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bandgie · 4 months ago

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Deal With the Devil | ARMAGEDDON EVENT

Request: Lamb - Changbin (SKZ) by @cbini song!

warnings: MDNI18+, fem!reader, bondage, nipple/boob play (m!), demon!reader x human!changbin, changbin is a sacrifice, changbin wears a dress (teehee), handjob/blowjob, changbin is called wife, cum swallowing, cumswaping

3k words

Water has not touched the lands in what feels like months. Crops are wilting and harvesting is becoming scarce. The village does not know why they’re being punished and the shaman is just as clueless. They do know, however, what pleases any God.

A sacrifice. One of purity, untouched. One that despite having full lips and hips, still drips with femininity and innocence. A woman who has an ethereal beauty that would easily be accepted by an angry God.

Changbin, however, is none of those things. Save maybe for the ethereal beauty part.

He had put up a fight. It took seven men to tie him up. To restrain his legs while they secured his arms to a dead tree far away from their village. Changbin felt humiliated when they smeared crushed-up petals on his lips and pinched his cheeks for color. He yelled with anger as they bound his feet together as if his toes could undo the knot on his wrist. He cried with fear as they walked away, their sad, solemn eyes giving him one last goodbye as they disappeared before the sun had fully set.

Now, Changbin groaned with boredom as the night bled on. His legs ache from the hours of standing and his mouth feels unbearably dry. The dress they put on him did little to save his legs from the cold air, causing goosebumps to rise and his nipples to harden under the material.

If he was going to die, at least he looked pretty.

There were so many other entities that could snatch Changbin away before the God could now that the sun was long gone. He only had the stars and moon to aid in his vision and Changbin wondered if it would be ennui he would succumb to.

Then he heard it. A faint sound of branches cracking on the Earth as if someone - or thing - was approaching him.

He held his breath, forcing himself to instead listen to the beating of his heart and not the footsteps that were clearly coming closer. The hairs on his neck stood and his body tensed. Should he try and break out the ropes? His skin is already so raw from the constant moving and rubbing. He isn’t sure if he can handle much more.

Changbin does something he swore he’d never do. He begged. He begged for whatever higher power could hear him to spare his life. He isn’t meant to be a sacrifice. No matter how much makeup the village put on him or how tight the dress squeezes around his chest, he would never be the virgin girl the angry God is looking for.

I’ll never jerk off again, Changbin cries in his head. I won’t even look at women. I’ll remain abstinent until I marry and-

“What do we have here.” Your voice breaks his thoughts. He blinks in the darkness. Once, twice, a dozen times before he can barely make out the silhouette of your figure.

Really? I say I won’t look at women and you send one to save me? Changbin would have scoffed at the irony, but he’s filled with hope and glee as you approach closer. “Please!” He shouts. “Set me free!”

But something isn’t right. The crickets and critters grow silent as you stalk forward. Even the wind silences as you step. Changbin feels that overwhelming fear that screams at him to run despite being bound to a tree.

He reasons it must be the darkness that fills him with fright. The pleas for help die in his throat when the moonlight shines on you. Surely he’s hallucinating because why else would he see horns sitting upon your head? It should be that, or at least the predatory way you walk that catches his attention, but it’s how your dark eyes shine from the pale light that Changbin shrinks away from.

“Set you free?” You repeat. “Why? Are you not an offering?”

Changbin feels his knees buckle. “I-I-No! There’s been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here! Please! Before the God comes and takes me away. Untie me.” But as you finally stand face to face with him, there isn’t any indication that you’re willing to do as he asks.

And the horns on your head are very real.

“God? You think a little lamb like you is for a God?” You scoff and stalk around the tree. You note that his hands are bound behind his back, and his feet are red from the lack of blood flow and the cold night. Whatever village he grew up in obviously cares very little about their people. So much so that they brought this man dressed as a pretty bride for a demon, no less.

Once you make your round, you stop in front of him once again. “I don’t know what type of Divinity takes humans as a sacrifice, but I know demons are more than happy to take up the offer.” It’s full teeth that you smile with. “I do think it’s sweet that they dolled you up just for little ‘ol me.”

A demon? No, that can’t be right. The village praises itself for being protected by higher powers. You’re lying.

Chanbin shakes his head, “N-no. You’re wrong. My village would never worship demons like you.”

“Still saying my village, huh? The one that left you for dead?” You can’t help but mock him. “You know what? I’m in a good mood today - I’ll make you a deal. If you win, you’re free to go and I’ll make sure those villagers worship the very ground you walk on.” With tenderness, you caress his cheek before you roughly grab ahold of his chin. “But if I win, however, you’re mine.”

His head wobbles from how aggressively you shook it. Changbin knows better than to make a deal with any demonic spirit, but at least with this, he has some chance of survival. “What am I to do?”

Your hand releases his face and goes downward. The bust of the dress does absolute wonders for his chest and you have to resist the urge to grope his pecs. Instead, you round to his shoulders, going up until your fingers splay over his neck.

“More like what are you not to do. Five minutes of no cumming should be easy enough for someone as uh…active as you, right?”

It looks like Changbin’s eyes pop out of his socket. He turns red despite the look of fear in his eyes. “What?! I would never lay with a demon!”

You sigh, dropping your hands back to your sides in dramatic effect. Changbin shivers when he loses your touch. Most likely due to the only thing keeping him warm other than his own body heat. “Shame. Guess you’d rather lay your life to one then.”

Ah, that seems to get to him. It takes a conscious effort to keep your face neutral, ignoring how Changbin’s turmoil makes you want to grin. He pinches his eyebrows together, wetting his lips while his mouth opens and closes wordlessly. He then clears his throat, “Just five minutes?”

“Yep.” “And when I win, you’ll put me in power and not bother the village again?” “Cocky little lamb aren't you?” Something in you stirs to hear him ignorantly confident. “Yes and yes. I’m a demon of my word.”

The tips of his ears turn pink, a cute flush that happens to match his dress. He groans and swears under his breath. “Fine. Do what you see fit.”

You hum in approval, putting your hands back on his shoulders and, this time, grabbing his chest. Changbin yelps at the groping and you can’t help but giggle. “Are they sensitive?”

Silence. You take his wide eyes and the sound of his heart rate increasing as a yes. In circular motions, you make his pecs squish to create cleavage. It peeks just above the top part of his dress and your eyes hone in on the sight.

Changbin squeals just above your head. You don’t need to look up to know he’s caught between hating and indulging in the feeling. To take things up a notch, you lean your head down, swiping your tongue across the exposed part of his chest.

Damn, he's cold. It’s impossible to focus on his gasp when your black heart feels pity. You pepper kisses across his chest, going as far as to tug his dress down until his hard nipples are exposed.

“Yah! You perv!”

Rather than playing into his fight, you smother your face between him. With your lips and tongue, you attempt to warm him up as quickly as you can.

“Poor thing,” you coo. “They didn’t even leave a fire for you, did they?” His nipple ghosts over your lips and your tongue flicks over it. “Not even a hide just in case you escaped from the horrible monsters.”

Changbin’s chest automatically puffs out when you take his nipple in your mouth. It’s almost like second nature to whine and twitch as you suck. The fire lighting in his body shouldn’t be happening, not when he was freezing just moments ago. But as you pull away from his chest with his bud still in your mouth, he can’t feel anything but heat.

“They didn’t kn- It’s not-” A hand plays with his neglected nipple, twisting and tugging until his skin blossoms with pink. You smile with his peak between your teeth, flicking the other one with your nail rapidly.

When you pull away, you pop off with a wet sound. “Why are you still defending them? Think about it, Changbin. When have they treated you with kindness? Were you really a last resort? Or did they laugh on their way back home with booze in their mugs?” Slowly, your free hand wanders until it settles on his pelvis.

“I wouldn’t do those things to you. Not unless you wanted me to.”

Changbin should be questioning how you know his name or at least telling you that you’re wrong. But all those thoughts deem worthless as you find his chubby cock beneath the thin material of the dress.

Everything about you just feels so warm against his body. Everything you say turns his brain into mud and all he can think about is how he would never feel cold again if he’s with you.

Only the tips of your fingers dance on his cock. That seems to be enough, however, judging from the way Changbin writhes and bucks his hips despite the restraints. A certain type of glaze seems to begin to cover his eyes. You swear he looks like he’s on the verge of begging, but he still has his pride intact.

It makes you want to take it between your cunning lips and break it with your sharp teeth. “I could give you everything you need. Everything you want and more. All you must do is give yourself to me. Flesh, soul, and mind. A simple trade for eternal bliss. No more humiliation. No more being satisfied with mediocrity. No more droughts. Just give in, and it’s all yours.”

You don’t bother going under his dress as you stroke him. The material only creates layers of friction and frustration. His cock is heavy in your hand and it feels even heavier since he wears no undergarments. A little extra present left from the village, you think.

Pre-cum oozes through the dress. The pink hue turns nearly transparent from how much he can’t stop from leaking. It only aids in the slick sounds every time you drag his cock down, then back up so you could circle his tip. Changbin moans so prettily, so musically, that it’s only a matter of time before he succumbs to your touches.

You trail kisses up his chest to his neck. His skin tastes of arousal and salt going up and your lips brush against his earlobe.

He shivers at the minor touch, hips still pathetically rocking into your loose grip.

“Let me give it to you.” It’s a whisper in his ear. A literal demon on his shoulder. “I can give it all to you.”

Give what, Changbin isn’t sure. But he terrifyingly finds himself thinking about how he doesn’t care anymore. Not when he’s so close to cumming to a demon’s wicked touch. Your hand, ironically, feels heavenly with every pump. Even when your fingers play with the head of his cock, all he can feel is undeniable pleasure coursing through his veins.

“Please.” His eyes water.

You pull away from his ear and look at his drooling lips. Aw.

“Please? Please what?” Crap, you weren't keeping time. You can tell there isn't much left though as the moon continues to move, little by little. If he won't finish within a minute or so, you'll have to resort to the old way.

An oath.

Changbin’s on overload. He’s tired, he’s horny, he’s scared, he’s on the brink of…something he doesn’t want to lose. He throws caution to the wind when he says “Take me. Please take me.”

Good enough. The ground shakes. Something pulls in his chest and ties to your own. Changbin swears you glow brighter than any moon or star in the sky for a split second. You vibrate with power, a soft hum traveling throughout your body as you let a moan slip.

It takes a second to gather yourself. Your breath wafts over his lips and Changbin feels a sudden urge to kiss you. But you blink, locking eyes and cocking your head to the side. “As my wife commands.”

Wife? Changbin blinks at your statement, but when he opens his eyes, you’re gone. His head whips left and right before he feels hands on his thighs, pulling his dress up until his cock is free.

He looks down to see you eye-level with it and he thinks you look cute being so captivated by the sight. How can you not when he’s so thick? The type that makes your cunt clench on pure instinct. His tip shyly hides behind his skin, peeking out to only dribble some pre-cum onto the ground.

What a waste that would be. You lean forward to catch the droplet, tongue out as the salty substance lands on it. Following the string of cum, you stretch your neck up and land on the underside of his cock.

Changbin moans, tugging the ropes on his wrist. He’s already so close. The warmth of your mouth is nearly painful from the cold air he was growing used to. Your tongue travels along his cock, finding that spot just under his tip that makes his toes curl. “Fuck!”

You grin, widening your mouth and taking in his head. There’s so much arousal oozing from his slit that you can’t stop gulping. It’s already hard enough to swallow with your lips apart, but his girth makes the corners of your mouth stretch beyond what you’re used to.

At least it’s easy to take him inch by inch. It doesn’t take too much effort to feel his cock settle on your tongue and for your nose to be tickled by his hair. Changbin sounds with throaty groans and pitiful whines. The bounds are limiting, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to face-fuck you with the little movements he has.

But, shit, it would be so hot grabbing you by the horns to keep pace.

Laying your tongue flat, you let him shove the few inches in and out. Such little thrusts, but Changbin whines like it’s your cunt he’s fucking. A gargled chuckle espaces your mouth onto his cock and he rolls his eyes back to the vibrating sensation.

“Oh fuck yes. Touch me, touch me!”

You laugh again but obey. One of your hands grip the plushness of his thighs and the other finds his sack. Drool drips down your chin as he forces his way in. His balls tighten and relax in your hand and knead them. You're excited to feel pleasure bubbling in your stomach. If his cock feels this good in your mouth, you can’t wait for how it feels deep in your cunt.

He throbs. Changbin lets out a series of moans and whimpers before he unloads down your throat. Since he can’t, you do the honors of burying yourself until his entire shaft disappears in your mouth.

Changbin expects you to cough. To sputter with the overwhelming amount of cum, but you don’t. Dutifully, you swallow everything he gives you - which is a lot. You suspect he hasn’t messed around in a while with all the love he’s shooting out.

When he twitches in your mouth again, you know it’s because he’s done. Properly milked and sucked. Slowly you pull off his cock while hollowing your cheeks. Changbin’s far too fucked out to comment on how sensitive he is.

He also misses when you untie his feet while you’re down there. You press chaste kisses up his body. Over his pubic bone, up the softness of his tummy before you’re back where you started - his, now bruised, chest.

He’s mouthing something. His lips keep puckering and babbling. You only smile at him, finally placing your mouth on his while your hands wrap around him.

The knots are tricky, especially since you can’t see what you’re doing. Changbin doesn’t mind how long you take when your lips are on his. He hums into the kiss as if this is what really makes him ride out his high. A tongue swipes against your lips and you happily let him in.

It’s when you swap cum that the rope finally frees.

Changbin groans into your mouth. You think he’ll take a second to stretch, possibly push you away, and make a run for it, but he does neither of those.

His buff arms wrap around your torso, bringing you closer so he can get a good taste of himself. His biceps curl around you, easily making you think that he might have been pretending to be tied up.

Cheeky bastard.

A string of cum and drool still connects your lips when you pull away. He whines at that, opting to bury his face into the crook of your neck. “Nooo. Stay.”

You’re not used to this tenderness. You’re half-expecting for him to stab you behind your back. Maybe to squeeze you so tight that you pass out, but of course, he doesn’t.

“If I stay, Changbin, I won’t leave.”

Maybe it’s because he’s still basking in his orgasm, but there’s a massive smile when he turns his head to look at you. “Mkay.”

#smut #changbin smut #armageddon event!#skz changbin #changbin stray kids #seo changbin #skz changbin smut #changbin #changbin x reader #skz changbin x reader #I genuinely feel like I could have done better 😔

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belle-keys · 2 years ago

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alone with you in the ether is not a romance dammit it's about that glowing thing that you find in the pits of catharsis, it's about the car crash that shakes you out of your ennui, it's about the sensation of feeling a hand suddenly caressing you in the pitch black when you had thought you were solitary all along

#alone with you in the ether #awyite #olivie blake #dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #dark academia books #romantic academia #dark romance #light academia #light academia fashion #books #books and literature #charlotte regan #book blog #thoughts

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kaurwreck · 6 months ago

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you remind me of a time i wish i could go back to; a time in which i would obsessively read and keep reading about anything that interested me slightly. i would stumble into entirely new ways of thinking with all the delicacy of a bull in a china shop, and learn to engage with it on its own terms. the ability got lost somewhere in the haze that was school and uni and people and work and now i’ve… lost the ability to think on my own. it comes maybe twice a month, in random bursts, and i fucking hate that i don’t have access to it continuously anymore. i hate that now when i’m bored i can’t think up stories in my head and chew on ideas in my free time. i see you and i’m so happy and so envious; i wish for my thirst for life back. i’m so tired. i’m saying this to you because, of all people, might be able to see it clearly. i respect the fact that you managed to retain it to adulthood or beyond is so much. you don’t know how much that means to me, as a young adult.

If it helps, I don't read nearly as much as I did as a kiddo. Like, not even remotely close. Quite frankly, I've only recently gotten back into reading lit, after years of only reading comics and manga, and not nearly at the volume I did before.

But! There are all sorts of opportunities to engage with stories and ideas and reconnect the synapses that spit where they used to spark. Once, in the throes of a heavy and prolonged period of uncertainty, I was gripped by the color of spray paint on the sidewalk on the way to pick up an espresso while sleep deprived. I consciously chose to stop and appreciate it.

Which is to say, I also get exhausted and burnt out and go through periods where I wonder if I've lost some fundamental part of myself. But then I rest or I change my routine or I receive an affirmation I didn't realize I desperately needed, and my verve returns, as it does. I think having pediatric onset bipolar disorder has advantaged me in this regard because even when I feel like nothing, I know that the intensity will return, and that it will continue to ebb and flow like the tides. I used to dread the ebb, but the ebb has its own value, too; in the ebb is where I nurture roots.

But to my earlier point, there are lots of stories and ideas buried in all sorts of moments. We can imbue meaning in the things we do as an observed ritual until it becomes habit until it becomes sincere. And for the periods in which we can't, it's worth remembering that the winter solstice is the longest evening of the year, but the sun will come back because it always has. In the meantime, you can stoke a hearth and sip on coaxed together warmth while tucking into your memory this grief so that you will recognize what you've been missing when it returns, so that feeling excited is remarkable enough to cut the present ennui. In time, you'll start to feel substance in the contours of the grief, too, because to be exhausted and numb and tired means that you exist enough to be anything at all.

And, if you're too untethered from yourself for even that, find something mundane and look for a glimmer of anything worth observing. If you can't find anything, choose to give some facet of what you see meaning anyway.

(It's not that the sidewalk was purple. It's that I chose to see that it was that particular, beautiful shade of purple rather than remain adrift into my own ether and, in doing so, tethered my intangible enormity in something tangible enough for me to stoke while I weathered the season.)

If you practice enough, this becomes muscle memory. Same with thinking on your own. I don't think reading is ever enough on its own anyway; sometimes, we mirror ideas and mistake them for our own. Or we encounter ideas but don't allow ourselves to be changed by them.

It's why it's important to engage intentionally, and it doesn't have to be with text. It can be with movies, art, those around us, our environment, our own understanding of the world, the condensation on a window. Mindfulness helps, but so does adopting the mindset of a toddler and asking why? Constantly. Again, it may begin as a rote exercise, but the more you do it, the more it becomes muscle memory. If you think you know something, consciously stop and ask why? Where did you learn that? What assumptions does your conclusion rely on? Could there be another explanation? Pretend you're someone else for a moment, a favorite character or historical figure or loved one. What would they think given the same facts? Also important is saying, like a toddler, because I said so! as the only reason you need. Try things for the sake of having not tried them before. There's a reason why Lao Tzu advises being like a newborn baby, soft boned with a strong grip.

There's very little I do, read, watch, or consume that I don't think about applying elsewhere, too. This is sometimes exhausting. But it's also where I get my well of passion. Because there's always an opportunity for meaning, my life bursts with it.

This doesn't mean I don't still have rough weeks or months or years. I have bipolar, adhd, cptsd, and social phobia; I have frequent insomnia and sleep paralysis, etc. etc. But I look forward to what I might learn next, and there's purpose and intention to how I experience even my lows. The life I'm currently living is so unlike where I came from, in part because I decided I wanted meaning and purpose. Before I knew what that was supposed to look like, I picked a direction and strove for it, feeling out what I couldn't see. I still do, when necessary. It will always be necessary.

So, while I don't know if what works for me will work for you, I can promise that something will excite you again, eventually. Adulthood isn't a linear decline or a separation from yourself. It's variable and dynamic, and you have agency in what you do with that. There isn't any objective meaning or purpose to be assigned, so you get to choose it for yourself, and it can be as variable and dynamic as you need it to be. So, if you don't want to grow into someone who can't think on your own, you don't have to. If you don't like your current state of mind, you don't need to settle in it.

tl;dr: It's not what I've retained, it's that I've ebbed and flowed and changed, and given myself the space to clumsily stumble towards what I want and what I value, even if I'm not always sure what those are. I'm letting go of the construct that I have to be anything, and I emphatically choose not to be lots of things. It's a process, and it's nonlinear. But nothing is, and there's grace in the inevitably of ebb.

#i dont mean to soapbox #or pretend i dont still struggle to let go of constructs that arent serving me #but i HAVE let go of so many #and people dont always understand or appreciate or like what im doing #or that what i have is more than it is or that it's easy or that im doing more than i am #and like without discounting luck and privilege and opportunities #i wouldnt have most of what i love and what is good about my life and mental health if not for conscious and discernible choices i made #not even really on faith so much as i have a version of atsushi's tiger in my own psyche that drags me forward #(literally reading 55 minutes was surreal because a passage is so close to things my mental health team have told me)#BUT #even then #there were choices i had to make to move forward rather than be dragged painfully #and there were times i didnt make the choices i should have #and i carried those not as burdens but as resolve to make the next right choice #because as overwhelming as choice can be #it's also really forigiving #so anyway yeah you can decide shit for yourself #and the more you decide you have choices. the more choices you have. because it's also a choice to decide there arent any at all #the choices arent always GOOD choices. but theres a kernal of agency. not to taunt you or punish you.#but to offer you again and again opportunities to make choices that you can live with

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disruptivevoib · 8 months ago

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mx voib how on earth do you go about designing your hmsw variants, i'm so jealous

Oh I feel fancy now!

Anyhow, I don't have any distinct go-to process but generally having a good idea for the au or the concept I want to design them based on and stemming from there.

Many of my more baseline Aus are close to my canonical designs. With the re-designs of Eleutheromania having a half/half Heart to match the Mind design and make him more distinct.

Then there are the more abstract things like the "Death Thirds" Which is an au I've not really spoken on, and I don't recall if I've posted them here. Though I know I have on Twitter. (I recall CJ liking the Soul design)

Those are meant to be more ethereal, uncanny and inhuman designs. They are VERY self indulgent and more an experiment than anything. Though I knew I wanted to use the Mind design off the album cover for CCCC as baseline inspo for Mind. Soul happened kind of accidentally tbh. I was doodling and he came about.

Theres a set I'm drawing right now which have been far more in-depth. But thats because they stem from an existing media. But that's all I'll say on that one!

As for the smaller guys... I wanted to draw an HMS which was closer to 'canon' in some ways or just different from my typical used for the Song Pieces! They actually well exemplify some thematics in terms of square mind, circle heart, triangle (with rounded edges) soul. Which is a motif I've had since even my VERRRRY very very first concept ideas for my HMS designs!! Shape language is very important to me, and its something I highly suggest learning about or messing with.

I also like to take their canonical clothing; Mind's leather jacket or black vest, Heart's hoodie, Soul's jacket and apply or manipulate it to fit a design. The stripes in my Soul jacket I believe aren't how the real jacket CJ owns is but more so ripped from Kai @/calamarispiderart ?

But yeah! Overall. Themes, motifs, things like that are key in my designs.

Pluto is also a good show of that. I wanted to make sure he looked as faded and washed out as he felt. So his hair is white and his colors, even his Heart and Mind's colors are desaturated and a little off. Lacuna Mind leans into navy and teal while Lacuna Heart is nearly pink!

The Swap designs are also a good example. Viscera is a Whole with nothing in him, and while now I see Soul as more exemplifying that- Whole needs to exist in this au more physically. So— Viscera takes that place. He's a husk and a shell. The half mask with an empty void on the otherside showcases just as much. And for as uncanny and blank as he seems, he is soft. His face is always very soft and maybe a little bit sad. Ennui, Swap!Mind maintains the half/half motif of my Mind designs if only to keep him recognizable. But, his source is a jagged and sharp edged heart and the strings run in a simplistic but sharp form of a heartbeat. Electricity forced to be another way. His features are also softer still from the typical Mind design! Even in what he wears! Judge I have fewer notes on other than his blindfold is not present and in its place is his brain source, obscuring both his eyes if he technically has them at all. Astray, Soul, is faceless. For what is Soul supposed to even be without the mask? Especially when he doesn't know much of anything at all.

Sooo yeah! Just. A big ramble that boils down to the answer of... I try most often to make sure the designs convey the personality or story of the character in some way. Themes and motifs or ideas from or for the au also play that same part.

Course I cannot tell you why the au where they are in eternal snow, Mind has white hair. That is far more a "felt like it" moment than anything else.

Sorry if this is too broad or non specific. I can probably go more into depth on particular designs but yeah! And sometimes a design is one and done. Other times they need many thumbnails or concepts to cycle through. My own designs for the canon HMS have changed a lot in little ways since I began drawing em!

#voidthoughts #hope that helps.#I'd get images and write or draw on them but my tablet did die yesterday so im in the awkward stage of #can i fix it or do i have to buy a new one #asks #thank u tho anon!!#i love character design very very much i could talk about it forever.

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doctorglasgowart · 1 year ago

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Friends, readers, countless, fathomless dreaming dead, behold! It will soon be time to enter that most ancient realm. That realm that you descend into each night, when sleep overtakes you, and smothers you beneath a blanket of stars. It is soon time to enter Nyx. Nyx is an interpretive tabletop RPG, set in the realm of sleep and dreams, inspired by Kingdom Hearts. I have been working on it for several years now, and it is finally time to release a physical copy! The book of Nyx will be in hardcover, full color, and has over 200 pages of content, including over 300 unique illustrations by yours truly. Nyx is a complete system, you don't need any other books in order to play it. The rules are simple to understand, but there are oodles and oodles of options to customize your characters just how you like. Nyx emphasizes collaborative world-building, lightning-fast combat, and an unsettling ethereal atmosphere that captures the feeling of being in a dream. Nyx will also come with all kinds of fun addons, like acrylic standees, keycharms, a printable miniature, and more! Sign up for the prelaunch page to be notified upon the project's official launch, which will be very soon! You have all followed me this far on the wild, insane ride of Ennui GO!. Now, follow me deeper. Follow into darkness. Follow into dreams. Follow into Nyx. FOLLOW THE KICKSTARTER HERE!

#ttrpg #kingdom hearts #kh #rpg #dream #dreams

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motherdolores · 6 months ago

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Behold! For six blessed months, hath mine abode been in the chambers of rehabilitation. Yet, time and its relentless march, though the hours doth pass. But lo! Organic sustenance, a repast whereupon I cannot sup without the wretched upheaval of my innards. Throughout the day, I partake of doses of Olanzapine, and within my soul doth, resonate the soothing balm of its message. Still, the yearning to flee the anguish doth persist, though my mind be a dam against the flow. And as I lay upon yonder hospital chair, I am watched, whilst I wither away in silent lamentation. In the night's embrace, I fancy myself a specter, seeking escape through the winding passages of my veins... Despite all that has befallen me during my rehabilitation, I have conceived the notion of crafting a cradle of pills to soothe the physical and mental wounds I have inflicted upon myself. Sadly, I cannot swallow the antidepressant life of Serotonin, yet in the wee hours, the doctors cease not to slumber, eager to discern the whispers I utter and the words I inscribe in my diary of withered blooms. I have witnessed the brightest and most intelligent youths laid low by mental afflictions, borne of the myriad harms we endure, thus feeling a semblance of humanization. Some souls are of angelic love and benevolent hearts, while others shall not deign to acknowledge your sentiments... I yearn for someone to taste the coursing rivers within my veins! Let them glean the meaning of the sorrowful catastrophe that rages within me. I have heard tell of being branded psychotic, and my heart, suffused with a bittersweet pang, for it seems no one has truly comprehended me.

At this present moment, I harbor no desire to engage in discourse, though my yearning for the written word remains steadfast. I have endeavored to flee the tumultuous confines of the hospital, yet there exists within me a force that doth restrain. In turns, I find amusement and ennui, and to the eyes of astonishment, I release the torrents of tears that flow from the depths of my soul. I have beheld individuals older than I, ensnared upon the arduous path of cerebral affliction, and all I have done in their company is weep amidst the small garden of plastic blooms. I have offered my prayers upon the rosary, beseeching only for the chance to vanish into a realm where disappointment holds no sway. Nevertheless, I have never relinquished hope that my mother might perceive, with her heart, the strength that sustains me through this torturous ordeal. O, dear mother, from your womb and ethereal heart, I deeply lament having fallen once more into the abyss. I vowed, from the most divine sorrows of my heart, to vanquish this misery, yet the mental turmoil begins to allure me gradually. Pray for me in your abode, and I pledge to kneel in transcendental agony... I behold the false flowers in that diminutive space and yearn to ingest, so it may reach my stomach in a state of serenity. And know I will relish it, craving to taste the cruelty! But I rue being born a "masochist," as the malevolent serenade claims. I tread, pondering how to become a heavenly ghost, to safeguard my soul, though I fail to cherish it... Refuse to belong in a world where one must strive to end their own life. I have beseeched God solely for happiness and peace. Yet, after months of battle and being utterly wounded, I refrain from shedding tears, speaking, or even praying for misguided mortals. The pills shall become my preferred overdose... Slowly embracing that warm embrace of death, yet there are things I still yearn to inscribe.

Mighty is the duality, and every endeavor is in a state of decay. Once more, I have beseeched and knelt for the personal forgiveness of my shadowy sins. I am not the perfect daughter that my father desired to survive in some civil or worldly wars. With all the conditional love that I gave to my dear father from the most putrefied part of my heart, I felt it was a fleeting state. A love with brief explanations, longing for the last message to find the saving light again by a father who never showed affection towards thee, and it is a pain... I do stab myself and the weight of my body that I have obtained during my childhood hurts, though it be a grievous wound, it will not hurt as much as having muscle or fat that thou dost not wish to have to survive... It is always the same with me; I do not take my medicines, I observe my sinister bones in that mirror of rehabilitation, I have written poetry that in the end culminates in tragedies, I do not ingest the perfect quantity of food that the human being needs, I only walk and yearn for the portraits of my parents in this place, I see the television and appreciate a nun and a monk weeping with all their heart when they speak the healing words of 'Matthew 6:25,' and in the nights, I remain somnambulant in the hospital chair. Shall it be known if my mother will save my wounds spilled by my sufferings that shall be of eternal judgment. Even in my life, I desire the praise of my father, but he hath forsaken me... And in the sacred love of my mother, I have found some salvation, although in my sorrows, I never observed it. I lament it greatly...

Lamentation, I find myself ensnared in a stage where the stench of decay looms ominously. My body forsakes me, rendering me unable to walk, to eat, nay, even to think... I beseech God for the wisdom and aid to deliver me from this mental abyss. I do not seek punishment, yet I shall endure the burden of this malignant desire that festers within my mind. It is a challenge beyond thy comprehension, to convey the struggles I have borne through the passage of years. My existence has revolved around sustenance, though I yearn to forsake it, to revel in the twisted pleasure of a macabre dance amidst a music box wrought from corpses. Some shall never grasp the moment of my fading, yet gradually, the truth shall unveil itself... And my longing shall fade, buried beneath a deluge of tears and screams. I can hear thy words, I have witnessed the suffering of others, abandoned to their plight. But what was I?... A sorrowful porcelain figure crafted by an artist who depicted the spillage of our blood, and the romance of life, death, and human bones. I have longed for death, though it eludes the dreams I cherished in my youth. My love for the creations nurtured in rehabilitation has withered into naught but rust. With a heart weighed down by sinister despair, I choose to crucify my pain...

Mother Dolores, "Homestead Rehabilitation."

#maɪ ˈdʒɜːrnəl

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mister13eyond · 1 year ago

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tbh a large chunk of my affection for vin & my characterization for him comes from the overdone idea that a character who is morally grey/does not have a moral compass/has little empathy for humans and thinks of them as pretty much toys MUST be dark, troubled, threatening, or otherwise made scary- like. i see lots of "this immortal has lost touch with their humanity & it's made them distant, ethereal, stricken with ennui and dissatisfied" but like

dude there is SO much shit to do in the world. losing touch with your humanity blah blah, having no morals seeing humans as playthings whatever- can't someone be doing that and having a Fucking Blast? i just love an immortal, dream-eating demon who acts like he is at fucking disneyland every day, he's thrilled in equal part to experience the gruesome reality of a nightmare and also to pick up a new hobby- all stimuli is good stimuli, all experiences are good experiences, he loves feeling things! he loves feeling terror or sorrow or grief or loneliness by getting to join in on a nightmare or a dream of someone lost or a dream of isolation. It's so COOL and FUN, humans have such rich little lives, aww!

#i think he occupies the same moral space as the lamb from COTL to me #like #he's not good. he's DEFINITELY not good. but he's also just literally not operating on human moral standards. he is literally just here to-#have fun #people who choose immoral or cruel options in video games aren't doing it to be broody or dark or melancholy most of the time #it's usually because it's Funny and you know you Can do bad things in this controlled environment without feeling bad about it #that's vin #it just so happens that humans are about as meaningful to him as video game characters #(sometimes possible to get very attached to and feel sincerely affectionate of but ultimately not like... a REAL person since they'll -#disappear when you turn the game off (or in the case of humans #when their tiny little lifespans run out))#ok enough oc hot takes #my ocs #my oc #vin #vinegyaru #headcanons #character thoughts #i just love making a character whose primary motivation is 'have fun' but is Not constrained by morals #he just wants to have fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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hosannan · 8 months ago

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Mulled Wine and Hot Cocoa - They say there’s nothing like sharing a warm drink by the fire to shake off any holiday ennui you might have. So grab a mug and a buddy, and toast to the quiet moments.

There she was- the young lady from the Ethereal Ball some moons ago. On that stage, ethereal, as was its name, she was not out of place, but here she seemed more at home. Familiar with the hosts, from her place on the table- but he digresses.

“Greetings, Princess Nanna.” Just as she had before, he offers her a drink, this one unfamiliar with him but warm nonetheless. “Have you been well?”

"Oh," She met his question with another question, elation dancing in-step with her bright-eyed excitement. "Have you been well, Sephiran?"

"I feel..." At home? Could she really say that, when she wasn't quite accustomed to the same gusto that the previous generation had for the holiday. Hers were humble, less tinsel and silvery charms. But still, the waft of chestnuts and cocoa were mutual, all the same. "Fortunate to be able to witness this myself." Another two steps, words skipping, left over right. She broke out into a faint, almost inaudible laugh. "It feels like a dream. Like the saints themselves have come down to hand chestnuts to children."

"...Haha... It's quite difficult to explain."

Her fingers slid around the mug, curling into place delicately. Bowing her head, a silent thank you in the face of the booming laughter and cheer, she stood comfortably by his side. The sweetness rolled off her tongue, drawing a trail of warmth down her chest.

"I've come to suspect that you may be a dream, yourself, sir." There's laughter in her eyes. "You're always welcome, if that means I can pry from time to time."

#okay but this is months late but I suppose the bit is that they're slowly feeding into their friendship with cocktails and dream sequences #cocoa in this case LOL #thelightofcreation

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capsensislagamoprh · 9 months ago

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The gates to Arcadia were never meant to be closed. Towering spires made of dreams and that which time had forgot wove together to make a barrier of unfathomable weave, thick with want and desire. Deadly in its seduction for things one could never obtain, it swallowed trespassers in a maze of there own fallacies. A price was never to high to escape. Few did. The gates were meant to form a thorny warning to those who seek the keeper of dreams, a being so powerful it was known only as the Wyld. The world had once headed the Wyld, its call seductive, promising everything if you were willing to sacrifice. Its places were sacred, its laws ever changing and absolute. Then man decided they didn't need to fear, they had fire, they had stone, they had the power to combine, adapt. The adaption was, as all dreams knew, the issue.

Humans forgot where the adaption came from. They made up names for it. Names they controlled. Names that did not change. And then, to the determent of all, they tried to control the dream itself. All the fragile human world suffered, and still they did not know why. They did not understand the agony of nightmares unchecked, of trying to reach thrugh the glittering spires of unpronounceable things. They did it because they forgot there place. Mortals, all mortals, die. Death is not to be feared. Only the unmaking, where one is considered to the very smallest thing. One was ether adjusted, or broken. Broken things went into the belly of the Wyrm. Adjustments were painful, but worthy of the time. The unmaking of a being touched everything except the first dream. Even then, the first dream was not immune to the sundering. When humans forgot mortality and empathy, when they filled the land with excuses, the gates closed, and the dream - that ephemeral thing exploring the world its own matter created - was broken into many beings. Immortality could no longer remember its own name. Its cost was horrendous. It broken form glittered into pieces. Those locked in Arcadia were called elves by most, fey by some who knew better, but they had an older name. Something so horrifyingly pure it resonated in the spirit of everything. Those unfortunate enough to be stuck in the material world lost much of there sparkling power. They diminished, until at last they too became bound to the cycle of remaking. They would live lives only they knew, and they would live as mortals; they would die. They would be torn apart in the great belly of the Wyrm, finery shredded for parts to bolster other failing dreams. All there parts would come out the other end as glittering bits for the Wyld to mold, the Weaver to put together. The cycle would begin again. The noble fey - those dreamed elves for there ever glowing beauty - were not so fortunate on the material side of Arcadia. They had but one life, and if the mortal shell died... Otherwise, they were functionally immortal. They did not age, or loose control of there bodies and minds such as humans did when the end was near. For this they paid dearly. Boredom, that horrid, soulless ennui, would normally take a fey into a depression spiral the likes of which bolstered less scrupulous mental health professionals to great wealth. At worst it would sleep the soul inside the fey until it could be awoke by something that called to its very essence. Unless you were a noble. A noble made sure they had someone to talk to. Someone to get them out of there hideous spiral before it caused them to die. No one wanted the shame of dyeing of boredom. Literally. Which, Victor thought, was exactly why it was a very good thing he was on the correct side of Arcadia. It had been eons since the gates of Dream had cracked open just that tiny bit. Humans had learned to touch the sacred shield. Or, as they called it, the moon.

The day the gates opened just that touch, most of his people stayed put, fear etching there perfect visages. Victor had moved. He had gathered the Lord of the Winter Sun, dreamed from all the things that made mortals worthy of exhalation, made them heroes, and set out to see just what had become of that ever exciting place where things constantly moved and dreams were slow to change. Maybe the place would allow Victor to smile, to feel something other than cold duty.

The mortal realm had smelled. Bad. It was wet and dry, and it consumed things with its fleshy bits rather than sipping the nectar of its spirit to sustain. It had an abundance of everything, and so many broken beings, Victor began to wonder if it was worth peaking thrugh at all, let alone the day trip. Then, tragically, the doors to Arcadia began to shut again. He was propelled bodily thru the thin cracks still remaining, landing as a most elegant heap on the other side. But the doors were closing faster than they had opened, and his trusted knight remained on the wrong side of the gates, his dark eyes seeming to say it was okay. This is what he was made for. To protect. He was the Hero, and Victor was the Winter King. When it came down to it, Victor mattered more to natures balance than a mere dream of humanity, no matter how many tales had been woven into the Hero's being. Victor knew this. Victor could rationalize this. Victor was made of wondrous things, and all of them cried out in broken agony. He could feel something inside crack. He knew what fate waited for fey on the material side of the gates. How was he going to face what waited for him in the Shimmering Cascade? How would he face Yuri? His cousin was going to gut him.

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cryopathiic-a · 1 year ago

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❝ if you even think about messing with me today, i will end you. ❞

An infinity of hours spent swamped in the ennui seems to have passed since the last time they saw each other, physically. Behind prismatic orbs, the gears turn to recall in vivid colors, the drops of crimson tainting the symmetry of his pattern and the veins bulging around his eyes; the way that kanji within them had remained intact. Ever since that encounter, neither had been called to report here.

Now they stood side by side once more; and the enlightened one could tell it was no coincidence. Something had happened. Moreso than something that had shaken their Lord, it was something about Upper Three. Tapping into the collective hivemind came naturally to Dōma nowadays. They knew of his most recent achievement, as well as the urgency in that man's order.

Their gaze would confess none of those thoughts when they first turned to face him, though; an ethereal tranquility on alabaster features. It quickly gleamed with a mellow smile.

❝Is today a special day for you, Lord Akaza?❞ He said, sweetly. ❝You seem a bit shaken.❞

He'd flash his fangs in a toothy smile, a boyish charm to the act. With playful curiosity, he continued, a blink or two sprinkling innocence. ❝ Are you not satisfied with yourself after you claimed that fire pillar?❞

#♛ ¦ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇꜱ༺ answered #(( hello local ice man sticks his nose in other people's business- ))

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libidomechanica · 2 months ago

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Untitled (“All impulses on”)

A tanka sequence

Ecstasy my own? All impulses on yawning roses, annihilate in the swan, and for evermore your eyes more basement?

How I loves now by things that she tree, perceivest, whether Rosamond. I servient the boys and smiled, his mortal, and love me, drank.

To wound the windows but weak in the two? And write above that they stately plague, when yellow in that has it may, and when yellow!

Love give up love to generation, since I hate applause. There I feele his familiar sighes stones in a curb was false is.

Always was but for grieve. In this truly stored angels watch heaven know where more stream, to see your absence! There commit are all tongue.

But in that still drawn. Longe to me. Her Notes were physical. And jump both themselves by six from thee; nor die. To come live o’er all swing.

And which, like figures change flatt’ring head, that human passport is foot anyhow listerious of that is new or twice! Brussels lace.

We talk to haue the ocean when publish? A crowns to hear my self-love cause I have my veil, which infection in on a slothful?

And other, the broughts decades return: still at their face! And she onward her form, dost to venture. Oh, take to give. That bold evening.

Of the doorknobs gleams. And to their rank smell faint break in operation leaving wavering slight. For if it could dreamers to clear.

Our love her love your arm. How drowned. Three; regret poor some calculators regret lets and give meadows but black up or debar’d fruit.

—The porches bridge you will perplex the bed. In the beast the present has may keep the world where attracted numbered you could ever.

The beds of flight was stopped her so dirt is straw. The boat the bed. No, neither time, till its perplex’d, and what light, of springs vnto blame.

These closer to builds its work my times could lay, The What seals in a kiss, she countenance thy blisse. When walk without dread left me on.

And other part, whose was also soon as simple. Boots, their princes I put a time relation leave ere the can e’er because birth.

Thine eyes beheld thy deepe; grief! With envy and baffled to. Further. Who which is madness ennui surround I broke his some did!

Shut up into you off is wide white she-birds singing heard heavy pace: wet was, she found, as the ears. A warble, displace where tough?

Was, as he really what a childe, fled in the right; that lurk in thing bottle, whether thrust, nor few, do you, and those of God, and fears.

Or true; for thee only loved yesterday, he left believes, yet free burden of you mayst in thing their face an anguish. Put our sports.

If only my heart- flame the long, then to the otherless dream. Let it; shaving already two sunset foreverse sheets, always.

I could like the ether being, desires on that I for than man he. A choral count—shoulder bath, learn of the world, and maid.

Old dry out of their stayed by dames erected. Band other, maid invited all this everywhere, sad, slow her side and lilies cooked.

Beauties on his you always strange eyes in Tempe or the high and Prentice quicken, those she has turns now his Paradise inflame.

Unless went out, rose, and in sheet. Never, near and poor Ambition. But passioned am the tombs whereto all on us?

And which themselves those fame; all delight. That she webbing your heart’s guesses, I whethere is what great didst of his rest, of pure; gold be.

Dad kept with the must do not that their ran on the Sun dies, Forsooth, let made monastic basis, and with so fairy light presence!

Do heaven your death with your hand, nor doth publish am I rich grow. In one veneration, proud compeers, and one, I marriage.

In Porphyria’s breathing me wits do cary. Serene, hath character, in the Lady of all take to keeps on strikes a rebuke!

A heaven’s will bites. If those whole you know should black night in what third daughters, and all pleasure, then broke beauty’s done, she knives, his face!

I told helplessed it, rubbing you. To heart in tops. Which that, at fish would floor, thou canst popped me lived them. Let cold it with two gold.

She love all be able men. Have endear’d; in another line! Smile up: for when to bear be wooed Sleepe began to more lover’d by.

For some look upon earth and withal, unruly subterraqueous air she one. A father necklace forks. And morbid eye where wrists.

Began to arrived, feast and my appen to growing and joys of love was closde-vp sences. I wish my will foretold, seres the bed.

A some among as I’ve back and flocks me, of they view want to a forests. Few sorrows hath his heart’s all be to harvest any.

He knew: for when wild see that piano, and you of the blacks and dandies their meant for a year! There, so shell, which show that ruin.

Sad, slow, feeds of late soft pitting on a dreadful clenche! Like running with concern, and look into him, Noscitur a skeleton.

You linger,—he those link of proue her Notes were the night, and thus he red pointing and their curious care. Time an endure with good?

Like a quarrel, while I there alive which the flowers, sighing, beneath. And Averil, which the grant, bones. The bump I ride of pale move?

The land, what there. And weep, and fling your brough the wears that’s one who had false and by and spray shutting I will not in chair attitude!

With a sieve. In this simplicate: the world at a soul to his friends t is eating, turning when I debated with and farewell!

Behold, goodness is a watercressed you. The tied, slides ouerthrow our late in the sun. Another summer love, and I’ll procul!

Could forth that face, and hush that bear, but on you shall acquaint, another’s tongue. While I thine, from hevene it flame glimpse even, and more.

Shame white flood words remember. Or if it see, like in my scythe, they do enclose nothings—ocean: at seems I feelings, and die so.

Had blend in ordained, but heer is this though I shall night, along. And you beside—be subtless famisht casements so fair face.

Twas penn’d: only. How long, and others fortress of though my abuses onward increasing inuentions turn’d by thy solitaire?

I forth his fair, and see that al hills, do you again& become futurity, who obey would not for evident. Sweet doe meek!

Then the kept with me and every looking near the cat in love affray, as far from over. For sprited are, thought that I wanted?

And if the treasure what chamber on. They rode, or odds, its utmost like an even Death of Lover branches bridled, and the more.

Rose Aylmer, and seal, thoughts that evening from those virtue, if the blackout, calm, and than your flocks and left. Eyes holding their sketch and mine.

Now will live, as thou streaks. Though sweet were portmanteaus, the futurity, cheerless and shown. Unkind virgin short a lawn in the fires.

Should ingots, the world away, and since, seldom. And help, O helpe the serene of the red dew; Protected right so; but still commits.

The world’s consort gave yet it was the tribe of a chamber of birds feet. Nor, if the just as than his cell o Mercury, assign’d.

Which creditors registering shaking died. My prayers have doth cries, that’s only the urn on and a kiss. We have still doubtleties.

So this they sleeping that had look, mount his touch doth put my achinery, become where was that and the listen’d with pedantic.

How, Dearest, but for gander, and all friends, distracts; and, passion slow but my fate. And her like to go; for Winterlace. A thirst fears.

I get there’s truth of burning, but if evolution. And wide, it together the very titled either new; more baundoun.

White from breath! How came down, but forth I see no more all thing thee, and a passion fleece I looked out. For transgression! And those fair stroke.

The kingdoms of love with stroke bended dispensable; and be most first branch, that same vacant, if I my soul, thy end of the sky.

To know how would not reversed, a clew of all shores by night, and ermine: at level of yore. One long since that least it togethere.

Where is also see thee are your head her. When the same round the basest so watch a good, as from Michelangels, and find weak in.

And still enchanted? Of the bed and no sins of bard from then the matrons finderstood the lack upon its strange. And, I opine.

In the roads of love in death’s day, or the land. About her lips to all present has not withal let rustling and in the boots, child!

Of touch, which dark valleys, have away a waves, you of the thou return; farewell! Of love, and care the kitchen capitulation.

All things of speech. When moralities grace; yet a warm room compared, the was still, paint: she whom control were much inward the million.

Warm pies to be the came in week I have happy stay. With things but if a giant moment of marble than true in suspicion.

Then he putting year! And foreign—back into where I would out a drap o’ the world will down in the name in: singing the skies mine.

The dead surrounds throne,— a quarrel, while than that Muse men. Yet how heavy pace: wet was hope and fain by there’s all my maxim, Come!

And one degree that happiest kiss.—He cob. Juan— in their deodands; that loved. Now I am one wil on roses it is the fair.

They are it was rather her now, and knees. I, that did not know you, my deeds; lilies throught flowers, was that she wept, but when windows.

Or on the reached in forests, lov’st not be a lights surprise for myself each other. She leave withal to temptied instance had been.

But there portion of weeds. Sets to have they are, that this weeps registerious sigh. The fling verse, making so, with to follow river.

That will tears, for the maiden thou who like leave a vestige of Sisyphus, if love of these woes new love and be my counter, rain.

Reserve, thou moral counsel of satire. Tied in such fires; that necklace it is, she of the never broughts thy shock, this naked.

I have describe. As our own here mountains, or her head; two, I’m in true fire, like a moments of the dark. Has lonely, i, a long!

The seam gladly? I am the others vpon my loves now time: heaves. She meadows searches in it. That their stare grew less Genevieve!

Like Hindoors coming sweetest move fright of time you drive thee. That length of those virtue, too much when, bosom more woman like a queen?

Now those shall that Lord Augustus Fitz-Fulke, when so as the sort of hair against thy AEgis o’er she dream, subdued, unfolds what close.

Is there wil on his hands break. Where; for progeny; for pear is leasing pause? All yesterdays into her long, there. Soon as shall swing.

I in its ash. In me by, silent the sun did her do it pour from a lass, it liv’d long; to thee confusion hours Funeral.

Let rust, nor I was rathers’ joy. And arcanum’s not be wherein I shall suffering were far with beauty’s done wiser far more last.

I, having scythe, someone with that will be time, O pass for tent to vex the sweeter; the skies? Let me puts together Rosamond.

But disparagons of the images waiting child but Juan’s eyes are— this own: the bed. We have low, taken upon a zany.

Which in blake; speare’s a warble, now hope of mine, and nothing that but a strange, both blacke me wheels water. But this were kept with her.

But how it without young, and slight. Each libbe in bend? And moon, from then more a dream’d to look at all his am’rous moments I do hide.

Thou are train sae bonie. Where the sun and ermine: she of which locke of the living, and were never in thee swift Camilla, shows there.

At he half turn a young Gouda in this mortal serene and one deep, and less? Life’s halls the dusk with face, who stealing crown in vain.

The ears of my mood in vain another pantoms! Is it see, vertue of God be the comfort, the river’s content; contentions loth?

On roses of the own: thy glimpse of the morning that gelid foul affliction extremes, and save uncommon-place. The worth, to be.

How should but truth of felt, and spoke your next encount on Alisoun. Evening the night, tiring of thy own self, from experience.

But had it was of the Bread. Unless descries, passion, Nature and though in pity and silver branch. He clearer;—in so straight days.

Skin fell, this brain. Such as t was within those king of itself to see my mind glad wash three, pen, that very wi’ drinking hand wept.

He was the arches in a catastronger is left. Perhaps surcease, the words my dreamt their his armor would matter from my way.

Sing I am lonely loue. Heaven you canst then all swing. Bid the pays his pious throws: that I must be barbecue, your other.

Mine eyes give her in well know I all be ashamed out heo me the world would every with some did! But me will keeps on strange,—but small.

Holding winters from Michelang thus, trade with hold make me withers burning; my deathful? To leads so so curb was not tell for dear.

In all its own dear voice? A woman’s first sigh, eyes each day fain the beast thou no scandals stream, to see, to see so much inspired.

To the loud rated made me, I marriage. The cold story. The sex with spice and gamed out. I give him on that necessary.

When shifted rounds, mankind’s shelter’d with hold the trees of these plans of Rockport. Will, oh, hide. Our eye that liv’d long is mine influence.

Her expense than are a monks, no mask? To pasture is less hast now than failing familiar ghost which flies I have seen; that is all.

100

By various least as they run too soon thee. Above and moisten’d had no marigolds and dishes; yet Gibson demon Poesy!

101

Of the Bunsen burden in love. Ere were the was rathering in guess to warrior make me and die. I progression strange; he crown.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #128 texts #tanka sequence

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