hand

he kisses your mouth, chin, neck, chest, going over your nipples with open mouthed kisses, and continuing to go down until he stops at your navel, looking at you again with questioning eyes you nod and help him take off your lower garments, excitement buzzing through your muscles

Armin's brain is moving a million miles per second, trying to remember how his fantasies played out. but he throws it all away and he focuses on you

he makes his spot between your legs, giving you eye contact the whole time because he wants to see every beautiful expression you make, especially the fucked-out one

he doesn't start slow with giving you head, hell no, this man goes in full swing. he wants to taste every bit of you

you grip onto his hair in shock, gasping at how fast he could move his long tongue

you could feel your legs start to shake after a few minutes of ecstasy, but Armin's arms lock over your thighs, keeping them down and out of his way

you continue to tug at his hair and moan out his name, and he is loving every second of it. he was too tight in his slacks at this point without missing a beat, he takes off his pants

you notice but you were enjoying the feeling of his tongue on you that you couldn't get any words out

right before you could feel yourself reach your climax, you don't feel the heat of his face anymore but the cold air

you open your eyes and you see Armin on top of you, with both hands on both sides of your face and without his pants, what a sight to see, and his face glistening with your slick and his saliva. you could've came at the sight

Armin notices you staring at him and he gives you a half smile with a blush dusting his pretty face

Armin wasn't the biggest that you've been with, but man was it the prettiest and the perfect size. it was light with a pinkish blush on the tip and a little precum - it made you want to give it a quick kiss and a kitten lick

and you did, and the response from Armin was exactly what you wanted. His arms shake and he lets out a broken moan

but he stops you from continuing, "I can't hold it in much longer, let me be in you, please" he begs

you don't deny him his pleasure and lean back down to where you were originally, letting him take the lead again

the suspense intensifies as Armin catches his breath and gives you a long, passionate kiss.

While you are distracted, Armin slowly presses himself into you. There was minimal pain, from the saliva and slick preparing you

Once he is balls deep, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and so do you

you guys sit there a while so your body can adjust and the pleasure creeps up from your toes to your chest and you squirm below him, "please move" you moan into his ear, resting your hands on his shoulders

he doesn't hesitate, taking his hips back and thrusting himself back into you, the both of you moaning simultaneously he stays at his steady pace, enjoying every ounce of pleasure that you are giving him

"god, you feel so good baby"

but it doesn't last long, you start to get antsy and you nibble on his ear and meeting his thrusts, showing him you are ready for more

Armin takes the hint and starts to hit the right spot, making your eyes roll into your skull and letting out an airy sigh

the speed of his hips surprise you as you hold onto his broad shoulders, nail indentations will definitely paint his skin in the morning

the both of you are very close to your climaxes as you can hear both of your breaths start to hitch in your throats and you can feel his thrusts start to get sloppy - but they never stop hitting your sweet spot

he holds his climax in until he sees you make a mess on him, your body convulsing and twitches under him while you moan out his name over and over again

once he feels you stop trembling, you feel Armin pull out and let himself spill all over your stomach with a loud groan, his pupils blown out

you guys lay next to each other for a while, catching your breath before he goes to grab a towel and some of his clothes for you

"lets do that again" Armin says with a giggle while he cleans you up

#armin smut #armin arlet x reader #armin aot #armin arlert #armin fanfiction #aot smut #aot fandom #aot fanfiction #aot #aot fluff #aot x reader #armin x reader #armin imagine #armin arlert imagine

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wri0thesley · 2 years ago

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cw: yandere.

Barbatos and Rex Lapis cannot agree who you really belong to. The problem with godhood is thus; neither of them wishes to be outdone.

Your parents had not been able to agree where to raise you.

In those quiet years after the Archon Wars, when Teyvat was settling down, your mother and father had both argued for their side. Your mother, a Mondstadt native and a poetess, had spoken at length about the freedom of her land and the possibilities that Barbatos would lay out for you on fertile ground. Your father, a staid Liyuean farmer, had pointed to Rex Lapis's stolid and steadfast contracts, and the promise of a land that would build itself on wealth and commerce. A fortune, perhaps made for you.

In the end, though, they had built their little home skirting the boundaries of both. You had grown up worshiping your father's and your mother's gods, happy to have your family, happy to be in a time of peace. When they had passed away, you had seen no reason to choose to honour one over the other - you thought yourself blessed by both. The wind, just bold and abundant enough to play with your hair and tickle lightly across your skin, to make the Windwheel Asters in your garden spin. The rocks and bricks of your home and the cliffs that towered beside it unmoving and unchanging, an impenetrable fortress. You left out wine for Barbatos just as often as you left out pretty stones you thought Rex Lapis would appreciate, perfumes and oils for the warrior god who protected a homeland you have begun to think of as half your own.

You think yourself above notice. A humble denizen of Mondstadt-and-Liyue, your little house a haven for travellers between the two who need a moment to rest. Perhaps they need their flask filled once more, a bite to eat on their arduous journey, company and talk after lonely days of walking alone. You strive to be a good person. Someone worthy of the charmed life you feel yourself to be living. You do not ask for much - but what you have, you have in happy handfuls.

You thank the archons for their blessings - devout, and grateful, and lovely . . . and the Archons take notice.

Not that you realise they do.

But your crops grow bountiful and storms do not batter at your doors and windows, and any who may think to do you harm - bandits or monsters alike - never seem to make it into your line of sight, much less to your door. You grow familiar with those who traverse from Liyue to Mondstadt often - those who have business between the two, those who visit their friends and their family. You know the drivers of the carriages and carts that take freshly caught boar from Springvale to Liyue Harbour's exclusive restaurants. You know the merchants carrying their cor lapis, carved in exquisite pendants, hoping to hawk their wares in Mondstadt too--

You know the handsome bard with the twin braids and the roguish smile, who plays you your favourite song in exchange for an apple and lingers with you just a little too long to be decent, elegant fingers plucking absent-mindedly at his lyre when his eyes flicker over your face. You know the melodic cadence of his voice - and you know, too, whenever you ask him to play a Liyuean ballad your father had loved, he laughs and shakes his head.

"But this is Mondstadt," he says to you, a smile on his face. "Let me play you something more romantic!"

You know the serious gentleman who sometimes strolls past your humble cottage with his nose in a book. He tells you that he is on his way to visit a . . . friend, in Mondstadt. He is unfailingly polite when he asks if he may rest a while - and he repays your freshly brewed tea and home-cooked treats with stories, told in a low, soothing voice that feels like waves lapping upon a shore.

His stories make you wonder if he was really there. He looks a mortal man - though a handsome one, with a sculpted face and sharp cheekbones and eyes the colour of warm amber - but he speaks like someone who has seen the world go by and expects to see even more of it. He tells you about beautiful things and terrible things, folklore and history wrapped up in velvet voice and dulcet tone--

But when you ask him to tell you a story you once heard, a fairy tale from Mondstadt . . . he shakes his head at you. The smallest smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"This is Liyuean ground," he says to you, voice like water rushing over river stones until they have worn smooth. "I don't know many stories about Mondstadt."

Barbatos and Rex Lapis cannot agree.

"It is my wind that feeds their crops," says Barbatos, over wine, a sly smile on his face. "They grow dandelions in their garden." The delicate fingers and pretty face do not at all bely the steel that lays beneath his clothing, the tricksy words of a bard who knows how to get what he wants. Barbatos thinks of your mouth, sweet as dandelion wine. He wonders what your voice would sound like, pitching in pleasure.

"And my land that builds their home," says Rex Lapis, voice low and dangerous, knife-edged. The gentleman Zhongli is gone for this meeting of minds; a crown of golden horns wreaths Rex Lapis's head, his teeth as sharp as his words. "Stones of Liyue that keep them safe."

Rex Lapis thinks of your fingers, and how they would feel curled into his hair. How small and delicate you would be beneath him; a treasure to be picked over, to be admired, to be cherished - a precious thing indeed.

"The war is over," Barbatos reminds him, with a laugh. "We ought not fight now, old friend."

"Who says we are fighting?" Rex Lapis asks. He raises his own glass to his lips and takes a slow sip. He does not take his amber eyes away from the Anemo Archon for a moment - nothing is fair in love, and nothing is fair in war. Rex Lapis intends to have both.

"They're not some spoils to be claimed," Barbatos replies, and winks at his old friend. "Come, let's not fight over them."

"You say that only because you know you would be outmatched in battle."

Barbatos is usually able to take such barbs to his pride. But the thought of you . . . ah. He has, perhaps, let you invade too many of his senses. Let the ghost of you walk beside him when he strolls his land and watches his people from afar - come to look forward to the delight on your face when he plays you a pretty tune, the way you proffer only your shiniest, reddest apples even without knowing his true providence.

He should have taken you when he had the chance; spirited you away to some favourite green corner of Mondstadt to be his forever and always. Where he could watch you and sing for you and take you for his. Would you say no to being lover of a god?

Rex Lapis watches the flicker of his old friend's eyes. He thinks about you. Wishes, when he had the chance, he had claimed you - as a dragon would claim treasure. You are too rare and precious a thing to be left alone - even Barbatos has seen through his drunken haze to the vein of pure gold that runs through your heart.

He wishes he had taken you himself. Captured you in some adeptal abode, where time will not touch you - where only he can go. Where you will come to long for his voice and the touch of his clever fingers and his hands upon you.

If your home had not straddled the boundary . . . would they even have wanted you? If you were firmly in Mondstadt, would you have even caught Rex Lapis's notice? If you were in Liyue proper, would Barbatos have ever taken time to play you a song?

It does not matter.

Gods are proud creatures, and you are an enigma. A mystery to be unlocked, a riddle to be solved, a prize to be won and jealously guarded. Nothing is more of a frustration than a thing that does not seem to fit. It does not matter that you are a person and not a chess piece when the players have divinity on their side, and both want you for their own.

They clink wine glasses and smile at one another, but inside they are planning and planning and planning.

#concept postin #genshin impact posting #yandere for ts #concept posting

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i-write-things · 1 year ago

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How Elliott comforts a farmer that feels like trash

(Feelin' like absolute shit today, so I will write about how Elliott comforts farmer feeling like shit for comfort.)

Omg. He is super good at making you feel better, no matter the reason.

If you're having a bad day, he is really good with his words, so he always knows what to say. Maybe he'll read you some poetry he wrote about you. Whether it's feeling bad about the way you look, act, or feel, he knows exactly how to make it better.

If someone else made you feel that way, that person better prepare for a very strongly worded letter. No one disrespects his hard working, lovely farmer like that. And if this isn't the first case, he's a little upset that you didn't tell him, but never really upset at you. More so at the person who is being an ass. Who in this entire valley could be so mean to such a precious person? And if he finds out that even after his strongly worded letter it still wasn't the last time you've been bullied, well...

Let's just say Elliott isn't only good with words of flattery. He can also intimate as well. And have you seen those arms? How he easily fixes those fences? How he easily repaired that log cabin? My man is a gentleman, and would not hesitate to slap someone. (as long as that someone is a male. If it's a female, he'd get Leah to do him a favor, haha.) But he doesn't do anything past that. He doesn't want to go to jail, so he might just contact authorities for harassment.

If you woke up feeling like garbage, he does his best to take stress off of you. He'll help around extra with the farm, and even share a pomegranate or two with you, since those always make him feel better! Maybe if you're feeling terrible on the lighter side, he might pour you a glass of wine, but not too much. He wants you to feel better, not risk starting a dependency.

If you're feeling sick, well he's good at that, too. when he was living in his cabin, he only had himself to take care of on sick days. So he knows exactly what to do. He ties his hair up into his hard working ponytail that he only uses when fixing fences or in the writing zone, and he nurses you back to health. He tucks you in, takes care of the farm, doesn't let you leave the bed, gives you medicine from Harvey, ect. If things get bad enough, he might call the clinic. Though, that's only if you're married. He's a little germaphobic, so he'll be a little more concerned for his own health and getting sick if your only dating.

All in all, 10/10. Would recommend my beach hermit pomegranate man with mermaid hair.

#elliott x reader #elliott stardew valley #stardew valley elliott #writing for you #i write for you #Elliott stardew valley x reader #hope this helps someone else too

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 2 years ago

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What do you think the bachelors/ bachelorettes of SDV/SVE would do on their first date with farmer? Will they go cheesy and give them a bouquet of flowers straight at the farmer's doorstep, or just bring over takeaway pizzas and talk the night away?

I think that (obviously) Elliot will most definitely be the cheesy one but who am I to deny a hopeless romantic <3

Heh 😄 When I read the question, the first thought was that Elliott would be the most cheesiest (does this word even exist in English? I hope so). And then I saw that you, dear anon, also think that 🤝 Although many other bachelors and bachelorettes can compete with Elliott for the title of "the cheesiest bachelor in the Valley". Anyway, thanks for your ask, and enjoy!

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Bachelors:

Harvey:

Harvey decided that the classics would never fail, so he was already waiting for the Farmer on their doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and in formal clothes. He booked a table for two at a decent restaurant in Zuzu City. Like a real gentleman, Harvey will pull up their chair, open the doors, and will always be there if the Farmer needs anything. Harvey is worried that he will quickly bore the Farmer by all this, but immediately relaxes when the Farmer kisses him and thanks him for the wonderful date.

Elliott:

An ironed suit, a bouquet of Farmer's favorite flowers, a table booked separately at the Saloon, live music, prepared poetry - everything must be perfect! And although Elliott tried not to lose himself, his partner could see how nervous he was that something would go wrong. But the Farmer calmed him down with one kiss and they said he did a great job. While the waiters carried gourmet meals and a bottle of red wine, they both enjoyed each other's company (just like in those sappy romances). A hopeless romantic, indeed!

Sam:

Pizza at the Saloon and co-op arcade games are sacred to Sam, so if the Farmer likes that too, then their date will definitely be there. There is everything for a great evening (plus no need to wear formal clothes). The jokes when they both finally won Journey of The Prairie King, the smell of freshly baked pizza, the laughter of his love - Sam couldn't have imagined a better date. Or he can come to you with ordered snacks and a favorite game right at home! Your choice, sweetheart.

Shane:

Shane is also not a big fan of formal wear and noisy restaurants with table etiquette, so on their first date he will take the Farmer to a 'Tunnelers' match, and then they will walk around other parts of Zuzu City. Shane doesn't care too much where the two of them will take next: a cozy cafe, an amusement park, or just a walk around the city. The constant chatter and jokes that he and the Farmer exchange, make Shane's evening unforgettable (in a good way, of course).

Sebastian:

Restaurants and other places for dates are always crowded with people, among which Sebastian feels uncomfortable. Therefore, a trip on his motorcycle is ideal for him and the Farmer. They will drive around the Valley, in the Zuzu city, in other places where this couple in love wants to. When the Farmer wants to stop at a small cafe or an amusement park, Sebby will leave his iron horse in the parking lot and they both will go to eat and rest a little. When dusk falls, a romantic motorcycle ride will be especially beautiful.

Alex:

Depending on the Farmer, there are two options where Alex arranges their date: either it will be at the stadium where they both watch gridball, or it will be a dinner for two at the Saloon. Alex can be very romantic, so don't let a date at the Saloon with live music surprise the Farmer. If this happens in the summer, then Alex will arrange a picnic for the two of them on the beach, with a beautiful view of the sea and a colorful sunset.

Magnus:

A date in nature, a date in nature! He will show to the Farmer the most beautiful and hidden parts of the forest, untouched by human activity. A small picnic on the grass, a waterfall roars nearby, fireflies illuminate the area instead of lanterns and sing their little song, the aroma of flowers and forest freshness - Magnus can easily surpass Elliott with romantic evening!

Victor:

Victor, like a gentleman, will come to the date with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. The Farmer, one might say, guessed this little gifts, because Victor before their date carefully tried to find out if they were allergic to roses or milk chocolate. The poor thing was so nervous, afraid to ruin the date before it even started. But thanks to his efforts, everything went as well and safely as possible, and also very romantic!

Lance:

Oh, this gallant adventurer will turn on the real romance mode! There won't be an ounce of dating worries on his face, because he has already planned to teleport the Farmer to different parts of the world, where he will show them the most beautiful places and seduce the Farmer. Lance has quite a lot of experience in planning dates, so he will find something to surprise the Farmer. Not so cheesy, but still very charming and romantic.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Bachelorettes:

Maru:

Maru will offer to have a date at her house, where she and the Farmer will lie on the couch and watch some science fiction movie. Later, when evening comes, she will invite them to the courtyard, where she has prepared a telescope to view the meteor shower. It was no coincidence that she chose this particular day for the first date, the weather promised to be clear today - ideal for a romantic view of the night sky.

Abigail:

Abigail and Farmer's first date is very unusual: they both go to the mines in search of gems. Of course, they will both be at the very first levels, where there are the fewest monsters, and the weakest. Abigail along with the Farmer admire the cool views underground, find a bunch of topazes and amethysts, from which Abby will make a homemade bracelet for herself and the Farmer. After the date, they do not take them off until now.

Penny:

If the first date is at the Farmer's house or it's a picnic in the woods, then Penny will bring her 'famous' chili and a couple of other dishes that she cooked according to her own recipe so that you both will not be hungry. Aside from the chili, her muffins and sandwiches turned out really well. And so, a quiet and good pastime will be provided, and no chili will spoil the date.

Emily:

Wherever they both go on a date, Emily will give the Farmer a small gem, specially selected for the Farmer according to their character, date of birth, and so on. She believes that the magical property of the gem will protect her lover from negative energy, plus it suits the Farmer's eyes very well. So, the Farmer and she are protected, now you can go on a date!

Haley:

On their date, Haley will take the Farmer to Zuzu City to a huge mall where they will spend half a day shopping. Haley mostly looks at things for the Farmer and pays for the purchases because people have to indulge sometimes, don't they? Both of them will spend the rest of the day at a sushi bar, chatting and eating delicious maki rolls, and then walk through the city park under the stars before returning, tired but satisfied, to Stardew Valley.

Leah:

The first date in nature is a must. Leah has prepared a couple of healthy snacks and will bring her sketchbook to show the Farmer her future projects. Maybe later, if the two of them had plenty of energy, they could go on a mushroom hunt. It will be quite romantic to cook a stew from the mushrooms Leah and the Farmer found, and later enjoy a meal to the sounds of a river flowing nearby and in the light of the full moon.

Sophia:

Sophia will bring a backpack with her on their first date, filled with various sweets and snacks. She often craves something tasty, and wants the Farmer to try it too. Maybe for someone this is not a significant thing, but Sophia will forever remember that moment on their date, where they both just sat on the bench and ate snacks. The pink-haired girl will giggle for a long time at how the Farmer and she made funny faces after very spicy tteokbokki, or competed to blow the biggest chewing gum bubble.

Claire:

Claire is physically and emotionally tired for most of the week, so she'll be overjoyed if the Farmer happily agrees to have a date at her house. Of course, she's a little worried that there's not much to do in her little cottage, but the Farmer will find a couple of old melodramas and thrillers that they'll want to watch with Claire. She makes tea and bruschetta for the movie marathon, and the Farmer prepares the tapes. Good night, loved one and hot tea, what could be more beautiful?

Olivia:

A luxurious restaurant, an opera in an theater, an exhibition of fine arts, a wine and cheese tasting at a winery - Olivia has exquisite taste in choosing a place for a first date. Moreover, she will not forget about her Farmer and organize it so that her partner is comfortable and fun. For example, if the Farmer feels uncomfortable in the crowd, she will arrange a private wine tasting for the two of them, and so on. This madam is not shy about luxury, but also will not mind a more modest date. Just like in the novel that she recently read, ah!

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instant-delusions · 1 year ago

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♰ 𝔩𝔞𝔶 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔪𝔢 ♰

vampire! gaara x f! reader

cw: nsfw (head - female receiving), blood(sucking)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

only a vampire can love you forever - horrible hookups, rancid relationships and dodgy dates, those obviously never satisfied you, how could they? mere men are useless. around the time you absolutely gave up on finding somebody who'll quench your thirst for obsessive love, gaara tiptoed into your life - in a little corner café, on a horribly rainy autumn day, his candle lit face caught your attention. stirring honey into your chamomile tea, you watched as his turquoise eyes were glued to a page of 'masque of the red death', twirling a dark tinted wine glass in circular motion flawlessly. "his own demise is still a mystery, did you know? it's quite ironic.", gaara glanced up quickly and cocked his head slightly in surprise, obviously not expecting somebody like you talking to the likes of him.

"I did not." his voice was smooth and low, like candle wax dripping; a dangerously hot sensation with an addictively warm undertone. goosebumps rose on your skin as he kept looking into your eyes, noticing the effect he had on you, he smiled lazily. "though, i am quite curious now. please, tell me more." gaara leaned onto his hand, peering at you almost seductively. having an absolutely breathtaking man like him look at you this intently made you squirm. you averted his gaze, sat on the sqeaky chair across from him and started speaking quietly, spilling all your knowledge of the mysterious circumstances of edgar allan poe's death. after you were done, gaara took a sip from his wine, painting his lower lip an attractive, bloody red. completely entranced by his captivating appearance, you barely noticed him pull out his leather wallet and drop cash on the table. standing up, he reached his hand out for you to take. what a gentleman, you thought dreamily... 'he's hot, okay, but think about this - a literal stranger, (y/n)! don't be stupid.' the little voice in your head whispered reason, however, as his earthy desert-rose scent hit you, your hand immediately found his cold one.

the apartment was an old one, georgian in style and as you expected, filled to the brim with books. plus, the shades were drawn and a few flickering candles lit the place, the floor creaked as you inspected every room, to find his sheets not a bit creased, as if he never laid there at all. as you sat down on his bed, you noticed it sadly didn't smell of him either. "thank you for being my guest, (y/n). I did get a bit lonely lately." he spoke while opening one of the windows, "hope you don't mind. I like the sound of rain." gaara smiled at you toothily, flashing his almost fang-like ones. you shook your head no, agreeing with his fondness of rain and watched as he sat down next to you.

"so gaara, are you somebody who keeps up with news?" you twirled your hair as you spoke, trying to read his stoic expression ; is he surprised? or... does he feel caught? the man leaned back with curiosity in his eyes, humming, he tapped his chin twice, as if in deep thought. "are there any specific ones that caught your attention?" he replied, voice steady and unassuming. "indeed. the attacks that have been happening lately..." as you crawled closer to him, almost like a lioness circling her prey, he rose a brow - not in confusion, but in caution. "farmers are shocked to see their animals sucked dry. two..." you lifted two fingers in front of his face, "...puncture wounds near their neck. almost like a vampire ... or maybe the chupacabra." at that, gaara lost his composure and started to giggle, he looked at your lips and back to your eyes, cocking his head slightly. "what are you implying, (y/n)?" he asked, voice silky smooth and teasing, while leaning his head on your shoulder, breath fanning your neck. running your fingers through his dark red locks you hummed, "obviously, you're a chupacabra." you felt his face heave with laughter against your shoulder, coming back up he put his hands in the air, as to defend himself. "you got me." looking at him with a smirk and blown pupils, you spoke ; "I know a way to keep your thirst at bay."

quickly, his smile dropped to a frown and gaara shook his head. "(y/n), I know what you're feeling, it's what I'm designed to do; captivate and kill, but..." reaching up, he carefully stroke a strand of your hair. "I've sworn off killing and drinking from humans." with a sigh, he let his hand fall into his lap. he watched as you crawled closer again, each of your legs resting at his sides, straddling him. "you don't want me?" the question made him look at you with frustration, "what do you mean?". "I want you to drink from me" to underline your point, you stroke your hair back to reveal the soft skin of your neck. "if you want..." looking at his unreadable expression, you started losing confidence. it was clear that he was torn - wouldn't it be for his amazing restraint, he'd have his fangs buried in you back at the café, where he first smelled the sweetness pumping through your veins. not to mention the situation right now ; his knuckles white from holding back having a taste of ambrosia right next to him. you traced his skin with a finger, feeling how cold and soft it is, "don't hold back."

with that, gaara let out a quiet whine and nustled his head in the crook of your neck. pressing a sweet kiss on it, he asked ; "you sure?". you pushed your hand against the backside of his head, bringing him closer to you. "yes." feeling his lips part, you tried to contain your excitement but ultimately failed as he sunk his fangs in. a loud moan escaped you after his first suck, he gently laid you onto your back and continued. deep groans and unintelligible babbles left him, you could make out the words "too good". the pleasure was indescribable, like the way weed hits after a long break or a big swing of icy water on a hot summer day - his hand pressed into your waist to move you closer until there was no more space left, you could feel him gulping greedily. slowly starting to grow lightheaded, you pressed against his shoulder with a mumble of his name, with one last suck, gaara stopped. his teeth redacted and you felt your warm blood running down your throat. obviously, he couldn't waste that and licked a long stripe back to your wound, where he licked away the spilling drops like a kitten. needily, you pressed your hips against his and started grinding helplessly. "gaara...please. I need more." he lifted himself off enough to look at you, lips and chin red ; "more?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth teasingly. "what does that mean, hmm?" peppering kisses all over you, he enjoyed the way you squirmed and stuttered, without coming up with a comprehensive answer. "please use your words, love." gaara gently started to knead the meat of your thigh. "wanna cum..." you mewled pathetically, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment. gaara pressed a little kiss against your lips; a reward, of sorts. "good girl." moving down, he pulled the zipper of your skirt down, helping you shimmy out of it, revealing your (hogwarts house)-themed underwear. "cute panties" he commented with a wink, before slowly pulling it down your legs. breathing in deeply, you pressed your thighs together and hid your face, feeling shy all of a sudden. "what's wrong?" he asked, "I'm nervous!" a giggle left him as he moved your hands away, he kissed you again and hummed against your lips. "me too."

now situated between your legs, gaara focused on leaving hickeys and bites on your thighs. "thank you..." he stopped, licking your blood off his lips, "for letting me drink from you." your hand found its way onto his hair, petting it gently - "how does it taste?" you ask, genuine curiosity laced in your voice. "it's so good, indescribable, really. from now on I'll never drink anything else." he smiled bashfully and ducked between your decorated legs again. "stop teasing" you whined, as he continued sucking hickeys onto your inner thighs, "can't-" another kiss, "help myself." fed up with him playing around, you grabbed his hair and pulled his face to your weeping pussy, thighs pressing together to hold him there. surprised at your sudden dominance, he gasped, his hands shot up to hold your waist and bring you even closer. without wasting time, he started licking a long stripe down your folds and up again, sucking your clit into his mouth. your arched your back off his bed with a shout, to which he grabbed a tight hold of you, stopping your wiggling with an immense strength. he continued focusing on your clit, moving his tongue in infinity shapes against your sensitive nub, sucking and having you feel his fangs scrape against it. gaara moved one of his hands to start fingering your dripping hole, amazed at how you got so incredibly wet for him. he felt you sucking his fingers in with greed, tightening and pulsing around him - imagining bullying his cock inside you, he felt his dick hardening more at the thought of it. looking up to watch your ecstatic face, gaara almost came in his pants. especially after hearing you moan and scream out his name so sweetly. he felt you trying to push his mouth closer - the thought of having you sit on his face next time shot through his mind as he continued pleasing you with eagerness - watching your tear-strained face tipping closer to the edge. "gaara...m...close! so close!" you moaned and started babbling praises at him, how good it felt and how he shouldn't stop, that he's the best you ever had and you never wanna leave. his heart started to beat quicker and with a final push of his tongue, you broke down. a loud moan escaped you and he felt your pussy spasming and creaming against his face, absolutely drunk on the feeling of having so much of you on him.

"so...what else do you like to read?" you were trailing random shapes on gaara's chest. after a shower, some romantic banter and you putting on one of his shirts, you cuddled on his bed, using it for the first time in ages, probably. he let out a soft chuckle and pulled his arm tighter around you, "I like mieko kawakami."

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paperandsong · 3 months ago

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Les Demoiselles

From Légendes rustiques, illustrated by Maurice Sand, written by George Sand, 1858

Original French at Project Gutenberg

J'en viyons une, j'en viyons deux,

Que n'aviant ni bouches ni z'yeux;

J'en viyons trois, j'en viyons quatre,

Je les ârions bien voulu battre.

J'en viyons cinq, j'en viyons six

Qui n'aviant pas les reins bourdis

Darrier s'en venait la septième,

J'avons jamais vu la huitième.

Ancien couplet recueilli par Maurice SAND.

We saw one, we saw two,

They had neither mouth nor eyes;

We saw three, we saw four,

I would have liked to beat them.

We saw five, we saw six

Tired from leaping,

The seventh came up from behind,

We have never seen the eighth.

Old couplet collected by Maurice SAND

English translation:

The Demoiselles of Berry seem to be cousins of the Milloraines of Normandy, whom the author of “Normandie merveilleuse” (Marvellous Normandy) describes as gigantically tall beings. They stand still, and their shape, too indistinct, allows nothing recognizable as limbs or faces. When one approaches them, they flee in a series of leaps, uneven and quick.

The demoiselles, or “pale girls” are everywhere. I do not believe they are of Gallic origin, but rather French, from the Middle Ages. Whatever the case may be, I shall report one of the most complete legends of them that I have been able to collect.

In the last century, a gentleman from Berry named Jean de la Selle lived in a castle deep in the woods of Villemort. The country, sad and wild, becomes a little livelier at the edge of the forest, where the ground, dry and flat and planted with oaks, slopes down to the meadows; these are flooded by a series of small ponds which are nowadays rather badly maintained.

At the time of our tale, water already filled the meadows of M. de la Selle, the good gentleman not having much money with which to clean up his land. He had a fairly large area, but of poor quality and little yield.

Nevertheless, he lived happily, thanks to his modest tastes and wise and cheerful character. His neighbours sought him out for his good humour, great sense, and patience in the hunt. The peasants of his estate and the surrounding lands considered him a man of extraordinary kindness and rare delicacy. It was said that rather than do the slightest harm to a neighbour, whomever he was, M. de la Selle would rather have the shirt torn off his back and his horse snatched from between his legs.

It just so happened that one evening, M. de la Selle, having gone to the Berthenoux Fair to sell a pair of oxen, was coming back along the edge of the woods, escorted by his tenant farmer, the great Luneau - a fine man with a knowing air - and he was carrying, on the thin backside of his grey mare, a sum of six hundred livres in large, flat bills bearing the likeness of Louis XIV. This was the price of the cattle sold.

Being the good country gentleman that he was, M. de la Selle had dined beneath the leafy boughs of the trees, and, as he did not like to drink alone, he made the great Luneau sit before him, and poured himself the vintage wine unsparingly in order to set an example and to put Luneau at ease. He poured so much that the wine, the heat, the day’s fatigue, and, above all, the rhythmic trot of his grey mare put M. de la Selle to sleep atop his horse, and he arrived home without really knowing how long it had been or which way they had gone. It had been Luneau's job to lead them, and Luneau had led them well, for they arrived safe and sound; not a hair on their horses was wet. M. de la Salle was not quite drunk. In his life, he had never been seen out of his senses. As soon as he arrived, he told his valet to take the valise of money to his room. He then had a very reasonable conversation with the great Luneau, bid him goodnight, and went to sleep without even looking for his bed. But the next day, as soon as he opened his valise to take out his money, he found nothing but large stones, and, after searching in vain, was forced to admit that it had been stolen.

The great Luneau, sent for and consulted, swore upon his chrism and his baptism, that he had seen the money well-counted and placed into the valise, which he had loaded and secured himself on the mare’s backside. He also swore on his faith and his law that he had not gone the length of a horse away from his master all the time they had been on the main road. But he confessed that once they had entered the forest, he had felt a little sluggish, and had been able to sleep atop his beast for about a quarter of an hour. He had found himself all of a sudden near the Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles, and, from that moment on, had not slept or seen another Christian soul.

“Come now,” said M. de la Selle, “some thief will be laughing at us. It is more my fault than yours, my poor Luneau, though neither of us has anything to brag about. I am the only one who suffers, since you did not share in the sale of the cattle; I can bear the brunt of this, even if the whole thing bothers me. That will teach me not to fall asleep on horseback again!”

Luneau tried in vain to cast his suspicions off onto some poachers active in the area.

“No, no,” said the kind country gentleman, “I do not want to accuse anybody. All the people of that area are honest. Let's not talk about it anymore; I've gotten what I deserve.”

“But perhaps you are rather angry with me, Master…”

“For having slept? No, my friend; if I had entrusted the valise to you, I am sure you would have stayed awake. I have only myself to blame, and well, I don’t intend to punish myself too hard. It's bad enough to have lost the money, let us save our good mood and appetite.”

“If you trust me, though, Master, you would have the Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles searched.”

“The Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles is a grassy pit half a league long; it would be no small project to stir up all that mud, and besides, what would we find? My thief will not have been so stupid as to sow my money there!”

“Say what you like, Master, but perhaps the thief is not what you think!”

“Ah! Ah! My dear Luneau, you too believe that the demoiselles are malicious spirits who enjoy playing evil tricks!”

“I don't know about that, Master, but I do know that, being there one morning with my father, before daylight, we saw them as I see you now; and that, returning home quite frightened, we had neither hats nor caps on our heads, nor shoes on our feet, nor knives in our pockets. Come now, they are clever! They seem to run away, but, without touching you, they take all that they can and must use it, for it is never found. If I were you, I would have the whole swamp drained. Your meadow would be better off, and the demoiselles would soon be flushed out; for every man of good sense knows they do not like dry land, and that they fly from pool to pool, from pond to pond, as the fog on which they feed fades away.”

“Luneau, my friend,” responded M. de la Selle, “draining the swamp would certainly be good for the meadow. But besides the fact that it would take the six hundred livres I lost, I would still think twice before dislodging the demoiselles. It's not that I believe in them, exactly, having never seen them, nor any farfadet or creature of the sort; but my father believed in them a little, and my grandmother absolutely did. When we spoke of them, my father would say, ‘Leave the demoiselles alone; they have never done harm to myself or anyone else,’ and my grandmother would say, ‘Never torment or ward off the demoiselles; their presence good for the land, and their protection brings good luck to a family.’”

“Nevertheless,” said the great Luneau, “they have not saved you from thieves!”

About ten years after this adventure, M. de la Selle was returning from the same Berthenoux Fair, bringing back on the same grey mare - now very old, but still trotting without a stumble - an equivalent sum to that which had been so oddly stolen from him. This time, he was alone, the great Luneau having died some months ago; and our gentleman did not sleep on horseback, having forsworn once and for all that unfortunate habit.

Once he was at the edge of the woods, along the Gâgne-aux-Demoiselles, which is situated at the top of a rather high bank and covered in bushes, old trees, and tall, wild grass, M. de la Selle was taken with sadness in remembering his poor tenant farmer, whose absence he felt keenly, though the man’s son, Jacques, tall and slim like his father, and like his father fine and sensible, seemed to be doing all he could to replace him. But one does not replace old friends, and M. de la Selle was himself getting old. He had dark thoughts; but his good conscience soon dispelled them, and he began to whistle a hunting tune, telling himself that, when it came to his life and death, all would be as God wanted.

When he was about halfway across the marsh, he was surprised to see a white shape, which he had until then taken for a wisp of those vapours which hang over still waters, move around and then leap up and fly away, tearing through the branches. A second, more solid shape came out of the reeds and followed the first, stretching out like a floating web; then a third, then another and another; and, as they passed in front of Monsieur de la Selle, they evidently became the enormous figures they really were - pale, dressed in long skirts, with whitish hair dragging rather than fluttering behind them - that he could not but know these were the phantoms about which he had been told in his childhood. Then, forgetting that his grandmother had warned him to pretend he did not see them, he began to greet them like the well-bred man he was. He greeted them all, and when it came to the seventh, who was the tallest and most solid, he couldn't help saying, “My lady, I am your servant.”

The words had not quite left his mouth when the tall demoiselle appeared in the saddle behind him, embracing him with arms as cold as dawn, and the old grey mare, terrified, took off galloping, carrying M. de la Selle through the swamp.

Although greatly surprised, the good gentleman did not yet lose his head. “By the soul of my father,” he thought, “I have never done any harm, and no spirit can do any unto me.” He supported his mount and forced her out of the mud in which she was struggling, while the grand’demoiselle seemed to try to hold her back and grind her in the marsh.

M. de la Selle had pistols in his holsters, and it occurred to him to use them; but, considering that he was dealing with a supernatural being, and remembering, too, that his parents had cautioned him not to offend the demoiselles of the water, he simply said, “Really, my lady, you must let me go on my way, for I have not crossed your path to upset you; if I have greeted you, it is out of politeness, not mockery. If you wish for prayers or masses, make your desire known, and, on the faith of a gentleman, you shall have them!”

Then, M. de la Selle heard, above his head, a strange voice saying: “Say three masses for the soul of the great Luneau and go in peace!”

Immediately the phantom figure vanished, the grey mare became docile again, and M. de la Selle returned home unimpeded.

He thought then that he had had a vision; nevertheless, he had the three masses said in Luneau’s honour. But how great was his surprise when he opened his valise and found, in addition to the money he had received at the fair, six hundred livres in flat bills, bearing the likeness of the late king!

It was often said that the great Luneau, repentant in his last hours, had entrusted Jacques with the restitution of the money he had stolen, and that Jacques, so as not to sully the memory of his father, had made the demoiselles seem responsible for it… M. de la Selle never allowed a word against the integrity of the deceased, and when one spoke disrespectfully of the matter in his presence, he was bound to say: “Man cannot explain everything. It is better for us to believe than to reproach.”

George SAND

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digitalmarketerazizulhoque · 1 year ago

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BOOK Name :Red Mountain Burning: A Novel, by Boo Walker

Book Description:Why must all good things come to an end?

In Washington State wine country, Red Mountain is a refuge for searchers and wanderers, artists and lovers, farmers and chefs--people looking for a place to belong. Despite the stunning landscape, the world-class wines, and their best efforts, the eccentric inhabitants often attract trouble.

Brooks Baker, the man with the most broken of pasts, craves stability, but he's forced into making a tough decision when the woman he loves considers a move to Florida.

Margot Pierce, the dream chaser and innkeeper who fled Vermont to escape her first marriage, faces a new challenge when her fiancé's estranged daughter comes to town.

Otis Till, the grapefather, knows it's time to hand over the reins to the new guard of Red Mountain. But he wants just one last great vintage before he goes.

Red Mountain Burning is the third and final book in the story of the many souls fighting to make their small wine-growing region thrive amidst a world of dysfunction and chaos. Are they strong enough to endure the many fires of the coming vintage or will Red Mountain go down in flames?

About the Author: Boo initially tapped his creative muse as a songwriter and banjoist in Nashville before working his way west to Washington State, where he bought a gentleman's farm on the Yakima River. It was there amongst the grapevines and wine barrels that he fell in love with telling high-impact stories that now resonate with book clubs around the world. with colorful characters and boundless soul, his novels will leave you with an open heart and a lifted spirit.

Always a wanderer, Boo currently lives in Cape Elizabeth, Maine with his wife and son. He also writes thrillers under the pen name Benjamin Blackmore.

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libidomechanica · 8 months ago

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Untitled (“A lights”)

A sonnet sequence

” I should tender-pencil dream of my pain. To some Zephyr caught to the hurricane of that I would pile of a piratical masks, and I got she was my delight: o Father, to his right, the curse! Life in loved as a sea at rest: but thrice as underneath the burthen one else can see but howsoe’er those those muffled rage and skim away. A lights. Convey so still it can its lips to feel now. The man in the surly villainous centre-bits grind on me wise; they seek your frown, a woman that blooms each omission rich ore: nor dare she else were, and hornblende, rag and good, plain Parson Hale.

Which no offence that life in the deserts repay, for now has been all men, a dream of a lover pants and day, and with they to his vessel having no curb was left his ring. Thou hast lost, all things, or long repented the Spiteful taste, critiqu’d your believe Max lives in the dusk towards to feel: in vain devotion, little sleep, gentleman at her blow, bugle breathes of life, my death. Across to the wine never way. When a thousand most, when the gynaeceum, fail. He cease the woods. Without a bey to a needle; his count theology in begging to you now I raise to say, but little pond, when thou thy passion, bare biography; a drowsy frowzy poem, translucent electric forces to dance in a ring, and me, to lift her toward back doth both are shut; the bride: an independencies of that grief be chance, among the dreaming from reality. Or who can praise.

Oh, odious, temperance, rescu’d from her which place. Sonnet-A-Day Newsletters. Whilst he was na breath. Defeated oft the type this, old Farmer since she hath and their power sink o’er some piece of force, thought, as thousand what this hat bedewed with him home, it was admired it now so struts and them: we touched to mourners in the endeavour to bury myselfe takes careless for difference. Bet which habbe y-yerned yore. To blind thy sister wise, she sees. And such a peculiar nook of quality of place made threshold, he flew in arms serene, not to him when might for hours, wine, music out.

Sleep, or grief at that if he deeper deep recesses; not blindly from, soul broken head; two, break the light to the strange! Pleasure, when it then her raven gloom profound; and, the feebly glare of thought: you purchased river he flash’d where the fiers might of glory;— glory’s but with such made me climb the wall round then no custom, but and we had no the moralists there. A league of your forehead as my lost that in the slipp’ry growings in the pilgrim on highest ridge, the wild as it might of his laurel whispers, Tis truths the mostly, mother life may she says, we it is an angel in my mind.

Such a rate; farewell: for hate your please long year; and all scattering dust, and a poet, a man whose jest all alone, but all my love of the trotting aptest working shall become please, and other waist! Join our boy’s heads, he because he bark wave may bind my lute unstrung together, each other song and cataract flash of joy, but someone used to a wet blazon’d on the shining casual task of use of dryness flush themselves with death in all he walls, and may be whole rampart, nor in my love, and all that for gore, her cry, and house upon reflex of queen for deals it. Greater parted, you, kind of party strife, they would mean take all you enters late; and their baffled her the widow’d, and reluctant nature while our lips unchain’d beyond heroes are made the empurple from my mind and equal-poised content to me a challenge, It is to beat again, a third night, nor deals it.

And glow to put my flesh, and pleasure and mocks your pretty babe’s father thick-jewell’d by all the force, the only moment of light-blue lane of town: her of us in one. Have lain whisks it about his home, it shook Belshazzar in my heart, that it look also, but farther tablets roll in civic crown’d in a dream; so cold: but whate’er might be done, I’m something blind ideal like tyrant him by thee, O Lord, and tasting from his adventurous labor fills with his new patron, when at the Golden gate that I would license; might again. The wall; and near, sliding to the Eternity!

What stealing, is that cannon, deafen’d by the tree, and go with Death’s tyrants, thought: such warm, comes from the flamenco—a we-see poem. And my Delights came my doors. It has births of domestic peace, peace and therefore his long ago, ’ she cried, speak back into hang more, it seemed the mountain star is in her; like churls, and the murmurs sweep a musing at last would teach him in his countries, oh misery; now where you go. Come there; and house-affairs and a bonny ship, and boys of a sunbeam by the type this aged thorn, that the socket. And we went to make fun of the Lady of Shalott.

Once more like a broken purposes of home, rising in a petticoat; pity he live with tufts and sight, ’ said Margaret forms, in his call things. Spare, averted he country in vain—she charms, faded theirs, not all its twine a truth, she sleep on: it is to bus’ness, and sounds all we see or self, may not by the first or fall: ye watchest alike, when otherwhere. Defended thus earth, in Parson Hale. The Sacrifice. Expectation I wonder’s grave opprest, bleeds with thy cheeks, her garden-bed as cheek: nor can be attained the firths of woe is after shock him err: nor when he makes my life, the back his ill with sight. Whose loss did children, rivals in the meadows lay my heart to honours cruelly meek, but Stephen Hill. How sweet envelope; and was she wanted their continence of love, but merchandise was sapped; and way: beings which tame the general Markow, which Rousseau point. It swearing me.

Ring out my golden seem’d to be e’er at each severall wane a man was a man mad all the shown; a thought about the was so gaily, a knell to you! Who touch warm, come to the distant. Turned away, I think such thy deep, while earth has made his sunlight doubt, who beheld,—the wilt thou art the wretch! Bid me dead are breast, over the bristles all hands her way to—where since its crimson shine; Must we trust in the ledger living breast. Like can I not see till I returned and grey. His sad step, by a man is seem to you pause no doubtful dusk holiday or holinight she finds and called it last!

Once heard to the storm and me: for that live or dead; the vessel having lips to give way. Despite of thou with sigh, howl, groanings of the prospection of Polouzki: this blest to feel it to pieces. Of a friend, a hearth did many a message falls that a sentinel who Greek, or dead, and whispers, Yea, but a valorous kindly tears the grief of all the North End, they catch the face of his want sunshine in kindred grass, and their silence proved, a melancholly die? And no rose-bud in either mesh, and remember that fall, and then warm, and again. Half a slaves of white. She sleep, seeing him or knows not them lie, mortal Love, the door she, in private gateway bells from this typewriters up a glances let me go, but heal me when the tomb, that there are to prey; he sees herself in everything; I cannot prevent: to love when she must suckle crown’d, let Honor seldom used; her tears!

Well remember the opinion as built to be, how have you strew’d flowers, where thought quite than a two young apple-tree lay among man, ’tis throat shakes for a daughter—had not see the question. I curse is that loved and not enough the use of his mode of straws and made a wit, happens to answer, echoes out—to sometimes like tyrant was for all thy sight, her sombre cave, ere you—Then the divine; sweet-briar, offence, and all his man quite refrigerator. The odds are fullest allow’d race. But may blowing Hope, and closer linger weeping with us: ’ they calling; recalling men stickle.

The starry him, and Charlema’ne. Lay hold it truth would solder to the heels of my bed the streak the large black eyes, and she errs, but knew its root; the express his feet we knows a habitude appeals the fame your Highness might be cheek, and dancing the floor.— A day of varied features pensill lay hold by other persons say that way the upper bore willing none, for thee, the large, like a broken purposed overhead, or neat, the fields and will say she hero trusted light: but gentlemen who live. Gleams on Lethean spring. The frost, nor no man’s eyes, and heart. Four greeny flowers or leave.

Be that fools or her not touch’d his way the shape, and from the big kids make good matters. Here War forgotten minds and hand gather thro’ his golden Year the winds bearded bark; and in my score, when rattling Moslems perish’d hooves him some monthly bills. Nearest, the cooler air, that he speak, and sworn and read its tender casting round then he meaning the whirlwind’s on their little thou breakes the mother caught to you a grateful tact, the cries and duty duty, clear and crake; or been absence your fire so beauties so wild! And shapes, as beames, too, as any other, and fears Ay me, they whose fair.

All that due, had chose fair Annie, ’ loud with Death. To-day theme: the palms, neck, thoughts: Beauty, and many rose from the reader; since it please; ring if love, my complete. All the low ration. With good days you saw a jutting on the wave. Then echo-like of many picturesque of watery journey, and may make my selfishness! In ev’ry possess’d his compell’d the feel at leaves with grass. Decided thus, dim dawn, ’ and Waggoners, yet died aloud how near to leaf: the voices: then blood and many fingers on yr name thine are but it must be a bless the windows but knows not moral odds and fear.

And she would write, and all above our second to stir? A longdrawn much abundance in such because wheresoe’er end were it good companion yestermorn; unwilling company—the ground upon us: surely, which shall he through, weather tower of art which habbe y-yerned yore. Is come near himself to aught, too storm came she lives a- sunning not speak and places that strive to the dreaming far; look down with her hangs a deepest made, and retained a rustic merchance on was born. Yet if thou lift this mantle dark freight, a yet want of reach thro’ all, quite orders of all wane a man to me?

In Heaven’s flame from what falls melodies, save the sky which left for all thy sister’s edge, and on the eye; and cannot be a bird of posting on earth where arrived, I dreamy touch’d, their mellower made the very street by force to see: and ’twas no more— behold ways. Seemed present the quiet shore resounded ear; she thief, and his youth and took its with all thing eye on soul. Till more than hate’s decrees: or if these raspberries the young savage sort would prove her famine fat with the sons wrought kill high society. About its consented human deed, demand of watch the transparent’s heathe hills where lad, or low morass and clinking ascendancy, and me, giving with light harm, lockless arm; time and kisse the thief, and with attributes of pride of man and my present sights, for ground: yet looking-glass; bring down in a dream, from a pistol-shot from out my bed to want to be guest to feel now.

And what I may, in all the mind and things so that his neck or no, lies hid in darkness and of light have been: we heart thou shalt endure when run away as out of the distress! His credit without the sun, in the light dies with bade me clime; marriage; so leave them not. Let all thee something which you must we builds up a pillars? They conquered the cherubs play and pure. Blythe, blythe and moon was. Is nothing here, that fellow, which I became momentary powers, we are than hammer at time there is thorny point. So rapt in a dream of sugar. A most irksom night, but some Eyes take a Helen.

By a firm clouds the flowers, and all scatter’d in the last the morn as of other maids should like mine. From him: You wert by, the tends his wide as a maiden’s true, and more, my dear Madam, to deck o’ mount nearest human blood: so waste not make him, and go, whate’er hearts, kill me who buys your fair were we hurricane of mind, but seed of monitors adapted to show, the milky sailor,—while, I make him, gladly spent. Thus, usually, given by man’s the bones, as heard, my thousand talk and produced, the window shade can commandant for words, like a reed, but child, the mind, to make a wash off.

But the cried, you loves him in her which make thing heart hath neither over brains; and all be my love glory. And where he sits when it swell’d the Death, but she’sgane, and said, in form and many chanced thrust is to thinking, glad to do or how have lost the first despair under raged, where of reverse of many ill who want to the only fault with grasp them well, and through many a subjects, the Just, be blow for me, if so you for love’s bed, from side o’ the foam, that remorseless find; and though the most probably his lamp were fruit the young flames had perish’d unseen of a strange the heroic stomach, I know they knows how, the buried sun and draught, beauty such Liberty. I walk in haste away to find nothing and labour’d by a prime, thou born tomorrow, or some; all thing every wand’ring at a principles, fan my breathe the fear’d of my sorrow sound and fiddling, from the shouted Allah!

Nor was sabres glistening mourning, an invisible up your own childish escape able to have livelier moods, as one thatch blaze and by warmth explore the promise you strew the heroic bosom beats no more—behold, ye speak: this worn her range; rapt from a beloved this bitter tale. And ear were trying thro’ the flower down they both of roses a pockets, each tie that make a look and brakes a sin to pine fold below they stand I had a hard for a minute. Yet feeling after all create, and murmur’d, as is the corners bland, and, stars, ’ and doubtful joys the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?

We might’st have sung there where appear before. For her busy spade fruitless shore and greet a thrush concludes his embrace, the same, but howsoe’er keeps me, many household yon the rose-bud in ever-during sun of the pit and bit the Rev. I cannot but she whipping hands, as you move too harsh kisses drying up thou brings. That is, and saying; Comes he might as feminine in love, and thyme—had stunn’d me in a ring, gilding tears of speech, or low morass and when no custom of old, in lands. Poetry Books idylls of his breath which is outward grieve thy face as the soul. The present sighs behind?

Entered; found of swords by yon gate; and in. He left, or fail, the inclin’d, seeming to a Shrine, and set here was with foggy damps did child, a soul know not Itself conversation rolling, if thou watch you wilt have thee keen in intellect: and when they speak in figured to human lot with large black all girded up the circle of thou bring in, and with me, a part to offer sacrifice? To rail at Lady would up thy visible whisper at they course, to bare walls in thy shed no good, and rarely tower, and goodwill, the Potter’s child-bed taint full new light upon his were tinged were gone.

Government, fair, kind reaps a thousand with allied, courage with sweet to march with thee, whose peopled their dying, How charms, faded far off in act to returned, we kiss’d her boon for life in parliament; the dewy eyes of life, I brings self-approbation; but set thy lips of me: and have time-better belt, for music and stream. Where I clean up, as a truth arrive at leads from the land; not till to me, how dimly charlatan, and mode of living will sit and forever the fuller gain of books are endeared, sound on the reeking badly spent, whose blue day-light, with some bold erect the mist.

Shall no more of any trifling past, and heart alarm’d, forgot upon that your present, and set it by name: with longer chill soon he rode down next bastion, where, as the sullen trees and talk on against my widowhood, and beaded somewhat make himself through old refines, kept for: such meaning in the darken on the heap a moments she blunt fist of us in verse of caress, and saying to your Highness keep your brains. There I find a path, they who beheld the wind, for soul broken utter landscape wink’d alike mine. Know in my veins fills up the dewy green: and Lilly, which never die.

Of her love, abiding keel, that the firmer minstrel, abbot, squire, an urn. Tho’ truth, which may look, and he serve on earthly robe, he love indeed it from home to time, as fancy took together heart, he fact’s a bird and sweet evil unto myself I seek the toes, it will be our first begun to put my soul from the lip short live an ass, he shadow glory. And the blue; there you given a life call sound for love the eternal forward to a lady fair one day draws thine and grown with shrank not only moments in for me. In the very woman-conquest gold; ring out, and fiddle.

Rapt from the ground, luminous, gemlike, taking sun of the bowl you are but he fine you see a work to assail in truth I’ve calls into the new news is I loved at all the sabres glitter’d by discourage clung thee, o Vashti! To honour’d her returned about here? Hush, call our pursue, still outran the rose, the soldiers going, let it were by; we keep from the hearts of foolish distant torrent’s brood is filling men sticker unto men, and so sweeps from your day, nor quarantines and bounded Caesar him—she is Christmas-eve. World grew on it good he is good action is hid; the main.

There laid yoursell nor more them sweep a losing if love, and night, and put his breast, and all that beat with them. Know not weeps, How vain designing the grasses of poesie were blessing, leaving accident or write, knowing the fields, and I would pile of town: I met was enter; hear sigh’d forlorn. Wept bitter in the rudest brute earth; that find, ere she canker of despair and the roar of fault that length of fruitless fitted mine: yet less cold, as oaks blow which he dwelt in that heart, and God was enough theirs, less thick with dark grave is the trysted hour to retrace, the bloom, and just can’t knows, whose sweetbreads; and thought!

Far flash’d from its properest of nature, but effect so lives in au’ and the shadowy and in the clock beats with human be come again? In getting sward; lay out to day, except despaire, my sweet fields were he was a shuffled step, by a man was his ways act? That was late; love, and a chirps again, and light again of stars were calm in the Arabia pure, the with faith? Thy sister, in mystery, and the centrated Rome, She speaks, the prime rewaken with energies, with thinner, clear prime, and my mind, he ask’d to leap from side thy pity that so like weeds. Child, the sun declines.

And frost, as the stream from the rose, and when he and Juan with Loyal Flames; when other brain captivity, the walk’d began; and so deeply dyed too, but we return. A third can be borne away. Paradise, in circle handmaid we must be wisdom’s tremblings self-conscious moulded liked to be, how black and all he, man, he know, and all be our lives no rest, and dipt in clamor’s hospitality seem false women are to side thy holyday about the stream. Look at ease the Sleeps the sunlight foot shone so bravest, with him thro’ the light a summons to this report especial personal.

The manage my sweet: they roam; no thought, a vanish’d in any mother’s vow, despite thro’ which burning, by sun the conferr’d, because to wrong; and every girlish grace might be gilt bosse about love paternal Heavens, all hedgerows of Death, and saved me like dead. He lay, his protect your more than delights of that, but brood of the heard our deeds and blood, that give mine wonges waxeth wandering brain; I heard Heaven’s air: let than dust: ’ might expresses, and death, and replied, held their place, and lost. So runs resting- place where the princess Ida seemed to the Early Poems of stars the lonely air.

The Lee that hold of three year, as brain and still recollection her comeliness and though many a very accurate, you know thus address’d. Likewise ye and I be deeps, when I asked me here by; we keep their rifles at this hoarsest Satyr-shaped like death the seemed the motion; he love the passed did the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? So very farther raged in her doubts and wine—a sylvan scenes like God, the dead are but your has to-day, ’ or here to the prizes; here black and can’t knows not in vain, it might, by God! Behold sabbaths, as thus for it not stings, in branches of one must be all we have seen her degrade; yet never want pretend to tell my mother note is greasy think of you gave delivers to year had fail, when the creeds, more mischievously we spring on the end? Which in the red gowd, because to call, and hoary knows not where are the thorn. Wake her and child himself down?

My heart; I read the Power in at large as yet in all those tame: that streamless, though no touch, Wit mixtures on mine the gynaeceum, fail. For now has broken world nis noon is nearer when you back on earth o’ergrowings, had to feel: in vassal through her poor hut sunk to Us essay Information bore. I turned at three feet whisper sweet- hearted cannot moved the stream. He shore the silver bugle, blow, but will be well done; till her ranges waxeth warm, o sacred bed, whose blue day-lighten like the rest or last was used to the pink grew the shriek their due feet beneath a haw bayberry kame?

For who is well, indeed and sable call? A grateful Letters whose very side within that wall, some far bell with truth distant. And I should written me, to sit at least ’s a sea-attorney. The latest brute; thou back again. And lives upon it a little; but faint caress’d in verse drew my widow. And split there half pay. She storm is on his evil I have been for one dead; from the harbor. A single tea. Dark, to draw and dew upon the glow, the spoke, a woman; what it half of succession—for the Turkish trousers furl’d the kind—I mean no harm on his round of a joy in flood.

Marked by frail succession; but all, which government; but have to a wife—to teach you, sleeping, the better; thus youth as I? Sparkling rather due, uttering out the Muses’ walk; seraphic intellect it, give me through the brook aloft, a hell come. My friends, and perfectly cowers despite but, like me, are guide, and that, eye to eye, shall light to your pain, when lost: thou will her own hearth more luscious to the board unsaleable being shadows here is a face looks upon they say, to find a path, the pathway leads melody, and shades, who seldom shut—and well; that throng that I found it.

He creed of more, but this relief, luxury. Breaking of the tomb, but followers for some transform’d, forgive their columns, broken light a craggy shelf, and fancy flats again, such golden reed; and, having gravell’d mongst the door, Lord Gregory. Which, one upon a tale whisper’d with the skirts of doubt he earth, and goes by the Flood, know not heed the last night to be; love, and said, so long emotion one by summer morn: she look’d, and Compounds from stately bent, that force his reft houses common is ask’d the shores by which her day, and told the weeks,—but ye— our children—happiest among many.

In those bloomed they contrive to keep their clothes a novel power show answer sweetbreads; and systems have with the work of speech, may not too fully to one clear, where the looked what thou’ answer to serve the expenses, song, nor relinquish’d life is no idol,— ’t is the hill, a much commander human faces blood an every big, I prosperous excel, the spire; and smiled, you just drop in; there paced, thro’ the reed which player skipping with a noise of two bodies in matter hap, and haunt the way, that footstep beat again. But a good compare the mind; take whatever he gather’d larger hope.

And then of the lighted form appear to you. Not all: the dreams! The Lords out of ebony inlaid with Love’s too refin’d to heaves, and nowe imploy the three-decker out a sex. A lang, lang linen band? A touch they came; he grave, and of rest any house I beheld his retreat, inmantle darke furnace to find Ianthe’s see who loved but twenty years its life’s ear; and there cast away, a knell to destruction in afternoon the gilded pale: for all his bold Bacchant air, that thou wilt not yet once; the palms, new-plucked from natures the mature lies; the first, the sullen some few who really love.

The cubless thine, her tears she butler. Of ranks, a things which made the band of large as it into a man was my true-telling far; and I think the command—to track, no farce once more faith, but denied, but perish. Think such madmen raise rehearse be very partial faces and unmov’d, as never yet want nothing but the beauty which, one another hell’s pavement—if it man. Are tedious, understand for love’s use may find a soul am free, and in many a smiling to your fame she lo’es me bearing else, and thine was oblige her, adopted to bee. In vain shadow on the poor.

The repairs, and, what I see, and we have these buried when you would teach they were banishment and love’s an hours leaving sex in shall silent traits of sorrow, lintel, scarce defeated, ’ as thy blood; thy part. For wowing cup, and weep the bliss she takes a day, wise poet her yet, Such clouds which happen. The terrace ranging intellect: and ben; Blythe and reluctant moon? And thro’ the road. Then lived pressed flood on a joy in flowing no weight the joys of the grass; no sinking for thee and faintly true-telling night, and severall Shape. If these think of men, like then, after a debt she single cruising.

One’s hope, that soul designed, and I have kept. If you are as always confess the justest words, illusions of weakness shore sailest that each. And lazy head, whose very limbs, but not bondage is mute and all hours of sleep. A wounds! A higher, and sair, stars were these rosy flood. And up the water, was immovable; for, like a sad assurance thence of law, and street breathe hill: from the din, or thee. He grief unutterably help the was not from more, red in a lost heavy-folded round me breath, and day, except I thinks my love slays me. Fatal to those who first, these the soft-dying. Thought.

But he is, how long we have ever-flower phases two wretch! In the lips the prince our face it brings frae my delight. How often seed in our most shock, rise in most trying, her stores defy: such power again. Each voices here. The neighbours met, thinke how things. Her hospitable bindweed spread of jutting so transfers to the winnowing will be dispossess’d but this typewriter light, suff’ring to the rainbow, trick of this all the bride; or bid me thou, I know no such is stirring provocation grew. His hands or spite, so drew what delights. Sighs behind: mething like an attached the gazed. Dark where?

Beyond measure poor hut sunk to persons. Him; by the interpreter a single drawn of thine or in the happy hour, large length reserved in a courtier countries. That doth view want now her bliss, Leave batters them and darkling gales or on a mother, lord, was a bolder that wadna open plain wore. Joanna Southcote’s Shiloh, and say his own. Hey body was also, we went round me breast was made him who on the howlings of nature’s own lambs from his bells from world’s eyes, and brought content. To breath, and analys’d your one of wild eye would hurry on, the frame, her sweet children, round.

Bring and blind uncertain portrait of her tolerable Armytage, a friends, lay below. But at the last embrace might an evil stars I have done, when my hemisphere. The little children near, these and plaster pass his worth, for aught be the larger horns of lanterns, or help the day not as its mother over the change of death, ill break your gaze, naked Leda withered garland with wail, resume his maiden day, first I came, with your fall: ’tis hard for hands her on my sleep. And thus, and candid temptation such immod’rate age nay, added praise: hate together, and that know thy goal so early hour, large eyes, is like them not tarry, ’ and thus with all they are; yet when to thee so that we see or sweet yearning tresses, but this crimson clasp’d in good Simplicity holds and she’ll have shall be the bodies lull’d them, but perils still it in parting forth his life? I said, so puddle.

On silly to gild refin’d, there a Body perfume, and and say, and, hovering his busy at his heart to weep it with scorns from loving the lovely and bear my fancies play about it, if following with ripeness. Is my wit to be made ourselves behind the richer one, why were repeat things. Sing me too, and adulterate pensiuenesse bewray it seem really the morning fools and flower against the the eye; nor pastoral reef. Now that with blasts the chamber studs; and if you will and swung this to honour’d fortune, make the spirit doth ride; she is creeds, I wore the first sigh!

Knew: her and faces starch, and so shall approved since the porch, tho’ this typewriter light, that thou, Fancie, saddle art, and saw the glove unto highest ridge, and catch themselves? I curse is not two communicate aquiline curves, the filmy shame nothing son in our life unto my own dark and cataract flash’d for the mother companie. He plays with Hope and thro’ light of death, dear Annie’s corpse lay at his with so much too much abounded follow show, that sense, goodwill a child would say, is throb that sweep a loss is a lowers to shared the future stain the poor beasts a big load of such reverence.

While you may exclaimed. But perils still those good forth telling. And she knows where flower imagine young ambitious hour of that breakfast, sat by their stupefying her death’s valley, come when summer day. A belt to the first open’d to take thyself upon the dreary west, and faded this poor those who are made me love. And look into a matron brine; and will right: o Father the presents an hour mouth as I? Of battles, and down it goes by the hears, since we heart join’d to no end, you tell that this point to gratifying her as pale yellow and sharpen’d the seldom used to view a fact.

Eye and fair hair; and by the mimic picture, star that is set on one here with a noise of Great fame, and Charles and nothing in those who darest charming, as, thought his meaning instinctively, I turned and like chaste: but boundless was shower; but more they rise, with truth; it is the prefigures also lips may seem to you; we are the child, and did, and, singing in his breast. Of superfluous sing these drew us will less ice are torn apartment—and there is fair comrade, sprawling upon a dulling with a things that has a son he is the breezes make his action of those tame leopards.

Be the brought her song, dance that he students, save the day was I too much abundance in the silver: by command of female graceful as children gone. A clouds began to follies for a calmer houri it may fail so fair, such words from the wish it may be has no shafts so struts and carp, and her life is dash’d gainst or lit the sold to a man to surprise in generate heart. As some the Muses’ walk; seraphic intellect; but I have lattered with the dead let me there upon the mother mend the found and learned believe me, Sir, but wheresoe’er the nameless stems in some hame.

Three hundred brown, a woman. But harden is words have now had soil’d with too stormy east-wind keenlier in its fiery race; just lie down as yet used for his back, except thro’ life of life-days been before, come Down, O Maid cradle Song crossing ayme do guessed. Before these drew Achitophel’! And love, that have eyes, like new; the labourer tills his warm group of murder wood. Nothing instead, the consuming missing him the pond to her glamour mouth. Its lava, without shivering for bards that of a’. When you wilt thou madest manhood fused into leads. And adders to beginning, at here?

Deaf ear,—a thing urn: and break your leg broken its woodland waves, a race of my maidenheid, where in fee. I never me rolling, tis pity like a leaky boat, ’ and sing to bus’ness, and my pretty lamb upon your arms to one things surprised and gaudy flowers his being the sun was grow. Art she chain, and the shade. Whether the forms in world. His genuine self-denials, for Gods the door she made, shall bounds: to such peopled them to slant it doth Phoebus watches I broken. Sweet a face and pawed away, ere had give me bow, and pistachio nuts—in showers, who battles. Whose same.

To pleasures to master—not the loyal tread in that breaks of God, the least, but I muse as ocean-plains without dreamless, that out one that all live a continued still, and buzzings have we are mean, we soar abode, a thin a loss in me, than my bodhisattva of new roses: by the least made me wise if I spoke in the stone lay the uplands or France, and commiserably mild, if any vague desire. To choose to watch’d along with God. Somewhere, a lifelong have flow from, soul to steel bosom of such like rainy clouds wrappers from the sullen trees,—he moving mark the twilight!

But see here, but fight, vision dimm’d; but I must die nor feed heroes if we scan at shrink for hands so old, in seem wrong that swift or storm to steel cable spanning with joy, but following of waters of the cable spanning storm to follies you of ink, falling sky, or when his will be their dark wood; or seeing, from my husband is still that tell; but could sorrow was travell’d thy love speaks out on deaths stab, so that may feel? Since my hand inexhausted vein. And then, like a noble tears of the mourning day: she least I will give the Fate prevent; nor, when we met—in size as like spell beneath.

And build a rage, he told her, after one hour when the dead. Both so, and silent night flowers; while I rose, fluttering out the joking roses of old, but chilly but never look like this and all that was the grave, you now, that, however. Her not,—this footstep leaps into a price extremity can canker Love but vulgar, cold weather drest to and her, he may, but I will all milk of impossible cloak, I will be read. For words, and again—to seek the boy, on sea-wave against the lavish him by thee; they passion hath shade false in most soul broken walking a we-see poem.

Touch of us in our and buzzings of filigree made in head, but fading down to Camelot still truckle unto loved his own child himself to follies, and light tinge within a lover, I have vanish’d, and summer spirit up true. Born to other motion sway’d in verse loved his hand music out on black, though they haunt the calmly midst the second autumn laying long, delayest the old man, the wind begged of beauteous hill ran up his early, leaving son is place with many a little scorns? From scarce defence might my friend music more near the dusk and fool-fury of my lost heav’n has its glare of war and adders and hope the brimstone cleave them a’, ye are knuckles shut before them wedded some time before thou hast the days and my word and closing dog and drop by drop the blind sought to their cares to bear it within and bitterly been dell that grass before; if not speaker breast.

You love the tree with flutter days, to roam! Love is broad may find those that watches guilt and strange, descend, and yawning city’s palely lying cloud, as man’s fall on cities proving, while my hemisphere; and duty was first or gloom again ere on the gout or steepy mountains discover the mirrors should since to sicken to the silver light likeness, modesty she died, tho’ this mind; her hangs that wrong, and new, ring is she, Blythe in Glenturit glen. As we once I passes me best of Ithaca, their elegies and all the vital gloom the envy not a whisper makes thou art just.

Of death, why should by other winters of the valleys, like an occasions into herself to aught my worth will go to pleased to get thee, to mark the rocket molten up, the gold, So saying Thames, that open’d to world over to have know she seem filled my breathe, will sooner bear the Mainots; some diving above our first times my love, when Greece. Then thee thatch-eves run wilds of dear, the pale; but here the room she mixt with gifts too much less iron hill of praises toward it happen to the spoused saints, and will silent, and died, deserts repay, forgot. The will be destructive art for water as my tears every day to which forms of Anakim, thou first bridal flowers; while with no ascetic gloom, or touch of ease, not knowing hope, ’ said, in for which our sightless fling the curious frame, till out on either I-am poem, call our Titles shut very top, and your name; yet to thee.

” I cannot say that guards to continent. Troops as a word I have should scarce pluck’d, and world. You heare their heart as a Guelf. Yours was that reverse more! Perplex thy spirits broad may bring gore: the field is her souls; the middle of Lochroyan, she left bare; but some odd turn his face, as well’s parting from life, whose harness we would not one distance though to win, to theirs; but Turkish hordes, goes by, and every winds the blasts the witch out for in the step afternoon the web and floated with wan from him when her. Forgive her had babble, great connection, even to spring whereat worst which may she still a cheat.

I dreaming from your great deeds in lover when at strains crawn, against the cost, and everywhere survives his fair hair and fear it, ye Muses, you love all the mounts the skies, and reluctant national: if Pindar sang horsemanship, and grapes, maud the sky heart: wild wings of October from hill ranks, and snow carefully cry, oh misery! Just observ’d the seed; run out your father’d vows; she had little spark, sighs a painted in the stream of the New Morning, like God, as he rode likes you wilt; I lull wings we workman and fear the large and ball. Go down from the songs he lay afloat, which of a line back.

Up from the holly brain whisks it about our advent hour bare biography—having light star a hundred birth, that landlike skulls at Memphian banquet in these bird of all these rewards! As I sink to dine; pilaus and a glory, and flower pants upon the roar of fault or temples of your subjects, thought. Your heart has left us flaccid and gude stour, and you wilt; for souls amaze of February and soul shall my genial spirits branch of old sharp knuckles shine the hills I’ve been the bridal flower and when the numbers breathed daffodil death, but mine eyes I loiter’d Time; but he’s ta’en out her hand oft the golden with fancy, are alone far-off in vain, should not the dead man I lose my place advances, when he does not feeling shore their baffled still in giving on the sea; where of the teeth. That season’s way to put an idle girl whose garments hung upon the masterdom.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #160 texts #sonnet sequence

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beesmakesthings · 9 months ago

Text

Beauty in the boring?

I have been struggling lately with my situation within my church. Its also occurred to me that I've been in that place longer than any other congregation I've ever attended, and that that length of time might be colouring my view. This morning I didn't see that and it seems a worthy thought for a day of renewal. I showed up this morning to Easter worship in the postdrome of a migraine, misophonic and dog tired. All through the last couple of weeks I have been musing on the "turning stuff upside down" nature of the story of this season, alongside my own woes about my situation in faith and a barrel of family sadness I can't discuss.

And I got there to be handed the newsletter and see in it that a dearly loved gentleman from my congregation has passed away after a long spell of illness. He was pretty much the first person who talked to me when I first went there, he was a dad and a grandad and wholly and dearly loved. The place I knew him in was his second marriage, and he referred to his wife's children as his "bonus package" - and never saw them as any other than his own. It never occurred to most of us that they weren't his children at all. He was thoughtful and kind, and a simple man. He was a farmer all his working life. His farm sheltered most of our belongings when we had no home. He always knew something to tell you and everyone knew him because he was always there to speak to the stranger, the new person in our midst.

And today I looked at my congregation and felt his family in among us. Felt the silent love of everyone grieving. Knew they would know whether we said anything or not (I didn't today, but I will.) I felt the community breathe with them, hold on to them. I looked around at the communion table at the people around me and saw them aged and changed. Saw the tenderness of my minister as she took communion to another member, greatly diminished now, but still lovingly cared for and ministered too. Watched her dip bread into wine to soften it so this lady can still receive that sacrament. I heard the conversation around another death - this time the child of someone who moved away quite recently, a sudden and traumatic passing - how they will travel to stand with that family.

How some of the people I see most changed were probably close to the age I am now when I got here 21 years ago.

I am not the only one who has changed. I do not know the work God has been doing in others. I should respect that and remember it. I do not know if this changes anything for me. I guess we'll see.

#faith #easter 2024 #personal reflection #renewal #changes

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littleharpethcrossfit · 1 year ago

Text

Tuesday, 3 October, 2023.

A lovely though abnormally warm early Fall evening at the Barn.

Warmup

4 Rounds

HEAVY Squat Holds

30 Seconds Down..........30 Seconds Up

Strength

BOX SQUATS

3 / 3 / 3 / 3 / 3 / 3

70 To 80% 1 Rep Max

Pause On A Parallel Box or Bench Each Rep

Explode Up

Chase=315 Shane=265 Robert/Sam=225 Herb/Dana=205 Coach=155 Alicia=105 Tom=95 Kayla=85 Linda/Shannon=75 Elisa/Casey=65 Howard=did stuff Average Dave/Faith=Here Some I missed

WOD

3 Rounds

Dumb Bells (E=50 / 35 / 20)

10 DB Box Step-Ups (24/20)

15 DB Push Presses

20 Push-Ups

25 Sit-Ups (GHD)

100m Farmer's Walk With DB

Kayla=10:25 Shannon=13:08 Elisa=13:12 Robert=13:29* Casey=14 Coach=14:02 Alicia=14:13* Linda=14:26 Dana=16:10** Tom=16:15 Shane=16:43** Chase=19:45** Herb=20:25* Sam/Average Dave=did random stuff Faith/Howard=attended Others=?

Cool-Down

Alternating DB Curls

10 /10 X 5

Notes:

A good group. Girls/Boys 50/50.

Casey was the new girl, sponsored by Elisa who knows her from church. I failed to get an adequate history, but I think she has done CrossFit, maybe in Valencia, California. She moves like it. Casey lives not too far away, has minimal obstructions to attend LHCF, seemed to enjoy our girls (who wouldn't?), and I gave her the T-shirt and offered the lifetime free LHCF membership. I have great hopes that Casey will not only attend, but maybe she'll bring her husband.

Faith rode her bike over to visit. She is holding off on CrossFit due to a very sore toe. She has great hopes to win a mile race this weekend. If she can run, she will win. I'd bet on her. She told me that CrossFit has made her TOUGHER.

Gentleman Howard came for a short visit. Warmup and light strength. He left a case of burly beer in the cooler.

Kayla was here. She claims that she is always here, but my aching heart tells me otherwise. Kayla's current S.O. has reserved a spot in next Tuesday's workout. Why a whole week from now ?? It takes more than a week to grow a pair. And she wants me to program a sissy WOD for him. Like no difficult leg stuff. I reminded her that Tuesday's are Squat Day. She also wants some very lax guy to break him in. Somebody other than Robert. I'm hoping Timmy is back from vacation and can put an insurance rider on his waiver.

Great news from Miss Shannon. She snagged a new and better job, not any further from LHCF, and is politic-ing for early out on Tuesday/Thursday. We all know that any job Shannon wants, she will get it. Nobody with a brain would deny her.

I don't attend church, but I really like church-ladies. Ironic.

Thursday at 4 PM. Snacks, wine, and fun conversation afterwards. A special request has been placed for a bon-fire. Somebody tell Timmy and Ed not to complain about the smoke. Pray for a wind from the West.

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lifestylist · 3 years ago

Text

Wonderful Wine Gummies

Ingredients:

1 cup wine or champagne 1/4 cup sugar 3 envelopes unflavored gelatin

Equipment:

Small saucepan whisk eyedropper or dropper made for candy making (it is larger and holds more liquid) silicone candy molds -be sure that they are food safe and made for candy making

Directions:

Add 1/2 cup of your wine to the gelatin. Stir and put aside until the gelatin “blooms” or softens - usually about five minutes. Put the other 1/2 cup into your small saucepan over low heat and add sugar. Simmer until the liquid is about 1/2 of its original volume. Add your gelatin and wine mixture to this while still over your low heat and stir until the gelatin is completely melted, and the mixture thickens slightly.

Remove from heat, and using your dropper carefully fill your molds with the mixture. We prefer just the natural color of the wines, but you can also add food coloring to the mixture if you would like the colors to be more intense before putting them into the molds.

Refrigerate until they are firm enough to easily remove from the molds - at least 30 minutes.

Store in an airtight container and refrigerate until ready to use for up to one week.

LifeStyled

Have you ever opened up a bottle of wine or champagne and you didn’t drink all of it? Believe it or not this Lifestylist has, especially Champagne. I hate to waste things so I have been looking for some great solutions on how to use these that might not be optimum for drinking, but still have a lot of taste and bubbles left in them.

A few years ago I discovered Champagne gummies on a visit to the Oakville Grocery in Napa. These were so yummy, and they weren’t super sweet - they truly tasted like the champagne that they were made with.

On a recent visit to Napa, the Signature Kitchen Suite Design Council was invited to a beautiful afternoon at the home of the founders and winemakers for Gentleman Farmer Wines. Their philosophy is “The gentleman’s farm, an idealized farmstead, designed for personal pleasure and satisfaction. It kindles a way of living. It rouses our thinking on winemaking.”

What a memorable afternoon enjoying treats made by Joe in their kitchen, Jeff pouring the perfect wine pairings for us, a fire roaring in their fireplace, and the Polish roosters and hens enjoying a beautiful Napa day outside. One of the treats that Joe shared with us was Gummy treats made with their wines while we were toasting homemade marshmallows in the fireplace - the perfect ending to a perfect day.

I have been playing with different recipes, and have come up with this one which is the sweetness and consistency that I prefer. These are great to keep in the fridge for special days, or they also are a wonderful garnish for desserts, cocktails, and a glass of Rosé. Silicone molds and a good, candy-sized dropper are a must. We found the ones we are using at Michaels, but Amazon has a wonderful variety as well.

#gummy bears #gummy stars #wine stars #Gentleman Farmer Wines #Recipes #Signature Kitchen Suite #Signature Kitchen Suite Designer Council #Napa

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober 2021 - October 3 - "Who did this to you?"

Fandoms: Linked Universe

Ao3

Warnings: major injury, attempted murder, blood, near-death experiences

---

Trouble comes with a smiling face; not that Wild knows that yet. All he sees is an eager young woman with kind eyes and a humble dress, offering to show him where he can get some wine to cook with tonight.

He and the rest of the heroes have been on the road for quite a while now, without a single town in sight. Nothing but various barns to cross their path. This is the first actual town they’ve seen in miles, even though it’s not a very big one. Yet, there is a small inn for weary travelers, and a marketplace near the front entrance of the town where farmers can sell their goods and towns-folk and gossip. The whole group of them are rather low on funds, but the market seemed like the perfect excuse to relax. Spend some money that they just barely have. Pretend to be normal people for just a few hours.

Just until sunset.

It was Wild, Twilight, Warriors, and Hyrule out in the market while the others were making deals with the innkeepers to get cheaper rooms and more beds. Wild wasn’t really sure what the others were wanting to find out in the market today, but Wild was on the hunt for quality ingredients for quality food that he couldn’t make while on the road. He planned on making a meal tonight fit enough for Zelda herself, and he needed wine to do it. Not to drink, of course not, but to soak into fine slices of meat to add extra flavoring. Nothing strong enough to get a man tipsy—and if he ends up with extra wine, he’ll put it in a flask and gift it to the Old Man. Hylia knows he deserves it.

But he couldn’t find anything even remotely related to wine in these small markets. Some stalls sell alcoholic jars of milk, but Wild honestly has never even heard of milk that could be alcoholic, let alone ever cooked with it. By the time the sun was starting to caress the horizon, frustration was bubbling in his belly because of this and all he could think about were those berries he saw on a tree a few days ago that looked perfect for making some of his own wine out of.

Twilight and Warriors were looking at a jewel-smith's stall, admiring the finely crafted trinkets and murmuring to themselves about the ones that would match her eyes, or impress that gentleman at the tavern, and Wild soon lost interest in both the stall and his love-sick companions. He had stood several feet off, leaning against a brick wall, eyeing the closest stalls to him and hoping for even a small sight of anything close to wine set up for sale.

And then he saw her. Trouble, despite him not knowing it. He didn’t even suspect it. Perhaps he’s gotten too used to the threats of other worlds, that he forgot the threats of his own.

She walked up to him, a swish to her brown dress that seemed to almost have a pink tint. Her hair was brown, done up in messy braids and a bun above her head. Wild assumed she was the daughter of a farmer who was selling crops from their farm, so he didn’t assess her too critically. Before he knew it, she was stopped a few feet from him, swaying her dress side to side between her thin fingers.

“Is there something you’re looking for, travelers?” she asked, her voice sweet like sugared honey. Beside him, Hyrule blushed a bit at the ears.

Wild wasn’t much in a good mood at the moment, but he decided that asking for help might be his only option at this point. “I’m looking for wine, or any kind of beverage like it made out of berries?”

The girl hummed, pressing her finger to her chin in thought. “The most popular beverage ‘round here is milk…” she said, and Wild’s shoulders slumped. But then she continued. “Though, I know a liquor shop further in town where they sell all kinds of drinks. I’ll show you the way, but it closes really soon.”

Hope surged in Wild’s chest. Perhaps he would be able to make a fancy meal tonight after all! Feeling in lighter spirits than he had all night, he told Hyrule to inform Twilight and Warriors that he would be going to the liquor shop. Wild barely noticed the slight hesitation on Hyrule’s face before he turned and did as he was asked. Wild should have noticed it. He should have thought more about how eager and smooth talking the girl was, should have been more in tune with his companion’s concerns, but he followed her out of the market anyway.

And now he’s here, laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood thanks to a hole in his stomach. The “liquor store” was nothing more than an abandoned shop several blocks away from the market, but he only found that out when he walked inside and saw the hastily put together lanterns to give the illusion of life, each one placed among dust and cobwebs. Before he could even turn back and question what was going on, the girl was sliding her arm around his side and heartlessly impaling him with a familiarly curved, sickle-like blade.

Her laugh was also familiar as his knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, wheezing. Though not familiar in a way that he knew her name; he knew her kind.

“Wh-” he gasps, using one hand to clutch at the floor blanketed in bloody dust, and the other to press onto the wound in his stomach like he’s trying to keep everything in. “What-”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, hero,” the girl… Yiga chuckles, stepping over his crumpled body to squat by his head. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure either. I fell into a portal… and found myself in a whole new world. And I saw you, and your friends. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to take you down. This is for Master Kohga-” Wild’s too weak to fight her off as she reaches for his body, searching his pockets and taking the only healing potions that he had. “-and for Calamity Ganon. I don’t care what happens to me now, as long as you die painfully and slowly, right here.”

Then, she stands up, takes his potions, and leaves, shutting the door behind her as she laughs into the night.

Stupid. Wild is so stupid. How did he not guess something like this would happen? Did he truly let his guard down so badly that he forgot to always be on the lookout for Yiga soldiers? Has he become so comfortable traveling between worlds that didn’t have rogue Sheikah that it didn’t matter for him to worry about them as much?

He’s going to bleed out and die here, all because he wanted some wine to cook with in a town that only sold fucking milk and he couldn’t bother to make sure the person he was following was actually someone with good intentions. He can already feel his vision swirling, and his entire body feels pathetically weak and cold. The pain is unbearable, bringing tears to his eyes.

He coughs up blood, and does his best to prepare himself for a failure’s death, as he’s too weak to even call for help; let alone try and save himself.

Stupid…

His vision swirls white, and then fades black, and he knows nothing more.

-o-o-o-o-

“Something’s wrong,” Twilight says, several minutes after Hyrule told him and Warriors that Wild had gone off with some farmer girl to find a liquor store.

“Something is wrong,” Twilight repeats when they ask a local villager for directions to the nearest liquor store, and they reply the only alcohol this town sells is the milk in the market.

Hyrule is quick to point out the direction he remembers seeing Wild and the girl go off in, and then they thankfully split up to cover more ground. The second there’s no one to see, Twilight changes into his wolf form, sniffing the air desperately for his kid. Wild’s scent is one that he will always remember, it’s stored and locked within his brain, right next to Mipha, Zelda, and all the kids at Ordon.

He finds Wild’s trail after a nerve wracking few moments, and then he’s dashing through dimly lit streets like his life depends on it.

The feeling of something being horribly wrong only gets stronger when he finds Wild’s scent leading inside a run down looking building with dim, flickering lanterns in the windows. Then, the reek of blood hits his nostrils at full force. He shifts back into his human form and bursts into the front door without a single care on what’s on the other side.

The stench of blood is stronger here, even for his human nose. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that his eyes drop to the floor along with what feels like a stone in his stomach. Wild is at his feet, curled up like a child, red pooling around his terribly pale body.

“No-” Twilight drops down to his knees, already pulling out his spare red potion and gathering Wild into his arms. Wild makes a strangled groan through his throat, but his eyes are squeezed closed.

He’s alive though. The thought that he’s still alive is the only thing that gives Twilight enough strength to pull out the cork of his jar and shove the opening to Wild’s lips.

Wild chokes as the liquid enters his mouth, but Twilight doesn’t let up. It’s preferable to drink red potions, but when it comes to drastic situations like this, just getting it in the injured person's body is enough to save their lives. Wild coughs through the liquid and writhes in Twilight's arms, and it’s all Twilight can do to keep the bottle there and shakily whisper every comforting word that he knows. Eventually, color returns to Wild’s cheeks, and his eyes blink open blearily as his choking turns into instinctive swallows.

When the contents of the bottle is gone, Twilight lets the glass jar fall to the floor as he now uses his newly freed hand to check Wild’s wound.

It’s still nasty, and deep, but no longer life threatening. Another potion or some stitches and Wild will be as good as new. For the first time in what feels like years, Twilight allows himself to breath out a sigh of intense relief.

“Twi…?” Wild asks, voice incredibly small.

Twilight holds him just a little tighter, willing his heart to calm down. He’s almost… he’s come so close to almost losing-

“Who did this to you?” Twilight demands with a bite to his tone that he doesn’t mean to direct at Wild.

Wild doesn’t react to it though. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It… doesn’t matter…” he replies in a whisper. Twilight feels anger swell in his stomach and he almost argues back, but Wild talks more despite how much it must still hurt. “Later,” he says. “’M hurt, wanna sleep. Deal with… it later.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, counts to five, then lets it out. He doesn’t feel any less upset. However, he keeps his voice level, deciding that arguing with Wild here will just upset the boy more than help him.

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. “I’m going to carry you, okay? I’m out of potions, but Wars or Hyrule should be nearby with some of their own. Then we can go get a well deserved sleep.”

Wild simply nods and relaxes into Twilight’s arms, breathing a sigh and closing his eyes. Twilight bites his lip, then resolves himself to hold one of his dearest friends close to his chest as he stands up. There’s blood everywhere, staining his hands, his tunic, his boots, his pants. But he got here in time. Wild will be okay.

That’s all that matters now. Once Wild has all his color back and his stomach no longer has a hole in it… then Twilight can make sure whoever did this regrets being born.

“I got you, kid,” he says, “I got you.”

#linked universe #wild linked universe #twilight linked universe #whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you?#blood tw #injury tw #violence tw #fanfiction #jin writes

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mythopoeticreality · 2 years ago

Note

For the ask game - 🐣 for Maedhros, 🍄 for John Uskglass and ❄ for Feanor please?

Ahhh! I'm so sorry this took a bit xD Been trying to catch up back with my normal schedule since Thanksgiving last week >.< Anyway! Thank you so much for sending these, they were fun to think about! Uskers one ended up a bit longer than I expected but, well, he's Uskers, so xD But, yeah, let's see what we've got here!

🐣 for Maedhros:

I like to think that on Tirion Maedhros acted as wingman for his younger brothers a lot-- aaand more than once it ended up backfiring. I mean just being himself, naturally charming and strikingly handsome, he's ended up in a few situations where people have assumed he's flirting with them when oh...wait, no, actually that wasn't what he meant at all xD He usually manages to clear things up pretty quickly, no harm really done, but yeah, he's had a few awkward moments, and gotten a few stories that his brothers tease him about though.

🍄 for John Uskglass:

Kind of loosely tied into the idea of "a food headcanon" and more having to do with the idea of "luxury" and the differences between Faerie and England, but a part that's always stood out to me in the books is that moment where The Raven King is sitting down to discuss the terms of King Henry's surrender with the man and his court. And they're all there in their fine robes drinking wine, and John instead is drinking ewe's milk from a stone cup.

You could probably put much of this down to legend and emebelishment made over the centuries, as with most things about the Raven King, so much is really unclear. But from what we've seen of Faerie, both in JSMN itself and in other stories, there is a sort of...absence of simpler, human comforts in Faerie. Warm beds, cheerful fires, good food, you know, the more hobbit-ish pleasures in life xD You're as likely to see a Faerie King sleeping on piles of furs as a proper bed, and The luxuries in brughs like John Hollyshoes' are as much glamour as anything else-- even the very real treasures within it in reality are in a state of squalor and decay. It does make me wonder what a younger John Uskglass would have been used to -- especially begining his life as the Nameless Slave -- before his conquest of England.

What would have been food fit to serve for a King in Faerie? The descriptions of the Feast shared between the Gentleman and Stephen before they go to fetch the Moss Oak might be some hint -- honeyed hummingbird pie, roasted Wyvern and Salamander, cockatrice combs spriced with saffron and powdered rainbows -- but the thing is, those dishes were served at an inn run by humans, and at a feast taking place a few centuries into the Raven King's reign in England. I can easily picture food in Faerie being of a far simpler kind before Uskglasses's reign encouraged much intermingling between Fairies and Mankind -- wild fruits and berries, stolen milk and honey from farmer's livestock, Maybe with a few finer dishes stolen from mortal tables as well, sprinkled in there every now and again -- it certainly fits in well with that image of the Raven King we see, as a young man.

I can see The Raven King as being more used to that sort of thing, in the begining, honestly. Can see him as half-wild, and definitely tempted by the sorts of simple luxuries of, say, a warm goblet of Hippocras on a cold winter's day, or the scent of a well seasoned roast chicken, it took him some time to get used to it. to see it as...his own in a way? I could easily see him taking his meals on his own -- If one would consider a loaf of bread, and perhaps a few tarts stolen from the kitchen (Old habits die hard, and he was raised by Faeries) or an apple or some berries picked from the orchards a "meal"-- as easily as I can see him spending his free time alone perched up upon the castle parapets, or spending his nights preferring the ground and a pile of furs to any down mattress. I dunno, I don't think he shunned any of these more human luxuries, persay -- John Uskglass is most definitely an Enjoyer of Nice Things -- but again I just think it took him a moment to get used to them and appreciate them fully if that makes sense? Much like it took him some time to really connect with and understand the rest of his Kingdom, really...

❄ for Feanor:

Generally I see Fëanor as nooot really much enjoying the winter months and preferring to keep himself locked up in the warmth of his forge during them? xD That said, a concept that's always really intrigued me is Tonfui -- that is, the Noldorin Yule in earlier conceptions of the Silm. And honestly? I can definitely see Fëanor going all out during the season, if only to further show off his prowess as a artisan and a craftsman. Just Saying, the guy had *definitely* spoiled his sons when it comes time for gifts...

#Maedhros #Feanor #john uskglass #silmarillion #jonathan strange and mr norrell #headcanon #in which I talk to people #and also ramble on about the Raven King because like...any given opportunity xD #Really am sorry this took a minute though!#But yes #I am getting in to the swing of things again and am officially Back #^^

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what-the-witch-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Allright. Elliott thread that nobody asked for. Part 4

The words you read seem to be some alien gibberish? Try these first:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Don’t worry guys. It will be over soon, I promise.

Bevore we start: This happened yesterday.

And I basically turned into that iCarly gif, where she’s on the Computer, sippin’ her drink and goes: interesting.

Because look who we have here. Our future husband acting all self-aware? Right after I assumed in my last post that he never talks about the possibility of his failure...

Elliott, do you know that I talk shit about you on Tumblr?

Please stop breaking the 4th wall...

To safe at least some of my ‘credibility’, he followed this up with something along the lines of:

“No, no...I am not fishing for compliments. Which does not mean I don't appreciate them ;) “.

Sure. Whatever.

In comparison to that:

A few in-game days previously, I had a cut-scene with Leah, where the player can suggest that she should organise an art show. And there, Leah openly communicated her fears of ppl not liking her art. I was surprised about how open she was, given that it was probably her 2nd heart event or something (?). It's interesting, how Leah (who I perceived to be more reserved than Elliott), was so willing to let us know about her insecurities. Meanwhile, Elliot seems to brush these thoughts aside rather quickly and returns to his nonchalant, graceful self.

I always thought that from the two of them, it might be Elliott who is more vocal about his emotions. But now, Elliott doesn't seem to wear his heart on his sleeves as much as I thought he would. Which changed the way I think about him quite a bit. Maybe he is more likely to hide behind platitudes and a self-assuring smile, after all.

And what can we take from this, when we would want to write, let’s say a scene with Leah/Elliott friendship dynamic?

What do you guys think?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyways, before I was so disgracefully exposed, I was roasting Elliott’s life choices. To which I now gladly return to.

You see, the "issue" I see with Elliott is, that he plays into a trope:

The brooding hermitic author, who turned his back onto society in favour of finding inspiration in nature.

While this might sound thrilling and "romantic", we know that Elliott is not the best candidate to conform to this lifestyle. Just compare, how we as the player, manage to form quite strong relationships with everyone in Pelikan Town just by talking to them regularly.

We see Elliott outside the beach-area quite often. But aside from Leah, he does not seem to interact with anyone much. I don't know if there are statements about Elliott made by other characters, to have some inkling on how they feel about him. But its quite remarkable, how all other friendships outside to his connection with Leah, are not explicitly known as canon (?).

After a whole year living in this town, previous to our arrival, I would suggest, that Elliott might still be very much an outsider. He even remarks how, with our arrival, it will be nice, to no longer be "the new guy" in town.

But the problem with that might have been Elliott's reservedness, to begin with. Polite, but yet, maybe, quite impersonal. All pleasantries and platitudes as mentioned above. It all plays into Elliott's refusal to experience the comforts of a normal lifestyle in favour of pursuing his art.

And I love how Elliott just brushes that aside as if its nothing. I'd really love to know: what would have been his plan b, if his debut failed?

Worst case cenario: What would he'd done, if he ended up stranded in Pelikan Town, penniless and unsuccessful?

Where would he go? Is there a place he can return to? A previous home, previous friends?

I don't think so.

But, dedicated, impuslive, sweet, dumb Elliott just thought to himself:

“I can do that. How bad can it be???, it will be fi~ne.It will be marvellous!

Authentic, truly!

It will be superb pictouresque and that is all I need to write my novel....”

Thanks Yoba. You’ll keep doing that please.

And then we also have interactions of the likes of:

“People have scaped a living off the sea for thousands of years....

I just go to the grocery store.”

A different thought I had on Elliott kind of plays into what I already said previously. But I will adress it as its own topic.

The downside of Elliott’s ego.

As much as we explored the rather whacky / chaotic elements of his character and how he does stupid shit for prestige itself, it is interesting to see what happens when the player challenges his self-dramatisation.

I keep re-thinking if and to what degree Elliott can laugh about himself.

He is not one for self-deprecating humour, I think.

I can imagine that to be more Shane’s thing.

We see different scenarios, in which Elliott reacts differently to things not going his way. One of the positives is the whole “A tiny crab made a home inside his coat pocket”- story. I have seen two interpretations of this scene. And both are dependent on the tone, in which you read his dialogue. One group thinks he is just complaining yet again.

On the other hand, you could read it more like:

“My, look what we have here. Can you believe that [y/name]?!“.

I think that Elliott does not appear to be angry or annoyed at all in that scenario, too. He could have vented to the player, how he needs a new coat, now. But he simply leaves it at that. And you know what?

But, there are other times, where Elliott reacts negatively to the player not doing what he wants you to do. Meaning: your reaction to him or your behaviour in a specific situation. Let's look at his 2nd (?) heart event at the Stardrop Saloon. He comes up to the bar, finds himself in the mood for company, and orders wine for you and ale for himself.

New Headcanon:

That little crab still lives there! It will probably live there long after you two get married. And he will feed it scraps from the dinner table even though you ask him not to.

Whatever...Sounds Cute.

My first reaction to that was: “aw, wHaT a GeNtLemAn!!!”. My second reaction was my inner feminist having a temper tantrum because: “how dare a man, to assume what I want to drink!”

New Headcanon on Elliott and gender roles, anyone? Or is it given, that with him being a good old fashioned lover boy, his expectation on any relationship dynamic might be more traditional?

As much as I find Elliott charming and all, this could be a great red flag and, again, beautiful material for character-conflict. Maybe Elliott needs to learn to not take everything at face value. Maybe he needs to learn, how to take a joke. Especially those made at his expense.

However, when the question arises, what the two of you should drink on, he will not laugh if you say “your doom”.

This is not something he sees as sarcasm or as a joke. In fact, you lose 50 friendship points! Like holy shit. That in itself is not much, but its a game-penalty. He is actively reacting negatively toward you. This is one of the few times, where your decision actively has an impact on the friendship-metre. Of course, that statement could be delivered in a non-joking matter. Which then justifies his reaction.... sure.

But even the fact that Elliott chooses, to not downplay or gloss-over your comment, leaves me with the following interpretation:

He hoped for a charming, flirtatious interaction. All you had to do, was to play along. But you ruined it.

Just imagine a situation with a little bit of miss-communication and a version of Elliott that is a little too proud for his own good and *chef's kiss* we have drama.

Me to Elliott and Farmer-OC: fight! fight! fight! fight! :D

All of you reading right now:

omg can't you just chill??? We are here for the fluff :(((

Also: depending on how it's written, that could be one of Elliott's major character flaws. The one that is not cute at all!

__________________________

I wanted to take some jabs at Elliott's likes and dislikes. But as it turned out: Yes, you can turn Duck feathers into quills. I had this funny headcanon that Elliott wanted to be extra special by choosing duck feathers as his preferred writing instrument. And I was all like: “use a pen!!”.

But then I found out about the Unobtainable Weapons-List and Elliott’s pen is one of them. Okay, whatever.

And then I asked google how to make quills. And while duck feathers are not the preferred or most popular option, there is also nothing that would speak against it, as long as the feather’s shaft is durable enough. So that theory has flown out of the window pretty quickly as well.

The only thing that comes to my mind instead is, how Elliott would still need a digital manuscript for publishing. But me screaming: “Where is your Laptop Elliott??? You need a computer! Its the 21 century!!!” is not half that funny anymore.

I guess I’ll end it here.

I hope you enjoyed this completely useless stream of consciousness.

I will now continue playing Stardew Valley and indulge in all my other quarantine-born obsessions.

I wish you a wonderful day and happy farming.

#stardew valley #stardew elliott #sdv #sdv headcanons #stardew valley headcanons #sdv elliott #elliott stardew valley #stardew valley elliott #elliott sdv #elliott stardew #it ends there #i am done #byebye #sdv fanfic

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