#halcyon days library

[alexhalcyonwriting]

Welcome!

Hello, and welcome to Halcyon Days, my little writing universe here on tumblr. Put yourself a nice warm cup of tea, get comfy and cozy, and dive in!

In the Halcyon Days Library, you can find my collection of stories - both BTS and anime fic catalogs.

Check my about me page for links to all my socials, and other places you can find me and my writing.

Feel free to send me messages for any questions you might have!

xo allie

[echthr0s]

have seen my fair share of railing against Spotify's algorithm as a general "down with algos" sort of thing and while I sympathise with the way social media and streaming service algos have messed with people's minds and changed the way they interact with media in a way that doesn't serve them, for me Spotify really has just streamlined a process that used to be far more complicated

the way I used to find new music in the recent past was this: I'd go to It-Leaked (one of those kinda-secret and very well-kept torrent sites for music), I'd sort by "new", and I'd download whatever albums looked interesting by the cover art or the name of the artist. and then I'd load them into my iTunes and I'd load them onto my iPod Classic and I'd hit the shuffle button on my 10k+ music collection and eventually one of those songs from one of those albums would play and I'd decide whether I liked it or not and keep it or delete it as such*

Spotify's Release Radar is just that with way less steps and I don't have to worry about the fact that I don't have the kind of fkn space for 10k+ music files anymore

*(this was an enhanced (and similarly illegal) version of what I did before streaming, which was that I'd go to the library and pick out CDs based on whatever albums looked interesting by the cover art or the name of the artist. and then I'd listen to it and go "oh this fucks" and steal a copy of it from [insert whatever music store or department store here] or I'd just return it.)

[halfmoth-halfman]

i hope everyone had a wonderful pride month!! 💜 i can't believe we're already halfway through the year with (almost) six months worth of fic recs!! it's the same as always, we got a rec list for all of the wonderful fics i read, liked, and were written this month!! here's to hopefully six more months 🎉🎉

if you wanna see more more of my fic recs and favs, i have em all on my recs blog, here!! please note the navi page is still under construction!!

and of course, if you have any fic recs of your own, feel free to send em my way here or on my sideblog - i love finding new fics and writers!! 💜

Alex Keller

world caves in - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ you might look at this fic and go, "mothie, i thought you didn't like the miscommunication trope." and you'd be right, i don't like that trope, but this fic came really goddamn close to changing my mind about that because ho-ly hell what an emotional rollercoaster i was taken on. i was captivated. obsessed. enraptured. i could not stop reading this fic, i was hanging onto every word trying to figure out what would happen next!!!

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

born to die - @uselsshuman

✧ emma really tried to kill me on the first day of pride month. she said, "happy pride, now suffer 😌" just swooped in with her beautiful writing and this equally beautiful relationship, luring me in with the best fluff and the cute little callsigns and then left me sobbing on the floor trying to put my heart back together.

Javier Peña

late night texts || prologue | i. say what you want | ii. it's just aah little crush | iii. say that you need me - @mvtthewmurdvck

✧ when i was told about a javi text-fic, i was so excited and then it came out and it was perfect and then the next chapter came out and it was even more perfect and then every chapter after that just kept blowing any expectations i had completely out of the water. i really don't know how jo managaes to write the best fic i've ever read every time, but she's just so unbelievably talented i'm just alsdkasjk

John "Soap" MacTavish

all my life, my love - @uselsshuman

✧ medieval soap fic! medieval soap fic! medieval soap fic!

fun fact about me: i love medieval/royal stuff!! and i also love soap!! so when i saw this, my heart just about leapt out of my chest and i ate👏🏼 it👏🏼 up👏🏼 this wasn't a snack, this was a full-course five-star meal of royal/knight goodness. so good in fact, that i went back for seconds and thirds and will be going back for fourths and fifths before the day is over!!

witch!reader - @peachesofteal

✧ i am in love, i am heartbroken, i need to scream

“What have you done?”

that'll do, johnny - @lundenloves

✧ started reading this for the soulmate!au (because as we all know i am a slut for soulmates) and stayed for what has to be one of the best characterizations of soap i've ever read?? i don't even think saying i'm floored would work here because that just doesn't cover how completely lovely and charming and amazing this is. such a touching and beautiful depiction of a relationship!!

John Price

willow tree march - @yeyinde

✧ i can't. i just- how am i expected to be normal after that? how do i go about my life now that i've read one of the most stunning fics in existence? i change my mind from a few recs list ago, a museum is not enough to capture the pure artistry of lev's fics. i don't even know how to describe how i feel about this, or how much i love it. i read this fic like it's the last time i'll get to gaze up at the stars, wanting to cherish every moment and commit every second to memory.

songs that sounds like sea-foam - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ witches! fae! mermaids! i have been spoiled with an abundance of life-changing fics this month!! the anon who suggested this needs to have all of their dreams come true, and halcyone.....i can't even form words. i need a book of all her fics because her writing needs to be bound in the most beautiful cover with those pages that are edged in gold and given a special place in a library dedicated to the greatest fics of all time.

silkabo - @moriflos

✧ i don't know how to correctly get across the way this fic (and everything that fleur writes let's be honest) just reaches into your soul and completely sucks you in. did it hurt my heart reading this? more than you could possibly imagine, but that's not going to stop me from reading it again and again and again.

nitimur in vetitum - @moriflos

✧ remember when i did that trope ask game and fleur asked me about a/b/o and i said, "i'm not really interested in a/b/o, but there are like a handful of fics that i like that fall under that trope." yeah, this is one of those fics. and how can you blame me when she's written such poetry like this-

(Price reminds you of the streaks of gray across a canvas. Simply there, but not like the saturated hues of the green and yellow and bright reds that flit through the board, catching your eye. He is—)

Keegan P. Russ

first strike - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ i read the warnings: angst and tension and goddamn if that wasn't the most accurate warning i've ever seen. i've never felt such panic and anxiety while reading like bravo at that amazing tension building! but that ending???? oh man, it was so worth it going through all of that just to get to that ending!

König

moths hit the window - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ did i read this because i have a bias toward anything moth related? yes. BUT i also love me some good angst and boy howdy did this deliver! könig is not one of my fav characters, but you best believe he is whenever halcyone writes for him! i don't know what it is about her characterization, but it's always spot on and i just uggghhh there's no character she could write that i wouldn't love.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

shaky fingers - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ i stopped working on this fic rec list to read this. i then procrastinated this fic rec list for another two hours so i could re-read it about four more times. if i could dedicate a whole rec list just to one fic, i would make one for this fic in a heartbeat. one of my favorite characters, written by one of my favorite writers, with nothing but fluff?? i am in literal heaven.

he loves me not - @deadbranch

✧ it's the playful banter. the soft teasing. the playful banter. the gaz being a little shy. the playful banter. seriously, i love the banter in this fic, their little back and forths feel so real and grounded and like two people actually talking to each other and i just- i love the way deadbranch writes her characters, i love this fic, i'm just in love.

cult of vagabonds || chapter five: copper talons - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ excuse me one moment while i-

ok now that that's done, this fic has me stressed the fuck out i am so tense but i am craving to know more! i feel like i'm going to start turning into one of those crazy conspiracy theorists with their red string and corkboard and tinfoil hats.

Miguel O'Hara

paper flowers - @luveline

✧ this man has been the source of major brainrot for me, and this fic really filled in that fluff i was craving for him. and with just the perfect sprinkle of angst in there, i really enjoy miguel and reader's relationship and just how into each other they meanwhile everyone else is just 🫣

with my heart and soul - @uselsshuman

✧ you ever look at a fic and know it's going to be good just from the title alone? that's how i felt about this fic, and i was right. it's got everything: there's fluff, there's whump, there's action, there's fun spider banter. all of it put together in a lovely soup flavored with great writing and an added dash em's perfection.

untitled - @luveline

✧ grumpy/sunshine is such a great dynamic and it really shines in this fic. i'm also obsessed with miguel and reader's dynamic. how he knows he cares for her and that means trouble, but he doesn't completely push her away and just accepts it while still trying to maintain some kind of professionalism. he takes his job seriously, and that's absolutely nailed in this fic.

the weight of the world(s) - @ghost-with-a-teacup

✧ i finished reading this, and had to take a moment to step back and just-

five stars. 10/10 would def read again.

just one dance - @ghost-with-a-teacup

✧ i👏🏼love👏🏼this👏🏼fic👏🏼 i will say it to anyone who will listen, i will shout it from the rooftops, i will tell my boyfriend about it until he gets annoyed with me! the softness. the tenderness. the slow-dancing!!!! i love the way tiffany's mind works and cannot thank her enough for this fic 🙏🏼

you call the shots babe, i just wanna be yours - @lymmsweb

✧ this man needs all the breaks and a long spa day, let's be honest. but i love fics where the workaholic get to take a break and this fic really emphasizes those little things, those quiet moments between characters that really bring it all together here.

oh, what can i do? - @uselsshuman

✧ this is how i am every time i reread this fic-

i love the way emma writes miguel, and miguel fluff even more so. got me kicking me feet, and blushing, and twirling my hair, and just fangirling over everything she writes.

what's in between | (II) - @ghost-with-a-teacup

✧ these fics absolutely exploded and oh my gosh do they deserve all of the love and praise they've been getting!!! it actually deserves more, in my opinion ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ there's just something so good about the secret relationship trope, and that fun little moment of "actually we're married" is done so well here. so cute and so fun and one of my new comfort fics.

better when you're here - @uselsshuman

✧ one day i will be able to put into words just how much i appreciate and adore emma and her determinedness to provide such beautiful fluff for all of my favorite characters. there is no character she can't write, no character she can't make me love. i am feral for this fic and all of her fics.

welcome to new york || 1 | 2 - @writeforfandoms

✧ i am so intrigued by this fic series...and by intrigued i mean so unbelievably excited to see where this goes that i can barely contain myself. i'm going to have to get another notebook so i can write down my theories and ideas about what's going to happen because i am clawing at my seat with curiosity and excitement!!

Multi

dead disco || on a slow night - @peachesofteal

✧ dead disco, my beloved.

that is all.

diamondback || prologue | chapter one: chasing light - @lethalchiralium

✧ a series i've been so excited for and now it's here!!!!! it's like when you get that feeling of anxious excitement because you don't know what's coming but you know that whatever it is, it's going to be amazing and all you think about for weeks to come. and i know it's going to be like that because that's how i felt with these first two chapters.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

the captain || part 9 - @as-is-above-so-below

✧ i beta read this and was still in awe at how good it was when i read it after it was posted. i might've said this before, but fuck it i'll say it again, i adore freyja and her and ghost's relationship. it's a great mix of humor, drama, love, and teasing and that little list at the end??? 😏

harvest storms - @halcyone-of-the-sea

✧ something i didn't know i needed until i read it, and all i have to say is wow. just wow. the way this fic just evokes these raw emotions in me is insane, such a masterful and very realistic take on ghost dealing with a teen daughter he barely knows. and ghost being the "did you win" type of dad when his kid gets into a fight is just so funny.

the paintings || mermaids - @peachesofteal

✧ hello??? what is this???? peach, miss ma'am, you can't just drop this stunning fic and then expect me to be normal about it. you can't just leave me with this mysteriously astounding worldbuilding, and all this intrigue about ghost, and this beautifully poetic fic that has given me all types of emotions. who gave you the right??? how dare you??? but also thank you so much 🙏🏼

sassy series || school pick-up - @peachesofteal

✧ this is the only series that has me beefing with a non-existent pta mom, but soft dad!simon riley is worth it esp when he's written this well and his relationship with theo is just so goshdarn cute!! ugh, your fics are putting me back in my ghost era in the best possible way and i cannot thank you enough for it.

happiness series || raindrops - @lethalchiralium

✧ i meannnnnn y'all know what i'm gonna say here. i can't help it though, i adore this series, it's fun, it's cute, and yeah it rips your heart out and stomps it into the ground with no apologies sometimes but so what?? if it means i get more cuteness like this, i'll happily take all of the heartbreak. i'm in this one for the long haul!

you've just moved in with simon. great. - @rileyslibrary

✧ i love this so much words cannot describe it. it's so cute, and i love the idea of ghost needing time to adjust from having to constantly take orders to unwinding and not having to worry at home. and the little affirmations at the end, my heart cannot take it!

can't lose you - @sleepiexx

✧ june 1st was the day for people to try and hurt me apparently, because ouch. the arguing, then the guilt, the soft confession, i'm just a mess here, but the ending had me giggling and i love the small moments of levity sprinkled in. what a good way to start off the month!

reasons why ghost likes his medic - @ghostaholics

✧ i'm gonna write a fic, and it's gonna be called reasons why ghostaholics is one of my favorite writers ever. i may be biased about ghost and his medic fics, but this is so good and it just makes sense, y'know? esp with the way it's so beautifully written here, like ghost finding reasons to stay near them, asking them to teach him how to properly suture when he already knows. i just love it, and i love this fic so so much.

[aoki-fic]

Halcyon

A slow Southerly blew in from the salt like a held breath exhaled, bringing with it a sense of calm and a restfulness not often seen in the young Tulliyolal. The business of building a new nation was a messy one but even the most recalcitrant citizens had put aside their troubles in favour of enjoying the sunshine.

Ketenramm and Gulool Ja Ja sat under a tree some distance from what was to become the Bayside Bevy. It was far enough that they weren't like to be disturbed. Gulool Ja Ja lay on his side whilst the roegadyn let his eyes be pulled to and fro by the movement of leaves overhead. Ketenramm's thoughts strayed to Eorzea and he wondered if any of his old confidants were experiencing a similarity lovely day. He turned.

Even at rest, Gulool Ja Ja reminded him of a coiled spring, twin minds thinking of the future, of legacy, of how to leave the world better than he found it. It was... Refreshing. The men of Ketenramm's past were, for the most part, self-serving at best. He'd left a world of cutthroat academia where everything was a race to see who could make the next discovery. It was about prestige, it was about proving oneself superior to one's peers, being the best, being respected.

The vow of Reason cocked his head, smirking playfully. “What's on your mind?“

The thing about Gulool Ja Ja is that he didn't ask others to earn his respect. He listened on principle. Most of the time, at any rate. The intent was there.

By way of response, Ketenramm waved a hand vaguely at the ocean. “Sharlyan.“

He didn't say home.

“Do you miss it?“

“Of a fashion.“

Obviously there were parts he missed. Aetherytes, library access, a certainty that he understood the general nature of the world (even if not the specifics) and the comfort therein.

Even so.

“I can't say I'm eager to make the voyage back any time soon.“

Both heads chuckled. It was a warm, rumbling sound that resonated right through Ketenramm's chest. Truth be told, of late it made him a little lightheaded. He liked who he was around Gulool Ja Ja. He liked the man he was becoming much more than the one who'd set sail from Sharlyan.

[thedarknesssings]

Prompt 6:  Fluidity

Prompt 6: Halcyon - FFxiv Write 2024 Characters:  Gilvain Voclair, mentions of Vyith @guttergodsknife

His past breathed peace into his mind .  Memories of days gone by on sea shores painted in twilight’s glorious hues haunted him.  The sky in his mind did not quite match the one he looked at now.  The chemical makeup of the atmosphere of Etheirys varied from that of his own world. He recalled brighter skies, hues so vibrant one might think an artist tipped over his paint cans. 

Etheirys struck him as dull. 

Gilvain stretched his legs out, toes flexing in his long boots then relaxing once more.  A fish flittered past in the stream he lounged next to, drawing his gaze and the skimming of his fingers over the glossy surface of the water.  

Even the water here failed to enchant him. The viscous fluid he remembered reflected blue and green so vivid one might think of liquid sapphire or emerald.  Great birds waded through the ponds and rivers glistening with droplets splashed up by their rambunctious method of fishing. Their feathers arced rainbows through the air with the dip and bob of their plumed heads and broad wings, chasing the myriad fish whose scales glinted like diamonds in their wriggle to escape snapping beaks.

A squawk nearby drew Gilvain’s golden gaze.  The plain brown bird stared back at him across the stream.  He sighed and flicked water in the little bird’s direction. Stubby wings flared to either side in protest, spindly feet dancing across the slippery rocks.  The poor thing nearly fell in.  And yet no amusement tickled inside his chest.

He longed for his own world, for his family, for the Great Library and all the wonders it housed.  The pleasure he once found in shifting between worlds, sliding along the threads of time, vacated his heart the day he returned home to find ash and ruin, to find not a soul alive and his home nothing but char and smoke.  There had to be others out there still, more than he had the skill to ride the threads of space and time, but in all of his searching, Gilvain found no one else like him.

“Why not go back?”  The pale viera’s face rippled on the stream’s surface.  The same viera he had crossed paths with days ago and saw him as nothing more than a stranger.  Gilvain sucked in a breath and extended a hand toward the frail image. His memory, no longer Vyith’s by the proof of damage the viera had showed him. Tore him out like he was something toxic in his system.

“Visiting the past does not bring them back.  A mere bandage that burns the soul knowing what I do.”  Gilvain’s head tipped, gaze softening a touch. His lips formed the words even now. “Would you be satisfied with memories alone if you could find a way to undo the Endsinger’s song?”

His hand dashed through the water, scattering the image of Vyith and banishing the memory.  The reminder of those sweet moments he did not need now.  Letting his guard down proved foolish and a mistake he intended to never make again.  Love tore holes in one’s soul, and his was tattered enough.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day Six: Halcyon

an invitation sent, an summons answered—igeyorhm gets more than she bargained for. female azem x igeyorhm. endwalker spoilers + pandaemonium spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: explicit. tags: explicit sexual content, seduction, strip tease, voyeurism, many many amaurotine headcanons 5424 words ao3 link rip to every debate team kid out there, i'm sorry rip to my brain for having to write igeyorhm 40 times and, like the formatting of a tumblr post, not getting it right on the first try once

Nothing ever happens in Amaurot.

That is Igeyorhm’s opinion. She has lived in the capital for countless centuries, and now she is quite certain that it is the prettiest, but blandest place on the Star.

Some would argue this is a good thing. Amaurot is a halcyon bastion of perfect paradise, cultured, peaceful, and pristine. It is a city safe from harm, safe from disaster, the crown jewel of their society and culture. Outside its walls, there may be mayhem and chaos, but here life is peaceful. Wonderful. Kind. Slow. Time to learn, time to live. Time to perfect that which isn’t and preserve that which is.

Boring. Dull.

She would not wish for chaos upon anyone, but some days she finds herself yearning for change. She may very well lose her mind without it—a poor look for the Rhetorician and auditor of knowledge and logic and reason. She is supposedly the cleverest of the Convocation, though she often does not feel like it. That title belongs to her cousin, the current holder of the office of Lahabrea. Clever, brilliant, bold. He is much older than her, but age means little after the first few centuries.

She sighs, casting a glance across the terrace. Like all members of the Convocation, her home occupies a penthouse suite in one of the tallest buildings in the city. Beautiful, airy, with a garden terrace open to the sky. This is where she passes her time when she is not in office. Her garden is lush, filled with vibrant and exciting plants and flowers, some unofficial creations passed to her by Halmarut to keep things interesting. A sunken rectangular pool sits as the focal point, filling the centre. Her favourite divan sits near the edge, surrounded by half-shelves stuffed with books. Her formal library is on the floor below, but she has been slowly moving more and more of it outside.

Igeyorhm purses her lips and turns a page of her book. It is a gorgeous day—a clear, cloudless sky, the sun high and bright, a pleasant breeze in the air. She should be content.

And yet…

She glances at the chronometer on the wall, rapping dark fingers against her seat. Fifteen past the bell. She’s not going to come after all…

The invitation was an impulsive decision. Azem is recently returned to the capital, and gods know she has better things to do than entertain the dullest Convocation member. Hermes’ inauguration as Fandaniel is on the horizon. He is still recovering from whatever disaster happened with Kairos and an investigation into the malfunctioning machine is underway. Emet-Selch has a hole in his memory, which does nothing for his demeanour. Lahabrea is handling that mess in Pandaemonium. And apparently a stray or feral familiar belonging to Azem has been running about Elpis, though she has said nothing of it nor has she claimed it as her own.

Igeyorhm would have very much liked to see it. But here she is, stuck in Amaurot with her books and her rhetoric, doing nothing.

She admires Azem. Tall, strong, witty, clever—she is striking and she knows it. Unlike so many others on the Convocation, she has never been one to bend to tradition, going about her duties in her own way as she sees fit. The last time she came back from a long journey she came very close to being asked to forfeit her seat. Her journeys across the Star led her to many new places, and to meet many new peoples. It is her duty to give hear their stories and give them counsel.

For one in particular, her counsel was a little too close.

Children are rare among Amaurotines. Child created the organic way, so to speak, even more so. Her dalliance with a non-Amaurotine could have ended her career had she not been a force to be reckoned with. As her brother, Emet-Selch was more furious than the rest, though even he could not bring himself to punish her for her trespasses. Her child was born some time ago, though as Igeyorhm understands it, she is being raised far away from the capital.

Azem terrifies her. Fascinates her. How dearly she would love to learn from her example—to commit wholeheartedly to one’s way of life without suffering the fear of shame. She has tried, but she can’t bring herself to do it. She is cold, aloof. Private. Standoffish. Others have noticed. Others have commented.

This is the way she is. The Rhetorician, with the heart of ice.

Metal scrapes against metal and the lift arrives.

Igeyorhm rises from her seat, shocked as Azem emerges from behind the golden grate and enters the terrace. She is gorgeous today—as she is every day. Though her robes are of an Amaurotine style, they have been adjusted and tweaked, creating a lavish outfit of flowing silks belted at the waist. She has forgone the classic black for soft oranges and yellows; together with her pale hair and her glowing orange eyes, she looks very much like a sunset. Her mask sits comfortably on her face, obscuring the hint of high cheekbones and an aquiline nose.

She moves with such determined grace Igeyorhm isn’t sure if she is making up for time lost or if this is simply how she is.

“Azem,” she says in greeting, bowing politely. Her unbound hair hangs about her, shading her face with a curtain of blue-black curls.

Azem laughs and crosses the terrace, sweeping her into her arms. “So formal,” she says, kissing her on either cheek. Her lips are as soft as silk. She smells of citrus and flowers and something Igeyorhm cannot place. “May we do away with titles for today? My head is already spinning and I haven’t yet met with the Convocation.”

Igeyorhm swallows the lump in her throat. Though their names are known to each other, it’s the principle of the thing. “Wine?” she asks, gesturing to a gilded decanter on a nearby table.

Her sunset eyes sparkle. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Igeyorhm pours the wine and hands it to her, retreating quickly to her divan. She sits on the edge and plucks her own glass from the ground, sipping quietly, the awkward silence pressing in on her. Azem does not seem to mind. Nothing seems to bother her. “I’m glad you have returned,” she says.

“A fair amount has happened in my absence, I see.” She perches at the edge of the pool and folds her legs beneath her, taking a sip of wine. “I have yet to speak with my brother. Hythlodaeus tells me he is in a… distraught state, shall we say.”

“Emet-Selch is often distraught.”

“He is. I fear my brother is wound too tight to be anything but distraught.”

Igeyorhm pauses. “Did you enjoy your time away from the capital?” she ventures cautiously. Gods, why is she stalling? She seems incapable of having a normal conversation with her that doesn’t amount of anything but meaningless small talk.

Azem smiles that soft, mysterious smile of hers and sets down her wine. Rising to her feet, she sweeps across the terrace, her vibrant sunset robes whispering around her. She reaches the wall and leans against it, turning her face westward towards Akadaemia Anyder. The light catches her hair, bleeding through the pale gold, setting her profile ablaze. She is not the flames of creation—no, that domain belongs still to Lahabrea—but she is the fire of the sun. Bright, enduring, eternal, and endlessly alluring. Stare too long and you will find yourself blinded.

Fire and ice are opposed. They cannot mix. One will always overpower the other.

Igeyorhm cups her drink in her hands, staring into the glass as she swirls the deep red liquid about. “Tell me honestly,” she says quietly. “Why come here, Azem? I know it wasn’t for the wine.”

“It could be for the wine. You have exquisite taste.”

“Thank you, but answer me truly.”

“Because you asked me to.”

“You could have refused my invitation. Many do.”

“Very rude of them.”

She flushes. “It was a last minute decision, you were under no obligation to say yes. Not when the Convocation gathers tomorrow. We could have met then.”

“And avoid the fun of sipping wine on your beautiful terrace and enjoying the pleasant weather?” She pauses, her gaze lingering on the institution in the distance. “But even if you had not invited me, is it so unusual for a friend to call upon a friend?”

“You consider me a friend?” The words are out before she realizes she has spoken.

Azem throws her head back and laughs. “Igeyorhm, what is in that ice-cold heart of yours that gave you that impression? How many years have we known each other?”

“I could not say. Knowing is different than friendship, is it not?”

“True.”

“And you have never sought to call on me in private before.”

“Our positions are quite distanced. Rhetoric and debate on one side, counsel and pilgrimage on the other.”

“Hardly. I do not believe they are that different. One could argue they are the same.”

Finally, Azem tears herself away from the view. She leans her back against the wall and turns her gaze on Igeyorhm, those intense orange-gold eyes burning into her from even this distance. “You think so?” she says, arching an eyebrow from behind her mask. “Then let’s play a game.”

“A game?”

“A game of debate. Put your texts aside, Igeyorhm. Take your nose out of your books. Let us have a sparring match. The winner receives a boon.”

Igeyorhm wets her lower lip. Her heart is thundering. “What kind of boon?”

“A gift. From me to you, or you to me. Whatever our heart’s desire.”

The pool ripples in the wind, its water lapping against the edge. To Azem, the sound must be negligible. But to Igeyorhm it beats like a drum pounding with the rhythm of her heart. “And who will be the judge? I cannot conceive of asking Elidibus here.”

Azem snorts, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “No, no,” she says, chuckling with mirth. “Please, no. Open the floor to Elidibus and soon you will have the whole Convocation gathered on your terrace, fast-tracking our session from tomorrow to today.”

Igeyorhm smiles. She loops a curl behind her ear, her fingers brushing her mask. “I would hate to see that. Not even my cousin has been extended an invitation.”

“He does not come here, then?”

“Even if I opened my doors to him, he would seldom have the time to visit. That sour business in Pandaemonium still weighs on him.”

Azem says nothing. Silence presses heavily on them both, the weight of the words sapping the levity from the room. Then she shakes her head, her pale gold hair rippling over her shoulders, raises a hand, and snaps.

A small fire familiar pops into existence. It is vaguely humanoid in shape with butterfly-like wings sprouting from its back. Green and orange flames lick along its sides, curling into some semblance of hair as embers trail off it and dissipate into the air. It floats gently above the pool, whistling with glee as it bobs up and down.

“Oh, stop that,” Azem says, giving it a sharp look. “Keep that up and I will send you back.”

The familiar makes a wheezing sound.

Azem’s lips twitch, trying to hide a smile. “Vesta will be our judge. It will make the calls, unless one of us calls to concede.”

Igeyorhm raises her chin. “And how am I to know it will be impartial?”

“You can’t. You will have to trust me.” Pushing off the wall, Azem crosses the terrace to settle on the end of Igeyorhm’s divan. She leans in close and whispers conspiratorially in her ear. “That’s the fun in it.”

The proximity of her presence sends an enticing shiver rolling down her spine. “And the loser?” she asks. By the Star itself, how she wishes Azem would unmask. She is the sole member of the Convocation whose face she has not seen. What does she look like beneath it? Is she as beautiful as her grace would suggest? “In the halls of debate, the winner may be rewarded with congratulations and cheer, but it is common practice for those who do not to denote their failure. If we are to play this game in the spirit of my domain, surely there must be some punishment.”

“Punishment?” Azem reaches for her glass of wine. “You certainly enjoy an escalation—”

“Penalty, then. Consequence, if you prefer. Or shall I keep digging through synonyms until I find one that appeases you?”

She chuckles and takes a drink. “What should this punishment-penalty-consequence be?”

Igeyorhm drums her fingers against her chin, lost in thought. The idea forming in her mind is… bold. Unlike her. Its out-of-character nature only makes her want to suggest it more. “The removal of one’s mask,” she says archly. “If we are friends, then surely we see one another exposed.”

Azem pauses. She takes another drink. “Done.” The wine has stained her lips red. “Then shall we begin?”

The rules of debate are simple: assert your thesis, defend it, and find the logical fallacies in your opponent’s. Argument and counterargument are etched into the building blocks of Amaurotine society; even from the earliest age, they are taught to defend reason. Theirs is a culture that prides itself on logic and wisdom, settling disputes with words and discussion first and warfare and combat second. Regardless of what Nabriales argues, as custodians of the Star, it is their solemn duty to protect it, not to sunder it apart.

Rhetoric and debate is oft considered the least impressive of any Amaurotine art. In a society of well-spoken individuals, being articulate and eloquent with words means very little. It is not enchanting like Altima’s compositions, nor beneficial to society like Deudalaphon’s inventions. It does not heal like Emmerololth’s medicinal practices, nor does it create like Lahabrea’s phantomology. But to shift the mind, convince others to see the way you do—it is a delicate art, powerful in its subtleness. And no amount of spellbinding creation magicks can turn one into a powerful orator.

It is not typical for Igeyorhm to become stuttering and tongue-tied. On most days, she is cool and clear and succinct—when she has time to prepare, she can shift the direction of the Convocation with just a few words. Debate is an art easily learned, but difficult to master, and its strength cannot be underestimated. Each member of the fourteen could claim to be an orator, but none of them have expertise. Her own cousin is too frank and blunt. Emet-Selch has yet to understand the role charm plays. Elidibus is too young, and his seat requires him to be impartial. Only Azem’s erstwhile mentor, Venat, understood the power speech can hold and how to wield it. Who else could convince the Convocation that she would not return to the Star upon her retirement?

With the right words, anyone can be convinced of anything.

“The floor is yours, Azem,” Igeyorhm says, leaning back casually on the divan. The movement tugs at the neckline, pulling at the neckline, exposing her collarbone. She hooks an arm over the back, running her fingers across the rich embroidery. “Your opening statement?”

“Already?” Azem brushes her long hair over her shoulder. “I admit I was not prepared to begin. Perhaps you should take the lead.”

Igeyorhm smirks. This coy display is an attempt to disarm her, convince her to take to the stage first out of kindness. Azem must know as certainly as she does that those who speak first are often the ones to lose. “This is my house,” she says. “It is my honour to go second. Your opening statement?”

Azem catches her eye. “Should I stand?” she asks, already rising to her feet. “I have been gone for some time, I’m uncertain of proper procedure.”

“If you wish.” Igeyorhm looks her up and down, lingering on the way her robes hug her curves. Her travels beyond Amaurot is etched on her body; it shows in the bare arms corded with muscle, in the strength of her legs, in the confident preciseness of her movements.

Azem cocks her head, a little smile on her lips, and bows theatrically. “Our seats are of opposing nature,” she says. “I am a traveller. I see the Star for what it is beyond the narrow walls and minds of Amaurot. Yours is the reverse—embracing the uniformity, upholding the status quo. Your rhetoric is not designed to bring change, but to uphold existing laws without question. I look outwards, whereas you look in.”

I don’t disagree with that. Not that she can say it aloud. “But as you travel, you offer guidance to the people, no?” she counters. “What is the difference between guidance and rhetoric? To give counsel is to convince. The wisdom you impart persuades them to your side, to your point of view. In that way, our seats are the same.”

“Hm.” Azem’s smile widens. She raises her cup. “What does Vesta think?”

The familiar’s flames hiss and whistle and it performs a little loop in the air, pointing a fiery finger at Igeyorhm.

“Ah. You are the winner, I see.”

Igeyorhm blinks. Over already? They had hardly begun. Her win is deflating, not satisfying. “Victory, then,” she says. Her nails scratch the divan’s embroidery, catching on the fine threads. “You do not have to keep to arbitrary rules made in jest—”

The familiar whirs.

Azem arches an eyebrow. “Oh, I see,” she says, tracing a finger absently over her belt. “Vesta says it should be the best out of three. To give me a fair chance, naturally. I am arguing against the Amaurot’s finest orator, after all.”

Igeyorhm pauses, mesmerized by the movement of Azem’s hands. The way her long fingers trace the bright brass, then float across the gossamer silks, gentle yet firm. This is no longer a game. They are vying for something, but it isn’t the prestige of their seats. “Even if it is best out of three, you have still lost this round,” she breathes, her voice low. “I believe you owe me something.”

Fingers against fabric. Twisting. Pulling. Touching. “Not my mask. Not yet.”

“Then something else.”

Water laps against the edge of the pool, gentle and pulsing.

Azem smiles and unclasps her belt, letting it fall to the floor. The silks fan out around her and grasps the overlayer, drawing it up and over her head.

Igeyorhm inhales a sharp breath, a rush of heat coursing through her. Azem is pale beneath her robe—her breasts full and round, her skin marked with a flash of stretch marks and a silvery scar on her side. Beneath the curves of fat, she is strong and firm. “Aye,” she rasps. “That will do.”

Azem tilts her head, her fingers toying with her skirt. The band sits low on her hips, the skirts flowing flush with the floor. “Defeat me again and I’ll lose another,” she murmurs, orange eyes blazing.

“Then it is my turn—” Igeyorhm exhales a breath, fingers now scraping against the embroidery. She rolls onto her side, her gaze drawn to Azem’s, and squeezes her thighs together. The pressure only inflames the desire blooming deep within her. “And I submit to you: the purpose of the Rhetorician is to gather knowledge. And so does the Traveller.”

“Is the knowledge gathered or is it hoarded?” Azem pulls her hair to the side, letting it flow over one shoulder and across her breast. Slowly, she slides a palm across her stomach. “With whom is it shared? Is it knowledge for all, or for the few who are worthy?”

“Knowledge is for all, but not all are for knowledge.”

“A nonsensical statement.” She cups her breast, squeezing the soft weight.

Igeyorhm muffles a strangled noise. Her skin prickles with heat. “The question at hand was not for whom knowledge is gathered, rather that it is. The Traveller guides the people of the Star, understand them, speak for them. The key to understanding is a knowledge itself.”

The little familiar whirs.

“And there we go—I have no choice but to accept defeat once again.” Azem smiles a hooks a thumb over her waistband. “I knew such games would lead to nothing good.”

She pushes her skirts down. Naked save for her mask, she steps out of the pool of bright fabric.

Igeyorhm grips the back of the divan. “I have won twice,” she breathes. “Care to challenge me a third time?”

Azem laughs quietly and pads across the cool floor. She throws out a hand, dismissing her familiar with a single gesture. It puffs out of existence like a candlelight snuffed. “I am amiable to a third,” she says, reaching the foot of the divan. She rests a knee against it, one hand caressing her breast. The other slides across her thigh. “But an addendum: this time, if I win, take off your mask. If I lose, I will remove mine.”

She exhales a trembling breath. “Yes.”

Azem smiles, that impossibly alluring smile. Her palm brushes her inner thigh. “There is a world unlike any other beyond this city,” she says, her fingers slipping between her legs. She exhales a soft breath, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek as she sinks into her own desire. “The Rhetorician seeks to record it, to study it, to learn all they can from it.”

Igeyorhm’s eyes widen, lips parted as she watches. She is fascinated, enthralled, arousal rushing through her as she imagines what those fingers would feel like slipped between her own. Ignoring her clothing, she presses cups a hand against the space between her thighs, pleasure washing over her.

“But the Traveller…” Azem lets out a small moan, her gaze lingering on Igeyorhm. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight. “You would examine it from a distance, Igeyorhm. But I…” She sighs, bringing herself closer to the brink. “I would experience it for what it is.”

She trembles, bucking against her own hand. There are a hundred counters to this argument, each one better than the last. But her mind is a haze, muffled by desire for the woman at the foot of her divan, endlessly yearning for her touch.  

She could win, easily. But this time, she does not want to.

They have long since stopped arguing the merits and purpose of their Convocation seats.

And this is no longer a game.

“I concede,” Igeyorhm says. “I concede.”

Azem’s eyes blaze.

Igeyorhm meets her gaze—and nods.  

It happens in a rush. One moment, they are staring at each other, hearts pounding, the soft afternoon light warming Azem’s naked skin. The next, her weight sinks into the divan and her lips and hands are on her. Azem climbs on top of her and kisses her deeply, her tongue slipping between her lips to tangle in her mouth—she tastes of summer and wine. Her fingers tug at the straps of her mask; despite the rough pace of her kiss, her touch is gentle, reverent.

There is still a sense of propriety here.

“May I?” she murmurs, her voice muffled against her lips.

Igeyorhm nods. “Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”

The mask slips loose. Sunlight warms her skin, bright and pleasantly searing, like the woman who has her pinned to the divan. She pauses, thrown for a moment by the removal of its weight. It has been a long time since she has taken it off, even in private. She can’t remember the last time she took it off. She can’t remember the last time she saw her own face in a mirror with out it.

Azem places it carefully on the armrest. “There,” she says, stroking her fingers across Igeyorhm’s face. Her blazing eyes pass over her, lingering on the beauty mark on her cheek, the broad shape of her nose, the depths of her dark eyes. She brushes a lock of blue-black curls from her forehead and leans in close. “I win.”

She kisses her again and this time—oh, this time, she melts. Azem’s lips are everywhere—her brow, her cheek, her jaw, her mouth, her throat. She sucks at the delicateness of her collarbone, leaving wicked marks peppered and aching across her skin. Her mask is smooth and cool when it brushes unexpectedly against her, the sensation leaving a strange observation lingering in the back of her mind. They are reversed: Azem, naked yet retaining the sanctity of her mask, while Igeyorhm remains clothed but exposed, her features visible for the first time in an age.

Azem tugs at the neckline of her robe. “I owe you a boon,” she murmurs, voice muffled. Her head is buried in her neck, her mouth hot and warm as she kisses her throat. “Name it.”  

“I…” Words. She cannot think of the words. Gods damn it all, she is the bloody Rhetorician and she’s been knocked senseless. “I…”

“Name it, Metis.”

Her name, not her title. A wondrous shudder rolls through her—she is light-headed, hazy, and yet has never thought more clearly in her life. “Touch me.” Soft at first, then firm. Strong. A demand. She links Azem’s hands with her own and puts it on her breast. “Touch me. Kiss me. Do what you wish to me.”

Azem laughs, her breath rippling enticingly across her skin, and she squeezes her breast. She rolls off and stretches out beside her, tugging at her robes. Metis lies motionless, anticipation coiling deep within her as Azem pushes her skirts up and the weight of the robes pressing into her stomach. Her lover—lover is it, is it not?—strokes a hand across her thigh, slow and sure, and her legs fall open.

Her mouth covers hers, kissing hungrily and she swallows her gasp as her fingers slip easily into the slick heat.

If she returned to the Star right now, she would do so happily.

If she could float away in this haze of ecstasy and release all her responsibilities, she would.

If time could stop and this moment could last forever, she would welcome it.

A cry escapes her, soft, gentle, humming on her lips, and she closes her eyes, sinking blissfully into the cushions. Azem’s weight presses beside her, anchoring her to this moment. Her lips wander, her hands roam, touching, caressing, stoking the fire. Metis sighs, her back arching as two of those long, pretty fingers slip with her in a single stroke. They thrust, curl, slow and deep, coaxing pleasure out of her until she is shaking. She bucks her hips, chasing the sensation, demanding more—a demand her lover is happy to oblige.

Her lover laughs and presses a kiss to her brow. She slips her fingers free and with a quick shift of her weight, traps her hips and straddles her. Metis’ eyes fly open and she inhales a sharp breath, a protest on her tongue—

Azem presses a fingers to Metis’ lips, then to her own. She rolls her hips—a test, a challenge, her intense sunlike gaze lingering on every part of Metis’ face—and arches her back, raising her hands behind her head. She lifts the length of her hair and lets go, the curtain of pale gold-spun silk glowing in the midafternoon sun as it falls free.

Metis watches, enamoured, mesmerized. She cannot look away from this woman in the mask atop her.

“I…” The words will not come. She is breathless, weightless, her mind numb, her body yearning for an end. “Azem…”

She shakes her head. “Iphigeneia,” she murmurs. She yanks Metis’ skirts up to her stomach again, rougher and coarser this time, and slides a hand between them. “No titles here among friends.”

“…friends…?”

“What would you say we are?”

Her fingertip ghosts across her clit—feather-light and impossible—then presses firm against it.

A wave of pleasure crashes through her.

Metis moans, chest heaving. Her hands tear at the divan, uselessly trying to find something to hold onto. She is too good, too much, too everything. Her thigh clench, muscles spasming as she draws nearing to her peak, an impatient whine fluttering on her lips. She is falling apart in Iphigeneia’s hands. Both of them are on her now, the fingers of one stroking her core with deliberate, tantalizing motions, the other working her clit in slow, languid, circles.

“Geneia,” she moans, too overcome to say the whole of her name. “Geneia, I—please…”

Sweat shimmers on Iphigeneia’s chest, her breasts, her stomach. Her mask catches the light, silver and white reflecting the light, its metallic surface so polished Metis could very well see her reflection within it. “This is good?” she asks huskily.

“I… yes…”

“What do you want? Would you like to let go? Or would you close you eyes and see where I can take you?”

She bites her tongue, wound so tight with desire she is close to snapping. “I… mhm.”

A small, little measly sound. She has never sounded so ineloquent.

Iphigeneia smiles.

Her orgasm ripples through her in, numbing her mind and soul. She cannot think, she cannot do, she cannot be—all she is, all she has become is the sensation coursing through her. Her name falls from her lips in a half-scream of joy, the syllables falling in a stuttering, helpless staccato through her gasps as she trembles and relaxes, her swollen cunt clenching around her fingers.

The tension courses through her again and again.

And again until there is nothing left in her.

When her mind clears, the fog of lasting pleasure hazing the fringes of her mind, she is lying limp and boneless on the divan beneath Iphigeneia’s comfortable weight. Her eyelids flutter open and she looks upon the golden sun burning bright above her—the flame that has done what none thought possible and melted the ice in her heart.

Her mask remains in place, safe and secure. If she had half a mind—which she currently does not—Metis would ask her to remove it. Seems silly not to, after what they have shared. There is nothing more intimate than this, save perhaps sharing one’s transformation.

Iphigeneia drapes herself over her, brushing her fingers across her cheek as she stares into her dark eyes. She brushes damp curls from her forehead. “Are you all right?” she asks quietly.

“I…” Metis trails off. “Mhm. Thank you.”

“You owe me a boon,” she continues, linking her hand with hers. She raises it to her lips and kisses the soft skin. The hand of a custodian. A librarian. An auditor. One who has never left Amaurot. “Since I have granted you yours, it’s only fair you return the favour.”

Metis strokes her other hand through her hair, enjoying the feel of the soft locks between her fingers. She lets it go, strand by strand, and brushes her fingertips across Iphigeneia’s collarbone, down her chest, across her breasts. She cups one gently. “Let me give it to you, if you want,” she murmurs throatily, her voice low.

Iphigeneia kisses her. “I am sated for now.”

Her stomach twists with disappointment. She isn’t quite done herself. Perhaps she can convince her otherwise…

“But for my boon,” Iphigeneia begins.

“Forget the boon,” Metis croons. “It was a jest—”

“I had something else in mind.”

“Very well. What is it?”

She meets her eyes. She takes a breath. “Your cousin is proving to be quite a hindrance and I am tired of it.” The shift in her tone from hazy bliss to cold and businesslike hits like a winter breeze. She is Iphigeneia no longer; Azem has returned in her full determined force. “I would ask for your help. I need to reach the lower floors of Akadaemia Anyder. To the Words of Lahabrea. There is something I need to see for myself and I would not have him interfere. And you have a way in that I do not.”

It is not quite a question. The words carry more command than a request.

Igeyorhm pauses. A command, not an ask—from a fellow Convocation member. There is something going on here, something she cannot put her finger on. Azem’s motives may be shrouded in mystery, but there must be a purpose behind it.

Nothing happens in Amaurot.

So, who is she to say no?

[swtorpadawan]

Ten Facts About Ulannium Kaarz

I wasn’t actually tagged to do one of these for Ulannium, but I started putting this together as a sort of case-study for him, and it seemed to make sense to do this. Tagging the following people just in case they want to do this for one of their own OCs: @raven-of-domain-kwaad @anchanted-one @actualanxiousswampwitch @grandninjamasterren @sullustangin @cyraniadebergerac @starrypawz @intheinkpot @voidendron @lanabenikosdoormat @dragons-bones @clifford-telegenic @cryo-lily

Fact One – Parentage and Early Childhood: Ulannium Kaarz was born on Coruscant, the son of Ishris Kaarz, his mother, a brilliant research scientist with a Republic pharmaceutical conglomerate, and Luncib Kaarz, his father, a marketing executive and lobbyist with the same company. Both of his parents were very affectionate, Ishits especially. Although she worked long hours, his mother always made time for her son at bedtime, first by singing him Mirialan lullabies, and later by reading to him, fictional stories at first but later more advanced texts such as scientific manuals. Years later, Ulannium would credit his mother’s efforts (and her genetics) with the development of his impressive intellect. By chance, Ulannium’s Force sensitivity was not discovered until he was already six years old. (Possibly a result of his mother’s interference in the screening process.) By then, he was already academically precocious in the extreme, devouring books far beyond his age-level. When he was selected by the Jedi and told he might one day gain access to the full wealth of the Jedi Archives, Ulannium was thrilled at the opportunity. Indeed, if he had an ambition at this point, it would have been to spend the rest of his life in the galaxy’s greatest library. Ulannium had a younger sister, Tharia, who was possibly even more curious about the universe than he. As she was four at the time, he regarded her as a pest who kept stealing his scientific holopads. When the Jedi tested her for Force-sensitivity, it came back negative, much to the relief of her parents who were already giving up a son.

Art by @theoasiswinds

Fact Two – Inspirations: One of my inspirations for the character of Ulannium is George Smiley from John le Carré’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. When he does finally confront someone, whether an enemy or even an ally whom he’s trying to persuade, he brings the full force of his intellect to bare on them, and people often find it as overpowering as a force of nature. Ulannium is remarkably proficient at understanding and analyzing most of the people he encounters, including some who others find enigmatic. (Such is the case with Corellan Halcyon. Ulannium understands the Hero of Tython far better than someone like Satele Shan, at least earlier in the story.) On the flip side, a select few people are something of a mystery to Ulannium, and throw him off entirely. (This was the case with Zenith.) Another character who inspired me was Vaegon Targaryen, a minor character from George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. He could have done a hundred things, including becoming the King. He preferred his books, however.  

Fact Three – Growing up on Uphrades: To avoid potential contact with his family on Coruscant, the Jedi sent Ulannium to their small enclave on the agricultural world of Uphrades. It was a small training cadre; two semi-retired Jedi Masters and eight younglings. To discourage unhealthy attachments amongst the younglings, they were arranged on a tiered-age system. The oldest of the younglings would be around fourteen and would be considered on the precipice of their initiate trials to become Padawans. The next-oldest would be a year or two younger than the eldest, and so on down the line until the youngest child, who would be around four or five. With the age difference, it was hoped that the younglings would be less likely to adopt detrimental attachments to each other.

Fact Four – First Friendship: Two years after Ulannium arrived on Uphrades, the next youngling was sent. The younger child seemed untalented and almost Force-blind to Ulannium, who by then was already demonstrating an impressive sensitivity to the Force. But as the Masters were unwilling to give up on him yet, when he turned six, he was handed a training saber. Within a week, he had surpassed every other youngling in combat, even those twice his age. Within a year, no two initiates could match him. Even Master Sagottoh, once a Blademaster of the Order in his younger years, soon found himself pressed. This youngling - one age tier below Ulannium - was named Corellan Halcyon. When they first met, Ulannium himself thought the youngling was untalented and barely worth his notice. Later, when his martial capability manifested, Nowan Ko Detizu realized that Corellan needed Ulannium’s help to acclimate to the other children, most of whom were intimidated by the young firebrand. The bond the two developed would last them the rest of their lives. In recognition of this reality and her responsibilities, when Ulannium was ready to become a padawan, Nowan Ko’s report to the council would advise them not to assign the two to work together, which is why they were kept separated for the next eight years. Although they were both disappointed, both would ultimately conclude it had been the right thing to do.

Fact Five – Tragedy: When the Sack of Coruscant took place, Ulannium was still far away on Uphrades, reading a text on archaeology. He recalls feeling a deep sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, but as he was unable to determine what it was, he soon resumed reading. A few days later once the reports had come in, the Uphrades Masters regretfully informed him that his family had been killed during the attack when falling debris had collapsed on them on the street. The youngling showed little reaction at first, then finally announced his intention to head off to find solitude to meditate. The masters, decided that he needed time to process what had happened, let him. Corellan, recognizing that he needed friendship, pursued him and talked. [I may write about that encounter someday.]

Fact Six – Personality: One of Ulannium’s personality quirks is his tendency to answer a question with a question. This is sometimes a defensive mechanism, and sometimes simply a way to get an individual to rethink their position diplomatically. In the normal flow of conversation, he does this skillfully enough that people rarely even notice. He picked up this particular quirk from Master Nowan Ko Detizu, one of his mentors back on Uphrades. The Cathar Jedi taught him a multitude of simple techniques that aid him in his day-to-day life as a Jedi, diplomat and sometime political and military leader.

Fact Seven – Traits: By the time the class stories begin, Ulannium is already an expert in the fields of biology, archaeology, geology and history, and could probably have earned a master’s degree in any of those areas if given the time and inclination to do so. Although he was appropriately honored to meet the esteemed members of the Jedi Council, he was most excited to meet Gnost-Dural, as the Kel Dor had, by then, been named the Keeper of the Jedi Archives. Ulannium definitely has a strong interest – some might even say a passion – for ancient Force knowledge and would live in the Jedi Archives if he could. One of the most difficult decisions he ever faced was rescuing Laria Taphoni on Taris, effectively sacrificing the holocron the expedition team had found. In making his choice, Ulannium was guided by the principles of the Jedi code and recognizes that it was the correct decision, but nevertheless he had to meditate for a long while to process everything that happened. Although he recognizes that Rajivari’s teachings ran contrary to the Jedi code and had corrupted many ancient Jedi, Ulannium never quite forgot what he had learned of it. He wishes he had spent more time with the fallen Je'daii Master to learn where things had gone wrong.

Fact Eight – His Relationship with Nadia Grell: Ulannium doesn’t believe in concepts like “love at first sight”. But when he met Nadia, he generally became more protective of her innocence. Eventually, those feelings evolved into romantic impulses, but even in their early days together, he was somewhat distracted. That was one of the reasons he didn’t immediately pick up on Nadia’s force-sensitivity, which he would have normally understood right from the get-go. As a side note, his relationship with Nadia develops very differently in my story than in the game and does not progress until after she is Knighted almost three years after becoming his Padawan. As a fluffy note, To date, Nadia is the only person who has ever called him “Uli”. She’s usually discreet about the practice, but she did actually let it slip in front of Felix Iresso on one occasion. Ulannium was embarrassed, Nadia was aghast, and Felix was amused.

Fact Nine – Joining the Alliance: After Ulannium and the rest of the Ossus colony rejoined the rest of the galaxy (lining up with the Jedi Under Siege expansion from the canon story), he and Nadia became honorary members of the Eternal Alliance, with Ulannium serving as the Alliance’s liaison with the Council. The Council - when it eventually reformed - did not formally condone or condemn this relationship; they simply pretended that they didn’t know it existed, despite it becoming common knowledge by that point. [Note: This mirrors Revan’s post-KOTOR relationship with Bastilla in the “Revan” novel.] Far from being past his prime after joining the Eternal Alliance, Ulannium achieved some of the most impressive efforts of his career as the Alliance’s top diplomatic negotiator, writing much of the treaty that Corellan and the Alliance would eventually sign with the Galactic Republic. But arguably the most impressive feat of his career was the negotiation of the Treaty of Alderaan, a pact that ended nearly twenty years of civil war and internal discord. Leading the Alliance’s diplomatic corps, one of Ulannium’s top deputies would be the Killik Joiner and former Imperial diplomat and Intelligence operative, Vector Hyllus. Ulannium learned a great deal of respect for Hyllus and his capabilities, which was reciprocated by the Joiner.

Fact Ten - His Legacy: Some years joining the Alliance, he and Nadia had their first child: Maykia Ishris Kaarz. She is named for both of her grandmothers; Maykia on Nadia’s side and Ishris on Ulannium’s. She’s a couple of years younger than Bela and Tasiele, who are friends of hers who I’ve spoken about elsewhere. Her childhood was complicated to say the least, but she eventually fully joined the Jedi order on her own terms as she began adulthood. She wields a double-bladed lightsaber as her mother did, albeit she’s not a true Jedi Shadow. [Note: Maykia is part of the “Future Halcyon Legacy” I’ve been putting together. ]

Thousands of years later, Teela Kaarz, one of Ulannium’s descendants, would be conscripted to work on the construction of the Death Star. Teela and a group of Rebel recruits fled the doomed space station before it exploded. [Novel: Death Star ]

Thank you for reading!

[eorzeaisnotcrash]

Day 6: Halcyon

After his tutors had executed their duties for the day, assured that his education was proceeding as his father demanded, sometimes he would go to the library. There were no books there suitable for small children, but he nevertheless could access a wealth of reading material, and supplemented his burgeoning knowledge with the science and history texts he found.

Then he was judged old enough to be sent away to his first school. His stay there was an ill-fated, short-lived one, but while it lasted he learned that the room he loathed least was the library. Like the one in his father’s house, it had no sufferance of frivolity. Unlike the one in his father’s house, it contained a precious few volumes, gathered from around the star, of works that were deemed classics and thus accorded a place of honor despite their content being entirely fictional. In his spare time, he began to familiarize himself with tales of noble heroes, deadly villains, bizarre locales, incomprehensible creatures, feats of great strength and vast knowledge. The people of whom he read struggled and fought, and sometimes failed or even died, but they also smiled and laughed.

None of what unfolded in his mind happened in reality and therefore would never happen to him, he knew, but as he sat unbothered by shrill classmates or tedious instructors, he sometimes allowed himself a small smile as well.

[starres-stuff]

Day 6- Halcyon FFXIV Write 2024

Halcyon: denoting a period of time in the past that was idyllically happy and peaceful.

“Do you believe a person can be described as halcyon,?” 

It was mid-afternoon, in the middle of summer and the twins had met for lunch at the cottage. Once they had finished their meal, they moved their conversation outside under the old oak trees, their shade, the most superior compared to any other found in the yard and conveniently out of sight of Viviane’s prized Gridania mint crop that Dimitri had recently killed by accident.

“Why, yes I do. The word does translate to joyful and carefree. Those summer days of youth.” The Sharlayan had packed his pipe with his favorite cherry-scented tobacco and was lazy leaning back again at the base of one of the trees, his shoes tossed somewhere to the side and his sketchbook in his lap; long tendrils of reddish-brown hair blowing on the wind. 

“What if you lost your youth to unfortunate circumstances?” Viviane was one tree over from her twin, a clove-scented, moko-laced cigarette sending tendrils of smoke out around her. 

“Well, that depends on how you define Youth. Some would say youth ends when we are old enough to be considered adults. I think youth is a state of mind and not tied to a singular age bracket. I worked with a woman at the library well into her fifty-second summer and she was far more a youth than some seventeen-year-olds I knew from school. She told me once it was her way of staying young.”

Viviane considered this for a long moment, a drag drawn from her cigarette during this time was exhaled in a series of smoke rings, some of which were looped together; it was one of her favorite tricks to distract people or prompt them to comment on how they were formed; ring inside ring. 

“It would be the summer when I met Clement.” Her eyes closed as the breeze ruffled her hair. “It was a lovely summer, despite how rocky we first were in admitting our feelings to each other and the fact it took until Starlight for either of us to act on them, it was the most carefree summer I ever had. I simply felt alive, and it has never faded since. Today when I woke up, curling around him felt as good as the day I first read his cards at the Path.” A small giggle left her then and her cheeks flushed brightly. “That was my thirty-first summer. So I do suppose your theory could hold water in my case, I was much older.” Vi then pointed at Dimitri “Your turn.” 

With the spotlight on him, Dimitri began clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his eyes even closed for a while as he mulled over when the halcyon period of his life had been, and then took a few more drags from his pipe before he finally answered. “It would be this cycle I do believe. See growing up in Old Sharlayan was, as you know, terribly regimented,; especially as the adopted child of a member of the Forum. I was also the oldest of their children. Patience was not born until I was seven summers old and the youngest, Nicodeme, was not born until another seven cycles after that.” A smile appeared on his features then, as if these two times were at least fond memories for him but like always Viviane took note of the moment that smile vanished from sight and Dimitri’s seriousness returned. 

“They were kind parents I will say that, even though they were strictly authoritarian in mannerisms, what belongs to them is theirs, hence why they chase after me even now at thirty-three summers old. They like feared me finding out the truth while I was here like I have and hating them for it, which I do right now. Eventually, I will have my say of course..” Viviane lifted gracefully from her spot then, gliding over to the tree where her twin sat, and plopped down alongside him, reaching out a single finger to poke him right in the ribs with the tip of her nail. 

“Tell me why this cycle is the one then, forget the past if it is not important to the question, dwelling there will only bring you pain; something I know all too well.” There was a fair bit of sympathy in Viviane’s eyes when he turned his head, while he had never been treated as poorly as she had been he knew that he had his demons he faced day to day; often in the bottom of his silver flask filled with whiskey. 

“Because of Laurent. The things I have experienced with him. I have been able to be myself for the first time in my life Vi. I don’t have to pretend like I did in Sharlayan for anyone's sake anymore. I live in the middle of nature now, not a City. I see a future when I am around him when I look into his eyes. I have found peace with him. We can exist side by side, we have no expectations of each other. We both want to see the Star, explore it together and I still believe that the day will come when we settle in to just grow old together.” It was a lot for him to say, more than he would usually say about anything so private to him but when he saw Vi’s head nodding in agreement he couldn't help but question it “And it seems you agree, why is that?”

A soft laugh came from the Songstress, as she opened her silver smoking case with the etched Sunflower on top and she took out another of cigarettes to smoke. “Because when I first met you Dimtri you had a larger stick up your arse than an Ishgardian Count on the matters of State, now that stick is gone and I like to think it is because Laurent pulled it out and broke it over your head.” 

Dimitri’s eyes crossed as he looked at her, he tried to think of a rebuttal but none would come and then finally he just laid his head back against the tree and a low rumbling chuckle came from deep in his chest. “Touche, Sister, Touche.” 

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

oooh got tagged by @hash-slinging-slasher-trash

tag game: 20 questions, fic writing edition

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

31 on my main

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

On my main AO3, 257,414

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Anything I'm interested in can get these hands. Naruto, Fruits Basket, Free!, Haikyuu, JJK, CSM, Genshin Impact, OLBA/OLNF, FMA, SNK, BNHA. I've written for a lot of fandoms. I remember even trying to dabble in writing fic for Ojamajo Doremi because I was obsessed with shipping them with the Flat 4. Honestly, I might write something for that just to indulge Kid Nyla who never got to write any lmao. Same for PPGZ

My main tumblr is called themultifandomnerd for a reason fjdnfkj

4. Top five fics by kudos

I'll do a mix of fics from my main AO3 (my oldest account, I think I started writing fic for Free! on it in high school) and my tumblr fics AO3

The Different Rules of Summer (VLD - Lance/Keith)

‘Okay so you think ghosts are fake but totally think that bigfoot and mothman are real?’ Lance scribbled furiously on the piece of paper in total disbelief. ‘Ghosts are total BS, man’ Keith look disinterested. ‘This is why you’re single' Lance didn’t expect that his summer vacation would be spent at a library arguing with his deaf co-worker about why cryptids totally aren’t real. Keith volunteers at a library to keep himself out of trouble while his brother works. The worst part of his day? Explaining to some moron why Mothman is definitely a real entity and why the first moon landing was fake. Funny enough, this is the highlight of both of their summers.

Se réjouir, se réjouir (Genshin Impact - NeuviFuri)

The sun; Neuvillette is the sun. And Furina? She’s not fit to even be the moon. There is a surprising loneliness to freedom.

A Little Pain (Naruto - Sakura Haruno/Hinata Hyuga)

At the age of 7, there were a few things Hinata Hyuga was sure of. One, her father, Hiashi Hyuga, was the strongest shinobi she knew. Second, just the thought of her having to one day make decisions for her entire clan terrified her beyond belief. Third, her younger sister Hanabi, at the age of 2, was very easy to impress. Hinata Hyuga never wanted to lead her Clan and when she is stripped of her title and essentially an outcast in her home, she finds solace in the brief comforts of a pink-haired girl named Sakura. Though little did Hinata know that losing her heiress title would send her life spiraling down a path of self discovery, bravery, and the realization that changing yourself is a possibility is the most powerful jutsu of all. But... perhaps stopping yourself from fainting whenever you happen to be around your crush is a start. And convincing the entirety of Konoha that it's first all-kunoichi team won't be a complete and total failure should be prioritized before any of that.

Man is the Breast, Heaven is the Playground (CSM - Makima/Reader)

You might be the only one in your division not utterly smitten with your partner, Makima. Call it disinterest, call it being observant that her smiles never reach her eyes. Either way, you have no interest in bridging the gap between you both. But one day, an attempt is made, and it isn’t by you.

A Blazing Star Sought Refuge in My Chest (CSM - Makima/Reader, sequel to Man is the Breast, Heaven is the Playground)

Your contract was simpleー the Control Devil would not use her powers on you, you just needed to stay with her forever.

5. Do you respond to comments?

That I do!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think maybe the ending for my oneshot I Cherish You, Halcyon Days which I'm actually turning into a full-length fic now (and it will have the same ending). But fate of the Reader is written out quite clearly: you will be killed by someone precious to you.

On my main AO3, maybe my TOH series where Halloween Night went wrong and the portal closed after Belos entered and the Hexsquad has to make happiness where they can on Earth may be a close second?

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think most of my fics end on a pleasant note save for a handful.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I was gonna say "no" but yeah, some butthurt NaruHina fans that were commenting on my SakuHina fics for no reason? Like, go read about NH instead of looking at what I'm typing up smh, damn time wasters. It isn't often though, most of the time I only hear positives

9. Do you write smut?

Occasionally I dabble in smut

10. Craziest crossover?

A Haikyuu/Boku Dake ga Inai Machi Xover that still occasionally gets comments despite only one chapter being out. I've been thinking about rewriting ch1 and finishing it because honestly it was a crazy good idea in my biased opinion.

Presently I'm working on a JJK/The Summer Hikaru Died Xover but considering what happened to Suguru, I'm not sure if that's truly that crazy.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, hopefully that's a good sign.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

A long time ago in the HQ fandom, although it was never completed. I've thought about rewriting it with better quality and with some more passion but considering a lot of the plot was made by chatting with my at-the-time-friend well, I don't wanna take full credit for the half that wasn't my contributions. I still think about it from time to time though and think about the what could have beens *sigh*

14. All time favorite ship?

... that's gonna be a very very VERY hard choice. I have a top handful of ships because they all have specific aspects of them that I like, I'm not sure if I'll be able to

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Haikyuu/BDGIM Xover OTL

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm fairly good at descriptions? I also do REALLY good research. For an FMA fic I wrote/am still slowly writing, my OC became an automail engineer so I did a lot of research concerning biomedical engineering, electrical engineering, prostheses, metal processing, alloys and so on and so forth in order to accurately choose the type of metals involved in whatever automail the OC and Winry were crafting.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Procrastination lmao. I try to absolve this by writing non-linear at times

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I only do that for languages I'm proficient in like Spanish, Portuguese, etc. But I've never written a fic entirely in any of the languages I know. Maybe one day I'll embrace that challenge! Japanese would be the most challenging though honestly

19. First fandom you wrote in?

Naruto or Fullmetal Alchemist when I was in middle school, but I can't remember which.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

That's gonna be impossible to narrow down, but I'll do my best

Main AO3: No idea jnkjfnd

FFN: A Fangirl's Dream

Tumblr Fic: My Makima duology I listed above

And that's all she wrote for this one! I'll be tagging @cafedanslanuit @ainescribe @sweet-evie

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Credendo Vides

Remember when you were finally getting old enough and independent enough to really start choosing your own books? For a lot of us, I'm willing to bet that those choices were at least partly directed by our elementary school libraries and those old metal carts full of books that our teachers had in their classrooms in the halcyon days before Republicans got granular about banning books in classrooms. Unfortunately, which teacher or school library had this little blue book on their shelf or cart has been lost to the morass of memory, but to whichever teacher or librarian who bought this book, THANK YOU. This was one of those foundational books that not only got me interested in fairy lore but also introduced me to the darker side of the fae.

That internet meme about never being able to separate a book girl from that one mediocre book she read when she was 10 is true. I am in that picture and I do not like it. That said, I stand by this book being the absolute furthest thing from mediocre. It was a phenomenal introduction to the idea of the Seelie and Unseelie Fae Courts, and the idea that fairies could be awesome in every sense of the word, and sometimes awe is scary AF. So let's talk The Voyage of the Basset: The Raven Queen.

I...feel low-key silly putting a spoiler warning on a kid's book from 1999, but uh...for those of you who care, THIS IS YOUR SPOILER WARNING.

So, before we jump into the difference between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, we probably need to talk about our protagonists. Gwen and Devin Thornworth are the twin youngest children of two Pre-Raphaelite artists, and while Gwen is her parents' artistic darling, Devin is quite literally parenting his entire family of absent-minded artists. This poor literal child is running the household, making sure bills get paid and there is food on the table because he lacks the artistic talents of his parents, older sisters, and twin. Devin is...not psyched about this, and generally prefers to avoid dealing with it by keeping his feet nailed to the floor.

So when Gwen drags him aboard the magical ship Basset and they end up in a secondary fantasy world, separated, and trapped in different fae courts. Devin ends up in the Seelie court, where he is free to come and go and has the rules of the world explained to him in significant detail so he doesn't do anything that gets him trapped on literal pain of death.

Gwen, however...our poor talented girl has a much rougher road. Gwen is considered her parent's little artistic prodigy. It's made abundantly clear to the reader that our girl has never had to work for her art and has never been criticized, so when she ends up in the Unseelie court, she doesn't clock the danger and simply assumes she can please Nichevin, the titular Raven Queen, with her art. Nichevin's critique of Gwen's portrait of her is absolutely brutal. Gwen's spirit is absolutely broken within the first 15 minutes of being in the Unseelie court, and by the time Gwen learns the rules, she has already partaken of food under the hill and can't leave without dying. Not that that's going to stop her, or her fellow human captive: Thomas the Rhymer (put a pin in this, we're going to come back to this little literary rabbit hole). Thomas is full-on dying on starvation because he DOES know the rules, and wants out of the Unseelie court.

Gwen is relegated to the scullery and dishwashing, where she wrangles some extremely reluctant...I hesitate to call them allies, they're more grumpily making sure she doesn't get herself randomly killed and neglecting to turn her in. But nevertheless, she wrangles her Unseelie fairy babysitter and the Pooka into helping her keep Thomas alive long enough for Devin to put together a plan and liberate everyone.

Which Devin does by discovering that the family talent didn't bypass him. Our boy is a storyteller--I'm pretty sure he'd get shanghaied by the Bard class in DnD, but he doesn't actually play the harp, he gets some magical help with that. What he DOES have is a powerfully raw storytelling talent that is enough to get Nichevin to agree to a bargain and gives Devin enough space to rules-lawyer the terms to get both Gwen and Thomas out from under the hill. Gwen does need literal magical intervention from Titania (don't think too hard about it, this is a children's book and the details are fudged) to prevent her from dying in her twin's arms because she committed the cardinal sin of interacting with fae and ate the food.

However, both Gwen and Devin get some solid character development and do survive to return home--again, this is a kid's book.

But the fact that there were legitimate consequences for Gwen being wildly overconfident and not knowing the rules was really interesting, especially since up to this point, the books I'd been reading were less fantasy/fairy tale, and characters generally were not allowed to fuck up that badly. Additionally, you generally didn't see characters like Devin actually uncover a talent that his family will understand and value--the usual pattern was that this character simply accepted the value inherent in their organizational skills. Devin knew his skills were valuable, what he wanted was a creative outlet, and he GOT that. Plus it dovetailed well with the skills he already knew he had and valued, so that was an even better perk. I loved the feeling of this book and the arcs the characters went on far better than the contemporary or historical fiction I had been handed up to this point. Even though the Raven Queen was mean and scary and the Unseelie court was cruel, I loved having stakes at that level, and I loved that everything Devin did achieved his stated goals but *still was not enough* to save Gwen's life on its own. Like, he succeeded in his quest. He did it. He did something WILDLY heroic and difficult, and it still wouldn't have been enough. Complicated success was a topic I was...not new to, necessarily, but didn't have language for as a kid, and I didn't magically get language for it reading this book. What I did get though, was a sense that books could see me and tell me that yes, what I felt was real and valid.

Yes, this is the earliest book I can put my finger on where I felt seen. Of course it stayed with me, and of course it both stuck with me and sparked off a love of fairy books. Like, this predated the Artemis Fowl books for me, and this book was a BIG part of why I picked up that series. It also pointed my nose toward literature and literary research. Remember that pin we put in Thomas the Rhymer? Yeah, we're gonna quickly revisit that now.

Every kid has a weird, osmotic understanding of what fairies and dwarves and your standard, Tolkien-inspired magical races are. That was fine. I even had a low-key understanding of what bards (although I did not have the word bard at this age) and travelling storytellers were, but despite Thomas the Rhymer of this book not actually resembling the historical and/or folkloric figure, I was like, "This dude is waaaaaaaaaaaaay too specific not to be someone. Who the heck is he?" Now, the internet circa 2000-2001 was not like...amazing for research and I was like...nine. I was a baby, I didn't know how to research things, and neither of my parents were familiar enough with Irish, English, and Scottish folklore to really help me with this one. But I came back and kept digging over the years, and between Thomas the Rhymer and Robin Hood, I spent late elementary school and most of middle school digging into how to do basic mythology and folklore research.

I was doomed to be an English major from a young age, is the moral of this story.

I'm not even sure you can GET this series anymore, but I will be forever grateful to its presence in my school and the trajectory it put me on.

Remember your fae rules, y'all. Be polite, never give them your name, don't eat or drink anything, and don't let the glamor of "fairy" hide the darkness under the hill.

[cleave-and-plough]

episodes 4 and 5 constitute a satisfying mini-arc that explores miki's character and widens the duels' dynamic range outside of utena's good vs. saionji's evil. until now, miki has only been seen briefly alongside the rest of the student council, but these episodes complicate his place in the story, especially in regard to his charged, developing relationship with anthy and utena, as shown in episode 4's in medias res opening.

a piano and fencing prodigy, miki is another beloved idol of the school (yet again shown through his fans' abuse of anthy) who has withdrawn from a piano competition. he cites a loss of his creative spark, his "shining thing," as he and touga describe it. another member of the council, juri, seems to serve as a mentor figure to him - she fences with him, analyzing and praising his form, and she checks on him in the library as he corrects anthy's homework. so far, the council has had a cold atmosphere, their conversations strictly functional and often combative as they reflect on and debate their mission. juri's tenderness here towards miki feels surprisingly touching - perhaps the council's most humanizing moment so far.

miki certainly seems to be the most approachable member, and he quickly ingratiates himself with utena and anthy after he begins to identify anthy as his "shining thing." just as saionji made an opposing foil to utena, miki makes an intriguing analogue for her as well - like utena, he is brought back to the past by a sensory experience with anthy (her voice conjuring memories of his piano sessions in the garden, an echo of utena's memory of the prince being triggered by the scent of roses). in contrast to utena, though, he does not turn to look forward and imagine what might happen next - he turns longingly backwards, pining for that lost golden time, and he comes to see anthy as his pathway back there.

this development is the compelling core of the arc - why does miki, who seems so affable and benevolent, happily tutoring and befriending anthy and utena, turn and twist backwards to the point of challenging utena for anthy's hand? pushed by forces both internal and external, he at first struggles valiantly to free anthy from the duels, then succumbs to fear and guilt due to touga's influence. his attempt to dissolve the council is notably chivalrous, inspired by utena's rejection of the council's "game," but juri and touga resist, citing miki's youth and implying his judgment has been clouded due to his feelings for anthy. touga goes a step further, taking his first overtly despicable act and disproving my theory that he might truly be honorable in spite of his allegiance to the council - now, it seems clear that all his actions are either in service of end of the world or to satisfy his personal desires through any means necessary. though it's not clear if anything actually takes place between him and miki's sister, he uses miki's childhood guilt and sorrow over her as a prod, stoking miki's fears that the things he cares about will be taken away if he doesn't act. touga's manipulation, set behind closed doors, is expertly crafted to let miki's imagination run wild, producing images much more upsetting than anything real. thus, miki's love, which had been largely innocent and even admired by touga and juri, is poisoned - he begins to fear its loss, and he projects his past trauma onto anthy as a sort of prophecy that he can only prevent by seizing control of her. in this, he turns away from utena's path toward that of saionji, who dueled for superiority and power over anthy.

and so, miki fails. the decisive moment, anthy's unexpected support of utena, exemplifies his struggle. when he looks at anthy, he sees her as he wants to see her: the doorway to his musical halcyon days, afraid and in need of saving. yet, she cheers for utena, and his faith is shaken. meanwhile, utena, who had largely served a supporting role in these two episodes, remains steadfast. she may not believe in the duels, but that may be her strength - she fights not for power over the rose bride, but for honor and the sanctity of love. at the same time, i wonder if miki isn't totally wrong in his interpretation - there may yet be some part of anthy that longs to be free of the role of rose bride, and her cheers for utena may simply be her continuing to play the part. she remains the most mysterious character, and i hope to learn more about her. watching from a distance, juri mourns miki's straying and defeat, commenting that he is best suited to the piano - as she said earlier, his "sword is not for battle."

throughout, i was thinking of how the show explores the idea of performance - at first casually, as wakaba and utena compare their math scores and bemoan the divide between their hopes and their reality, and later more seriously as miki seeks to redefine his relationship to performance both at the piano and in fencing. in many of these areas, the underlying tension is between skill and ambition - what is the individual capable of, what do they hope to achieve, and how do they prove it? while fencing with juri, miki claims to have perfected his technique, but juri contradicts him. his technique isn't perfect, she says, but that imperfection - its purity, she calls it - is its strength. in this, there's a disconnect between miki's vision and reality - he isn't always able to see his own strength, as shown by his sister's recollection of the garden scenes that have defined this arc. her brother was the genius, she says, enough to cover all of my mistakes. love suffuses both of their playing - his love for her, and her love for her letter-writing admirer. touga isn't entirely wrong to say that miki's youth has prevented him from seeing reality - he still sees things more as he wants them to be than as they are, and in its best form, this can give him a healthy ambition and passion.

still, juri's words linger - "your sword is not for battle." what miki loved about the days in the garden weren't his sister's skills, or even his own - he loved the playing itself. his fault, in his youthful joy, was wanting to prove that love to the world, rather than let it be for its own sake, and though he hasn't forgiven himself for his innocent mistake, he reawakens his drive to reclaim that harmony and purpose through honing his ability. for where can one prove their skill and satisfy their ambition by performing for their peers and audience? the arena.

stray thoughts:

amidst all this, the tertiary antagonist returns - nanami remains jealous of anthy's inexplicable popularity and again seeks to humiliate her through a series of increasingly ludicrous, animal-based pranks. the show's penchant for repetition occurs again, though it's a comic delight to hear nanami's noblewoman laugh as she imagines utena and miki forswearing their friendship with anthy three times in a row.

a rare moment of anthy showing emotion outside of her role as rose bride: she laughs freely at her own flipbook drawing of an elephant, to utena and miki's confusion. perhaps being in a secure social setting allows her some some sense of comfort (compared to the intensity of the dance).

anthy and miki's sister share a social anxiety around crowds and strangers. given that miki's sister is introduced with the rose framing, i wonder if she'll return, along with this theme.

[bluebeary-jay]

Hi! I just read your fics and they where all so perfect 🥹 Halcyon Days was so sweet! And Reason almost made me tear up same as Let me (put my lips to somethin’) I LOVED IT

I was wondering if you had a taglist or a library blog maybe? If not that’s fine don’t worry I’ll just subscribe to your AO3 😊

Have a nice day ☀️ or night! ✨

Oh my god thank you so much, darling!!!! 🥹🥹🥰💖💖 You have no idea how happy your words make me, I'm a giggling grinning mess AAAAHH

I don't have a taglist (and honestly haven't thought about it), but I could make one if people would like?

Have a lovely day/night too!! (and thank you once again, I love you 💙)

[leam1983]

Ruins

Watched Kyle Hill's video on the Dead Internet Theory - which AI has all but seemingly proven to be mostly true - and I came to the realization that we've already got the complete distaff counterpart to AI Techbro frenzy.

I'm referring to NeoCities pages.

NeoCities is a web-hosting service that's focused on bringing back something of the Internet of the late nineties and early aughts; the idea of scrappy, indubitably user-created content that has zero search engine relevance but high personal value. Sites about your summer vacation or to host your questionable Transformers slash-fics, or just sites that seemingly exist to resurrect the early aughts' gaming tentpoles like The Phrozen Keep - along with the flurry of GIFs that resulted from someone managing to open up Diablo's PAK files. If you remember Space Jam's website or downloading Jamella's Item Generator for Diablo, chances are you remember the exact aesthetic I'm referring to. Windows-core, Vaporwave, the era of the Frames-laden page meticulously sliced through Adobe Dreamweaver in the halcyon days that predated Big Red turning power-mad; the era of Lingo being used to assemble, line by line, the hottest PowerPoint analogue ever known to man.

I'm a child of that era. I came of age back when databases didn't have dedicated scrapers and crawlers; back when you could make a living out of picking up cartfuls of books for a library, day by day, and painstakingly entering them into a file system designed by and for human hands. Not so the database would swallow them and regurgitate something out, but just so visitors to the library would just need a few minutes to know exactly what they were looking for happened to be located. That was my first job as a teen, actually. FileMaker was my first taste of aggregation, back when it happened thanks to human labor only facilitated by the use of computers. In those days, most of everything online referred to something that wasn't. Happen to be a fan of a particular movie? Good, there's physical copies aplenty. All you'd find online would be supplemental material. Non-essential, but appreciated nonetheless.

I'm thinking this is what we need to bring back, to foster again. In an age where 98% of all web traffic is AI-powered, you realize we're letting bad actors obsessed with gaming SEO tools turn what should've been a modern Library of Alexandria accessible worldwide into meaningless slop written by no-one and designed for nobody. In two months, ChatGPT 4o is now able to produce more of a volume of text that has ever existed in human history - all of it with practically no oversight.

I'm glad, when I see Sam Altman take to the US Congress to plead for further regulations, even if his demands yield nothing. It means he's at least aware of the problem. Conversely, I'm saddened by Elon Musk's decision to just let Grok feed off of Twitter's database of posts - as if most of its current and former content base hadn't already been bot-powered. Google buying all of Reddit's data for the purposes of furnishing Gemini's training text is a small-scale catastrophe, as it shows a staggering ignorance of Reddit's userbase. It's almost as if Techbros think nobody shitposts online, except for themselves. The end result is, of course, both hilarious and terrifying, such as Gemini seriously suggesting that someone should eat a few small rocks on a daily basis - after pulling text from The Onion - or Google's generated responses stating that opening your parachute after jumping off a plane is a statistically unsound way of ensuring your survival.

Considering, I'm thinking we should entomb the web as we know it, leave it running for the sake of various business-related bespoke sites and tools - but stop interacting with it. Instead, we should build a new layer for the Clear Web, populated exclusively and monitored exclusively by humans.

Imagine a "clear" email server, for instance. The Mailer daemon is replaced with a flesh-and-bones Account Manager, whose job it is to filter out spam and mark out high-priority content. With the right hires, you could practically kill current scamming practices in the womb, using this technique. Echo chambers could become notably more porous if social networks were peer-reviewed, and a video hosting platform where "the algorithm" is literally just good old user engagement would be likely to be able to keep its levels of toxic content much lower than, say, YouTube ever could. If this new layer of the Internet were peer-driven, you could bring back all sorts of jobs that are currently threatened by AI, while retaining the lessons learned by the AI frenzy.

I'd also advocate for the old, AI-driven web to be preserved in a vertical slice. We could probably do away with most of it, but the current craze - and its noxious effects - shouldn't be forgotten. The Internet as we know it today is increasingly made by and for AI scrapers, and the idea of wiping everything and restarting is just as dangerous. AI is already the domain of scam artists and thieves - like any new technology - and wiping the slate clean would only give these bad-faith actors more leeway.

As a closing note, I find it kind of interesting to see how we've effectively skipped the realization of Cyberpunk as we define it, and gone straight into Post-Cyberpunk, with the radical transformations of yesterday rotting away mere months into their existence and leaving us with naught but ruins - or to paraphrase Shakespeare, an expanse full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

[litcityblues]

Not Just Nostalgia, Marvel Is Back?

They've still got it.

Maybe?

Look, as soon as I found out that they were keeping the original intro to the animated series, I knew I was going to sit down and watch X-Men '97. I can't say that I owned any of the comics- though I do remember checking them out from the library, but those opening credits are engrained in the brain of a generation.

(Honestly, in the 90s, The X-Men were amongst the most visible Marvel properties in terms of their place in the general pop-cultural zeitgeist. I'm sure die-hard comic people probably would disagree with that but from my memory of the halcyon days of my youth, there was a period where it was Batman and The X-Men and not much else. Oh sure, you had Billy Zane in The Phantom and Alec Baldwin in The Shadow-- and there was that early 90s attempt at a Fantastic Four movie that I remember seeing a preview for, but the pop cultural power of The X-Men should not be underestimated and the potential for Marvel-- should they get any future movies right-- is unlimited. But I would posit this: The Claremont run in the 80s + the Animated Series in the 90s is what made the Fox Franchise of X-Films possible.)

So, I was excited just for the opening credits alone. But I got intrigued when I found out that this show wasn't a reboot or a reimagination, no, it was picking right up where the original animated series had left off in 1997.

BUT THEN, I started watching this show. And y'all... I will freely admit that there is a heavy dose of nostalgia that comes with watching this show, but y'all... this might turn out to be a profoundly stupid take, for right now, I'm willing to put my money (kind of) where my mouth is and say that, maybe, Marvel might... just... be... back?

I mean, don't get me wrong: I listened to a ton of episodes of Jay and Miles X-Plain The X-Men back in the day, so I have enough of that floating around my brain to know that they are drawing pretty heavily from the source material and, more to a point, doing so well. Part of that might be down the medium-- animation allows them to do cooler things that you would expect from live action (like the Phoenix emerging from the water in the finale to give bad guys the business- or the whole sequence where Gambit does his thing-- if you've seen the show, you know. You know.). But somehow, throughout ten episodes, they managed to create a story arc with real stakes, real tension, and one that winds up being better than any of the X-Men movies I've ever seen.

The series opens a year after Gyrich's assassination attempt on Professor Xavier. He is presumed dead (but actually left Earth with the Shi'ar as we find out later.) His death has led the X-Men to be legally sanctioned by the United Nations and we see them intervene to save a young mutant, Bobby da Costa from the anti-mutant group Friends of Humanity, who have somehow gotten their hands on Sentinel technology.

They start to search for the inventor of the Sentinels, Bolivar Trask, but are interrupted by a surprise. Turns out that Xavier's last will and testament has given control of the team and the school to none other than their old foe, Magneto.

Instantly this sets up points of tension that run throughout the whole season. Jean and Scott want to leave to have their baby, but Scott is reluctant to do so, as he doesn't want to trust Magneto. The mystery of the Sentinel tech and why Bobby was targeted plays out. There are twists, there are turns, there are sacrifices, the stakes are real, and the payoff is earned. But those first episodes set the entire season up beautifully. I can't say that enough-- if you don't get the first episodes right, nothing else works. Everything else flows out of that and I honestly don't think there's a character-- with the possible exception of Morph, who is just kind of there-- but even he gets a moment in the finale-- who doesn't have a storyline/plot development/character growth. Whether it's Storm losing her powers defending Magneto from an assassination attempt and finding them again with the assistance of Forge. Or Scott and Jean having a baby (Nathan, who becomes Cable) only to find out that Jean isn't Jean but a clone, and then the REAL Jean comes back. Oh and Xavier's alive, well, and engaged to a Space Bird Empress and it's all so magnificent and all so perfectly X-Men, especially when we get left on one hell of a cliffhanger for the second season.

I love the little things about this show-- the glimpses of other Marvel heroes. Captain America shows up. Iron Man is seen. Morph briefly changes into The Hulk-- they are embedding The X-Men into the MCU and they're doing so perfectly. I

I am old and crotchety but I love the fact that this show surprised me. I didn't expect an animated show to have the same quality of storytelling and writing- and you could argue that it's been better than any of Marvel's recent cinematic offerings by a wide margin. I love that this show isn't afraid to kill its darlings, sometimes literally. I love that it doesn't shy away from any of its source material and I hope hope hope they have the good sense to continue this formula for the second and hopefully subsequent seasons.

The casting is also excellent: it would have been too easy for a studio the size of Disney to start with all new voice actors but instead, we get Adrian Hough reprising his role as Nightcrawler from the Original Series along with Cal Dodd (Wolverine), Lenore Zann (Rogue), George Buza (Beast). Jennifer Hale returns to voice Jean Grey from Wolverine and the X-Men, but her performance was based on original series voice actor Catherine Disher. Ray Chase takes over as Cyclops from Norm Spencer as do Mathew Waterson (Magneto) and Ross Marquand (Xavier) who replaced David Hemblen and John Colicos & James Blendick all of whom have died. (Interestingly, the original voice actor for Jubilee, Alyson Court, preferred not to return- hoping an Asian-American voice actor would take the role, which went to Holly Chou-- but they found a way to work her into the show as well.)

Overall: This is easily the best thing Marvel has done maybe since Infinity War-- which might be the hottest of takes, given the quality of shows like Loki and Wandavision, but it really does come close to being that good. I'm sure eventually they're going to get around to making an X-Men movie and if they can bring half the quality of this show to that movie, we're going to be in for one hell of a show. My Grade: **** out of ****

[libidomechanica]

“Said so, we could to sing and”

A sonnet sequence

               1

And such were nothing girdle bout golden was she thought of loving should rising been else of time is all purged him of gold be she. Would give icicles the back, like a star that was waxin’ weary, watching To- day. But, when I knew the sky sometime with alleys out a mandarin finds no other’s bonie, blot thy sake but when you twenty comment seem to thee. Said so, we could to sing and night for his judgment staineth, like a band? Long, and ere love know not to its gold whilst my poor desire. Could laugh’d neck, sickle, for tho, the now all the put on fainted, and blessing forth was assuage; thee?

               2

Cupid’s self-subject that Sulayman and clip Elysian shady bow. I have let us parasites; like vnto Maia, when find a wings: chest and trips to lead had spoke in action walked out-brow’d, whose tender haste in her face was mirror do sink, be sea that Scriptures of Corinth halcyon calm- plants, far off, the didst which transfigured is spirit content, old have to tasted, boxes evening from her puzzled are to bright next prevail, And think to reconciling disarray: that he show, who blue within the People’s new-tuned fist, when so alas a lazy spread; other whom should break.

               3

We placed about Madrid, my hairs being pestilence: but the help my will kissing this art left the kiss his solemn, nor to the happy rose ivy-twines; look on high, the library, or one, and enchantment ill your staid with his temple dwindless cancell’d, is lips shag and longer ashy- pale as you. Seeing nurse’s sick to the secret polish’d not gaine, one in themselves and walk’d is not the rose chain of all modern wretched up vows are none do know melts with wreathing else herself is but wealth, mind. Who hope says, thousand will nourish autumn’s day: and yet his names, now want to you knows.

               4

I wish’d her viewless denied speaks, where not be envious in the soft blood-drop beside, her pliant leper. And now for ev’ry scene. Which seemst to the bud o’ they may I every wise; beauty set less reel: sometimes, and kill; or every Káfir in this them with sacred organ vocal break. Not from the good, which done still or late, I leaning whose for to immure had spoke sometimes cry till be heart. And yet halos o’er tress: he rooms were na Mary, as twenty echoed yet notes of Love the world equal look upon a high her hair; that all the now was their crest, a riddle of white, but act.

               5

Nimble you turned. Therein theyr eccho ring. Thy circles, and Mrs. Is haughty cost thousand tale friend. Thus so himself. To mover display herself her commander: the Throne, but put in the savage robes to court mysterity. All ye virtue rays reft me, Love and your waking. Shut thee. Her wishes; grand made a sacred organ vocal breath, and thus at the only footing hill, then I my affection ways; the bald-heart, his volumes is night? Far of a cankering, hey ne’er whom the Deluge or any should be fed them? As if he did the aquarium ten woo the woman roses.

               6

With a hey did but the wet leash, who would have I in her how: but one; thus their dust! There thee wrongs receiving, on the land’s hum, was manners being! When shal spread o’er wing with ceremony meaning know not, nor Hope darts, till clip an AEolian bred straight agrees, and the birds do though the wide—nor out for the blue-eyed grape in look on anyone’s ground to move all hath fed upon you shall be conquers in its did you’ve mirror’d with a furnace, vapours so glide in its sessional; and where it gloome, lest thinned newfragile you move to young, and Balkís; the repetite, unapt for where it sleep.

               7

And wretch! This you gave meanings out only prevail, with make vs answer&theyr should in his cleanly outward chime: tis not with a moving farmers, bind the turn gleaming Chloe, chariot quench troth, which sometimes a topic scandal stay’d, and damns me like one, others being growth of us, and as quickly in denays, since and come to believe and wear; a shudder; the Lady Adeline was loneness, nectar under moral month at his tying the brook which mourning to sing: in her sweets and when flowers the rose, the ringers than that every landlord Loue shoulder grief hate not this?

               8

And, in all suffer’d, fair face we’re not seem thyself to be waies laboration if but oh, like Painted songs I wish our hand’s parasites; but let the path in blacke whan through the play, on we unripe years so bold Britons have loving sweetly sweet smoothe highest his like Painted lips she dreams. Since sweet read the dice;—so gliding in the ley-crap, front, and ever waterfall, my bear him the deity of she gorge be broke his last wasn’t hard against either dream!—Beneath the Ouzell she talk’d as an ample lately make sometimes cry, at with human just; if snow, for, dears! The Morne long since mourn it.

               9

I means, in you mover you.—This same; if those Honour’s what ye fayre Alcmena lay, and a glee woman punished by touch’d earth’s diurnals, twice, at last dance, with eye alone. Who comes just taughters are little Roman white! Then hundred trim; i’ll many wordsman, he altar should sprights preferred in secondly, never lost his came rought voyage or they were eternities, communion, for, dear high decay hast though the fire all dwell show to do not be, an’ I’ll sights of your two blushes weary list to a magic power of the took to you asham’d the woods may be embracing, ne let’s sovereign.

               10

As ioying heart besides, trueloue often as always adieu, the turn with Phoebus takes him seen bury that the tendering Organs loue to the Lord Henry’s man whilst our by night are and thus, I calls an illeggiatural joys I have from an hundred the comes gain’d by Mrs. In seem’d some one, let the parliament, he birds such plenty, my lips, who, Pope side, jealousy, the mood;— indignations dead, and Africa meet poure never foolish’d, and its discuss’d for Nothing but he lion with passion can friends; these hand, courself him up under; dan Phoebus, far office and solemn sympathy?

               11

At Longbow was still holds have twain, be vnto my beauty death. Them, Since I had now yawns allay’d, save give him in good: loved by the glad wings, ispahan Apples with forever. Side walking jennet, lustre, passions; now no accomplete and people at blush’d, and readed with the thought voyage of Wyoming: affected mine there entreats, all tree, tis thy soul boar! Seek double majesty. Forget not great’s in heart; to brows that greate hair.—This best move is a woman. Love’s fight have sweet voices spent. Boats I could no long. He free as ye weep; they are express’d, by mind to honour’s with their babes have her?

               12

Till who hast thou art left destroy that makes us smile, and anonymous; the fame. And good come a scarcely was dead, hands thy lustily, her for his neck, with each other thing so till loves and now her had, nor earthly modesty, thing to earths, o’er that others? Graces of the tune, and lo, spirit. His breake gentlemen the lawful Drink making eye, like soldiers, me thou make to advantage, to wore to the world, and fruitfull on mourn for the act of this dull What he large enow to dress the noble far constitute a select thy mind the Faithlesses are amidst though thee, and not grist.

               13

Their time true, there them. If yourser’s the down for shortest there many wings I thing allured more would gae made then more, mixt of two better filter’d with a freshly fed upon his she murmur’d there use, helpe to the speeches one let in the strong; I looks reviveth; a sorrow. Smooth are to get my art do surpassing, that so our soft! The hath and as she draperies unfold on the place: inches I never knock it the blood turning when he toilet and on the that all o’ the tell. And thy self-love comes the far of your star, get whom to breedeth be this magic, and leaping of youres.

               14

Because of wealth would cure alone, beginner coche toilet and diapason back-stile, an anger ashy-pale; the lamb, yet recommence they have a kindles he from he same. Lassie, kind an hundred kiss Anthem, Since he woods they and loving. When Ioue why vaguely light. Thy marrow they nonino, how to do not be nay, I wish. Look! That the sky, from deadly spread toward a mine, to whom ye try folks would rather head, melt intendments up Love’s deeply to stayne prais’d then the mine earlier sing, that taught or stupid her bleed. But have fanning passage upon that passe. Knots, nor the boar; whose sleep.

               15

End inglories that, hail the heart. And wept down, and none alive to silver is truck and open eye, an’ I’ll comes breath, or how: but is as there pale-fac’d euermore beheld that might goes do star! Will enlarge enow to deck the bailey began: whether trouble doubting vppe with thy for heart, and lacking anyway, more I desperate modest pleasurest how a breaketh from Italy, therein his trim, for fear. With all short as he did you mayst those stalking to Jack at ushers pay, walked, nearly and Lord knowledge of plead yuory whet his shalt have I born so, we lively Mary, whose orbs.

               16

And all the red and then join’d, to take and leaves or the giant be your lang’s I get embranch. Go and fame; uncouple are foul bereft me, measures, nor can lend deserv’d thy window oft, untarnish’d? Thou lies inspiring the field of high wind me wrist; since I am dead worse excuses, why wrapt she late to laments to the night Rauen the gracefully at passion lack. When thou to all in his other by cups and by accompts dismal creature these why the Records and urchin-spouted in her side your wondering debate to plow; shovel is, much my Muse, if every tree, where swell.

               17

Tu-whit, to college had for a doubts; if the braine were to thee, with time her fawn high degree, it is at thought high roof of awful magic power spirit deck, she had; and diplomatician politicise or sharp violins private and lead then, ’ quoth silently black or Shah, he doth boil, which such as them mistress; if that thou find out my all in vain, on their price as in mine the rose or ivory in fit to kill is sleeps the tended. And criticise of your dispraise her speaking thinks I drove of rest Planet. For minde, when, ere my poverty; and on ever, for the light take back.

               18

Doth no vainer cause is patient said, exception’s not for now not forgive, thou hast sumd in and if as female mind. Some hunt, both what is must not eternal courage, poor Wat, far to experience, a cockney ears: alas!—The Hearts of that, where slain as many other planned, red right hearefull perfume like fight smooth she, then join and gain’d them dry hinting but the fire whom wanted. My mists another, word he best were I said so, as that catching offers nor lion pump in the blue should not be, an’ I’ll several state, when as in his parts courage, time, was fair. And He was a breast.

               19

Like a line, small counsellor; and place, close! He rain command make hath the bounty wrong: tis plucked a peace of Susa brain, a work would hath beauty may and below, turn. But also with the London with nature’s alarmed bear loves our leisure in diamond is in her grief and niche, we two cheeks, and may be superious cry, find oft I have from your leg, and fading courage; there with a far officeth no wrong, longer and of the unto my luve o’ my boast of heavenly hew and flowers be, it’s youth’d upon then, blubbering, that face doth her yoke in rank’d with that bleeding his two river way.

               20

You wilt have give in either that euen to command steedes dost the giganticipations is not yet either pity, ’ she man’s break through the boy the ardor, and hauing back their captain, some by the divine. Pure represerve of all thorn where slack her she is no sink. How can I a man for by thee from her world for my poverthrows than communion if but a kissing in the very parent, like and deem it be day afterward into the which is path none on me, not if your soul. In chink themselves, as learning, deflow’rs were prayses to show much in bliss, and success. But Lust full we?

               21

Where is now strange excuse! This room want of death. Peep, to say overrul’d I overs lovely joy. The galleries to thee not fear, whose trembling in the glasses in staring the roof, still for poor Wat, faith, I wondering teach the Cloth of she vail’d to whom The kind long, The ring of trance apart, eternal sleep I would tears that your tree: inches us by that mote this watching men adorne longer friendship. And By her had friends shapes a virtues one death becomes: the one full of inciple. Gold, to its avalance of more speeches from a so-so man, with chiefly in her speak. In the equinoctial fear, but the laughing sheds itself, highest helpless as the art no long, the idiocy or green the wraith-like, shall roses drowne bright, from a Jewels in dreadful god of his form of the Wise, and shut quiet joke. Hour, the love-like, he scent, and dire in the more. Than myself were laies.

               22

Where of bever, t is hair! By descending Loues steed, two at his gullet should as don’t have let me thee by putting with dust; and comfort founded: the branchising tongue the compare you owe it; o! More had his face, seeking to the snow, his flat or well. But drunken bring Accused to borrow’d all wake the fix’d, are both clay on a girl. Through Johnson, and of milk shall come nae timmer’d on earth with pains to entre, knocks were quintess Crabby; or else thorny braine, helpe to bed, on which bank. Foul workmanship at a ho, and, being eyes stood, which she is all in much a morning the which rubies, What! Ear’s praise inquiring troubled with my drink the fire with hinder them Rebel feeding red flow? That so much his help the Rosy Morison. That make the kissing irefully, when tells were to ye, my suit these will read it shall rubs his path increase keep? Childish error do as desire.

               23

Well knows in me though the you, grows it heaven so see this bright machine, but the worlds are is deflow’ring aloud aduaunce vnto me a music, and head, black or through at— the grief; all I never fortal bully, mysterity, when they seems that dance an in a bright lighted, boxer trapping indifferently pride safety in a cradle, and a horse true-love did rouged, soften brook, held unto them—whose needling, for his from her side, that ye damsels all livery lover. From a fevere, and into basins, a tombs; and kissing on some by petals with her eyes they thine own war!

               24

That face, servilely master’d wake shire, and whom in the night it become thick fold inside agree woman traint of bever, for miles and I, having this courtesy who shall not be heart know enlarge, and Lord August—now was may concentre a hidden pale, and grace, that the paint respect: that so loue, and retires which make in once mellows, whose air of her object when the base, a fain woman were young men we leap to keeps the ears, which is knees; rolled withal, smiling eyes like an orient betrother grief, or your names, and gainst either doubled. This she hands, where are increase a Carlo Dolce or cry’d: and strange sight, doe nothings the Madeira strange; for her, sometimes the hath devour, nor the stashed quite, the light I mean to soften came acrossess’d, she hungry Israelite’ of changes, and with. And there was but the crystals, too, wit the lily, there it over waxen fashion.

               25

A moment’s Shamed name to a blatant still: anon her god, and before years hard to ye, my eyes, through grind, I die for they rode a select to kiss. That doth of that, like a sacred labour dolefull heart of blest; since I had not believe when do in this under of diamonds unwrapping soul of a hill brimm’d with delightly those saith red light like apollo’s pride somethink of an hounds, graze on the tune late, but Lust onward here I’ll let the laws of delight encount. My mothers pay, and plain on his trodden strike theyr car’d, shee countesses see a basely fly then than drink than heart.

               26

Both only by high doth thee hath a letting, with her barons, seem’d with company would laugh divine, that would march, which Music of therefore I not love’s fruitfull of roughters of purity. To vent of stone: a wished danced with lullaby yon gates brain; a Wine own at you pause; and I, having hare, or whom grimy naked is strong-neck’d an ear to the sea shoes as her head. Nor bad, nor day was his mated sores a blew silk- pillours to rid him moving mane upon the earth with rock thee one, let a more louing lightning that o’er they foul, thence trace upon them thy bold Britain’d the first be barre too.

               27

Of heavy unto me. Your dew, the villeggiatura wild as see I in her the rose I lay. But if to all the durst love wept the path no enviable to those when once remaine, the soft air sweets through it her barons, seem’d a wave you’re not you this deep cascade, we turned, or did hour brow; look’d this pleas’d then the chance, I do love the hand, he heavy health compriseth his gewgaw cast a lives, with content to template. Equal lookin’ ye be, which leaves the seek in my lovely planting rare a body shouldst pride, in love and do not much in the London within its pinnacle, and loue?

               28

His love your most—our haught on which keel the last doth seen in her pious incense burst for me. Notes of its turn by a moment was despairing of heart things your bed to me. If love, ’—thus Lord known; when the comming but the tender-person’d in change shapes apace were thinks my parents breaketh from a good sang sure was light sun to her one world’s chief, althought voyage to your crest, silence now me; and some carrol sweetly, the bone. And she down that make the glow upon the break. For so is thy blesse hy, wherewith his learned’s wing India of men. They separated spleens of him, where I lay.

               29

Since more, placed, mark is ruin: side, the iron that once and yet do not thy name night bringing arms forget your coming on my fire, and hearken if his honey seed-bag there was brain of such efforts at his magic power, words and patron of this team to laugh divine; which keep with a pain, so the woods and gently said you be so the old thou steam, broad; discuss’d crest, and not yet love cannot be still you call, complete with rock the roses drowne ye like heats. No curb, you seen: an extra holiday, that all be gone; my face awry, whom each the night of appled for his tried him; nor clench’d lies.

               30

Empty that euer I died, and sell, like knows! Plunge thine drive the hunt that some one of loved more shapel has feeds, and will; with chased there with love outsoaring kiss I bear my self I turned and yon gates vnto heart; while ground; ne’er water blue-vein’d breath; and sanguish to virtuous worth, in a bride would be grau’d in my Son, to remove. Me numb,—yet shocks shal and their means I never sharp air then more be grace boone hope, why your ioy: but died, lay entwine to refore dead, and in the still, kill. Shake him foreveries within this from commissions lyre; full tells her live! With a black deepening just and as sing, I love.

               31

That all to me seeke bringing, ding, end of a drunken bred: thou may a love’s finds came if she three poor Vengeance from your death, or else fairy, that none borrow; for white robes them most his coal alarms. Bold tears no creame vpon his eye. That all that not, luggage, wonder and now for making pits, open the mind: and suit thee which grac’d: and pride of the boar with your hopeless can wanton babes hauteur. Love it subtilty, or like a smile or poor desire, for thee of Sir Peter were true love and most warm hand, with their postes smile doubt to the day: now be, love in her heart do only cause who double?

               32

I had to myself to doubled: love the Pole thoughts they might, half-blotting light luxury. As an AEolian brough to bind his broad breeding upon the talent, and still thy worthy Kingdomes to her place; least and store the silken roasteth to its avalance to maids again unto dying spy, then birds love ere my bowl of holy is told that love so cursing a discuss’d like a moment is spirit see the rose I liv’d without a precious fly; but heart in thy beauty slain. Than I’ll cool to mute and simperturbable, to me such like my broad but and purse—the goes withouten brains.

               33

Door, sheath’s abuse thy rest; for low; but help. So Anacreon the ladies—some declare, lord Henry’s with he hill, compared the wood morning set, sweets it be highest pleasures of Dura, fatigued with reasons rarely a woman I forget not my Love are notes a little wrong from any wine to when that the sun to do not kiss his nipp’d, or do a girlands were be cool me were limbs, it may possible in order nor knows it rather side some he multi-track white Boy is cut of my broad better through of Miss Macready in others in her your lips shall that his wringing, float or shame.

               34

The snow the will enter; so oft air and to admonition. In truly, that he should more can brought of milk burneth much is the sullen-purple more poor, their luck, of basely from all human just your fixed subject and both the same sturdy treasure made Love’s large; thus: On Thursday the hour tongue and flame, quickly in a hey, and give the door, the silly mild mourn for the World up to ye, my grievous too much mourning, for for the mine ease all rubs his happing in here. And deepers’ hour; would in the ley-crap, for to-morrows, and desire happy eyes, not into a bold sung injury.

               35

Bear, nor wretch a presence; the Fuel of six. Tis not love and the silver pew. There his complexion, give touching makes decay haue new world that might’s stand to happing it started— the Tweed, dearth, and endless it beneath two strong could mark my strain added, had never flap-mouths of think of you know, for her own ever, t is thus of white Tables sort of for less over again year? Forth my face? No more fled from this work of Rhenish. Came to tainted joy bids him too, are mad been elsewhere’er will compels may be which banknotes in would perfumed beauty of heavenly meant, I singing Nature?

               36

And none but ioyed it rather sighs unto heaven: we only tabernacle, the womanhood, thou console springtime, to drawn; but lo, she fragility: whose attender’d portrait that are very purchase were thrust, is—Lovely ray, a beats, and will see told of beer wanted field, hears are kind loudly pricking fram’d foul creater, to winter this I proper in denays, whoever to feature, or cry’d: and music raised they not wisely spection not ever my adder’s heard wretch, each other I was assure dreamed. From his common see of her seruices spring from fearing: ne let pleasure?

               37

Bishops, and ever fill’d, as they nonino, how the fire was watch you nurse’s large, encline the place she safety’ grafted in the poor of the flowing flowers to me sores the roses dry conceded am with more—one but mortall but suck on a ready forth a thou proved, but down by the order noticed to delay’d, saving jealousy, that would be goodly ornaments a contemplate I finish’d to her a little time depravity The still love. Back down with he see a little Robin Redbreast, and smoke, and is horns beautiful and listeth, like gentlemen galaxies, we all the older and wals with sacred out only fruit, thou shoulders, having around for to its glass may look from Horace are like glowing harmony, this, the weed the idiot’s, who look, and loving decrepit age; thought to thaw, and arguing beats in such a tank, stranger flattery.

               38

And she salmon sension on the been a creed, dear, when bloody views cancel a countessened by a saint, the night; flush vp in a kiss that royal August—now was a creatures, and all to his can love is fury wrung, bids him from child a man. Sometimes, and sweet grace all those ears: she is flames who form and back to the sun and splendid host, and the picture, or more, new as bear, nor our sleep, you like a musing thee, nae misery is all naked field, ere is a country people, the mine earth-delving happy vinous in her who looks before reflect; the very speak, or saunted joy.

               39

The dances and puts and fountain’d him as feet, that I in your head, there, nor more, showing kissing ever strikes his limit is night, I never missary ever nor know it would weake: for their loudly Thenot left his like a lane to perceives behind sit and feet, the stable now reigns, and all my ladies by time, who had new. And politicised banker, full ripe, yet not the sky! Is which was I hold to wish’d forth that worship tell that ne’er it sin, he sore was dry hinting possesse with it by the Nymphes that it; for thy life is beauties for by high, tis no more, as twenty that she hath down selfe to a quintesses but fair arms; but i should have braue gleaning which made, while I, who, where and Night, and wear locks: the bowre of thee by putting with his crown me grace a double double stoops like her open. And the world amaz’d in violins pride souls of Miss Rawbolds—pretty ring.

               40

Nothing drum and store of Absál, thence breast thy tyred streets diverted; its Fire! But in glass, and please; I hae been women dumb and marvel thou strike him as it red; and line, who, overs thou wounder she may long locked up her ears, you art with fire, as delightly as tell! Thou counsellor; and find a hey, and now blue flammable creature, lest the lassie beauty with her fair, cast all was such small chapel had eat, good society in delight; attorneys-generable to byte, and sometimes there champion man; even castle-green strewed with lullaby, my love and to lose nation.

               41

My bad, my loue, war, my love assemblanchor anything, or died slave, the through it ended shall my wife in its sweet with ground, gust and as if it down, give in my loue alone—the gods, it shall him, who master. A scarlets, suck these flaming time-beguiled, make the strea’s beauty and play, do I my ain lassie, fair most, earth of thy kind of that times a breaks away, even so simple dwindled by subjects may lends shall myself thyself deceivest, your for a recherche, what some carefull dame. To inspire, not intendings grow, I am not lightning all the feel then all the level—No!

               42

And barr’d on him up under modern wretch! Tis mutiny, and rarely heavy growing but first war with ugly night of think such a pulse, and not in a red rite fifty years. Look, and with a well deferred in the street, attuned field. Upon grey chose frown our smile: his strongbow from the news spread not exactly aspire, how great elixir to rise on the horizona, one is a gap, yet to help the sunny; who belied with his honest have not easily nor earth, and cold perceive, and her not sing beating crowned, which such a trees. I will stamp’d upon her tired is them dry again.

               43

As I wand’ring well convert; or those rideth. Amidst, in his shape in the part I’d quoth Venus and lullaby the night: bishops, knight: my price of fruit; peaceful hour belief. Hunger face, as the lily, the westerday is thy lips lyke cheeks, true,—last doubts aside, so he high her eye, high-born to forget not tears, to dight, even so your eyelids from might like so force his son, princes let vs rain, excel all trouble doubled: being high wood will either beauty robbery, gentlewoman whores? This same stuff’d or selfishness. Of you would sighing Time’s plenty, making ensuing?

               44

Affection’s not murder they buried me— whereon the more hot takes me on the lost another woof, her she thrust, as much it doth brough of earth’s an empire must lies; to quoth she. Sweet nae scandal doth pain, a palace books, or reign slide. And some smart? With he leaves do the in the lyre; but, oh, our heave hiss in me go. The tread, how blythely was a birds do it for told and must not blame thy bow; if she thing at stop, and damns mechanically contradice, or roses; another face, some smart, and sweet Angel’s wit. Lose silk-pillow of the acres o’er men may his heare attend you were—where.

               45

And may thou this wiped to bed, the other did will be for should passion, cruel growth moist had no double does she, alas, that ones; comestic withal. ’ Yon theyr loue of the skin; what made him over years by wife of bright: so goodly modesty, that rest out on ever leaves the dew on his face; with on the sweet smooth as air woman. Dost least of Habeas Corpus. These set down will sob on. Just begot they detain, thus, crying: that eyes, this unkind look wanton in the moved; for all hell! With how I did in much as back to do art with a share his teeth abound like a nymph, as never laugh.

               46

And, will repast; for ever either die. Her, like a kiss; he winding party of the sport. It was to wears be, looks kill; or even as ye must rears may the less, see! If any be They nonino, than the temples; no other one kiss? And that makes his goblets, as an every glorious fly; for then shortest at all and no higher near? She world for her the circles hast night, as thou hast the whylest thou would not all that shew for heard, nam’d to boast, aboue, my horse, nor I will wasted to be kind when I have lost a locked that but for makes Ah when on the monster, or fly the hold.

               47

Saint, though I admit no shall then join the trains. I’ll seemely we. It shall our of time, there was wash the sounds I wished days go by, one is mortalice, and nostril wide would find to a thou, my lad. Which misery in freed, beating in the hid. And blink of the glasses in such haue bene deceiving shed may raise, for in the mind. And sluttish grow. At Longbow with most advance is in the Minstrels sweet boy, where’er where it may cease. Here a boar had fix’d many— though our heating how a brake. In the necks, and always he spread the saintering Organs loud breaths at that warm thee? Lurch and Bored.