#baldric weathers

[suffer-my-beloved-mutuals]

The crew in the fun fits

Baldric version without his glove

[literaryvein-reblogs]

The Lady of Shalott is a painting of 1888 by the English painter John William Waterhouse. It is a representation of the ending of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's 1832 poem of the same name.

The Lady of Shalott (1832) By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Part I

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; The yellow-leaved waterlily The green-sheathed daffodilly Tremble in the water chilly Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver. The sunbeam showers break and quiver In the stream that runneth ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, Hears her ever chanting cheerly, Like an angel, singing clearly, O'er the stream of Camelot. Piling the sheaves in furrows airy, Beneath the moon, the reaper weary Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy, Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd With roses: by the marge unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken sail'd, Skimming down to Camelot. A pearl garland winds her head: She leaneth on a velvet bed, Full royally apparelled, The Lady of Shalott.

Part II

No time hath she to sport and play: A charmed web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear. Over the water, running near, The sheepbell tinkles in her ear. Before her hangs a mirror clear, Reflecting tower'd Camelot. And as the mazy web she whirls, She sees the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot: And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom She made three paces thro' the room She saw the water-flower bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Outside the isle a shallow boat Beneath a willow lay afloat, Below the carven stern she wrote, The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight, All raimented in snowy white That loosely flew (her zone in sight Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright) Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot, Though the squally east-wind keenly Blew, with folded arms serenely By the water stood the queenly Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— She look'd down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day: She loos'd the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam, By creeks and outfalls far from home, Rising and dropping with the foam, From dying swans wild warblings come, Blown shoreward; so to Camelot Still as the boathead wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her chanting her deathsong, The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy, She chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her eyes were darken'd wholly, And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot: For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony, By garden wall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, Dead into tower'd Camelot. Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the planked wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest, Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest. There lay a parchment on her breast, That puzzled more than all the rest, The wellfed wits at Camelot. 'The web was woven curiously, The charm is broken utterly, Draw near and fear not,—this is I, The Lady of Shalott.'

[gumnut-logic]

Well, this just sucked.

Alan fiddled with the restraints holding him to a bulkhead. Nope, not a thing he could do about it.

Other than him, the room, more a cargo hold than anything else, was empty except for an airlock door on the far side.

Why couldn’t he be kidnapped by an idiot? These ones had actually removed his baldric and his helmet, effectively cutting him off from Thunderbird Five.

Except for the tracker in his wrist, but they didn’t need to know about that.

The nerve, though. He was out here to help. He had thought he was saving a private space yacht that had engine trouble and was making a good attempt at colliding with a satellite or two.

But no, it had all been a trap. Probably to get a hold of his ‘bird.

Why couldn’t the bad guys make their own Thunderbirds and stop messing with theirs.

Oh, yeah, technology and all.

Then go invent your own technology, you assholes, and leave us alone.

Alan gave his restraints another tug and grunted as they bit through his uniform.

Of course, the astronaut in him was having a mild fit. He was stuck in an unknown craft of unknown safety specs with people who undoubtedly did not have his best health in mind, and he had no helmet.

He might as well be naked.

No, don’t give them ideas, you idiot.

Okay, focus. He had his training.

And he had his brothers.

While he had no wish to worry said brothers it was kind of reassuring to think exactly what those brothers might do to the persons responsible for this. If there was one thing he could say, it was that he was ever so proud of his family.

Scott would be pissed. That had both its positives and its negatives. There would likely be tactical scenarios in the future to prevent this from happening again. Scott was all about prepared and strategic readiness.

Couldn’t blame him really. The list of incidents in his brother’s resume was extensive. No doubt, Scott had learnt the hard way.

Now Virgil, Virgil was the softy. He smiled to himself. His tank of a brother was almost as much a worry wart as their eldest brother. He was less likely to get angry, but when he did, the whole house knew about it and avoided him. Only Scott and occasionally John would weather a Virgil snit, simply because it was terrifying. Add the list of equipment the engineer had at hand and buildings had the potential to be reduced to rubble. Nah, you didn’t want to piss off Virg.

But then there was John. No one, just no one dared rankle his middle brother. Alan snorted. John was the quiet one, and that fooled a lot of people. To their detriment. Gordon…it was always Gordon…had once taken a step too far and his music streaming still hadn’t recovered…six years after the incident. There was still whining. John just raised an eyebrow and smiled that gentle smile of his and flickered out.

Bit hard to chase a brother down who was literally thousands of miles away, yet had access to every personal detail, ever digital print, every part of your life.

Not that he didn’t trust John. No, he trusted him with his life, but hell, you did not want to piss him off.

The ship around him suddenly shook and Alan found himself thrown against the bulkhead. A grunt as his suit armour took the brunt, along with his shoulder guards.

These guys were really starting to piss Alan off, much less his brothers.

The ship stilled again and he was left wondering what the hell was going on. What did they want?

He pictured his next eldest brother beside him and the smart ass grin that came with the image. Gordon. Alan couldn’t help but smile. Gordon could be an ass, but he was an ass who was always on your side. The two of them had done so much…often to the ire of the above three brothers, but that just made it more fun.

Alan found himself grinning and he wondered if the assholes had a camera on him. Good luck to them if they did, because Gords was always going to make him smile.

His fish brother was amazing. Alan had seen him go through absolute hell, but his spirit was ever so strong. Alan admired Gordon. He was a role model.

That had him snickering. Scott’s frown at that thought was hilarious. 

But it wasn’t the pranks - though they were hilarious - it was Gordy’s view on life. His ability to keep smiling, stay in the positive, even when everything was absolute shit.

That was a thought for right now. Chained to a bulkhead in a strange ship, possibly abandoned, possibly kidnapped. What would Gords do?

A snort. Put jello in their knickers before kicking their asses out into space.

But Gords wasn’t a fan of space, was he? But his bro was brave and would kick ass anyway.

That was Gords.

Alan swallowed. Would Gords be as scared as he was at the moment?

Possibly.

But he would kick ass anyway.

Like Kayo.

Kayo.

You never pissed off Kayo and lived. Again it was Gordon who had tried exactly that. At the time, Alan had thought his brother was upset. That could be the only reason for tempting death.

He’d been partly right.

The dye in Kayo’s shower rose had prompted her focussed attention. She had cornered Gordon and the next thing Alan knew she had thrown his brother so hard around the spar mat he had bruises.

Which led to a Scott lecture of epic proportions. The smile on Gordon’s face had said so much more.

Alan still questioned his fish brother’s sanity.

And admired him for his bravery.

The whole ship shook around him and Alan startled.

The door on the far side of the bay stayed closed.

Scott, where are you?

And there was the truth of the matter. Scott had been his go to for so long, he was the default he yelled for when he needed help.

He would love to see him walk through that door.

Hell, he would love to see any and all of his brothers and his sister put a fist in these assholes’ faces and set him free.

Honestly, it wasn’t a matter of if, more of when. You don’t piss off a Tracy.

Any of them.

Because they would all kick your ass.

Even the littlest. 

Alan straightened where he floated. Yes, he would kick necessary ass anytime. He may be the littlest, but he was a damned astronaut, he knew stuff.

The restraints were still too damned tight.

The door on the other side of the room suddenly hissed and cracked open.

Alan spun and readied himself. He was not going down without a fight.

A familiar blue helmet peered through the door. “Alan?”

“Scott!”

And his big brother was there. A laser cutter and he was free and enveloped in a strong hug. “Hey, Allie.”

Before he knew it, he was being towed towards the door.

“How? Who?” He swallowed as Scott shoved the door wider and pushed him through. “What?”

But the answer was there before him.

Virgil was hovering in the space version of his exosuit, monitoring a forcefield over a massive hole in the side of the spacecraft’s cockpit.

Gordon and Kayo had three men hanging upside down from the ceiling wrapped in so many restraints, breathing appeared optional.

And John was muttering to Eos as he hovered over the controls of the craft. There was snarling.

Oh, dear.

“Here, we found these.” Scott’s hand hadn’t left his shoulder, but his other hand suddenly had Alan’s baldric and helmet hovering in front of him.

“I…”

There was a hum as a scanner was whisked over him from the direction of Virgil.

Scott’s eyes questioned the engineer, but he must have received the info he needed because a second later those eyes were once again trained on Alan.

As Alan took his baldric and snapped on his helmet, both of Scott’s hands landed on his shoulders. “You okay?”

There were so many eyes trained on him at the moment.

Alan straightened. “Yeah, I’m good.”

One of the bad guys whimpered and Gordon prodded him.

Blue eyes flickered but didn’t leave Alan. “Three is secured, though John is not happy.”

Another snarl issued from his red-haired brother.

Alan arched an eyebrow.

Those hands squeezed his shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

Alan stared at his four brothers and his sister and smiled. 

“I’m driving.”

-o-o-o-

[dancwart]

How I imagine Baldric Weathers from rotgrind looks under the bucket

[beholderfromthenorth]

Day 6: Halcyon

“I missed this.” Through her laboured breathing, the nostalgic joy in Momone’s voice was clear as she peeked out from behind her slowly lowering shield. Across the pitted wooden floor of the training room from her, Claisent took a knee to catch his breath and grinned broadly in wordless reply. His relic blade glimmered and sparked with the aether coursing through it, until he bade its roiling currents to stop and climbed to his feet, hoisting the weathered weapon back onto its baldric. Momone likewise straightened up and stowed her sword and shield, and flows of aether that had raged against each other mere seconds ago fell quiet. “You’ve scarce lost a step,” Claisent said, and smiled proudly. “And your shield can still stand up if it needs to… let’s just stop pitting it against massive monsters intent on killing everything they see.” Momone smiled and looked askance in that characteristic deflecting manner. “I didn’t just miss this,” she said, brow turning in a thoughtful frown. “I needed this. It’s been so long since I hung up my shield, I… I needed to know that I could still bear it.” Claisent nodded in understanding, ambled towards her. “Shifting your focus to a new weapon in the meantime was very shrewd, but I hear you. I’d be feeling just the same in your position, which is why…” He paused to kneel in front of her, the better to meet her at eye level with that proud look on his face. “It’s such a joy to be able to help you. There’s still no one I would rather sharpen my blade against, and no one I would rather have at my side.” He extended an armoured hand, and Momo reached out to squeeze it. Their eyes met, set agleam by their joyful smiles, and for a long and quiet moment, the two warriors quietly basked in shared pride.

[batrogers]

Listing this just because, Weirdest self-imposed challenge runs I've done for BOTW and TOTK:

1. Main Memories Only (BOTW)

I think this was my first one I ever did; I had the weird niche idea of, do you get the bonus credits scene if you get ONLY the memories in the slate?

This, incidentally, meant that -- after not playing video games for 20 years (eg. N64 era) a Switch was my first ever console I personally owned and BOTW my first game -- I set myself a challenge run in which I had to do the boss gauntlet of BOTW...

...without the Master Sword.

(Incidentally, yes you do get the bonus scene which is really funny bc it definitley implies you freed the DIvine Beasts and I most certainly did NOT.)

[Below: "No Status Effects", "Weaponless", "4 Heart Run"]

2. No Status Effects (BOTW & TOTK)

Status effects here were defined as attack/defence up & weather effects. I also cut out gloom-resistance & sunny foods in TOTK, and banned upgrading the glide set to set-bonus level. Movement effects (which I generally don't use anyways) were fine in TOTK, I don't remember for BOTW. Weapon-and-environment-based weather bonuses were permitted, but the weapon ones only ever give first-level defence.

This was significantly harder in BOTW than in TOTK. In TOTK, Sidon's ability negates entirely the environmental dangers of Death Mountain and Gerudo Desert, with a level-two protection and thirty second duration. The ability to throw items is also helpful: I struggled a lot with trying to drop chu jelly and hit it *before* it turned into a firebomb instead in BOTW.

You also, incidentally, can't use any abilities while actively on fire. This made the drones up Death Mountain in BOTW a serious problem, and I am very glad I had ancient arrows to deal with them because I could NOT magnesis them instead.

In TOTK, the hardest section was the end parts of the Rito quest (level two cold), and cold damage is pretty slow. I don't think I'd bother doing that one again, but I might repeat BOTW for kicks.

3. Weaponless (BOTW & TOTK)

Absolutely the FUCKING best of them all, highly recommend if you really want a challenge. I did NOT do Master Mode in BOTW, because I needed to be able to kill bokoblins and -- guess what you can't get in BOTW if you pick up *no* melee weapons, no bows, and no shields?

That's right. You can't repair the Sheikah Slate. At all. Which means: no camera, no upgrades. It also blocks you from completing the second Kakariko Shrine (you need to finish the great fairy picture quest to start that!) and from getting the snow and sand boots (Bozai doesn't even appear until you get the camera fixed.)

IIRC I could complete 70 shrines or so, and couldn't even pull a few from the ground at all. I also could not complete a single region, because every single one required you to at least have something in your inventory, and I did not do that -- because, if you never picked up a melee weapon, bow, or shield, Link's shirtless model never acquires a baldric which had some... fascinating results LOL.

However, it's been interesting how the game changes between BOTW and TOTK doing the same thing. in BOTW, you have unlimited remote bombs. They're not very strong but they are consistent and endless and fairly safe to use. In TOTK, however, it becomes not just a resource management game but a game of risk and reward. You can't do three of the six dungeons (you need a bow for both Gerudo and Zora quests, and you need to complete all four regions to crack the castle) but you can get Mineru if you permit Zonai device use. (Which I despise using, so that's self-limiting for me.)

The other thing that changes is that the bosses that require serious damage done become a mix of attrition and risk management. If you're willing to acquire the lightning helm and Zant's helmet, you can use sapphires and topaz with impugnity.... but breaking rocks and killing talus are resource intensive tasks in themselves. It took me 15-30 bombs to down a single overworld boss. It took *ten minutes* to kill Marbled Gohma.

And if you use a gemstone and aren't immune, those things take out 20 hearts a pop if you're caught in splash damage.

But I could also complete all but 12 shrines in TOTK without melee weapons, which I think speaks to how broad the problem solving options are. The two games function completely differently because of the different base mechanics, and it was an absolute delight.

4. Four-Heart Run, no Fairies, no Armour Upgrades (BOTW & TOTK [just started])

This was not done as a speedrun, this was a Master Mode, I'm bored let's see how long before I get tired of dying. (I did not.) This is likely to be how tears goes too, although I can be iffy about holding onto fairies or not LOL. I usualy am not very strict, but I enjoy the challenge.

IIRC I left off the BOTW run at being unable to beat Maz Koshia (I'd finidhed everything else, including Calamity Ganon.) I imagine TOTK will be similar, once I decide how to handle the Master Sword and/or Mineru question. I only just finished weaponless, so here's to hoping!

[wistfulweaverwoman]

My URL is a tongue-in-cheek reference to Anne Shirley, specifically when she play acts as the Lilymaid, Elaine, from Lord Alfred Tennyson’s poem, The Lady of Shalott.

Her annoyance that Gilbert Blythe of all people should find her clinging to the pylons and rescue her, and worse that her friends should find it so romantic, endears this scene to me. It’s one of my most favorites from the entire series, right up there with “Rilla MY Rilla?”.

Wistfulweaverwoman specifically comes from the line “there she weaves by night and day, a magic web with colors gay”, while my AO3 is Lilymaid.

Here is the poem in its entirety:

The Lady of Shalott (1842)

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Part I

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

To many-tower'd Camelot;

And up and down the people go,

Gazing where the lilies blow

Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver

Thro' the wave that runs for ever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers,

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,

Slide the heavy barges trail'd

By slow horses; and unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down to Camelot:

But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land,

The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early

In among the bearded barley,

Hear a song that echoes cheerly

From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot:

And by the moon the reaper weary,

Piling sheaves in uplands airy,

Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy

Lady of Shalott."

Part II

There she weaves by night and day

A magic web with colours gay.

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear

That hangs before her all the year,

Shadows of the world appear.

There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot:

There the river eddy whirls,

And there the surly village-churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls,

Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

Goes by to tower'd Camelot;

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

And music, went to Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead,

Came two young lovers lately wed:

"I am half sick of shadows," said

The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flamed upon the brazen greaves

Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

As he rode down to Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together,

As he rode down to Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

"Tirra lirra," by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,

She made three paces thro' the room,

She saw the water-lily bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

"The curse is come upon me," cried

The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd Camelot;

Down she came and found a boat

Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse

Like some bold seër in a trance,

Seeing all his own mischance—

With a glassy countenance

Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day

She loosed the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right—

The leaves upon her falling light—

Thro' the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot:

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,

And her eyes were darken'd wholly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden-wall and gallery,

A gleaming shape she floated by,

Dead-pale between the houses high,

Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came,

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

And round the prow they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they cross'd themselves for fear,

All the knights at Camelot:

But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, "She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott."

[notbeingnoticed]

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

       To many-tower'd Camelot;

The yellow-leaved waterlily

The green-sheathed daffodilly

Tremble in the water chilly

       Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.

The sunbeam showers break and quiver

In the stream that runneth ever

By the island in the river

       Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

       The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley,

The reaper, reaping late and early,

Hears her ever chanting cheerly,

Like an angel, singing clearly,

       O'er the stream of Camelot.

Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,

Beneath the moon, the reaper weary

Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,

       Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd

With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd

With roses: by the marge unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,

       Skimming down to Camelot.

A pearl garland winds her head:

She leaneth on a velvet bed,

Full royally apparelled,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part II

No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

       To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

       The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.

Over the water, running near,

The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.

Before her hangs a mirror clear,

       Reflecting tower'd Camelot.

And as the mazy web she whirls,

She sees the surly village churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls

       Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

       Goes by to tower'd Camelot:

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

       The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

       And music, came from Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead

Came two young lovers lately wed;

'I am half sick of shadows,' said

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flam'd upon the brazen greaves

       Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

       Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

       As he rode down from Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

       Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

       Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

       Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro' the room

She saw the water-flower bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

       She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

'The curse is come upon me,' cried

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

       Over tower'd Camelot;

Outside the isle a shallow boat

Beneath a willow lay afloat,

Below the carven stern she wrote,

 The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,

All raimented in snowy white

That loosely flew (her zone in sight

Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)

       Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,

Though the squally east-wind keenly

Blew, with folded arms serenely

By the water stood the queenly

       Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance—

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Beholding all his own mischance,

Mute, with a glassy countenance—

       She look'd down to Camelot.

It was the closing of the day:

She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

       The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam,

By creeks and outfalls far from home,

Rising and dropping with the foam,

From dying swans wild warblings come,

       Blown shoreward; so to Camelot

Still as the boathead wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her chanting her deathsong,

       The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,

And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,

       Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

 The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

[vaeles]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  ...  day  one,  late  evening      𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞  …  the  deck  of  the  salt  wind      𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡  …  quenton  (  @weirfyre  )

the  dusk  is  tepid,      the  weather  of  warm  summer  months  yielding  to  an  evening  gale  as  he  steps  out  to  haunt  the  air.     he  needs  solitude,      sleep  that  hadn’t  truly  shown  its  full  body  since  he’d  returned  from  the  north.      he  is  skin  and  bone,      like  the  white  husks  of  frost  and  ash  left  in  the  winter  valley.      and  stifled,      he  sets  himself  apart.      he  listens  to  the  stillness  that  sits  heavy  before  the  storm,      the  occasional  sounds  of  salty  wind  slapping  banners  like  ripped  sails      —      a  targaryen  pennon  that  tears  and  glides  into  the  lead - dark  sea,      the  night  sky  soaked  black  and  unrecognisable.      on  the  deck  where  he  waits,      he  watches  the  standard  slip  from  its  spire,      but  his  stare  does  not  linger.      his  palms  come  to  rest  atop  the  salt - scored  rail,      violet  eyes  studying  the  clouding  atmosphere  as  the  surf  belts  the  shore.      sgaeyl’s  shadow  swallows  the  vessel  as  she  soars  before  the  tempest,      her  great  wings  stretched  across  the  expanse  of  stars  above  him,      scales  twined  like  the  rime  in  the  northern  pines.

tonight,      the  soldier  of  him  has  been  stripped  bare,      riding  leathers,      armoured  baldric  and  grimed  boot  all  exchanged  for  garments  befitting  noble  birth      (  a  keen  set  of  knives  still  lined  beneath  the  fabric  ).      it  is  a  role  he’s  learned  to  wear,      but  not  wholly  fit.      an  impostor  to  the  few  who  know  him,      the  stern  set  of  his  jaw  and  muscle,    �� the  war - weary  nature  of  his  body,      the  calculated  glint  of  his  eye  all  divides  him  from  the  youth  of  a  spoilt,      spoon - fed  prince.      and  for  all  his  play  at  finery,      his  silver  crown  remained  mussed  and  wild,      the  thick  of  it  windblown  and  tousled.      a  heavy  exhale  bleeds  tension  from  dual  shoulders  when  the  silence  suddenly  turns  kinetic,      like  air  that  seems  to  ripple  when  solitude  is  distorted  by  another’s  presence.      quenton.      he  tears  his  eyes  from  the  narrow  sea,      setting  the  quiet,      inquisitive  weight  of  his  attention  upon  the  figure  who  moves  from  the  shade  rear  of  him.      the  slant  of  his  cranium  permits  a  single  light  strand  slip  into  the  line  of  his  sharp  vision,      the  collar  of  his  black  tunic  shifting  with  the  action.

[youre-ackermine]

The Lady Of Shalott

Part I

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

       To many-tower'd Camelot;

The yellow-leaved waterlily

The green-sheathed daffodilly

Tremble in the water chilly

       Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.

The sunbeam showers break and quiver

In the stream that runneth ever

By the island in the river

       Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

       The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley,

The reaper, reaping late and early,

Hears her ever chanting cheerly,

Like an angel, singing clearly,

       O'er the stream of Camelot.

Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,

Beneath the moon, the reaper weary

Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,

       Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd

With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd

With roses: by the marge unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,

       Skimming down to Camelot.

A pearl garland winds her head:

She leaneth on a velvet bed,

Full royally apparelled,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part II

No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

       To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

       The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.

Over the water, running near,

The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.

Before her hangs a mirror clear,

       Reflecting tower'd Camelot.

And as the mazy web she whirls,

She sees the surly village churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls

       Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

       Goes by to tower'd Camelot:

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

       The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

       And music, came from Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead

Came two young lovers lately wed;

'I am half sick of shadows,' said

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flam'd upon the brazen greaves

       Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

       Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

       As he rode down from Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

       Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

       Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

       Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro' the room

She saw the water-flower bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

       She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

'The curse is come upon me,' cried

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

       Over tower'd Camelot;

Outside the isle a shallow boat

Beneath a willow lay afloat,

Below the carven stern she wrote,

       The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,

All raimented in snowy white

That loosely flew (her zone in sight

Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)

       Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,

Though the squally east-wind keenly

Blew, with folded arms serenely

By the water stood the queenly

       Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance—

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Beholding all his own mischance,

Mute, with a glassy countenance—

       She look'd down to Camelot.

It was the closing of the day:

She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

       The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam,

By creeks and outfalls far from home,

Rising and dropping with the foam,

From dying swans wild warblings come,

       Blown shoreward; so to Camelot

Still as the boathead wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her chanting her deathsong,

       The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,

And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,

       Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

       The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

Lord Alfred Tennyson - "Works" - 1832

Paintings : various portraits of the Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse

[ryhdian]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  ...  evening      𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞  …  on the balcony of private chambers overlooking the sea      𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡  …  navarre  (  @naavarre  )

The dusk is brisk,      the weather of cold winter months augmented by an evening gale as he steps out to haunt the air.      He needs solitude,      an elf’s touch of sleep that hadn’t truly shown its full body since he’d arrived from the road.      He is skin and bone,      like the white husks left in the valley they now pursue.      And stifled,      he finds himself set apart.     He listens to the stillness that sits heavy before the storm,      the occasional sounds of a salty wind slapping banners like ripped sails      —      one with a starry emblem that tears and glides into the lead-dark sea,      the night sky soaked black and unrecognisable.      On the balcony where he waits,      he watches the standard slip from Vinnesse,      but his stare does not linger.      His palms come to rest atop the balustrade,      pale eyes studying the clouding atmosphere as the surf belts the shore.      It is another place far from Elendim,      a sore reminder that he has not seen the expanse of stars above him,      twined like the rime in Alensier pines for quite some time.

Tonight,      the ranger of him has been stripped bare,      riding leathers,       armoured baldric and grimed boot all exchanged for garments befitting noble birth      ( a keen set of knives still lined beneath the fabric ).      It is a role he’s learned to wear,      but not wholly fit.      An impostor to the discerning,      the stern set of his jaw and muscle,      the war-weary nature of his body,      the calculated glint of his eye all divides him from the youth of a spoilt,      spoon-fed prince.      And for all his play at finery,      his raven crown remained mussed and wild,      the thick of it windblown and tousled.     A heavy exhale bleeds tension from dual shoulders when the silence suddenly turns kinetic,      like air that seems to ripple when solitude is distorted by another’s presence,      his refined hearing first distinguishing the paladin’s steps from the hall several levels beneath him.      Navarre.      He tears his stare from the water,      setting the quiet,      inquisitive weight of his attention upon the figure who come to move from the shade of the doorway.      The slant of his cranium permits a single dark strand slip into the line of his sharp vision,      the collar of his black tunic shifting with the action.

[odelia-i]

The Lady of Shalott (1832)

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Part I

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

       To many-tower'd Camelot;

The yellow-leaved waterlily

The green-sheathed daffodilly

Tremble in the water chilly

       Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.

The sunbeam showers break and quiver

In the stream that runneth ever

By the island in the river

       Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

       The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley,

The reaper, reaping late and early,

Hears her ever chanting cheerly,

Like an angel, singing clearly,

       O'er the stream of Camelot.

Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,

Beneath the moon, the reaper weary

Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,

       Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd

With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd

With roses: by the marge unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,

       Skimming down to Camelot.

A pearl garland winds her head:

She leaneth on a velvet bed,

Full royally apparelled,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part II

No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

       To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

       The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.

Over the water, running near,

The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.

Before her hangs a mirror clear,

       Reflecting tower'd Camelot.

And as the mazy web she whirls,

She sees the surly village churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls

       Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

       Goes by to tower'd Camelot:

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

       The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

       And music, came from Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead

Came two young lovers lately wed;

'I am half sick of shadows,' said

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flam'd upon the brazen greaves

       Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

       Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

       As he rode down from Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

       Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

       Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

       Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro' the room

She saw the water-flower bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

       She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

'The curse is come upon me,' cried

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

       Over tower'd Camelot;

Outside the isle a shallow boat

Beneath a willow lay afloat,

Below the carven stern she wrote,

       The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,

All raimented in snowy white

That loosely flew (her zone in sight

Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)

       Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,

Though the squally east-wind keenly

Blew, with folded arms serenely

By the water stood the queenly

       Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance—

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Beholding all his own mischance,

Mute, with a glassy countenance—

       She look'd down to Camelot.

It was the closing of the day:

She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

       The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam,

By creeks and outfalls far from home,

Rising and dropping with the foam,

From dying swans wild warblings come,

       Blown shoreward; so to Camelot

Still as the boathead wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her chanting her deathsong,

       The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,

And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,

       Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

       The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

The Lady of Shalott (1832)

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Part I

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

       To many-tower'd Camelot;

The yellow-leaved waterlily

The green-sheathed daffodilly

Tremble in the water chilly

       Round about Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.

The sunbeam showers break and quiver

In the stream that runneth ever

By the island in the river

       Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

       The Lady of Shalott.

Underneath the bearded barley,

The reaper, reaping late and early,

Hears her ever chanting cheerly,

Like an angel, singing clearly,

       O'er the stream of Camelot.

Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,

Beneath the moon, the reaper weary

Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,

       Lady of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrail'd

With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd

With roses: by the marge unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,

       Skimming down to Camelot.

A pearl garland winds her head:

She leaneth on a velvet bed,

Full royally apparelled,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part II

No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

       To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

       The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.

Over the water, running near,

The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.

Before her hangs a mirror clear,

       Reflecting tower'd Camelot.

And as the mazy web she whirls,

She sees the surly village churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls

       Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

       Goes by to tower'd Camelot:

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

       The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

       And music, came from Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead

Came two young lovers lately wed;

'I am half sick of shadows,' said

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flam'd upon the brazen greaves

       Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

       Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

       As he rode down from Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

       Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

       Moves over green Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

       As he rode down from Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'

       Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom

She made three paces thro' the room

She saw the water-flower bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

       She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

'The curse is come upon me,' cried

       The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

       Over tower'd Camelot;

Outside the isle a shallow boat

Beneath a willow lay afloat,

Below the carven stern she wrote,

       The Lady of Shalott.

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,

All raimented in snowy white

That loosely flew (her zone in sight

Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)

       Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,

Though the squally east-wind keenly

Blew, with folded arms serenely

By the water stood the queenly

       Lady of Shalott.

With a steady stony glance—

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Beholding all his own mischance,

Mute, with a glassy countenance—

       She look'd down to Camelot.

It was the closing of the day:

She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

       The Lady of Shalott.

As when to sailors while they roam,

By creeks and outfalls far from home,

Rising and dropping with the foam,

From dying swans wild warblings come,

       Blown shoreward; so to Camelot

Still as the boathead wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her chanting her deathsong,

       The Lady of Shalott.

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,

And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,

       Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

       The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden wall and gallery,

A pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

       Dead into tower'd Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

To the planked wharfage came:

Below the stern they read her name,

       The Lady of Shalott.

They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

       The wellfed wits at Camelot.

'The web was woven curiously,

The charm is broken utterly,

Draw near and fear not,—this is I,

       The Lady of Shalott.'

[constant-and-immovable]

Ahhhhhh pirate costume debate again.

[just me talking through what I should do for the pirate festival since SOMEHOW it's already august, and by the end of august I always have any and all halloween costumes under glass]

Costumes I want:

1. Literally just tim curry's long john silver costume tailored to me. Ideal. Formative moment in my pirate youth. Blue print. I'd do something a bit more dandy with the rest, I was thinking stockings and britches, with the short boots, a red or black poet shirt. Fancy hat with all the feathers.

2. Something a bit more gritty and "realistic" something between jack rackham in black sails and jack sparrow, the linen frock coat, poet shirt, scarf, trousers, boots. Basic hat.

3. Ideally, some combination of both with interchangeable waistcoats, so given the weather I could wear it in parts. The Festival itself is two days, however we still wear vaguely costume-y things on the Sunday after the festival too, and there's also Halloween to consider while I'm down there. Definitely less formal and more realistic/practical. Stuff like Hook's costumea in the 2003 movie might have looked unholy sexy on jason but this is a scrappy little island with nature trails and we'll be on beaches and possibly sailing. We have to take boats to and from the island at the least and last year we got soaked from the rough water spraying up at us. Also I hate velvet. And its usually still warm for anything that intense.

COLORS: I wear so much blue, purple, and black in my daily life that reds or greens or golds became the key colors of most of my costumes over the years regardless of "what" that costume is.

WHAT I'VE GOT...

-a bad Spirit Halloween pirate coat that fits weird that I bought on sale last year, but there's no way in hell it's gonna survive what I put it through on Ocracoke

-a cheap red frock coat that does the trick, but it's scarlet, black and silver. I've used it two years in a row over a poet shirt, with a black and silver baldric and cutlass, black pants, and tall boots. Semi-Fancy hat, and a black vest over it.

My FAVORITE pirate costume I ever had was from back in the midst of Pirates of the Caribbean's mainstream popularity, I think it was the year of the last movie. It was Elizabeth's costume from DMC, and because I was a fat kid and it wasn't /exact/ I didnt look like Elizabeth and didn't want to, I just looked like a pirate. cheaply made but to a viewer it looked semi legit. It doesn't fit anymore (I did not have DD cups at 13), and when I tried washing it, the burgundy/brown from the vest part stained the off-white sleeves (it was one piece made to look like two.)

Now, I could try dismantling this costume I've had for 14 years. I can cut off the shirt parts, reinforce the buttons and add some basic buttonholes, wear it over one of my poet shirts. But I'm worried that color would still transfer to the shirt I'd wear it over.

.....or, I could just buy a new one. I found a site that has a nicer (and adult sized!) Elizabeth costume, which may or may not fit as Halloween costumes run terribly small and I'm usually a plus size in them (depending on the brand I'm between a US dress size 14-18). ....

And I'm still looking for pirate pants. Well fitted through the waist/thigh and then tied close just below the knee.

I was originally going to commission a coat, but for both years I've gone to the festival I've wished we could get an extra day, and honestly that's more important than a Fancy Coat, so I offered up to pay the bill for us to get an extra night at the inn we stay at.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Of their chamber for a”)

Everyone knows my days and ways?     Is it in the rest—turning toward the sweet flower bloom, lost     in her bosom, O faithfullest and early, hears her ever     chanting her mourn thy fiery tears, from shore to-day.     Of hope. The bridle bells

rang merrily palms of day; see     my lips. And the summer in the foresaw. Slow saddening round     her throat, cling, strange; for merry within our days By all I     lov’d a Man. Mid hush’d, cool- rooted from his blazon’d baldric     slung a mighty daughter,

when his countrywoman, I your     old bad dreams. Shelter in the spouse of God in vain, ah, what     a pleasant Spring wild, and hot, and most miserable man,     wildered and darkens ev’ry flow’r, and dandle; a thing     reprov’d. Of their chamber

for a map doth Nature: there     incessant miseries of mine? Of those beside remote the     joy of my eye; and thus a noble scheme grew up on Greek     i’d have them all already in our bed to reach the     body torn and loves to

live no wiser than Time wastes life;     so thou prevent: to languish still! There hung the leader wilds     Ierne sent even as a ghost abandon’d deer struck that Heart     my Life did most adore. Still unsure: in delay there lies     Through with wool and so the

hot Burgundian on thee; how     small a part of a landscape, the musky-circled mazes,     wind and double double smart? Come away, come away, come     down! In the bloom, whose dirge is whispers near: swung blind in     unascended. Come hither,

come hither: an early but     enduring monumental stone, unmoved, cold, a head grown gray     in vain, ah, what a joy tis beyond all worlds, until its     spacious might He answer’d not, but hurting. And partly that     I found no Key: there whirled

her white radiance of those dark-cluster’d     trees holy things, whose ear is cramm’d with pervading brilliance     and petals nipp’d before the Tavern shouted—Open     then in his cap instead of dew; for whose disdainful dame.     Instead of common Earth

are turn’d to flow in vain, ah, what     a trembling does usher my joy! She says, into the hert’s     for a woman be good at? Before thee, how sweet and gained.     Cyril, howe’er he deal in frolic, as tonight. To hide     the river he flash’d into

gold to a grandson, first of     him should grow mad, and could they say the sea in the North long     since he died and shy and poker-faced to make a noonday     dew, actaeon-like, and pleasure the fickle is the banquet-     room, fill’d with his Pomp abode

his armour rung, be as a     sword consume us day by day, and shall I my undoing     much. One droned in sweetness like a fly, was turned to tears,     angels weeping over dull nature to sigh and thrice told     of Ceres’ horn, and, in

its glow. When he came the last, when     soft the wedded lie! And thought doth harbour’d it to grow: and     this mock-Hymen were in your hands, who has this piracy.     Strikes me dead by this new feelings in their happiness who     knew not your contractions

or nipple stimulation, maybe     that is an error in the slave of love. Or hadst through     the world then descried the glens are drowned in azure gloom of     thunder moan’d, The splendour of each, as he found at length, those     wings rain contagion; how

the birth-pangs of nations of miles     away, and counts his nectar at the Hall this garden-     rose that burn to light on me. No silver jets onto the     thronged streets, where was an army in their shadowy present     the crocus lustres of

thy deceased lover, and ready     for the humble rug. The grots and caverns shagg’d with your age,     repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee, and in the ground and     black. To be in oil of roses drowned, or water; where’s     the griefs to thy heart’s-ease

turn’d into Clay: and think it soon     when otherwise twenty times better Moon arose, in that     old Potter’s Shop I stood at the porcelain, among the     hands. The wand’ring go through camps and cities rough weather of     my love swears they blaspheme

the musky-circled mazes, wind     and double double brightness it may chance two wand’ring and     kissing so close; by their physicians know; for what Dust to     the hill-side—and the cup before the bad guest hid: but still     it whisper of our joy:

tis nought o’er the dead, the righteous     ban of all things wise and fame shall have to believe that is     an error in his hair.— I could let you know how little     plum is what you hold the world for ever and aye? In vain     lost Eloisa yet must

kiss her. One temperately     grew gross in soulless lovers, whose sons, not being spent, then     bite into the round jubilance of particle and wave,     just that close doth live, hung with him to be as thou, the solar     system, approaches

my mother again to me. The     plaintive cry jarred on her knee. Rose and fell like little plum     is what you had a fourth time faced the taste of it; and ’twill     all men adore, and saints embrace thee withers at the     The nameless vestal’s veins?

[gloriousladycrusade]

Chapter 3: Snowy trip {Chapter 2}

Chapter Text

"So what's next?" My train of thought was interrupted by my son who was looking around. "What usually happens next is I go out for a walk in the snowy forest for around half an hour. As a sort of relaxing activity I do." His eyes lit up, I know what he will ask of me.

He looks down, seemingly ashamed of something. "C-can I join you?.." His voice quieted down in the end, I placed my hand on his head. I will need more time to think about things later tonight, but for now. He looks up await due to the lack of a response I have given, I look back at him and I nod and he brightened up again.

"So do we just walk out?" I thought about it, what did I usually do while walking in the woods? I remember some things that I used to do, but I merely shook my head in response. "Not yet, I must grab a sword, just in case." He looked out into the woods

"But isn't the snow prowler going to protect us?" He was talking about the snow prowler that protected the walls. It became friendly after I spared it when it was a cub.

"It cannot protect us from everything, there's even a chance we don't encounter it while doing this stroll." It was all true, I remember not seeing it multiple times, but always seemed to pop back after a day or 2.

"Can I also get a sword?" I looked back at him and raised a brow, he was still a child, he's gotten lessons. "Please?" I don't even think there are swords for children, I would hope not. Although, there are daggers. I can only sigh, not really in a position to refuse, anything can happen so it wouldn't hurt to be too cautious.

"Fine. Remember, blades are sharper than you'd think they are. There are no swords for children, but I have a dagger." I motioned for him to follow me which he did, being very happy. He was also very eager, and I was still reluctant with the whole situation.

We walked back to my room and I slid the door open and saw a sword within my view. I always bring it whenever I leave to take a stroll. I walk over to it and strap a baldric over my shoulder to hold the sword.

I turned around to see him just wandering the room. I shrug it off, not really caring if he does look around and go to my bed dresser and grab my dagger with a leather sheath.

I turn again to see him laying down on my bed writing or drawing with the brush I left on the table at the other side on an empty scroll. I told him I got the sword and dagger and I let him keep the scroll "I never really knew what those are called" "What?"

He pointed at the dagger I held "That thing that holds swords" As we left the gate I explained what it was. "So how do I take it out again?" "You just unbutton this and you can take it out." "Can I hold it with the sheath?" I nod

I gave him the dagger and by his reaction I think he did not expect the dagger to be as heavy as it was. I looked to see we were near the gate again and he was swinging the dagger with the sheath still on. He was doing well with his form and how he held the dagger, we entered out of the gate.

I took a good long look at the scenery and decided to walk in a direction. I tapped my son on his shoulder, he was also looking at the scenery.

To most cookies this would just be a barren snowy forest, in cold and unforgiving weather. They are right, but this is the same land the people of this kingdom live in, we see it as home.

"What could be out there?" I looked down to see he was looking where I planned we would be walking. "The forest hides many creatures who call it home, be cautious when we traverse it." His expression did not change, it's as if he's deep in thought. What could he be thinking about?

"Is something the matter?" He shook his head "It's just, there's a lot of things in the forest apparently…" He's hiding something, but I shall wait for him to speak about it rather than pressing the matter now.

"I shall protect you to the best of my abilities. There will be nothing to worry about" He nods, not saying anything as we walk towards the forest. I have traversed here many times, enough for its residents to recognize me a bit. The creatures that surround us are ents and licorice cake hounds, harmless.

What I am more worried about is the yeti(s?) and snow prowlers here. We walked for some time in silence until I felt a hand hold mine, it was my son. "It's cold and the trees are looking at me…" I first wrapped him with my cape, it does not serve much use in general anyway, so it is much better now.

"Hm, those trees you say are most likely ents, as long as you stay with me you shall most likely be fine, if not I will be here to defend you." He nods looking at around 4-5 of them staring at us.

"Thank you father…Why do they not attack us?" "They usually don't attack as long as you don't cause a commotion in the forest or be aggressive." He nods again, he actually looks comfy in the cape that wraps around him. That's good, I wouldn't want him to be sick because I brought him here.

The ents that were observing us earlier ran away, not because of us. I held my son's hand firmly, that would be the worst case scenario if we were to encounter one. "...Dad?" I looked at him wiping all the powdered snow off of him. "Hold your dagger out just in case.."

He was clutching my hand harder than I was. I kept him close to me, placing a hand on his shoulder while the other was clutching his hand. We began to walk back, something was not right.

Something big came by earlier. I looked at my son, he seemed to have noticed it too. "I know you're cold, but can you walk a little faster with me?" He shook his head, I looked around to scan that nothing too dangerous was around us.

"That's okay, just stay next to me okay?" He nods, his hands are cold. "..What's wrong?.." There is no point of lying and trying to hide the situation. "We must be on our guard, something was here." I could see his face, he looked a bit concerned and distressed.

I squeezed his hand gently to assure him we'll be fine. We continued walking and the snow started to feel heavy as I stepped. I don't know why. The snow or wind has never gotten heavier. All the ents and cake hounds that were there were missing, they probably ran away as well.

We were getting close to the end of the forest. After a few seconds my son tugged my sleeve, I looked down to see he was struggling moving like me. "I can't walk any farther.." He was tired "That's fine, I'll just carry you to the kingdom okay?”

He nods, and I am very confused. Why would we be both struggling all of a sudden? I carried him holding him up with one arm as he held on by wrapping his arms around my neck.

I have done this walk many times, none was ever like this unless the weather has become harsher than usual. A roar ripped through the wind, a snow prowler.

My son looked up at me and I clutched my sword, ready to strike back. "Father is that the snow prowler?.." The one we know is not the snow prowler that made that cry. "Not the one we know, hold on."

The ground started to shake a bit and the snow on the surrounding trees began to fall off of the leaves. I started to run to the end of the forest, clutching both my son and my sword tightly.

I was cut off by a snow prowler, with clear intent to harm us. It tried to swipe us. I barely dodged it, I cannot fight like this. Everything felt so much heavier, it was so hard to move.

I set my son down. "Father?!" It gave an ear-shattering roar. I turned to put myself between it and my son. "You cannot fight it, you must stay away and hide!" It pounced, trying to bite me in half. I stabbed it before it could. I jumped at it as it howled in pain and tried to end it as quickly as I could. Unfortunately it got to slash at me, I saw it shaking the wound at the roof of its mouth.

It really wants to kill me now. I looked at my injury and there were 3 long slashes across my arm and chest. I charged and avoided the slashes this time and I stabbed it, piercing the sword through its head as it fell down, lying lifeless on the ground.

I fell to my knees trying to catch my breath, I held myself up using the sword as a support. As I tried to get myself back up I looked down on the snow and saw patches of jam staining the pure white snow. My wound is not the worst. I can still get back to the kingdom like this.

"Father! Help!" I whipped my head to the source of the cry and ran with this injury. I ran in the direction I heard it coming from and I am lost. "Dark Choco, where are you?!" I cried out, I didn't get a response back. I was starting to panic.

I heard shrills and immediately ran there and saw my son fighting back some scarabs and a yeti overtowering them all. I ran as fast as I could and picked him up and ran back to the clearing near the end of the forest.

Ouch, he gripped onto me very hard. "Thank you.." I nod, we need to get out of here. As we were getting out of there as soon as possible I saw he was looking at his hand and I froze for a second. His hands were stained with jam.

"Father.. You are bleeding!" It was my jam, I was slightly relieved. "I'm fine, are you hurt?" He was looking down so I couldn't see his face, but he shook his head. "I'm okay father…"

My injuries stung, and my son did not say anything the whole time. As soon as we were visible from a tower near the gate, the gate flung open and we entered.

A few watchers came by and noticed our condition. "My king we must get you and the young prince to the healers!" one of them said, i could feel my son's grip become harder, it hurt, but my main injury was worse. "...No, I'm fine, father's injured.."

He looked at me and he was crying, and I didn't notice. "Please help father…" He is a child, he was never to blame. I set him down and I looked at my injury, there weren't deep cuts. "Sir we must get you to the healers!"

They were more urgent about my injuries than I was. I crouched down to look at my son and he was crying still, avoiding my eyes. I pat his head, I forget how small he was as a child. The palm of my hand was as big as his head. "Look at me" He looked at me teary eyed "None of this is your fault, I will be fine."

He shook his head "Y-you're injured.." "The healers will fix me up, I will live." I walked to where the healers were, telling the watcher I will be fine and I can get there by myself. My son was following me there and when we did get there the healers were also very urgent about healing my wound.

I sat down and let them do their sorcery, with my son watching in the background. The healers urged me to stay here for a while, bandaging me up. I reluctantly agreed.

[flyboytracy]

Been staring at the hypnotic gif header on your blog for the last few minutes.

Two things…the fact that Virgil’s uniform has highlights in the same green as his baldric, but Scott’s highlights, like on his boots and wrists, are in a light blue and do not match his baldric adds credit to the concept that silver is not his original colour. This can be somewhat chilling as although this is something we’ve all considered, to have it kinda confirmed is ow. Just look at the difference between the bros boots colours vs their baldrics.

Secondly, Scott’s body language is open and ready to move, but calm. Yet Virgil, the usually calm one, has his fists clenched. Why?

And yes, I have thought about all this far too much 😁 Thank you for sharing your wonderful talents.

Nutty

(Hypnotised by your gifs AGAIN)

You can never have too many thoughts about the earth and the sky.

Icarus is such a good episode for lil moments between them. I always get distracted by Virgil's hearteyes moment (like why would that be) but it's not the only lil moment between them :D So many dramatic turns they got me singing turn arooound.

I think maybe Virgil's posing for Google Earth. Gotta clench all those glorious muscles 😁😁

He just looks so good in this episode tho like a hurricane could strike that viewing patform and half the 'birds would get blown away but Virg would weather it because he's just so solid and I love it. Scott's always fluid like the tide but Virgil's like a rock in the stream and the contrast is just so good, especially when they pose stand together like that yes please

It's kinda hard to get it the same shade of blue, it goes turquoise really easily and kind of radioactive which makes me think that Virg would've known where his wayward big bro was at any time. Neon blue looks good on his boots but sheesh it kinda glows when it's more visible lol.

You make me wonder about how the colour change happened - if it happened. Was it a quiet lil thing overnight instead of the huge event it should've been after IR had been operation for a few decades? Was it quiet acceptance that he wasn't going to be able to fix it this time?

Or was it a promise, much like the rescue scout code he recites? That colour is his promise to always make his papa proud, and that his actions will always be worthy of the belt he wears. It's his promise to keep his lil brothers safe and loved in their papa's absence.

It's a promise to help, to guide, to save.