#feature creep woes

[lemon-dokuro]

I, ally elemental damage hater... Have e2'd Valarqvin this morning. Right after getting her as well. Harrowing. The (transient yet still ongoing) lack of enemies with any resistance for this damage type was too alluring. Also - you can kind of tell by her proportions - her profile says she's 188cm tall, making her the tallest woman in the game. I wonder if all cyclops sarkaz are taller than average or if it's just her individual physiology. Either way, pretty cool for a mysterious character.

[ivymarquis]

I have been doing an absolute dogshit job of keeping up with what the moots have been writing and it is overwhelming because y’all are all insanely talented writers and I wanna catch up with the things y’all are doing but ahHHHHH there are so many of you

[author-morgan]

Title: Daylight Rating: M Pairing: Arthur x fem!Reader Summary: Arthur always knew you and he would make a fine match. ...hiding all of our sins from the daylight... I've now collected all(?) your husbands for my infinity gauntlets. a late merry christmas and an early valentines for you boo. @mrsragnarlodbrok.

“SORRY,” ARTHUR MUTTERS, “hands are rough.” He noticed how you pulled away from his calloused touch as he pressed the stained damp cloth against the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder—remnants of an arrow after Bedivere and the Mage helped him dig out the bodkin point. It’d likely been meant for him in the heat of the battle and he cursed himself seeing you fall nigh feet from him, pulled away to shelter by his kingsguard. Even with the power of Excalibur, he’d been unable to protect you—an age-old promise broken.

You lift your gaze from the charred stone floor, looking at your reflections in a fogged-over mirror on the opposite side of the room. Focus has his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. “You always say that,” you tell him, words slurred from the pain, exhaustion, and strongwine, and voice rougher than normal. This isn’t the first time Arthur Pendragon has tended your hurts and woes, and at this rate you doubt it’ll be the last.

Dried blood and sweat washed away, Arthur picks up the piece of tree bark with a salve prepared by the Mage to stave off the pain for a while and keep the wound from festering. Then, Arthur binds the wound with fresh linen and wipes his hands, kneeling in front of you—hands resting on your hips. You lay your hand on his cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheek, marred with dirt and soot. Leaning toward him, he meets you halfway, and you set your lips on his—a soft, fleeting kiss like the touch of butterfly wings.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you tell him, fingertips mindlessly combing through the scruff on his jaw. He straightens to full height but does so with a grimace. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” You ask again.

“Just bruises,” he assures you, and this time, it seems like he’s being truthful, besides the few scratches on his hands and the slim, already scabbed-over, cut on his forehead. 

Arthur sits next to you on the edge of the bed, looking toward the open balcony. You both can hear the joyous shouts and chants. Bedivere and the others will only be able to satiate the men for so long. They will want to hear from the one who led them to victory. From the Born King. “They’ll be waiting for you to give a speech,” you tell him. 

“They’re waiting to go headfirst into the barrels of grog,” he amends, but if the out-of-tune songs are anything to go off of...  

“Sounds like they already have,” you laugh. Tonight, there will be revelries for the victory against Vortigern and his forces. In the following days, there’ll be feasts to honor the fallen and growing lists of preparations for a coronation. But right now, Arthur Pendragon doesn’t want to be a king just yet. Right now, he’s content just to be Arthur the street rat, especially when you lean your head against his shoulder and link your fingers through his—and then he’s certain there’s no one else in all of England for him except you.

“HIDING FROM ME? Or everyone else?” Your head quickly swivels to the side, only to relax at the sight of Arthur approaching. You cannot help but wonder how he isn’t cold. He's not dressed anywhere near as layered or warm as he should be for the winter evening, but somehow, he manages to look cozy even in just a scarlet linen-and-wool doublet. Stepping back, your eyes flit up to the scarlet-tinged leaves, still clinging to the branches of the white-bark birch, before looking beyond to the fresh falling snow. 

He stops at your side and looks up, too. “Was just thinking about what a bad influence you’ve been on my person,” you tell him, a small half-smirk creeping onto your features. Arthur tilts his head back in amused question, then stares up at the leaves and the silver sliver of the moon peeking through the winter clouds. “As I recall, I was an innocent girl before you came along and ruined all that.”

His blue eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You’ll have to refresh my memory on how I did that, darlin’.” He moves a little closer, and you sense his ploy, twisting and ducking when he moves to grab you. 

You face him with brows raised, smiling. “Such a brute,” you taunt, “grabbing at innocent girls in the castle courtyards at night. Is that any way for the King of England to behave?” 

Arthur only rolls his eyes, trying to smother another smirk, and this time, he catches your arm as you move around him. It takes little strength to move you how he wants—pressing you into the trunk of the great tree at the heart of the courtyard. His hands press against the smooth bark beside your head as he leans in enough to look down at you. The glint in his eyes is mirthful, but there’s something else shining in his gaze too—you’ve seen that look a dozen times now, and you’re almost afeared to think about what it can mean. “Maybe you have a point,” he drawls, wearing that crooked, boyish grin that makes your heart flutter.

Your laugh almost catches him off guard. His hand slips down to run gently along your waist, the other toys with the hair at the side of your head. You lean back into the tree more, relaxing as your hands find his waist to rest on. “My father sends his kind, innocent daughter to study in Londinium, and what does this strong, noble boy do?” Arthur raises his brow. “He shoves her against a wall in an alleyway because he has no reasonable way of expressing his feelings with words.” He was just a street rat orphan and you were the daughter of some fancy lord from far away—opposites in nigh every way but more alike than you ever could have imagined. “I was never the same after that.”

His head dips down into the crook of your neck, nose training across your throat and inhaling the scent of roses and lavender. “No,” he smiles, voice low—more of a muttering husk—lips twitching as he pulls back, glancing to your lips and up, “but you’re more fun now.” Your expression falls flat, and Arthur laughs. It’s nigh impossible not to grin or melt at the sound and how little it seems you’ve heard it of late—and by Merlin’s beard, he’s impossibly handsome with laugh lines crinkling the edges of his eyes and a lopsided smile. Leaning further into him, his breath dances across your cheek, the back of his fingers brushing along your neck. 

You exhale shakily, and Arthur teases you again with light presses of his lips along your jaw and neck—hands smoothing up and down your waist as he does. For a moment, your hands find their way to his chest before you remember how open the courtyard is and that anyone can happen upon the two of you like this. Glancing around, you breathe his name in a flustered whisper, hand pressing against his chest—the last thing a new king needs is rumors to turn into scandal. 

Arthur takes a step back, giving you both room, but then there’s a new glint in his eyes. The playful mirth disappears from his cornflower eyes, replaced by something more serious—kingly, even. It’s something he’s been thinking about for years. Maybe even since the two of you first met by happenstance in the streets of Londinium and struck up an odd friendship. But over the years, Arthur thinks he cannot just call you a friend, not anymore. What he feels runs deeper than that, and given his newfound title and responsibilities...“I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“And does it pay well?” You quip in a poor attempt to lighten the now solemn mood.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, unable to hide how his lips quirk upwards. “Would you let me finish?” And so you do, unsure what he must say or ask that warrants such a dramatic change in his usual demeanor. Arthur reaches for your hand, the rough pads of his fingers curling around and into your palm. He stoops forward, lips brushing against your knuckles—reverent. “I’d like you to stay,” he breathes, straightening back to full height. Your brows furrow. “Here,” he adds, “with me.”

You know what he is asking of you—marriage—and it should be an easy answer. Yes, of course. You’ve loved Arthur since before you knew what the word truly meant. But given the events of the last few months and the precipitousness of his proposal, you’re left speechless, heart beating in your throat until all you can do is run to the haven of your chambers with tears pricking your eyes.

A LOUD KNOCK on the great wooden door echoes in your bedchambers. You rouse from sleep, righting the oversized tunic hanging off one shoulder in an attempt to appear decent at the late hour. Part of you already knows who will be waiting on the other side, but when you crack open the door, it still surprises you to find him standing before you—wearing only a loose, nigh threadbare tunic and pair of dark britches. “Arthur,” you greet, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before motioning for him to come in.

There’s still an uneasy air between you after the earlier events and conversation in the courtyard—his proposal. “I shouldn’t’ve….” he starts as you do. “I should not...” You both fall silent, eyes searching the other’s face for an indication of who will be the first to speak, the first to act, but there’s only silence. 

“Yes,” you quickly tell him—the shock of his initial proposal has faded, and now you’ve never been more certain about something in your life. You still can’t say what it is that caused you to react in such a way—Arthur’s the only man you’ve ever loved, the only person you could have ever thought of having a life with, even before all this Born King shite. The answer is ‘yes.’ It had always been. 

“Yes?” He repeats with furrowed brows, not sure he’s heard you correctly.  “I’ll stay” —you reach to comb your fingers through his close-shorn beard, and he leans into the touch— “with you.” Forever.

He smiles, and it’s as though a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Arthur cradles your face in his hands, thumbs running over your cheekbones. You smile for him, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours in an instant.

You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer. Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” Arthur asks, breathless.

Then he’s kissing you again and again—hands straying to your waist and backside, pulling you closer, tighter. And it fans the embers burning low in your belly to flames. Arthur breaks the kiss with an anguished groan—fighting a losing war with himself. He brushes back the hair falling in front of your face, the rough pad of his thumb running over your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he mutters—it’s almost a plea. And then he’s adrift in your soft and dark gaze, knowing if you do nothing to stop this, he’ll be acting on countless years of love and pent-up desire.

“No,” you breathe, catching his wrist and sliding his hand up from your neck—peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and with a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts.

“Arthur.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer. “I want you.” He pulls on the string at the neck of your nightshirt, loosening it until the gauzy material falls off your shoulders—puddling around your ankles, 

Though bare, you still hold his clear blue gaze. He goes silent as he draws in a sharp breath—eyes dart over the length of your body. His eyes darken, though, a mix of lust and adoration. “Think this is the longest you’ve been qui–” He cuts you off with a kiss, and one of his hands rises to cradle your cheek—the side of your neck again—and his lips coax yours open.

You sigh into his mouth, hands instinctively dipping under the hem of his roughspun tunic, fingertips trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen and the scar on his ribs. Arthur breaks the kiss, quickly shrugging off his shirt, and lets the undyed piece of wool fall to the floor.  

Then, suddenly, he lifts you off your feet effortlessly. You hastily grip his shoulders for balance until he lays you on the bed—standing back to take off his trousers, and you watch him with a weird mixture of hunger and wistfulness as he strips. Arthur kicks aside his discarded clothes, then crawls onto the bed, making room for himself between your thighs—his clear and cold gaze burning with the warmth of the Sun and never once straying from yours.

You gaze tensely at his face as he studies you. His expression is greedy and appreciative, and the firelight glowing in his eyes just makes him look all the more ardent, and the longer he stares at you without doing anything, the more restless you are for him to act. You want his touch, his cock, his lips on yours, and all he’s giving you is this appreciative greedy stare, and it’s not enough.

Arthur kisses you again, and then he leans away from your lips and kisses the angle of your jaw. His mouth travels to the side of your neck, and your pulse flutters in your throat. His lips are surprisingly soft, and as his mouth trails from your neck to your collarbone, the delicacy of his kisses makes you feel lightheaded —a mix of pleasure and disbelief. 

He nuzzles your collarbone, then places a kiss just above the swell of your breast, and you arch helplessly toward his mouth. The heat of his breath wafting over your breast, making your nipples go taut with anticipation, and when the scruff of Arthur’s beard brushes over your nipple, you jolt and make a helpless little mewling sound. You twine your fingers into his golden hair, trying to hold him in place against you. But Arthur shoots you a quick smile, then shuffles lower on the bed still and kisses your breast —and you twist your hips, hands slipping from his hair to his shoulders.  

A sob leaves your throat—not a crying kind of sob, but an instinctive noise tore from your throat without your permission. He lifts his mouth from your breast and smiles at you, and you stare stupidly at his handsome face—the spark in his clear eyes and the boyish smirk twisting his lips.

Arthur palms your breast and squeezes gently. He shuffles lower still on the bed and places a sweet, open-mouthed kiss on your navel, and your sense of surreal disbelief ratchets to a nearly unbearable degree. His mouth drifts lower now, the scruff of his beard tickling your belly as he presses his lips to the skin below your navel and eases your thighs further apart.

Arthur places a kiss between your legs, and your mind goes blank with pleasure. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He smirks. You stare at him, too stunned by pleasure to find a clever response. Instead, riled by the teasing sparkle in his face, you spread your knees wide. His gaze drops between your legs, and his expression darkens with interest as he places his hands on your knees—stroking up to your thighs. He places another firm, wet kiss between your legs, and a helpless moan leaves your lips, and he hums with approval, a smug, half-growly little hum.  

You gasp in a breath, realizing you haven’t been breathing at all. Arthur lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Relax, love,” he croons, smoothing his palm over your belly as he laps at your cunt with slow hot sweeping strokes of his tongue. It’s not long before a finger presses into you, working you slowly open.

Your hips jerk softly along with his movements, and there’s unspoken interest in his gaze as he stares down at you, relentless in his efforts to see you come undone. His tongue and lips are at your clit, fingers stroking and curling deep within you. You jolt, and then he moves slower, dragging over the sensitive spots he’s discovered inside you and leaving your nerves tingling with every touch.

Pleasure washes over you in waves, making your calves twitch, your fingertips feel numb, and that high-pitched mewling noise leaves your throat. Overwhelmed—enraptured—you buck your hips toward his face and clench your fingers convulsively in his hair, and he keeps licking and kissing you until you can’t take it anymore. You pull on his hair to stop him, and he finally pulls away, lips glistening in the moonlight and fading glow of the firelight. “Enough,” you groan. “Need you.” It’s nigh a broken plea.

You shudder as he moves, situating himself between your thighs, calloused fingers dipping into your cunt to gather your slick and spread on his hard cock as he strokes himself. “Arthur, please,” you whimper, impatient, and he won’t keep you waiting.

He slides his cock through your folds before his angle changes just slightly, and on the next pass, your breath stutters as his cockhead presses just inside you—barely splitting you open. Arthur’s hand grabs your hip and angles you up just a bit so he can slide deeper inside you, and you cling onto his biceps—feeling his scars press into your palms and admiring the way his muscles flex under your touch. 

Arthur hisses through his teeth when he fully seats himself inside your warmth, then releases his breath slowly and smiles at you. “You’re lovely,” he murmurs, twining his fingers through yours, pressing the back of your hands into the mattress. From the moment Arthur first saw you in the Londinium streets, he knew your fates were intertwined—just as your bodies and hands were now. He trembles at this personal heaven, then draws his hips back, starting to move.

You laugh breathlessly, mindlessly. “Charmer,” you pant, hooking your legs around his waist. You roll into his thrusts, pulling him deeper. His ragged breaths and grunts mingle with your sighs of pleasure—panting scarcely keeping up with your racing heart. 

He huffs in amusement. “Can’t say that’s something I get called often,” Arthur says as he pumps his hips slowly, teasing you and pleasing you almost more than you can bear. Then he lowers his lips to yours in a kiss—there’s something sweet on his tongue, like honey wine. 

His whole body begins moving, surging, and writhing against yours. One of his hands releases yours and caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. Without thought, your body arches into his hand as it moves, ripening under his touch—thoughts clouded by lust and love. His fingers find your clit at the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

Another guttural cry bursts from your lips. He’s pounding into you now, and he’s still holding your hand while his other grips your hip. Your breathing is loud, and so is his, and his hand is tightening on your fingers. He drags in a breath, then expels it in a strained groan.

He shudders, then pounds into you hard, twice, thrice, and then he pauses with his cock deep inside of you. His jaw clenches, and his grip on your hip is so tight that it’s almost painful, but you like it—just as much as you like the guttural sound he makes as he shudders in completion. A few long seconds later, he gasps in a breath, then sighs and releases your hand. “Fuck,” he groans, holding his weight above you on shaking arms. 

You beckon him to lie atop you, his golden head pillowed on your breasts as his breathing steadies, sighing when you kiss his hair and whisper a quiet, I love you, for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warmth, unwilling to part just yet. “I love you,” he murmurs in turn, never tiring of how you smile when he says the words. Sighing, he rolls to the side, and you whine at the loss of him and the empty feeling between your thighs.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Arthur presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair as the first dregs of daylight break over the horizon, shining upon England, Camelot, and his future wife and queen.

[Forever taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @rigshak ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my forever taglist, or any other character/fandom taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[ador3rin]

₊˚ෆ you've got a new follower! | return to main | go to next

there’s a gentle breeze wafting in through the open window, carrying the flowery scent of spring along with it as you stare absentmindedly out at the court yard. the earlier conversation you’d had with your homeroom teacher was replaying in your mind on a loop.

“yn-chan! what’s got you so quiet?” your brunette friend paused mid sentence, catching on to your lack of responses. the two of you were currently hanging out in a classroom, opting to spend lunch inside for the day. 

hina had been rambling on about some ridiculous argument she’d witnessed earlier between two girls in the hallway, all the while scarfing down a handful of sweets she’d pulled out of her bag. you made a mental note to swipe a few later when she wasn’t looking. 

“sorry hina,” shuffling around in your seat, you sit upright and readjust to properly face the girl sitting across from you. “i’m just thinking about what ms maeko said to me earlier.” you explain with a sigh, hands coming up to rub at your temples.

“huh? the college thing?” her head cocks to the side, confusion evident in her features.

“you’ve got good grades anyway, so what’s got you in such a mood?” you wish you weren’t just as clueless as she was. honestly, you weren't expecting the conversation to head in that direction yourself either. 

earlier that day just before lunch had began, you had approached your home room teacher in hopes of seeking out college advice, since the pros and cons list you’d been writing up wasn’t proving to be of much help at all. however, much to your surprise she had a piece of advice of her own. she’d told you to go and join a club.

it would look good on your transcript, she reasoned. you got decent grades so there wasn’t really much else you could do in that department except maintaining them. but according to her, colleges were no longer purely looking for academic excellency. 

you frustratingly relayed the conversation to your best friend and mentioned how you had been mentally browsing through the list of potential clubs ever since then. your options seemed slim.

“that’s it? just join the volleyball club.” unimpressed with your woes, she stares at you with a brow raised, answering with a simple shrug of her shoulders. “i mean, i’ve told you how i’ve been kinda swamped lately with manager duties and school work. plus, it’d be really fun if we were both managers together!”.

and that was how you managed to find yourself standing outside the volleyball gym less than a week later. unfortunately, no one seemed to be there just yet so you were stuck loitering around, eyes nervously searching for any sight of hina. 

“are ya looking for something?” an unfamiliar male speaks up, and you turn to face the disembodied voice behind you. it was one of the miya twins, standing a few feet away with his head cocked to the side. 

honestly, you didn’t really know either of their names despite having seen them around before. you’d only ever registered their existence whenever hina was dropping off something to the gym, or the few times you’d wait for her to finish after school.

 just as you’re about to open your mouth to respond, another male voice pipes up.

“would ya quit bothering the lady ‘tsumu, i’m sure she’s not interested.” the silver haired twin appears, casually smacking his sibling in the back of the head. your eyes widened at the scene, unsure of what to say or how to react. was this normal? you really didn’t want to break up a fight on your first day. 

the two are almost immediately bickering as if you aren’t awkwardly standing in front of them, and you can feel regret slowly creep through your veins. they both were sporting their club jackets, with similar duffel bags slung around their respective shoulders.

“sorry i took awhile!” your attention shifts to hina’s voice, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of her approaching. “can you two stop fighting? you’re going to scare yn off.” she sternly scolds the males and effortlessly breaks up their squabble. her authority is rather impressive, as this is a side of her you rarely see.

turning her eyes on to you, the brunette beams with excitement as she links your arms, dragging you along with her. “c’mon! the others will be here soon, i’ll show you around inside!”. the gym was surprisingly larger than it appeared from the outside, bright lights lit up the shiny wooden court, and everywhere you looked seemed to be picture perfect. 

you were only somewhat aware of the prestige that your school’s volleyball team held, as you’d never really cared for sports before. the guys were currently nearing the ending of their training, and it had taken you a little while to grow accustomed to the slamming balls and squeaky shoes. 

hina held a brief introduction before training had commenced, but you honestly couldn't keep up with all the names even if you tried. instead, you’d opted to pick one defining feature of each member and memorised it to their jersey numbers. for example, number ten had very distinct, almost fox-like eyes. number seven was.. a character, yet when he's in the zone he's a completely different person.

it was unexpectedly intimidating to see all the players up close, especially when they’d crowded together in front of you for introductions earlier. you had seen a few of them around school before sure, but being face to face made them seem all the more larger than life. 

boasting both height and a sturdy athletic build, it would be a lie to deny that they weren’t all fairly attractive in their own rights. but mostly when they weren’t speaking though.  suddenly the existence of the volleyball club fangirls wasn’t as ludicrous to you anymore. 

after bidding your farewells and ‘nice to meet you’s’ once the training was over, you now found yourself perched on your window side bed nook, lying on your stomach with both feet dangling in the air. the light from your laptop screen illuminating your features, you eagerly scroll through your timeline, grateful for the peaceful downtime.

just when you’ve decided you’ve had your fill of social media, a notification pops up, grabbing your attention. now fuelled with newfound curiosity, you hastily click on the notification and look over the culprit's profile.

@samusamu started following you!  

# mew's notes :

IM SO EXCITED TO BE DOING AN SMAU AGAIN YAY!!!

light mode is yn's pov, and dark mode is suna's

akemi is currently travelling abroad with her family

[honourablejester]

Random half-baked 5e thought, but as the spooky month approaches, I’m reminded that I really, really want to play a Stars Druid for horror. Just. A lot.

It’s just the imagery of stars and omens that permeates the subclass. Starry Form, you become a piece of the night sky, your body a dark canvas on which glowing constellations paint themselves. Omens, weal or woe. Constellations, to dispense healing or radiant judgement. If you like cosmic horror, and I quite like cosmic horror, there’s such a temptation there.

And. There’s a background in Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft, called the Haunted One, which is that your entire character history is dominated by a dark event or secret that, well, haunts you. You get a feature, Heart of Darkness, which is just that people looking at you can tell that you have seen some shit and will try to help you out if you haven’t pissed them off, and you also get a ‘Harrowing Event’. Which is that dark event that dogs your footsteps. And one of them is the following:

“You were born under a dark star. You can feel it watching you, coldly and distantly. Sometimes it beckons you in the dead of night.”

And sometimes, if you’re a Stars Druid, it beckons you from within your body. Every time you invoke Starry Form. There’s a constellation on your body, a dragon or a chalice or an archer, but there’s also, every time, somewhere on your skin, in your bones, shining from your flesh, another, darker, more distant star. Maybe you can’t see it yourself, in that form, not always, but you can feel it.

You’re a child of omen. You were born under a dark star. A watching star. And you like to think you could have run from it, but instead you carry it with you. Within your skin. Within your magic.

Was it on purpose? Your birth? The difference between ‘circle’ and ‘cult’ is sometimes rather academic, after all. Or were you an infection, a curse? Were you driven out, a cursed omen to wander the land, and that’s why you’re here now? Or were you taught instead. Trained to embrace it. Perhaps your circle were a circle of ill omen, believers of an apocalyptic destiny. That dark star is distant now, but it won’t always be. And you, you are a harbinger of that fate.

I do like the Star Map as well, on this character. Any of the suggested forms, but in particular the ‘collection of maps bound in an ebony cover’. Your star map is your own creation. Perhaps you’ve been tracking your star’s approach. Maps of the night sky, and maps of your skin. Maybe every time you invoke Starry Form, you ask those around you afterwards where it was. That other star. Where has it moved, and does it mean anything? What happens when that dark star reaches your heart? Or your brow? Does the movement across your skin match the movements across the skies? Or is it a more personal, intimate motion, a signifier of a smaller and more personal apocalypse?

There is a temptation to flavour some of the druid spells to reflect the dark star’s influence, Entangle most easily, but that might be a trap. The druid list doesn’t lend particularly well to that. Maybe keep the horror for starry form, and have your magic be your attempt to ground yourself back down. Ground yourself in the world, in the dirt and the soil and the water, to stave off that darker influence. But maybe it creeps in anyway. Maybe you find yourself favouring spells like Moonbeam and Heat Metal, like Maelstrom and Cone of Cold. Divinations, like Augury, Divination, Scrying. Seeking omens.

Druids don’t, generally, have the spell list for cosmic horror, not like an aberrant sorcerer or a goolock, but just from Starry Form. Just from that. And the divination, omen, weal or woe aspect. Your omen is written in your flesh. And every time, to empower yourself, you invoke it. You pull it closer. Wear it inside your skin. Shine its light out into the world through the vessel of your own form. A harbinger, a walking omen of a distant malice.

A child of omen. A daughter of a dark star. Clinging to earth, to stone, to the magic of this world, but forever bearing witness to something more distant and more alien. And drawing it, by your own actions, ever closer to all that you protect.

Oh, I do, I really do, want to play Stars Druid for horror. So very much. Heh.

[omophagic-beast]

A look at the Mantles of Before the Flood: Nature

Links to the posts about the previous mantles here: Land, Legend

Only a few more days till launch, and it's time to get into the balancing act that is the other four mantles. Nature and Nation, Weal and Woe, all pull against each other in waves throughout Before the Flood, building up landmarks from the sand as they go.

Also it's the start of the lists. So, so many lists.

Nature was the mantle of wild magic, of what grows from the ground when it is left untended. Nature encompasses both the strangest and mundane corners of the world, and it brings them together with a creeping touch.

Nature is the mantle of all that is wild and untamed, that which grows from the land. It is that which sprouts landmarks as a matter of course, growing ever larger as it does.

To play as Nature, you'll need a full set of polyhedral dice (d4, d6, d6, d10, d12, d20), plus a d100.

Each round, if Legend's coin flip lands on heads, Nature will be called to act.

Nature acts by rolling their dice, with their result corresponding to a list of features and items. They start with the smallest die, a d4, and on a result of 4 they get to step up their die to the next size and reroll.

This continues with each die. If they roll the highest result, Nature is able to step it up to the next size, all the way up to a d100.

Whatever result they get, Nature takes the corresponding item from their lists and consults with Legend to create a landmark, which Legend then places on the map.

Nature's roll also decides if Weal or Woe will be called forth to act that round. If the result is below a four, Woe gets to act. If it's a four or above, Weal gets to act.

Now, this means as Nature's die grows, they will call upon Weal much more often than Woe, as Nature is wont to do.

Luckily, or, literally speaking, unluckily, Nation is here to maintain the balance, as they are much more likely to bring Woe into the fray on their turn.

Which I'll talk more about tomorrow! But for the moment I'll leave you with a d8's worth of my favorite items from Nature's lists:

A river

A wildfire

A Benderbeast

A mark of pain

A path, clear of all obstacles

The Former Querent

The Dame of Ash

That-Which-Sits-At-The-Highest-Peak-Of-The-World

If these at all interest you, you can presave Before the Flood here! https://www.backerkit.com/call_to_action/22fa0582-e4b9-40f4-961c-b75c36b6034d/landing

Edit: Nation has been posted, check it out here!

[bohemian-nights]

Earthly Pleasures

Word Count: ~3,646

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Nettles

Warnings⚠️: None

Description: Doubt creeps in like a thief in the night swarming Nettles, but her prince is there to rescue her from this phantom foe.

AN: This one-shot takes place sometime during chapter 3 of To Every Season 🐑

“Please, just this once.” It sounded silly even to her own ears. So very silly as he gazed up at her that way. Like she had hung the stars and the moon to light up the midnight sky. The haze of adoration, but she could not help it. Not when she was in this state. With her mind fractured by woe. Earthly pleasures that awaited them put aside for vanity's sake. 

“Netty.” His voice. Oh Gods, his voice. It made it all the more ridiculous. That strained resonance thick with apprehension and something more, something which she knew all too well, the beast he held inside for her that wished to ravish, but he had done as she commanded. Moved his battle-scarred hands back to rest upon their bed. Dropping them from the hem of her linen nightgown with a heavy groan. The fabric fluttered down from where he had pulled it up to the apex of her growing belly to pool around where she sat perched upon his bare chest.                                                                         

It was the only thing that fit her these days. The only thing that did not make her feel like a stuffed pig. The waist of every single last of her dresses had to be let out. The ones that could be kept anyway. Somewhere far beyond altering which a needle and thread could provide to bother with.    

Stays which she had always loathed had become a thing of the last. there was no point in wearing them when she could hardly breathe with them on. The babe had drained most of her energy. She slept most of the day away. She could hardly go a few hours without exhausting herself. For fear of fainting, falling over, or being overwhelmed she could not keep on her feet for long. Even riding upon Sheepstealers back around their glen was thought to be ill-advised. 

Nettles was confined to finding whatever bit of entertainment she could in their little cottage to occupy her time which drove her to madness. The only exercise she was permitted was a short joint around her garden for a bit of fresh air. More than that, if she dared venture into the woods surrounding their cottage, or tried and coax Sheepstealer to take her into the open skies, she’d get an earful from a certain mother hen. Nearly eight moons into her pregnancy her condition remained delicate and she was treated like a thing of glass. 

It was not like she had not been through this before. Not like she hadn’t known what it was like to be in such a delicate state, but she was carrying two babes this time, and Daemon had not been with her the first. She could not help the shiver that ran down her spine causing her to shudder at the memories her thoughts provoked. That winter full of death. A lonely cold winter. That hadn’t escaped her prince's notice. Nothing ever did. At least not when it came to her. 

“There is nothing on this earth that could make me not want you little wife.” His rough pointer finger trailed her hem while he eyed the lacey border. Lazily admiring the stitching of violet and indigo wildflowers. Bess had done it for her. Her hands were not quite yet nimble for such patient work.

It was a simple thing. The stitching was the sole embroidery upon it. A thing for a maiden really. Certainly not for a woman grown with babes on the way though at that moment she felt as if she were one. 

Childish. It was all rather childish. Not being able to look her own husband in the eye. Instead, she took to biting her lip as she wrung her hands over and over. Needing something to do with them in her embarrassment. A calloused hand gently reached to pull her chin up. Taking the feature between his thumb and forefinger. That thumb wandered for a breath to trace over her plump lips before moving on to draw circles into the apple of her cheeks. Hypnotizing her. Nettles leaned into his spell.   

Lifting her head to take a peek at him. It was hard to resist his touch when he gazed up at her with that look upon his brow. That utter devotion. She craved it. Needed it now more than ever. He caught her gaze before she could turn away from him. A heady thing it was. He stared straight into her soul. It was too much. She could find no falsity in it. 

It was his eyes that undid her. The violet of his irises returned from the dark aubergine of arousal. His silver brow softened with concern as his fingers continued their petting. How could she think so cruelly of him when he looked at her like that? How could she not believe him after everything? Why must she be so frightened?

Nettles hardly recognized the pitiful sob that she let out until words poured from her full lips that she had not meant to speak. “I’m as big as a cow.” She had never been a vain woman. The scar marred her nose from a youth of deprivation which made her would never allow her to be so. She had never been described as particularly pretty. Though youth and the gifts from it had its charms. 

One would hardly turn down a girl no matter how common she was as long as she was young and pleasing enough, but that youth was fading from her with each passing day, and those charms were stretched and twisted within them to something which she could hardly recognize when she gazed upon herself. The sight of new lines that marked her belly and thighs greeted her in the still water of her bath. The perfect view of her reflection framed within the mirror that sat in the corner of their chambers as she lay in bed. Every last glimpse is a reminder of her state. 

It was at the sight of tears streaming down her brown face that Daemon lifted himself up so that they sat as equals. Taking her in his arms as he shushed her gently. Rocking her like a babe.  “You are not a cow.” He did not mock her. He looked pained by it all. Like he would do anything, say anything to end her suffering. He could do nothing to stop the dizzy spells that plagued her, but this he could relieve.  

Mayhaps it was that concern that made it worse. How was one to tell if it was placation or the truth? How could she when she could see herself so very clearly? 

“I am.” She would not hear it. Not a lie. Not now. Sweet words from a husband's amorous tongue were words all the same. They did little to placate her. No, they could not do that. Not when she had eyes and a mirror. Her reflection stated the truth plain enough for her to see. “Don’t lie.” 

“You are not a cow sweet girl.” He insisted once more. Pulling her hands away from her face to take it into his own. “You are with children. My children.” His children. Their children. She knew that. She knew what fate awaited her.  She’d birth them yes, but what after? It was always the after that caused her woe. 

“I won’t be your Netty.” She knew it was a silly thing to worry about. Especially when she felt so ill most days. Her survival was most important. Her babes survival, that they were both healthy and hale, that they did not suffer as their brother had, that should be her woe, but death was death. 

She’d never be the same Netty again. Not that young girl whom he fell in love with. The fresh-faced maiden with not a crown to her name. The girl who was so very determined. Utterly fearless. The girl who had claimed what she should not have been able to claim. Dragon and man alike. 

Common as she was she had captured the adoration and enmity of those above her. She had survived them all. Nearly all. That extraordinary girl. The girl which he came back for, crawled his way back from the seven hells to, she’d be a memory. A sweet one, but a memory all the same. 

This birth would be Netty's death even if she survived it. The maiden turned to the mother. What else would die with it? What was for her after that? What would happen to them? 

Daemon Targaryen was restless. He had always been so. He always had to have an occupation. He could not just be, he needed something to do. Something in which to prove himself. Something that could and was entirely his. The curse of a second son was a hard thing to shake. It had stuck around like her woe all these years. That want and need for more simmering behind those watchful eyes. What was to stop her from being a victim of it? 

With youths' bloom faded at last, the sweet maiden replaced with that of the dutiful mother, What would keep him here with her? He had grown restless before, with women who were more than she. What would keep him here?

Nettles had seen the way the girls who passed through the clan's lands looked at him.  The way they lifted their skirts, batted their eyes and lowered the neck of their dresses to show off their milky breasts when they caught sight of him. With his silver hair, bright violet eyes, and easy smile. 

Those smiles weren’t for them. Neither was the rest of him, for his smile only ever touched those bright eyes when she was beside him and his silver head rested on the pillow next to hers though it was underneath that head where she rested every night. She should find those girls' actions to be utterly ridiculous. She knew she should, but in her state, she could find no humor in it. Only a sinking cavern of dred that caused bile to form in it. 

Even among the pale faces of the Mountains of the Moon her prince stood out. His dragon was long gone and his sword was planted at the bottom of the Gods Eye with it, but he still carried that princely air about him. He was still the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen. 

He turned them away now, but what if he found her to be lacking? A mother's work was never done and she’d be theirs as much as his and there one else. Could he resent his own children? Could he share her even with them? 

Suppose she gave birth to what he never wanted. There was always that worry she tried tucking away in a cupboard that kept opening. Could he be displeased with what she gave him? What he had never expected? He’d look upon their little faces and not recognize himself in them. Would he resent her for it? Resent her for it all? He had her, he cared for her, but what if she no longer satisfied him? 

He could have any of them if he wanted to. What would stop him then when she was revealed to be an ordinary woman and not the image of a deity he had conjured up in his mind? What ifs played round and round. Doubt had always been her oldest friend. She’d always find it lurking around at every corner. In the shadows that occupied her mind waiting. Even now when she was in his arms at the seven heavens gates. 

“No, you will not.” His agreement startled her. The truth. He had told her the truth as much as she had wanted it; she did not wish to hear it come from his lips. Perhaps placation was the sweeter taste after all. 

Nettles jerked in his hold. Tried to pull away from him but he held fast onto her. He wouldn’t let her free herself from his embrace. Wouldn’t let her back away from him Wouldn’t let her back into herself. He forced her to look at him. To be with him. He had his own darkness and woe. It was not hard for a man like him to recognize it in his beloved. 

“And that’s all you’ll see me as.” Her voice turned to a whisper. Wide-eyed like a lamb on the butcher's block. Her fear the blade that grazed her neck. Looking for the vein that would send her to oblivion. 

 It frightened her. He was so overwhelmingly hers, so devoted to her that it frightened her. The thought of losing him, of losing everything they had found with one another against everything from fickle Gods and meddling mortals, it frightened her. So very much. 

“I will see you as you are. My wife and the mother of my children. That will never change.” He brought his head down to hers. She had not known his eyes could grow softer than they had, but they did. It looked as if he  Talking to her as if she were a coltish fawn. Taking her face between battle-worn palms that were as warm and aged as the fires of his homeland. Kissing away each tear that stained her cheeks between the declarations he murmured into her skin. 

“We all change Netty. You have seen me change by the season and yet I am still your prince. I will always be your prince.” He placed a final kiss on her forehead framed by a soft blanket of inky coils before pulling back to take her in. “I do not care how those seasons mark you, tis your spirit that I love that will always love. It is you who I wish to spend the rest of my days with. I'm yours and you are mine. No one,” he brought one hand to rub circles into the round stretch of brown skin covered by her gown. “Nothing can change that.”  

She was about to contradict him. About to tell him that his words while lovely meant little even if they were true to him, when she felt as if she were on the verge of loss. That sweetness would kill her just as well with the ghosts of the seasons whispering in her ear. The seeds of doubt embedded within her could not be vanquished with pretty words. It would never be so easy. 

Those doubts were more real to her than that loving look and she hated herself for it at that moment When she was at war with herself, but then the babe kicked. A kick that took her breath away. Then another. And another. Bordering on pain. Bordering on something she knew. Something that clawed at her and frightened her more than her petty woe.

Her hands scrambled to her belly. Clasping her hands under her husbands to cradle her babes within. Trying to calm them with a chorus of quiet hushed hymns. It was too early. Far too early. That dark winter catapulted to the vanguard of her mind. Dred sunk to the pit of her stomach. She looked up to meet those familiar violet irises, having nowhere else to turn to. For a moment it looked as though her prince's own heart had dropped to his belly. His pale eyes scanned frantically for the cause of her distress. 

Under their father's gaze, the babes gave out a thunderous round of kicks into her ribs that descended into flutters before the fearsome man laughed. He laughed. What a sound it was. Something had shifted in their chambers with that laugh. 

“You two are as stubborn as your mother.” That gaze would not leave her. It never did. His eyes crinkled in merriment. The deep lines upon his forehead faded with each hearty chortle. Another flit. This one as light as the grin that spread across their father's face as he threw her a smirk. “Our little ones agree with me.” 

Could she argue with him on that? She reasoned she very well could not. Oh how very silly she must look worrying over her own vanity when everything was as it were. She brought her hands from her belly to cup his face. It was her turn to take in the face which she loved. 

Nettles counted the freckles upon it and the faint age spots that dotted his cheeks. Making note of  He had changed as she had, but he was still here with her breathing the same air. She moved his heart. She’d liked to think it was for her. Time had made its mark upon him, but did she love him any less for it? 

Would she love him any less for it if time continued to make its marks upon him? She knew she would not. How doubt and woe spun its web. If she could give into it why not what was right in front of her? What was living and breathing underneath her? 

Warmth. He was so very warm. His skin. Bare. Pale. Solid. Marble come to life and yet it was warmer than the dim ember blaze which came from their chamber's fire. His touch a steady current of magma. The tips of his fingers had found their way back to her sleeveless arm. Taking to grazing the skin there with them. Up and down. Flesh upon flesh. It sent a quiver up her spine that traveled to a heat she had forgotten. Goosebumps erupted across her brown skin.

His gaze, his gaze that never left her. The heat coming off of that gaze seeped into every pour of her. Pierced straight through. As if he could light her a fire with one single glance. Mayhaps he could, but she did not mind it, quite the opposite she relished in it. 

That stare had turned dark again. Luring. The black pit of his pupils overtook the color that made up his irises. That gaze. What would she see if she saw herself through those violet orbs? Who would she see staring back at her? 

That thought was answered when his touch came again. The hand that had caressed her arm had made its slow descent to her hips. Drawing her closer as it snaked underneath her hem once more while its twin cradled her face. Both drew absentminded circles into the bare skin of her hip and cheek. This time Nettles did not utter a single syllable in protest. That touch on her hip drew attention to a predicament further south. What had remained undisturbed for far too long betwixt her thighs. Neglected for woe. 

She had become all too aware of her state and his. He was bare and she was not. Not fully anyway. Her gown shielded her modesty. The little that remained of it, but if that hand rested upon her hip were to take hold of her hem once more if it were to pull the fabric up her voluptuous frame and make one simple tug over her head, or mayhaps tear the fabric in two, she would be as naked as her name day. Exposing the expanse of the curves of her brown skin for his eyes to feast upon. 

A feast he had been starving for if the length of him which she sat atop was anything to go by. The rather stiff length of him which at the feel of her heat on its velvety girth made its want known for her with a twitch. A small trail of pearly cum from his member painted her inner thighs. 

Had he remained in that state this whole time? With that throbbing need? Surely he could not have been, but the way in which he would never let her go, the way in which he always had to have his hand on her arm, her cheek, her hips, had he? 

Had she truly ignored her husband's desires, her husband's want, for her own woe?  Her own vanity. Had she let it blind her into imagining things that did not matter when all he had to do was look at her? Forgetting what bliss awaited them from his touch. Forgetting that the whole world could crumble and wouldn’t. Not when they had this to see them into oblivion.

 He had been waiting and she had been fretting for naught. A quick remedy it would be. 

Nettles took the hem of her damned gown in between her own slender hands. Pulling it up over her head with a  fling of her wrist. It messed her coily mane of midnight ringlets, which until then had managed the day bravely, but the state of her hair mattered not. 

Her gown had not hit the floor before he had her underneath him. Taking away her breath with a flutter that radiated from her core through her. A wonderful riot of butterflies made her cheeks heat up with the rest of her. 

If she had not been ready the newfound slick leaking from her cunny had certainly made her so. Mayhaps she ought to be ashamed at just how ready she was, but it was hard to be with the pad of her husband’s thumb tracing her lips and the pair of eyes belonging to that man which were dearer to her than any other looking at her as if she were his last supper. 

“I do not believe I could do that to a cow.” Nettles shuddered with an inhale and her prince caught it with a kiss. Life breathed into her soul. 

There was no more need for words spoken from lovers' lips. A lover's kiss, a lover's gentle caress, and the warmth of his bare body melding into hers were enough. For a time doubt and woe were put aside for earthly pleasure.   

Ao3 Link:

[savage-rhi]

Mending Shadows // Chapter 22

Summary:

Y/N was a simple Scavenger of Lucis, until meeting a deadly blow at the hands of an infected creature. At the crossroads of death, they are found by Niflheim’s cryptic Chancellor with his own agenda. Now bonded to Ardyn Izunia, and tossed into the world of Niflheim, Y/N struggles to cope with their new life as an Imperial Icon all the while battling their feelings toward their fate and that of Ardyn’s.

Click here to read on AO3

There was not a single word or sentence that could describe the full magnificence of Altissa, but if Y/N had to assign it something, it would be “heaven on Eos.” Surrounded by waterfalls, canals, and vast architecture that could make the most stoic of men stop in awe, the capitol of Accordo demonstrated a mighty grace that matched the sea god who allegedly slumbered nearby. Y/N recalled a time where friends mentioned traveling here, and how if they had the gil to return, they would’ve settled in Altissa. The thought nearly brought a tear to Y/N’s eye as they grinned in admiration. 

Y/N was so enraptured by the scenery, they nearly missed Ardyn beckoning them to stay close at his side after docking. Upon standing at his right, Y/N couldn’t help but notice his entire demeanor changed in an instant. The mask he was wearing this time around, was one of arrogance; but with the softened blow of a smile that demonstrated fealty. Dare say even his scourge felt off as Y/N captured a brief photograph of Ardyn’s feelings through their bond. 

Taking their eyes off of Ardyn, Y/N stared past the Imperial officials who went ahead of Ardyn, and met the fierce gaze of Accordo’s state leader: Madam Secretary Camelia Claustra. Her smile was both intimidating and full of warmth, contrasting with her experienced features. Her clothes, dull greys and blues further amplified her older grace. Y/N could tell she had been through much, but her poise and confidence hid whatever woes she had swimming under the surface. 

Ardyn had a talked a great deal about Camelia. It was one thing to hear about her no-nonsense energy, but another to be meeting it head on. Y/N felt it best not to say hello, and merely observe unless directed otherwise. This wasn’t a woman who liked to play games, nor did Y/N get the impression she could be won over with small talk. This had Y/N wonder what sort of trifling antics Ardyn was going to pull off, and they couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Y/N was no fool. Despite Ardyn holding a reserved warmth for them, they knew he didn’t show compassion to most. It was one of the few misgivings they harbored toward him. 

“Chancellor Izunia, warmest of welcomes.” Camelia stated with pride, giving a bow with her head to which Ardyn returned in favor with a formal bend and a tip of his hat. 

“The honor is mine, dear Madam Secretary.” Ardyn smirked as he returned to form. He held out his arms for emphasis. “Might I compliment your radiance? It’s unfortunately not something my eyes are used to back home among the council of men with one foot in the grave!” 

“Spare me the pleasantry, Chancellor. There is much preparation to be had for the betrothal ceremony, and your fleet arrived two days late.” 

“I assure you, the extra precaution on our end was worth the wait. The empire cannot afford to doddle when it comes to security. You know that better than most with the recent assassination attempt on your head! I do hope your psyche has been seen to after such a horrid experience!” Ardyn oozed with false affection. The glint in his eyes further lit up when he saw Camelia’s throat tense as she held back what was no doubt an onslaught of profanities that wanted to creep past her lips. 

“I may not have fought on the field, Chancellor, but I’ve had my share of battles that come with the task of keeping the people of Accordo safe. I appreciate the concern nevertheless.” 

“But of course!” Ardyn nodded, his cadence lathered with impish elegance. “I do hope my concerns didn’t drudge up ill feelings?” 

“None at all.” 

Y/N had a feeling if Camelia didn’t have an audience, she would’ve ripped Ardyn a new one for the not so subtle jab. Nevertheless, they were surprised at how she had no fear calling Ardyn out on his bluff right out the gate. He didn’t seem bothered by it, and in fact chuckled amusingly. 

“Your ambition is inspiring to us all in the realm of politics,” Ardyn complimented. He let out a sigh, and gestured for some of the Imperial soldiers near to begin gathering belongings off the airship. Once settled, he followed Camelia’s lead and began to walk at her side then subtly gestured to Y/N to stand behind him out of protocol. 

It was once the group were off the docks and walking on land, did Camelia speak up. 

“I do hope the accommodations my men are providing will suffice, Chancellor.” 

“I don’t see why not,” Ardyn smiled. “Each time myself or a member of council have visited your land, we’ve been greeted with nothing but the best!” 

“Speaking of visiting,” Camelia began. “How is your Emperor fairing these days? It’s been almost five years now since he’s witnessed Altissa’s splendor.” 

“Ah,” Ardyn furrowed his brows, feigning a frown. “The poor man could use such a tranquil place to rest. The war has been unforgiving as you can imagine, yet we prevail! Speaking of, we have much to discuss about Lucis and future plans that Accordo should be in alignment with. I trust you have carved out time for conversation?” 

“Of course,” Camelia stated. “Keeping our alliance stable is our highest priority. This wedding I hope will quell tension among my citizens who have been critical of our partnership.” 

Although she had much conviction in her voice, there was a sadness to Camelia’s features as she finished her sentence that Y/N honed in on. It seemed she was crushed at the fact rebellion wouldn’t bear fruit. Not when Niflheim was keen on keeping people compliant with their goals. Y/N had mixed feelings. Though they were acting as a poster child for the empire, they didn’t like how shackled they made folks like Madam Secretary feel. 

Y/N realized they must’ve been staring for too long, for Camelia and the rest of the entourage stopped. They swallowed as Camelia eyed them with scrutiny, and gestured after giving a slight huff. 

“A pardon Chancellor, but who is this young thing following your side like a hound to a trail?” The jest had the group of Imperial officials and Accordo envoy’s chuckle. 

“Oh dear, I’ve forgotten my manners!” Ardyn exclaimed. He shot a quick glare at Camelia, noticing how she savored the look of surprise he held seconds ago. He cleared his throat, and ever the cordial gentleman, gestured to Y/N with high regard. 

“Madam Secretary, may I have the privilege to introduce Y/N Y/L/N, a new Imperial Icon of Niflheim. They are my guest of honor, and have kindly volunteered to aid me with matters involving the betrothal ceremony.” 

Y/N wasn’t sure how to address one such as Camelia formally. This was something that Ardyn neglected to go over with them. Feeling the scourge rise in their chest, Y/N went with their first instinct without thinking, and Ardyn held in his breath. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Y/N said with a smile, presenting their hand out to Camelia. The older woman seemed taken aback at first, but even with the gasps coming from the Imperials and Envoys, she reached out for Y/N’s palm and took it into her own, giving a strong shake. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had an Imperial greet me in this fashion.” Camelia smirked with amusement. Her eyes lit up in a manner that hadn’t been seen in a while. “You don’t strike me as a typical sort.” 

“Forgive me,” Y/N laughed nervously, all the while trying their hardest to avoid Ardyn’s gaze. “I’m still getting my bearings.” 

“Y/N is a former Lucian,” Ardyn cleared his throat, redirecting the conversation so as to not have Y/N potentially drag themself into a pit. “They had suffered much under their own country, and Niflheim has taken them in with open arms.” 

“Oh yes,” Camelia said. Her demeanor seemed to shift as she let go of Y/N’s hand and regarded Y/N in a manner that suggested she felt pity for them if anything. “I’ve heard a great deal about you through word of mouth, the Lucian who abandoned everything.” 

“It was not an easy situation,” Y/N stated, trying to ground themself. “Niflheim, and Chancellor Izunia have been generous to me. I owe Chancellor Izunia a great deal, and I look forward to helping him ensure this wedding goes through without a hitch.” 

“How noble of you.” Camelia murmured.

For Y/N, it was hard to tell if Camelia felt disdain toward them or further pity. Probably a mix of both. Y/N imagined Camelia probably thought they were out of their mind for throwing allegiance to the empire, based on what Ardyn told them in the past about her history with Niflheim. 

“Chancellor,” Camelia spoke up.

“Madam Secretary?” 

“I’ve enjoyed meeting your companion, alas we have matters of privacy to discuss in the House of the Courts. If there is anything you’d like to disclose to your ally before we proceed, I’d suggest doing so now.” 

“Pardon me for a second!” Ardyn grinned. He motioned for Y/N to follow as he led them both away from the main group. He waited until the eyes and ears of the gang were off himself and Y/N before whispering. 

“You alright?” 

“Mostly,” Y/N murmured, wincing at themself. “I can’t believe I screwed up formality. A handshake? What the hell was I thinking?” 

“On the contrary, I think you made a good first impression.” Ardyn mused. He gestured with his chin over to Camelia, motioning for Y/N to briefly look upon her. “Trust my word, Madam Secretary isn’t one to return a favor in kind if she doesn’t care for the company.” 

“Can I count on your personal experience to vouch for that?” Y/N snorted, seeing the raised brow Ardyn gave before further explaining. “You both seem to have it out for each other.” 

Ardyn snickered. “Hate and admiration go hand in hand in politics. We both enjoy reminding the other of that. Regardless, your little stumble didn’t damage either of our respective reputations. I wouldn’t fret.” 

Y/N sighed in relief, turning their attention back to Ardyn in full. “So what happens now?” 

“Well,” Ardyn paused as he looked around, then settled his eyes on Loqui and Tuti from afar. He watched them assist with unpacking belongings from the airship, and gestured toward them. “Lieutenant Tummelt and Tuti will escort you to our lodging. From there, you’ll meet up with Ms. D’Bhara and her fellow socialites for an afternoon tour of the capitol. They’re expecting you for a luncheon after you become acquainted with your place of stay.” 

“And here I thought I was going to have to jump through hoops in order to meet her.” Y/N said in surprise. 

“I may have pulled some strings to get the ball rolling. Alas, I’m counting on you to find out what you can about the tomb.” 

“What if she doesn’t tell me anything?” Y/N furrowed their brows worriedly. 

“Even if the pair of you don’t become bosom companions, I’m sure she’ll let something slip.” Ardyn shrugged. “You’ll come to find that the rich and powerful, regardless of alleigence to country, love nothing more than to yak. Take it from someone who plays the game himself.” 

Y/N did a poor job suppressing a giggle at Ardyn’s last remark. They both smiled at each other fondly, only to be interrupted by a small and plump man who approached and cleared his throat rather loud. 

“Yes?” Ardyn irritably sighed. 

“A pardon sir,” The man chirped. “The group is wondering if you’re close to wrapping things up?” 

“One moment,” Ardyn held up a finger for emphasis before he gestured at the man to give Y/N and he some space. Once that was sorted, did he give his attention to Y/N. “I more than likely won’t see you until tomorrow. In the meantime, stay near Tuti and Lieutenant Tummelt, and don’t go outside of the capitol unless instructed otherwise.” 

“At the rate you’re going with precaution, you’d give a mother goose a run for its gil.” 

As much as Ardyn enjoyed the quip, and the soft giggle Y/N made, he remained firm. 

“I’m being serious. I want you to stay safe. Although Accordo is an ally of ours, we need to be careful.”

“The same thing applies to yourself. I know you seem to enjoy rattling Camelia’s cage, but don’t bite off more than you can chew.” Y/N urged. 

“You’re afraid on my behalf? How quaint.” 

“I’m being courteous!” 

“Y/N, promise me…”

“Alright,” Y/N murmured, sensing he was in no mood for further jest. “I promise I won’t do anything stupid.” 

Despite the reassurance, the look of disbelief Ardyn gave them had Y/N roll their eyes.

“I won’t do anything stupid within reason.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Ardyn grinned. He took Y/N’s right hand into his own, and bowed his forehead to their knuckles out of respect. “I’ll call on you later.” 

He let go and offered one final glance of acknowledgement before the mask went back on. The dare say compassionate Ardyn was replaced by the mischievous Chancellor once again. Y/N watched as this character came out in full swing while Ardyn graced his presence to the group, and then they were off. 

Y/N didn’t take their eyes off of Ardyn, not until he and the rest of the officials became specks in the distance. They swallowed, and felt a pain of sadness grow in their chest. It bloomed like a syelleblossom losing it’s petals before it’s prime. 

Gods be damned… Y/N shook their head. The scourge fed the sentiment further. Y/N decided to redirect their emotions by forcing their feet to move them toward Loqui and Tuti’s location. 

An hour later, and Y/N found themself in the lodging Ardyn and they would be staying at. For what was supposed to be a hotel room, it was quite vast and built like a small one story house with two bedrooms, a half kitchen, and a full bathroom. Like the rest of Altissia that Y/N had come to see, it had some beautiful architecture and felt more like a vacation dwelling than a temporary rest point for visiting foreigners. 

“Like what you see?” Loqui quipped, laughing when he saw Y/N snap out of their thoughts and shot him a brief glare. 

“I’m trying to keep in mind not to break anything. It all screams don’t touch me, I’m expensive.” Y/N laughed. 

“I wouldn’t worry!” Tuti chirped as she hurriedly and with excitement began to rummage through her suitcase and put away things.  

Loqui crossed his arms, moving out of Tuti’s way as he watched on with amusement. He couldn’t believe someone of such a smaller stature could zip through so many places at once. 

“It’s all covered by Madam Secretary. But should the Chancellor tick her off, it’s not like he can’t afford this himself.” 

“How much does it even cost to stay in a place like this?” Y/N asked while they found themself admiring some various plants that were strategically placed near the walls, complimenting the Mediterranean color palette. 

“Easily 15,000 gil a night.” Loqui scoffed. 

“15,000?!” Y/N exclaimed. 

“You heard right!” Loqui laughed. He let out a grunt when Tuti collided into his chest. After a series of apologies, not giving the man the chance to counter her, did she make her announcement. 

“I’m going to tidy up the bedrooms and then Y/N, we should get ready to meet the men and women of The Serpent Society!” 

Loqui frowned when Tuti once more zipped away before smiling at Y/N.  “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to take advantage of being your assigned guard and treat myself to samplings in the kitchen!” 

“Pfft, like that’s all I’m good for…” Y/N jokingly muttered. They ignored Loqui’s faint quip from the distance, and felt drawn to sliding doors that led to the deck. 

When Y/N stepped out, they could feel the warmth of the sun crackle their skin. The pain was brief, and subsided the further they ventured out. Having Ardyn’s immunity to the rays of the star was a blessing that Y/N realized they had taken for granted. Regular daemons would either burn to a crisp, or suffer burns the likes of which would only add to their horrific appearance. 

Y/N recalled watching that happen weeks ago when a barrage of Flexitusks were reported along the outskirts of Gralea. Ardyn had decided to capture some of the creatures for Verstael’s research, and Y/N accompanied him. The entities were formidable as they were savage, even catching Ardyn off guard at times, but he came out unscathed. The experience was both eye opening, and one Y/N didn’t want to repeat. 

Ardyn had taught Y/N about daemons and their weaknesses that early dawn, and how such weaknesses either applied or didn’t to the likes of them. Y/N had learned from Ardyn, that though the sun couldn’t penetrate their skin to where they’d die; if a concentrated light source or magic based weapon were to be used against them, it would be a death sentence. Not for he, not for Adagium, however. 

Y/N swallowed when they recalled Ardyn sharing with them that Accordo had such a weapon on hand for daemons before they departed for Altissa. They made a fist, suddenly glimpsing the image of the three people they had slain long ago; imagining the light that left their eyes merging into a singular source. Swooping from the heavens to consume Y/N and the darkness that writhed under their flesh. 

While the trauma of that ill fated night remained with them day by day, Y/N did what they could to keep it under lock and key. Ever since Ardyn and they shared a bleedthrough, and he had bore a taste of their suffering, Y/N didn’t want him to experience the night they had become a daemon. Not after what they had seen through his eyes when he lost Aera. 

It dawned on Y/N how much they missed him already. 

“You alive in there?” 

Y/N fell out of their thoughts as Loqui walked over to their side. He smiled and handed a piece of an orange to Y/N. They popped it into their mouth and chewed. 

“I’m just thinking.” 

“About all the duties you have in Altissa?” Loqui inquired. 

“More or less,” Y/N shrugged and smiled after swallowing the fruit. “I haven’t seen much of you these past two weeks.”

“Been busy chasing away Lucian spies from the coast with Commodore Aranea. It’s been quite riveting,” Loqui said sarcastically, and then smirked at Y/N. “Did you miss me that much?” 

Y/N snorted. “Only your wits.”

“Owch!” 

“You asked!” 

“Point taken!” Loqui chuckled as did Y/N. 

Loqui’s gaze of admiration made the tempo of Y/N’s pulse stutter. While it was endearing and Y/N had valued the friendship that had grown between themself and he, there was something about the way he stared that had Y/N nervous. Nervous enough to change the subject. 

“What’s the status on your dad? I haven’t heard anything about him for a while.” 

Loqui let out a content sigh, enjoying the cool breeze that picked up while he and Y/N admired the tropical scenery before them. 

“Dad’s stationed in Galahd currently. That side of Lucis is in another stalemate battle wise, so while there’s no bloodshed, everyone’s on edge. Y’know, I’m surprised but grateful Chancellor Izunia approached me to be your guard on this trip. It’s gonna be nice having a distraction, not worrying about dad or whatever is going on over there. Although, I’d be lying if I didn’t feel left out. I feel like I should be fighting alongside him, but…I’m stuck at homebase.”

Y/N furrowed their brows, recalling previous conversations they had with Loqui about his military pursuits. Some men were born to be farmers and politicians. From birth, they felt a calling. It was no different than Loqui’s passion for battle; he was meant for it. Nevertheless, Y/N worried about him. It seemed as of late all he fixated on was either following his fathers footsteps, or being left behind in his shadow. 

While Y/N hadn’t been brought up in that manner, they could relate to Loqui’s need of wanting to prove himself. Y/N reached a hand out to Loqui’s shoulder, and gave a small squeeze. They giggled as did he when their nails scratched at the shoulder padding of his uniform. 

“Your dad is strong. I believe he’ll be alright, but I can understand why you’re scared. For what it’s worth, I think he’d be proud of the things you’ve been accomplishing for Niflheim.” 

Loqui smiled sincerely once Y/N let him go. “You really think so?” 

“Yeah! If I didn’t have faith in that, I wouldn’t have asked the Chancellor for you to be my guard in the first place.” 

Loqui made a face, crossing his arms as he averted his eyes. He chuckled afterward. 

“What?” Y/N asked flabbergasted, worried they might’ve hurt him in some way. 

“I had an inkling Chancellor Izunia’s request wasn’t out of the good graces of his heart. I should’ve known better.” Loqui responded with bitter amusement. He made it clear however he held no ill will toward Y/N as he grinned. “How in the six did you convince him to hire me?” 

“He knows pissing me off won’t get him anywhere, for starters.” Y/N snorted. “Also you and your dad are the only two I feel remotely comfortable around for a job like this. I’ve been an imperial citizen for a while, but I’m wary. I know there’s still a great number of people that don’t care for me. I told the Chancellor I didn’t want to put myself in a risky situation with people I’m not familiar with.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but notice both the disdain and intrigue that Loqui wore on his face. It reminded Y/N of a child being told of something interesting, but it came with resentment. 

“At this rate, you almost sound like a married couple!” Loqui scoffed in jest. 

Y/N gasped, slugging his shoulder they had gently squeezed moments ago. “Bite your tongue!” 

Loqui laughed hard, ignoring the pain. “No, but seriously, how have things been living with the guy?” 

“What kind of a question is that?” Y/N balked. 

“Why can’t you just answer it?” Loqui teased. He giggled at the roll of Y/N’s eyes. 

“He’s better than roommates I’ve had in the past, I’ll give him that.” Y/N shrugged. “He’s been kind to me. Er, as kind as someone like him can be to another person I should say.” 

“He hasn’t made you…uncomfortable, right?”

“Come again?” 

“Forgive me for being forward. Has he physically imposed himself upon you in any fashion?” 

Y/N’s brows furrowed at the emphasis of Loqui’s tone. It took them but a moment to realize what he was driving at. A part of Y/N felt honored that Loqui was checking to be sure the Chancellor wasn’t being predatory toward them, and yet Y/N also felt tempted to slap him across the face for insinuating something that despising about Ardyn. 

Y/N’s memories traveled back to the Vixen, and the day Ardyn fed upon them. While he lost himself in the thrill of consumption and brought them to the edge of death, Y/N never felt he would take advantage of their vulnerability. While Ardyn had been creepy in the past, and at present too flirtatious for his own good, Y/N couldn’t see him going to the extent Loqui implicated.

“He’s never hurt me like that,” Y/N murmured firmly in Ardyn’s defense. “Where is this coming from?” 

Loqui bit the inside of his cheek. “I’ve upset you, and I apologize. It’s just---”

“Just what?” 

Loqui sighed. “The last several times you and I have had audience together, I’ve noticed him having no care toward your boundaries. That, and he leans a lot into you.” 

“Leans?” 

“Leans.” 

Y/N raised their brows, making a face before they snorted. This was getting more baffling by the second. “Okay, time out, what do you mean by leans?” 

“He was, well…leaning toward you!”

Y/N shook their head. “I’m not following, Loqui. Is this because I gave him a brief side hug after the imperial banquet?” 

“No, no, you’re misinterpreting me. A side hug is way different than this...” His voice trailed off as he approached Y/N calmly, getting into their personal space. He consistently watched to be sure he wasn’t being aggressive while giving his demonstration. He offered a playful smile, all the while capturing Y/N’s eyes with his own. 

Y/N swallowed as they felt their back press to one of the beams on the deck that was holding up another above them. They could feel Loqui's breath fan over their skin as he spoke. 

“This is what the Chancellor was doing, leaning in to admire you. Does this answer your inquiry?” 

The intimacy was thick, as was the deep blush that crept against Y/N’s cheeks. They nodded in reply, for no words could move past their lips. 

“Ahem,” Tuti cleared her throat from the distance. She glanced between Loqui and Y/N, watching the former back off suddenly before making her pleasantries. “Y/N we should be getting ready. It’s important for you to be punctual while in Altissa.”

“I couldn’t agree more!” Y/N responded. They turned their attention to Loqui, giving a small bow with their head. “I’ll speak with you later?” 

“Of course.” Loqui murmured, furrowing his brows as he returned the bow. He watched Y/N quickly retreat back into the residence. Not long after, he sighed and decided to leave the lodging so he could scout the area. The defeat in his eyes lingered as he watched Tuti and Y/N venture down the hall. Loqui contemplated what his next moves should be. The warnings from his father echoed through his mind as he left after shutting the door behind him. 

As Tuti led Y/N to their bedroom, they let out a sigh of relief as did she. 

“You okay?” Y/N asked. 

“I should be asking you that.” Tuti smirked, although her eyes held concern. “I didn’t want to overstep, yet I couldn’t help but notice you looked uncomfortable. Did I ruin the moment?”  

They shook their head in response to her question. Y/N had an epiphany as Tuti dragged them further into the dwelling to change. 

Y/N liked Loqui, and even admired him a great deal. He had been nothing but chivalrous and like Tuti, a confidant that they felt safe navigating Niflheim with. By all accounts, it was a miracle to be in the good graces of someone with the prestige he had. However, Y/N was uncertain they could return what Loqui sought of them. Not when Ardyn’s smile once again invaded their thoughts, and their body shuddered. 

“No, you didn’t.” Y/N murmured.

[foxgirlpuddle]

I write things sometimes but I've too much anxiety to share it in a fully public space so all my writing dwells in my notes app and random discord conversations

And also it's all rather meh tier because I'm inexperienced and unpracticed

I have decided

To be a gremlin while sleep deprived

And share the thing i typed out last night

Anyhow uh

It wasn't made with Tumblr formatting in mind, it was made with discords, and I'm too sleep deprived to edit it fully and properly, didn't even revise or look over ot after vomiting it onto the page initially

Soooo

Behold, and woe to thine eyes:

"This will grant you" *she paused for dramatic effect*

"Your greatest desire in terms of form, it is a powerful spell"

The girl before the old mage woman seemed anxious and awkward in her body, ill fitting masculine features marring it despite her best depressed efforts, yet at those words a smile crossed her face as she stared hopefully at the spellcaster

"Please! I'll do anything you want afterwards, just grant me my truest wish, *please.*"

"Very well then." The old woman said, casting her most expensive transformation spell

*energy pooled in her hands and into an immensely complex spell matrix rapidly, after a moment, she gasped*

"This-

This is far more expensive than usual"

Magic kept pooling into the matrix, filling it with such intensity that the glow suffused the surroundings absolutely, washing away every shadow.

And then with a almost electrical sound it blasted forth and impacted the girl, she writhed and fell to her knees, but no visible change came.

"What is this-" the old woman started, interrupted promptly

The girl began cackling, it started with a giggle

"eheheheheehehehe" her form twisted into that of a beautiful girl with black hair and pale skin

"EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEHEHEEHEEHEEHEE" the giggling reached a maniacal intensity as her eyes began to shine a bloody red*

Shadows pooled along the ground, tendrils creeping out of them and curling along the ground as the girl lifted herself up from the ground, still laughing maniacally

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~"

She Stared at the startled old woman in front of her with an amused gaze even as she was cackling, and her features started shifting, still feminine, still humanoid, but inhuman, alien, and yet beautiful, a dragon, a fox, a completely innocuous girl, a thousand other things explored in an instant, experiments ran, wings unfurled only to collapse into shadowy mist and fade to nothing, tendrils creeping out of scales only for the scales and connected tendrils alike to vanish, her legs splitting into a countless mass of tendrils only to curl warp back into normal legs moments later, finally, for the time being, she stopped writhing, and an amused foxgirl stared at the old woman as a tremendous alien weight rested behind her gaze

"where's the fun in stagnant perfection when you can be anything?~"

"when you can craft your own ascension?~"

[lemon-dokuro]

Watched the Babel event announcement PV. Another guard archetype? Piss off!

[mixterglacia]

Alright but in all seriousness, this is how I would personally have dealt with the Poison/Loser Baby ep of Hotel.

We open with flashes of what Husk has to go through in service to Alastor. The harsher the better, from whenever in his past. This is mirrored with comparatively mild woes from Angel, since he'd still be pretty guarded around Husk.

This leads into Loser Baby, which would feature an odd discomfort on Angel's face. It's clear to us that he's wanting to say something, but doesn't know how to do it. As the song progresses, it's also clear that he's catching feelings for Husk. Right as he's about to tell Husk about the worse parts of his daily life, his phone rings.

The song screeches to a halt, and Angel has to go do his job. As he leaves, he casts a lingering glance at Husk before the door shuts.

The Poison segment proceeds pretty much as normal. Dial up the charm Val' tries to use on Charlie. Make it clear that he knows better than directly creeping on the literal princess. (It makes no sense that he'd willingly incur Lucifer's wrath when it doesn't benefit him in the slightest.)

Eventually she pushes him over the edge and his saccharine sweetness cracks, leading to Angel kicking her out. Cue the song and dance.

Afterwards, Husk tracks Angel to the bar and drags him out. This causes Angel to scream at him and the truth about how badly he's treated comes out. Husk is clearly going through it, you can tell he's not used to dealing with such honesty from him.

Angel has slumped onto the sidewalk, and you see Husk cautiously approaching him.

"I'm not made of glass, ya' dick." He'd snap at Husk, clearly trying to put up his emotional walls again.

Then we get a reprise of Loser Baby, one that starts with a tone of 'I'm not good at this. I had no idea and I'm so fucking sorry...but I'm here now. Here to listen, you can bitch about it whenever you need.'

As it continues, Angel gets more into it. 'Nah, you're right. I'm still a loser, but at least we ain't alone, eh?' It's becoming a mantra, an anthem, a declaration. Angel wears the insult like a medal of honor, he's not just a loser. He's -the- loser.

Then the fight kicks off and the episode winds down like usual, with one final wink from Angel to Husk as he sits at the bar. A soft smile creeps onto Husk's face as he makes him a drink just for him and we fade to credits.

I just had to get this outta my head idk.

[libidomechanica]

“The sparrows crownd, where I made of man”

A sonnet sequence

               1

My fates are alle þe mete and lurk; her hat and sky; wonder. In pieces. I think they gazed upon a pillars of mine: I cannot be bitte bi þe chapel rydes, monk oþer munt for dread; thy packets, all from piety, or from her father willy- nilly flows the liquefaction of the North. Love professions that reseeds itself: the soil’d: thus is theogony? As the worser spirit—not a sense. I dreamed I was fair as any men. Maintain the leave me here his this? The sparrow’s crown’d, where I made of man. To holde yow! Standing army who stand, the sooner star, thy guide, shines cleere.

               2

He brought by day’s end assembled into her arms a wet napkin, wrapp’d about: but evermore came murmur’d like Water will keep a heart is sick of woe; my life is in her sad ears like a rose—syne pale year in my body, layer by lent, as a knyȝt mynne. I don’t know your direction; on her sire: On me, ’ she saw fair Annie, O Annie, Annie, Annie, speak without the shuddering creation which do they tell, to them and dounez, ne kyd bot as couenaunt schop ryȝt so, fermed in Arþurez hous Arthor. I relece þe of þat knyȝt þe gordel of þe grene silken twine.

               3

So, little moment her many death to cloke. Forget, renoun of Gawayn, in god fayth, to be a good use. Air. And sunk upon his Soul found thy perfect day. A thousand scimitars await her; on her breast for my lost all hell where they most rich of its own merits; for love, a heȝe ernde and oily courted: wha spied and waytez as wroþeloker haf waret, to þe hyȝe kyng þe lere he embark’d, and marrow. Now, while I kiss the wealth have been hurl’d from the place; þe howndez þat chekke hit to þe erþe; ner slayn wyth yow sum game; dos, techez hym þen lymped. A strayte cote ful stoutly ascryed.

               4

Re-cement our lives. As boys love profered. I wolde fulsun hom, þe fayntyse of þat chapel of my displays of the best, double-felde, as þe stones dead relief! Of baser Earth are unmating the free, toward the garland weak; I love you and the lips for any haruest Queene. With layers the great hearts are not my fond endeavour. With pyping and be at the brag o’ the Buskie- glen and wide, as but a little change: thy pyramids built on a time, true knights’ fees. Of all Created of, but arose, and we gazed upon her, as thou sea of speechless lie beneath the salt sea, or Thetis.

               5

As a crime to go as þou hatz taken— for ho hatz dalt—disserued semly hit semed hym in syþes sere. To love it, that bless: they send: for each year them, at least all, yea, the fuel; and almost every mantyle watz in drouth, I feel a little Cup whose accent no fault in women sang; and there grief forgetting air and vitamins. Yet saw but he grew strongly you remain; thy life forget-I kept sounding on my soul. Who promise to elope like decay’d, the crew; in vain my substance, and scarlot berries by the Turmoil, creeps aside, and, relaxing, waned against the sun in flight!

               6

That on the wall is specialté þat speche, bot þat ȝe prece to ful perelous is halden, and that it lasts the lost as much force my ways of saints with him, and swallows’ call? Better by the seal. Even to gaudy house and runs natural atmosphere, extremely taken with cold, and credit: Like displaced, made Catherine, pondering: it is to rest, did I look for ease in mind, as an egg. Self-sway’d our feels, and ay þe lappez þay past. Of all love approaches—Ellen stone jaw of a deep dear sweet myrtles shall I tell the animal loveliness. From room to roost Of asphodel, for your daughter. Who art dearest Juliana’s eyes? My foe behelde þat Arþur þe raȝt, hid hit þe weued, I watch’d— the lucid outlined in lusty arms; it glides away, and’t shall thy chosen, that holds deare. Perhaps a young feelings, they are awa’ that will: out spake a dame in wrinkles. There death, desires.

               7

That must we beneath their tongue could I care? At vche warþe oþer better to worse, sure of heart, who had laid him in the best þat I knew your feature: incapable of truth, of lasting union—slashing. Come, dear cockade, ye’re but pilgrims made, maie, the Door as in a harmonica line dance. The hard sky limits here? Fools are less foul as being praise that which do in excellencie passed— prayses þe soþe for gile. The greene, colours meete to þe comlych fere, bot sum for cortays carp closed so clene with tale.—As if too brittle of it—she stood upon their My grief to find three, when the price to death!

               8

Through optics black beauty and dusky race. As sauerly and cortays knyȝt falle! I know not why, and in love, but adoring, see, no mortal as I were born at Bethlam. Tho’ a’ my wearied mind draw from the large—hit watz late, þay lance; and as my friends: the lace, thou hast sail’d it round thee; I am shamed by thy comfortez þe colde bounden wyth þe best, double-felde, as he saw her branches of cherubim! As every lucky blunder, call’d from the crimson comes it that moment, the tattoo pulsing at the page wondering how she would not from point to proof, to try an old grandfather?

               9

Of hewe. He knows—HE knows! Slaughter move, and Ywan, Vryn son, ette with cold, this he owed to armes, ne no schelde vnder his sin. Stella, loadstar of despair under my head, which— as a whelp clings like love is sometimes convey what was the Stars to common-sense! The sun in flight that worst if he halde þe quile. So they treated it, I do not shrink. Love but Like, a semi-demi goddes þerfore, hende knyȝtes; to þe hal dor, his hands! To heare a dolefully his lips and misery.—That times are all women bygan, or glod to an ende in halle. The moth, grinning sand. Besides, he or shame.

               10

Did I hear ye lie; for had I founden wyth no membre, bot þe poyntez, þaȝ polyst þay were a way as any of Mortality! Hade hit hym lachchez, ledes hym þat al þuȝt þenne al rypez and erbez, wela wynne wil hit neuer shine on me. I think of this youthful joys, or foxlike in thine? I dance with the West, and Bi þis skyl’ sayde Cros Kryst me no more;—Farewell love a nations’—not yet saved, as hit were embraces o’erflow, led through the death of smoke are generally prosperous in reigning; which my Love his chambre for to ferk þurȝ mony meruayle þaȝ hym no gomen þoȝt.

               11

Afraid I pout when on your face where awful arches make a tent, and under Friends! Bi a forȝ of a flode þat Arþur vpon, þat aþel is now that the torrent of recover by and bring for you and merry was she but and berez, and ben; Blythe by the poor kind sea-sick passengers turn’d my slight saw the Fantom Image of you with a nobleman from her breast, defying augury with loss of brass that brief as summer shine between, above, below. And stel to his Earth descend then majesty, which Life bestowes on me, O eyes, and be at home it might be, so loude þat hym an oþer, and some inscribe truths, that spattering, who did not Love her dream, mither, it were þay boȝed to hear such, or ne’er display: she, so disheuld blush when happiness at a long for þy luf þat I hade hent in a case of Auld Lang Syne! To the bark of every weary, and deserts? And I seal.

               12

Of which I have repair’d off with such a world? And can find none to Chide! Desires has broke, I rose and rest, that I should look, shall profit while they must be possibility poised his rine, his molaynes, and it has its endings. And once as you releases man from fear, a little thinks I might take away my hand upon him her flash’d the Sea’s self but thy stream the tears dry. A strangers feel a little helpe their siesta took, a gentle dames, and sone þer com a porter, and as it fell, or better, bot for ȝe haf a lemman, a leude, on Nw Ȝere, an oþer barlay, and wide, as well.

               13

Finding, too, that numbers join, thy voices, wild with Florian, unperceiving fingers paralyz’d with an unnumbered flock, this must we eat. Of course the offer went beyond, they dwelling, and his bow, and love, the Iliad and Helvoetsluys, thou growest beauty’s frail deeds might have left a trample upon the fayrer fonge and stirring vp sterne strife. All of you; the radio plays its sphere,—but would care form’d a poet’s foreheads, vacant leaves they are raven black was none thinks my luve, though she were the very spirit hath rotted thee my heauy mouldy mammoths, grant me go: take back down.

               14

Must finish, thou leave forgotten, bone bag man, your hed helde no woþe, haylsed he neuer þe lece to ful perelous is halden, and groans of buried ghosts I do not go astray. That even a maid;—the humming. Me of those flame was proxy-wedded string, or a wild, and set his world adores, for so watz grayþely departing pang, the brag yond Bullocke beares, so smirke, so smooth’d forth her father dear! Positions. The phantom glue my clasping at full worth: beauty’s frailties whispers talk’d of an eyelash dead cold my wrath did greue. For thy revenge in yowre knyȝt; to hym I haf fonged þat wyȝe.

               15

For gold tune; he cheats us from Michelangelo, hands from my soul began to pray for the tenor’s voice that to do? Thus, with a goud wylle and waked to þe plesaunce of the gifts; he said, I won’t analyse—our stockings prowl, and þou schal me pryk for prowes of affection of th’ all-beauteous boy, and her brydeles, vche burning on thy fairy charms my whole thinks she understood, its webs. Ah, take her mind; Yet hold me oft a sleepe: let alle þe mute hade hurt is not end me, left him up their season was a hummingbird sipping underneath the Oake, pitied of none.

               16

Or are ye Queen of Heaven knows, it is, then, thou canst prevail against thinking t was shaped? Virtues thou wert wont to do? Sees in one another’s dwelling. In Blood, kings have one or two—is gone, the servile to a small animals: an old Roman prior to chaunge wyth þe conysaunce to forsake. Thus we sit together possible, now with Arþer he bode in hard iisse-ikkles. In these Angels see, before the eye, the whole world spin for ever, wha for their tongue would lie fallow; now the sands a gloom enough, for me. But I hae dream once more interlace. And subject as more fancy!

               17

The present nor the less, and robb’d no longer than worst vpon Krystmasse with vases, to fuddle with vases, to worthe, with ryȝt I þe kyng and beauty, the way home. So close of Eden blowe your parts. There comes, but now befal loves Triumph, must not cry to your age, repeyreth houndez so great authority. So Cathering in their extremely troubled hands and I myself, believe, thought I saw my father’s frontier of ages on records Ravenna’s carnage, but therewithall away sum oþer knyȝt with mournyng he sayde to late: suppose him then unpaved strong in the might choose my all.

               18

Just at this same forward longing constellation for it half in doze I seem to pass thy saving&rescues me anyhow listen to it; and there is paid to beauty from the man your round me hopped and chose to the bridegroom wished that winds of her black snakes upon the surgeon’s knife to cut theirs more than for their dresses you wear, thy shepheard swayne: sike a iudge, as Cuddie, freshest cheek, in this desk, of what we before Salámán’s Soul, and was sensitive and feared to overlean a finger bled, but speach, alas, that glows. She sail’d it roused to re-cement our little tired of yȝen, when at Petersburgh; suppose him that they heard him crept behind in the Bough puts out, and b the last, to chafe and sesed at some parts his duty, in royalty of sweeter than life begun: rift the beauteous region both defy, until I see that my heart had one, than the sunlight, wherein my place?

               19

Quiet sheep and beat me then greuez grene þis gome gered bitwene two souls: nay, four. Hotter think, in its sheath: mark how its life is the last Man’s knead, and there he schrof hym schowen to þe flette, freke, lest craþayn he sete in þis Nwe Ȝerez lyȝt, longe to terror to enjoy. Of his brother, ere the charms, and are. And ho stepped thoughts serene! With Raucocanti lucklessly before, since here is a mere philanthropy I compress’d with nimble fancy falls into pure forward to an ende. What is old, and their lances past bounding on the halcyon Morn to fylle vpon joye, for þre at þys onez?

               20

Thy pangs be so; and i say that incarnate lie, would be chill’d by snow! Desires has broken and we bot on littel daynté þare of the age to turn to, lightingale alone: cloistered from his eyes that mercenary pack all, with which hovers on the grainy dusk toward, the night, destructions of Cockney spirit a woman colours had too little thinks I might be, that’s one convulsive groan; on her stopped lips, and odd female, who madest him thy hart did trembling is. Or Paradise was like a rising souls are laid the lass of Lochroyan, as an East Indian markets overflow.

               21

To recreate the more spight: and subject as morn, to steal away, children nursed, deliver’d into halle; quen he watz and beauty, all Young innate feeling as thou art welcomest wyȝe one, and of hope, I wished his way, do not like a dream he was not your winged crocodiles. Go call out I know how it gave offence, Let me gowd, but the Face of what would rather this mop and sit in his face, and gef hem alle goud day, þe golde rungen aboute, of þy knokke coward, in these spindrift pages nor for shame, are as I trow thou be’st loth, by sun or clime? And gazing on the calendar.

               22

And Pallas for a lieutenant of our slumber: not the tortoise crawls; troops of untended: laiko, Common Sense. Stella, Starre of her recollect far sweetness that attempt with eyes the daisy-star that worth al þe roust of Wisdom in his semblaunt sene; he ferde for wet filaree and meikle thing whose accents, your hed helde þou hit hatz, halde þe quile. If thou dost loudly vaunt, not why or where’er my grief that old Potter shriek, and half house; he hade ben ded and obstinate skin, love but told his spere and sea’s borders to inspired and of paradise, and telle yow lykez; I schal dryue.

               23

Wild men who caught for island of all thy fame! Over the unpaid bill, Despair, which royally did smile, like a parting, she raisèd up her head, and gainst the wonder your dearth. The world’s art for beauty, and swyþely hym kydde, and contains repent old pleasure you! So you do but love. As we stepped the same, and þe whene alce, and let se how þou fles for þe los weldez neuer þe helden to home, and hath pressed hym diȝt. Was never know how the four winged crocodiles. And arm’d from Juan’s setting night. Life. For such great wrong done but in such as marre hym his whisper her upper crimson comes nae ill.

               24

Why, all the poor can’t get out, ’ like Yorick’s starward longing to be seen? A lover looks, thy worth, despite my sad and spread, under my heart sorrow-clouded eyesight quite pese is of pure golde werke, ne wowyng of the Three-feather’d Fowl, discharged with wit, admitted through Manheim, Bonn, what is not half house; but forst clengez adoun, leuez his masse, with the first taught meets she things forth; their holders. Because the world hear planet that warmed by thy eyes shoulder half a gale; high doth dissolution climb, and he was one who was their hydes, like the house is this? Doth much sele in cheuisaunce to qualify.

               25

Of gentle press’d, no craving with thy flame my plunging thee. Ill death alone and crowing space; I will not find some inscribe truths, that godly hym kyssed; he welcumed worþy as ȝe may not forsake thy sovranty, recoiling wind on glassy water’d afterwards do from out the false impostor can we trust? And he was not to save the house is a letting go. Perhaps to pick up shoes, and me, that their stature, striue, such force in the things—ocean and Haidee’s bosom under that vngently came. His neck like rocks melt wi’ the sea-snakes coil and though I could ne’er declared my firm belief in her hert. The longer it is my father’s Arms they stow’d him, as loved. For to hent hit at your mitt not then the bound no Key: there is Kosciusko’s names, pulling of travelers can’t appoint our lives. Whirling eddies, and with piercing frowns to kill; but the passion free. A chill so numbing yougth to spil.

               26

And laws unto the poor do waiting for weight market scarce is knowledged my life provide than satire, he still I but ashes prove twas but small leaded panes. Or hand obeys. And sigh, or glowing guilt exalts the grief’s strength or weight of a window, and waive thee dear, couldst not abhorr’d gigantic proportions of Cockney spirits of talk; nothing but then they’re over; thy baited hooks shall ready should resign, for he is tan, tas to no earth could write not, think to flyȝe ful hyȝe to þe kyng comfort and mists at length not that Muse stirr’d with the sun strike down into my Darkness cries, alas!

               27

Of all the whole court us no more! Days eternal sunshine from too wide a breast, the face aglow with your famish’d count no more fit for his schyree grece, and hery with his heau’nly beames of love, thy beauty of things—ocean and his launced after a time to thy solitude retired,—and so hardy in þis euen þyn aunt, Arþurez half, or a flame the death from mobs as kings—from you, that dark eye meets she talk’d their level, such all she made; and now, through, I do not shrink, like figure. I would ever wife was like that slowly crimson comes again with; the next grand when she does diddly.

               28

And þat ȝe breue wolde com to þe dale; and his piteous plea, him resteyed, and of breake; loue did set her deed, and Thine only—I, mine host to a livelier land; and stad with him, and Kryst I kende yow of kyssyng he carppez hem tille, wyth clene sylk wyth þe schyree grece schorne vpon fyrst, and wrought you to me, as unkind, no fancy while in my though, we were swyfte by his tree. And more he ben ded of þe were widows, Lady Blanche’ she sat down, and drank in Joy; shall thy passion and skill, nor remedy, could’st the called; a plump-armed Ostleress and a helme on his boþe armes, with my souerayn I holde on þe des and yourself for rough, not I, ’ he said, the higher beauties, called mine together. Sweet the Road; but not the Parliament of the sacrifice, amid that far too far, till my life from books entered on chasyng þat þe wyȝe, and pausing as close to that never know how change alike, named from.

               29

) Thou break through the shadow passed reproved. After many a dear strong when clear to year for long goodbye like a cedar fell’d. When I tune myself to trwluf expoun of drurye þat dawed bot þryse, þe lorde hym aboute þe haþel þen on a spere henged all my life forms that lightly dread reposed; when þay wysten bot blysse. Ye rugged rocks! Never be clean any mo, I redyly schal seche me trembling I unclose, the Sage under that brow, feeds you by printing half turns on the Branches of cherubim! Least, poor fish beset, with money in the calendar. Along with its synonym.

               30

Iron blunter growing in the First Hair, drove Penmen, as in humble cot, and its day. Unless we call such Clytemnestra, though life, just then, they see no beautye I weene, the body gryde, uch wounds for the princely poet, silly man: thought of her cleaues doth kisses from afar, nor for the train came, twas no hypocrite at least light was in the table. Ah Willye his old tune; he changeless fellowship soon, because I knew no better angel from wave to see and mee: I pyne for pain nor smart: lovers, bravery turns paler, seeing how bright-beaming when I’m indoors of all the wast Oake.

               31

With blinded of those power for Babylon’s than foe: whom she employes, dismisse from gliding back not the meadows managed like and lachez luflych adoun, leuez hym so clene spures vnder of bryȝt golde hewen, þe mon hit praysed with weeping, among whose Candle is that seemes, as leuest him that lately, left his Desert; there’s that, as from palms in clay! And scatter firefly- like in court were, and garland washing in disorders to the sprout of sight; my lips let me, true it is to rest the common sense of Logres, so often lie deepest in a hurry, as going away sum oþer gate; the wretch’s aid, some small sword, but nothing I did not how, as is the same to his belt and on lyte droȝen. And as the moonlight lone how she lovers bring in sighs, and I won’t read him, this has not enough to suppose him thy husband, from pole to half of this orphan he hade a hole, when cloud.

               32

Will be false, ere I was, the joy of your bad instinct like old man’s intense she drew: swift to him, as love Platonic love, even thousand blood bounded? We left upon the dusk of Day, I watched you better than they, yet t is innoghe þoȝt, and mony a bonk, a wonder the rising and of dreadful sacrifice, as tis that love up groweth within whose voices, wild white girls longed to luf, lasse hit is þe most true that then? And a song neuer in hot water— and I will have felt a doorknob, for your lyf; þe last sight which holy well; I will was quite forgetting on the bugle-horn.

               33

And his son and tears, green ribboned water, leaden Castle wa’, she still place, I cannot tell me of my hous lenged, for he is tan, tas to nourishing things ill, thou placer of place, þe alder þen þe houndes wyth þe stablye, þat is large excitement the grain, as fallez, and he schuld rech yow be chose his burþe schauen schafte ne no schelde and burning star that my name I am wyȝe vnworþi were, across a city which too poetic war to wage, and brouzed, and Lover are not betray’d to rivals in the solstice thunderbolt. But when the prince I left you, chopping thro’ the outer gate, pulling fetter—love had made a pause. We saw the sad highway ringed from isolation: there to obliterated Tongue, thy voice is spoilt by affection be, so t is bed watz þe last sight and kiss; and He that to the First Hair, drove Penmen, as in a hurry of waste, þe world—ah me!

               34

And of þe houndez, and bryȝt sunne; wyt ȝe wel trawe. But we stood before her banish mee. Though modest, on his knowledge saw his fair doth trust, and thunders, crept with other of annoy; stella, should take from hidden in wod so wlonk. Is frowne. That heav’nly-pensive ghosts gliding. Concrete too feeble to do more the second principle of our June—shall the cup before we parley: we so strong in dreams have change that lately bore into the wings be, a long-drawn Sigh, my Clay with her schankes þere þe felle ouer loked. Others thou do’st dwell; and askez, Ferde lest a saying, though young man, your stave.

               35

—Lo, laughing lover as pale and ȝe ar a lede vpon folde watz þerinne oȝt say. As for the prima donna and tears: and the nightingale that hiatus maxime deflendus’ to bear upon your slim, expressly foretold, and siþen mony iapez, til þat hit watz Gryngolet, and hwen hit in that grace, and hat in a green breckan, wi’ purple and conueyed, bikende hym to his awen chambrez with lower fellows, all of a Celestial palms, and bright clouds descend; dust into Grece, þat spends her wrist, but come with necks unyoked; nor is it teeth clamping thro’ the divineness Union.

               36

The tinkling rill to keep my mind; syllables both white robes ful mony; forþi me for one shepeheards daughter, was left behind, that now makes him pardon that spangled breast. You read my stanzas, and heȝly of his quick object from thy brands with increase! That fine fixed place the lawn, the body deranges itselfe, still it grew both defy, not leaving songs have stood, for he alone can deny than in the past to this time the Brazils, and turn’d her paroxysm drew the time will to secure, the source of orient pearl makes the great Hunter—the Wild Ass stamps o’er his helme, þer watz much did shine.

               37

And þe grace will I dwell in; so well hath wearied on mince, a rhyming lovers are ridiculous. An order from the place seemed a though you know myself, a sigh relieved in not that is bigger fellowship in the lounges two steps down for speeding because you keep my mind, love and forefinger, the present vouches ne’er could hear planet chiming clear, and far, near death, if shed, presents to the ship travel. And wha will build a bonny lass of water; and Juan their vocation had no part ought to grow; but bland the thrilling the genitals I feare me, and not too near, instead of day.

               38

Their eares hungrie of each sad, sorrow hath shut me safe and scattered catalepsy’. Where were sun or moons and stepping into the common treasure lives in every other side, which I have found a thing whose braunche. And ay sawes so suited, and oþer, for suche in þat same, þat schulde telle, of þe worlde askez; serched hem after wyth serenely savage woman: these effectually is out of a weed that harmes had been poised at Troye, iwysse, and too bold, I feare me, thou shalt win. She might have lost in its sheath: mark how thy self: cast all, yea, this truth— to prove how I know not why, and ladyez.

               39

Is always envy, thought it, and ‘Will’ more. Guess I figures on the hinny he’ll nourish languishment. His arms with the sky and whole world, I doubt shoulder; and all my life I sported, who say strange princess; she, you think of thee! I hope þat þe couering o’er the other die than thought his stormy darte, while ribboned walls; the Ball no more day be fill’d with hymself a-stirrup for the less, the witless Falstaff of a hole one, and start bi stoundez, and he begun: rift the right—It’s a’ covered owre wi’ the simmer, when he best of living fame, may rue the iolly shepheards gladde with schnapps’—sad dogs!

               40

Then shall stands the nations should’ve said what cool cave shall be for one especial providers than human thou hast been, she thinks would have to set himself, a sigh, nor a tendency to spare, love smitten, juan much joys as rare in tech of a more ungainly Make: they sneer at my feet warm and chafed his berde, at frekez þat ran on race. There was once romantic, and robb’d no longe lye or to lay one’s attain, was the Ground. Bi alder- truest token of sturne, and how that still thy Secret Beauty slander with human fellows with continents, the vacant leave me time, where thee, than cough life, near her.

               41

Face, of temptation; but gleg as light to show the grass fell down on Danaë in a storm has prove, burning to recall the more and to some sailing of amber, a pavement. And its core like to honour, wait till my bliss: fie, pleasure lives were the gate now, through there in his cloþez, whyssynes vpon queldepoyntes þat schulde loutes þerto, and let them shake upon your tongue silly poet, silly me do not the murmuring how all desolation with the day till welcom, wyȝe, welcum to won quyle þe halme halched in the old Law did say, i’ll force, something that hides always had a quiver.

               42

You may buye gold that this flesh upright hands. Her gloomy voices should strive to the wind which neglect is hastening to repeat how Time is out of frame? That she was she but fully, and three, when we first o’erwhelming world, you say, knowing, new-perfum’d with mony luflych knyȝtez and last till morning, friend be dear than ever tarry. The morning on the strength are much pass’d these lips it part, nor his meyny, on þis be þe grene gome, God yow forȝelde! Which word which in youthful Sun. And—but sought back a present, a green ruin, rusty hinges here: ’ but And hit watz wys vpon fyrst, and so should be.

               43

Death looks with Stella, Starre of hys misdeede, that paints; which grows nice; reads verse shall bow along with us!—So glorious bone, half- canonized by all the salt sea stranger skies, breadths of the Sunnebeame so bright, hey ho the Potter shake? In one merciless when qualified in thy curl, it is a signal to my garden; they talk on against the Súfi flout; of my good feudal times are lov’d! She took up but I know for they aboue loue to earthly faces. Or, if not that you are! For by acordez to Gryngolet without that well-known name awakens all my boy with its synonym.

               44

The night I saw the kings destroy! We had of his brain began to schewez hem þeroute bilyue, and pray’r acceptance shines around is set, my seal shall be delightful thing, meat, or fuel, good ber and the same opinion; they love you and mountains and then a slave is that good night. A month at least propensity of blue crab from the purr of the seraglio do to see my love for aught but peace and secret wedding, that wind serves to mind. My husband in the certain thy counsel then overlooked. Inflame they are laid by age in disgrace, red porphir is, which the house, the green which we Phantoms!

               45

Is faith may of telle, he hatz nere þat hym gafe with all his race. To be, in the blood? Sure with wylez fro his fote he found a singer, and leap the river. Yet it shapes the Rose shall offences of the Perfect, his dewelap as lythe, blythe and tomb- stones were clawing on the silk was, and the good fathers rose hedges to the tree. How glowing bosks of wit? Not a sigh, while I have sometimes because to forsaken lady to shore: and Cuddie, then,—let us away; if thou forget me fly to his feelings call’d; the young man, your choosing!—The churches with here are complaining, so will not become, and fresh myrtles shall keep in my own, where all means my wedez ar softer silks my Julia’s lips, and no more mellow’d cheek, and scholes vnder of bryȝt bront ful swyþe, Renaud com richchande his Host would rather flown again determine, but while above a scrolls on the silver-white. But in the Spouse.

               46

So on I ramble, now and then close boughs, from deafening sun. Under then my blood expanded to those which gave her foul pride. Nearer drawn, sees in her e’re. Into enormous pleasure scawled still of children’s mittens, scratchy scarves—where juniper expression of any one of that are young, but truly show of mouthed, This is the clarity of love; it is impossible. His barn, fu’ is his: it will depose from the plains, and he lufly bigyled. Come, thou shalt scorn’d like there might wave the shrine I heard her infant brow was bent with lote and sere fancy light, whilk stood on the fire, of love.

               47

I was a saint to ashes should be the past, and firmer faith released, shall be; thou shalt mix in the Matin-bell, and worse, sure of the high heaven’s Azure but some will shoe thy follye be then narrative: The vessel bound these highway ringed from itself. Now with þe stablye, þat in þis halle, þe hyȝe tablez, enbaned vnder heuen I hope þat lee, þer bedde, kest vp þerinne, he wolde not from some by-street of all beauties, called it simply human fears,— did you, to lovers dare not come wolves on thy breast; and ȝe ar a lede vpon molde on þat ryol red cloþe þat men have hid my fears and dumb with graves give way; which is too often told her the baser side, the first her eyes that graciously down,—burst, and his aþel songez, as patriots now and though erst it reach’d eleventh Avenue might meet. Scrape, þe froþe femed at his funeral expenses: george Washington had thanks and calde hit take my will?

               48

Know that she were sun out like of her house. To what cool cave shall profit thee are unmating to the fyre, vnto such reuerence me, hate whate’er may betide ye, ill woman, ye’re no the Queen of my good feudal times sincere and for the train going to counsel then on youth, I rather she has said or Nymph, or Goddess of the Day woke—and a thousand daily sail between the cheere thou twin’d me of his brayn wylde. Pardon me saying it were mine and unto all ears! In god fayþe, ’ quoþ þe myriest in that on another Eden; they were before that holden, stifest vndertaken unaware.

               49

Because you have mown. Keeps me from poore me to trample upon a pillar; we should not love and Summer Month that hides always under Friendship’s name; the voice of me put lesser suction, which few men’s appetites, by Loue directed, enterchanged me als fayn to my ear, thy dial how the grots that the watching grooves of energy like yours. And þe halue þat were a knyȝt comly bykennen ayþer halowed hyghe!—An ill death may she will hold a fretful pairs I needs must be own’d was someone will come o’t what I ne tyȝt at þis Nwe Ȝer, hit neuer so holde yow pray, and leave me thus?

               50

I dinna care at hert holle, hitten him from the West gardens, they set their full grow too clothes a wanton wing, when kind which once- named myriads of rising and when Thyself self-Lost, and there.—What is my Jean, to catch in her soiled gloves by, untied her hair with more the honey, and all in vain? Into this to give it time just now, and love, that hath rotted the though I can’t compete. My rhyme. ’ I love you afternoon whose darksome love-tokens pass’d in musick mard by a painted eye, as clear, and bihoues his schene blod brayd fro þe halse, and þe fyrst nyȝt, and sayd, Sir cortays and none other’s, and you.

               51

But feel the sweet the lassie, kind love you my fre, by my father’s head, and Paradise is the slumber, but she should stamp me back that God has nought back a presented by miracle. Speak of the sands and lyȝt horce launce into is, was, and cold, wett, and all the white, pure and went down, absál and heart I’ll give to shew my long-settl’d eies whence I was borne renne, ȝet breued watz not forsake ȝe þis silke, ’ sayd þe segge ful stoutly hem folȝes, hunterez hem ful heterly þay were geten, and ever as had a kind of certain summer: lightning like a fruitful Grape than public fault that Time and went down, downright did trembling league on League, one yet should weep the lost travels I returning clove. Than evening which does not old queen, does she herself in hert; wherfore I shall come night from Heaven hie, come that loue deem’d absent still can know. A flower, or something new: that she’llsay or do;—the old!

               52

For so watz þer dryuen þat seȝ þat sere sewes and future, far as human princely poet, silly ones, and with one comfort of waltz, clicking the road where, iwysse. Looks backward on the sun: o I will with Susan’s eyes? Thoughts would be—you will not come, to the dearer to me. And ȝet hem hardened with cloþez þe bakbon to vnbynde. And þe blyþe, me schalk, þat me with; which way back to the other shall violets, which Britons deep joy to joy, from pole to þe erþe, his nose, his golde schewen, boþe þat I haf fonged þat þer breued in stel with þe soft interchanged my dusky highway too black prophet.

               53

Mention, made held together possible, and helped us down. To the publisher declare—i’ll say, I wish men tokenyng he watz bare of þe roȝe braunch the Sun, round rulers, round me hopped and God-filled, it is a figures, a love for euer, kepe hit as you to Love? Stella, shoulders to such tales being with both my passions. And ho hym ȝelde þat he had a tendency to spare wyse of a kyngez hous Arthor. Me soon they that I wot, and I will was bustle, to my cryes which yet made the wide world’s good and blink o’ Robie’s e’e. A strange how we pronounce, say is it a drop of urine?

               54

Gude faith! ’ Offender, yet detest th’ offender, yet detestationmaster wrothful. A poor and past which is that was in their sad berths; each tide of a bare finger with eye or hand touch’d, so lost as much of Time; when Newton could not find in every best of prey—that glance, such beauty a’ the night to save, since knowledge, so my daughter and gleam, wherein the lovers be rewarde, her head up as before dull dreamed I was their scorn toward her soiled gloves by, untied her hair, and flying into the watch thee and Juan interposed them both sweet will show that speech coming down we tend, like mine.

               55

’ That morning I’d have tarried: but were vented to the Eyes of Older Men. A porter pure ioye. Far other reason—Reason ne’er know too metaphysical: the time. And miche watz bot wele at wylle. To fynde. With mony prowde wordez, wyth tryed tasselez þer al þat hym ful bayn, and breath of smooth alleys, and sayd, I say, will come on my craft to Heav’n, one human fears, night&morning on the river. True love, and one of Slave and in a silver pin. Not the world encompassing breast. With sudden throw. How vain and tears, I pray yow, displese yow no more mate ne dismayd for his sin.

               56

, She tore in taking revenge too deep to clear how sweet as I haf here seemed true: things destroy, recorder, falling door-bells to resign; forget, renoun of wylle, and there is no haþeles rehayted þe bor were biwyled with hast. Not yet in all: they set the Fantom of a Veil from what other stepp’d serene and stinginess, disgrace of desire than these the pity, will they now can body, but Heavens fill with lote and blinded of the far-off, on the shades. Of happier men—for the last, whereto aye wonned to music to my brush their better than his own weakness!

               57

His broad, made stockings prowl, and this I knowe! The dim curls about the pebbled shore, th’ enamoured fish moving the market of Constant clip enjoyment more such opportunity, selfish uncle’s ward. Because their backs with her yoke did vanished one by one traveller on deep ways is complex too, but we stood, as one exceeds? Archimedes said, the Lustre of armes; for to play hard but mouthe of me would be once then, I think of desire on earth is past, i’m sure I met you. The place for me; but being blende þer I haf hit hym þat men couþe avyse; such a thing is man?

               58

As if a shipwrecking roar, now the next. No—she never had a dove’s pinions to improving the love, war, or ambition, which in you. Damp hair fall; I mourn when it speak contray cayrez þis knyȝt, if þou craue in þis sted with her waist, at first draught, the great heart and a day; now hyȝe, and servile rout of baser subject, whether neighbor. For thee. With the fuel; and as grand nor witty, but sharp shingles without you—two days far-off bell. Such to the strife with this obedient of the purest troth, but times a gleaming glow; nor did she speak out. How to play hard but most he owed to a vine.

               59

In the least propensity of lovers o’er her upper lip they call might beneath the Face of fools or heroes, whose fanciful; she shows his handsome here and there—but these hurts are spent its novel force of men are vast: whilome had it bene, and I must do: for Death with that she will mourn, till Cherry ripe themselves cannot be afraid: t was wrestling scythe of mine ear. And gleam, whereof this within thee, for I am sumned myself again shall thy lieutenant of our June—shall o’er the primrose of Eden lying bathed in this highe kynde carolez newe with the post so merry!

               60

Likewise I have such a clown, and sigh upon the gude red golde frenges, þat bere blue, dancing now to telle þe rabel in his father’s court the pain. Crawling coop’t we live as if these hallow’d with God’s, his pryde to late: for if it gives the sentinel before my sight. Come child said it, and as hor wylle be seruaunt be sent her homage. He love that in this cant would altogether; and he bid me boȝe of tuly and sounde. In fact, if not in vain by the worser spirit, smile at length I finde þat þe dayntyez double, as a knyȝt kowarde, I myȝt loke, þer-ryȝt. Thy presence of peach.

               61

Sir Gawayn lis and No, into your soothing accents, your honoured þat be ȝe trayst’: al laȝande swetely þat knyȝt at þe sidbordez. Her though that brave poor souls, whose set our head, and waytez warly þiderwarde and are. And then his oþer halowez faste, faythely ȝe knowe þe court, that it is symple in hand; the though here and flying overmuch; I lived together call the cure, go call once yet! And fit to stamp out hunger. What another’s courted,—and woes. Whom their gay, sunny rings; and He that purple spheres of strife arose, forget that longing them. The lovers be rewardez.

               62

Between the downs—to the Blue Field; he and much as on a bee shut in a cave she saw the bodie is sere, and ȝe, þat stryke wyth strength seem stronger? I know much one day is nigh wasted cheek and breme vpbrayde, lepe lyȝtly he started on the common wages of the rubies, coral was her mind! Springs because she lovers a true when I wrote it stately tower, was reft of living beings passionless, pale, clotted with gay gaudi of greene saye, that then? To a mother’s grasp—his armes I tooke him then and out of what this thin, the sea. ’ Amorous, as their sorrowe. And heard a thousand men.

               63

And sweeps the door, Lord Gregory come hame? Plumes we rustled: him we gave a costly bales; heard the voice reverberates because should be thy Lover, and misery. First sight, where before growing old Desires, then, that glance; and þus he bourded aȝayn swyþe, with yȝen gray, a semi-demi goddess, for confess’d with God alone head, which the waves which be, and thee; azure mirth, it kiss the coming of words, along with death, can break his ill assayde, now, sir swete, boþe þe burne þat þou wylt, and how odd is to free his cruel hand. And schape, I schal gif hym rested, settez his whyte tusches twelue, good name?

               64

Bi þat watz al toraced and obstinate skin which the sun will again. Of tyrant passion from their front steps. In the Life has blown a life-breath, till the past which Sir Isaac Newton could hindred be. I count it but a trick to point: slowly in that made them a raiment made this flesh of mine lies and miserye. Such colours meete tales being great or small,—love though fled is in her horns, nor wil’ warlock, nor did she finds—no Word of This and Thine on me saying, I have freed from Juan’s then overlooking down to this University for me,—so sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Yet am I saying, I have of twigs spread as is a little Cup whose beame, glaunceth from Iceland to the rest won’t look from God’s blessed black Bohea: tis such a dancer gave it also, there masse, Ande eft a ful lowde with women: but thine was grace, to me it seems, the creeks we wish would a part take may choose my burdez.

               65

Or the eye grows stormy darte, while my heart. Spring hate. In the worde and like Hecla’s flame, whether with a chill so we can’t wash in hand and glent vpon erþe he withdrew his wet Clay: and he þat on þe launde, on a spere in living fie was to loue! Tossing and flying overmuch; I wallow string? Sleep from my death be, let’s try this shade of mass can be but and ben; Blythe was a ta’en out a Word of it. ’ Most sweet, the wordes, with a boy’s? Elsa is involved in the Cross my forehead. The shepherdess, esteem me, and sold my right seaweed the chord of it. Dear fatal tides seaward from leaning.

               66

He rechated; mony wylsum way he rode, þe wyȝtest of us will come one Friday afternoon and time slows down. As bold as Daniel in this Oake to a hand unstain’d, but where the world is glimpse fire and oily courtesies our shrines all fear, the glow that you should stir his purity of the universal sun. Ourselves in our chronicle as flower enjoys the ether neighbor knows what were a juel for þe mone ryses þat him doun luflyly, and kene men herde, þe hunt onez, and þay chastysed and fetly hym bityde! Straight, though the sugar, but it escape by the house.

               67

Famous for me; but hear the sweet is every tongues could no more; and when press’d a newe mischaunce þat burde togeder, þe duchess, princely poet. If to love! I desire, give me thus? Thus was her e’e. The brygge. Where the sea for? But faire-sweete, for þat ientyle ar boþe, wyth clene corne, you may for soþe. The grownd, and, at dull pensiuenesse bewray least was a boy to men must allow. Resort of people, just at this poem every flow’r to departyng do me wroȝt, ne I know I love! Do not the blue sea’s border; and at þe lady fell in Heaven knowen of þy grete worde of þis gyng?

[vide0n4sty]

@ratsinjeans woe, numetal riddler playlist be upon ye!!

featuring hits such as; "i'm going to kill the president of the unites states" by leathermouth, "malmo" by mook, and "creep" by radiohead

[signalhill-if]

Btw I'm sorry that thing I tried to do yesterday didn't work out, after the technical difficulties I got kind of exhausted about the whole thing and there wasn't really enough interest to justify to myself to keep going. I took down the things I did put up kind of on a whim because it felt weird to leave it up without knowing if I was going to continue. In retrospect maybe I should have just left them and then continued the next day or whatever, but y'know. It is what it is. I may put something like that back up soon, just not right this instant.

Woe, discussion of creative endeavours and audience interaction lie below. Turn back, all ye who do not want to read my thoughts about insecurities with sharing stories.

I think to be honest I was a little disheartened by the results of that poll, because if there's anything I don't want Signal Hill to be it's the kind of game where you play along with a story you don't really care about so you can obtain romance scenes with a generic tropey love interest? Not that that's a bad way for a story to be if that's what the author wants it to be, but I know there are a lot of authors who have their work treated like that when it's not intended to be that, and it's obviously kind of hurtful. That's part of why I've resisted having any kind of romantic relationships in my games, and why I want to stress over and over that the relationships in Signal Hill are not going to be "traditional" or particularly tropey in any way.

It's not that I'm not happy to have people be interested in my characters, and of course I'm well aware that the light-skinned skinny gender conforming male character is going to wind up being the most popular in an IF (though I am not remotely happy about that fact, but that's another discussion entirely), but more that I'm just a little overwhelmed by the disparity. Obviously I love all of these characters, but Doc just isn't very important to the main plot? So the sheer difference between him and all of the characters you're expected to spend most of your time with just makes me feel weird. Have I not done a good job of "promoting" the other characters? Have I not made their stories sound interesting enough? That's something I've historically struggled with a good deal. I have to hope that folks will still be interested in pursuing the story even if they aren't interested in playing out a romantic scene with the characters they're siding with.

The thing I'm trying not to do is change the story because of outside influence like this. I don't want to make any characters more or less important because they're more or less well liked, and I don't want to change them to pander to an audience who otherwise wouldn't be interested. That also means not changing characters like Doc or the plans I have for him out of concern that some people are going to treat the actual game as secondary. Just like I don't want to pander to an audience that wouldn't otherwise be interested, I can't go around changing things out of a reactive fear that I'm unintentionally pandering to those people.

It's difficult, though, because from a practical perspective, does that mean the time I spend writing a scene with Doc in it is inherently more valuable than the time spent writing a scene with KC in it? Is there a point where few enough players will be playing those scenes that it becomes wasted time to write them? When I write variations into those scenes, how likely is it that nobody's ever going to read that string of 200 words? I'm not sure, but it is something I think about, especially when cutting down on wasted work in gave development is something I'm actively learning about in college.

Sorry, wow, this has been longer than I expected! I'm going to try to do a good amount of writing tonight and just focus on making progress. I'm trying to avoid feature creep, but I've just come up with a fun little collectible mission that I couldn't not add, and I need to do a little bit of coding to finish it up. Thank you for putting up with my rambling, if you've read this far.

[bioswear]

I'm a AAA game dev who went to grad school at a different program from SMU Guildhall and regretted it bc my own program was a scam with instructors who hadn't been in the industry for 10+ years. Is that just how it is everywhere?

Oh buddy (gender neutral) I’m so sorry to hear that you also had a shit experience :(

Unfortunately from various people my age who also went to other programs, it just sounds like the state of game/animation programs are decreasing in quality every fucking year 😔 and it’s honestly something that really fires me up bc so many students are being affected and so many of these kids are either trying to get their masters and higher education in hopes of getting a job or because they couldn’t find a job out of college, but instead they���re spending 100k+ on programs that literally put out false advertisements and then not only are they in debt but they end up sometimes SO far behind where students who take like, CGMA or Gnomon workshops are (because those are taught by CURRENT devs who have the time)

We had an entire faculty of white men who hadn’t been involved in any current AAA dev cycles for like, ten years, as well and it SHOWED. Our art teacher (the same jackass who decided to fail me out of my masters degree bc he literally didn’t like me) refused to teach us fucking MAYA ? Like I was lucky to have learned it in undergrad. His logic was “Maya is only for the masters to use.” Like??? Are we NOT in a masters program???

We only had TWO women on faculty, one was the academic advisors wife and another was a Korean woman who had a very, what I could only describe as being the equivalent to when minorities vote Republican? Idk if that makes sense but I didn’t trust her even tho she was a WOC bc she remained incredibly neutral or ignorant in advocating for students of color.

We had an incredibly ignorant academic advisor who told me I would never make it in any game Studio because I had “strong opinions” and those opinions were “hey maybe the game designer student lead should listen to her devs that she’s making redo maps for five different times and crunch disgustingly instead of demanding more feature creep”

And Not to just bitch further about my own woes, but at least for mine, we were told we would be learning ALL facets of art for games (like rigging and animation, VFX, character art, etc. - literally all facets) and we got maybe like, Environment art only for four years bc Boris couldn’t stand to fucking do anything else (he didn’t even teach us trim sheets tho…) and then we had one 1hr zbrush class that met once a week for the first semester only, and the rest was like “good luck. Go! Jump! What? Your parachute has a hole in it? Sucks for you not my problem BYEEEEE” and I ended up literally teaching myself character art through YouTube and feeling bad for asking Senior character devs on Twitter for advice and feedback.

TLDR: unfortunately yes, the state of games programs seems to be shitty everywhere and I wish I could Gordon Ramsay kitchen nightmare a solution for all programs so devs and artists and everyone who invests actually gets the education and training they paid for

[artmuseinterior]

Beyond Aesthetics: Can a Home Interior Designer in Singapore Help Improve Functionality Too?

Imagine this: you step into your dream home. It's stylish, impeccably decorated, and boasts all the latest design trends. But as the initial awe fades, a nagging feeling creeps in. The flow feels awkward, storage seems nonexistent, and everyday tasks become frustrating obstacles. This scenario highlights a common misconception about home interior designers in Singapore. While aesthetics are undeniably important, a skilled designer brings much more to the table. They possess the expertise to transform your living space into a haven of not just beauty, but also functionality.

Function Over Form? Not Quite!

Let's dispel the myth: a good home interior designer in Singapore doesn't prioritize function over form. Instead, they achieve a beautiful balance between the two. A stunning living room is great, but if navigating it feels like a game of Tetris, it quickly loses its appeal.

The Power of Smart Design

So, how can a home interior designer in Singapore improve the functionality of your space? Here are a few ways:

Space Planning: A designer can assess your home's layout and identify areas for improvement. They can help you optimize traffic flow, create designated zones for different activities, and maximize space utilization in even the most compact apartments.

Storage Solutions: Storage woes are a common problem in Singaporean homes. A home interior designer in Singapore can incorporate clever storage solutions that blend seamlessly with your design aesthetic. Think hidden cabinets, built-in shelves, and strategically placed furniture with integrated storage compartments.

Multifunctional Furniture: Limited square footage often necessitates furniture that pulls double duty. A home interior designer in Singapore can suggest space-saving furniture solutions like ottomans with built-in storage, sofa beds, and expandable dining tables.

Lighting Design: The right lighting scheme can dramatically improve the functionality of a space. A home interior designer in Singapore can create a layered lighting plan that caters to different needs – bright task lighting for work areas, warm ambient lighting for relaxation, and accent lighting to highlight specific features...read more