#mh squire

[smbhax]

Cover illustration by Maud Hunt Squire

[starsofjewels]

*slides over* heyaaaa how you doin? hope your doin great:], could i possibly ask for a gregor c fic maybe a smut maybe a fluff(possibly a continuation of the fic with the kids), okkkk now bye bye love ya!!❤

Warm Embraces and Warmer Beds

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

CONTENT: SMUT (underneath cut)- dub!con, Fingering, PinV, reunion! sex- Language, vague mentions of war + blood (it’s Westeros), discussions of SW

Big Greg… You know what you’re getting in to.

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Hey my pookies. Another day, another request, more regrets. Mistakes have been made, but I will do anything for my self-indulgent fics about a big ass man who’d probably turn me into a pavement pancake if we met irl (🤤)

Anyway…

Live long, prosper… I guess.

P.S. Als at some point (over) 50 of you silly geeses decided to drop a follow, so thank you sm my babies. I love you all.

I really need a Masterlist…

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To be married to a knight- Especially one who boasts his own keep- Is something most ladies of your standing can only dream of. Most low, noble girls are thrown off to a favoured squire, to old men and their older books, who couldn’t be bothered to find themselves a wife until it was much too late. But you? You are lucky. Your husband is feared, truly feared, you have no jealous lordlings come to take your land, and no threat to you, or your boys. Gregor Clegane is a name known across the Kingdoms, and you, as sweet Lady Clegane, are his responsibility. Not even the Lannister bannermen ask for voluntary contribution when they come for the tithes. You need nothing, and you are asked for even less.

But there are always sacrifices to be made. It is part of womanhood; the men hunt and drink and fuck as they see fit, and you are left to pick up the pieces, and tend to their wounds. You have never minded, though, Gregor is a sweetheart when he returns, like a kicked puppy, demanding a hot meal and a kiss to his cuts. His duty is to guard, and yours is to nurture, that is how it has always been.

It is not uncommon for he, Tywin’s greatest weapon, to spend months away from you. He is a knight, and that is how knights serve their lords. He leaves you with everything you could need and more in his absence: control over his land, his keep and, his prized possessions, your boys. Ronan and Finny are old enough to understand their expectations as the heir, and the spare, to the Clegane household. Armed with wooden swords and a promise to protect their lady mother, and the small, pink sack of flesh they call a baby brother. Something in you is glad they still idolise their father’s profession, that their heads are still filled with the notions of saving princesses and slaying dragons.

Still, even excitable little boys grow restless after so long without their father. There is a hush over the keep, and the land, and it is almost peaceful; not that it could truly manage it, with Gregor at its helm, but it is nice to see the pheasants running about, when the men are too busy fighting to hunt them down. One runs past, chased by a kitchen cat, in turn chased by Ronan. You grab him before he can reach the animals, he has a habit of staging races, and annoying the gamekeeper with the scratches across the lawns. The boy squeals, as he always does, caught in the act.

“Mama?”

Ronan is placated with a book and one of the very old, very fat cats he has no interest in racing. The thing, titled ‘lazy arse’ by Gregor, affectionately or not, sits across your son, with the bored expression you’d expect from the child himself. He, with his pages open at an illustration of the Valyrian dragons burning each other, is enjoying himself immensely. At least, you think, his studies are partially educational.

“Mh?"

“When’s Daddy coming back?”

You sigh, looking out the window as though the mustard banners would appear at any moment. You don’t know, in truth, Gregor could be a mile away, or halfway across the world, and it wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Dead, or alive, or turned into a beast of cool flesh and ice, the distance is about the same no matter how you think about it, and double so for your boys. 

“I don’t know, sweet boy,” That’s all you can find yourself able to tell him. He looks at you, shrugs, and goes back to his book. You are glad he is not a girl, a girl would ask more questions, Ronan has always been happy with the simple. 

It is relatively calm, it always is on nights like these. Finny is beyond himself, refusing to go to bed, as always, and the babe is unreasonably fussy for no particular reason. Still, it is near surreally quiet. You do not know much about war, but you know what it sounds like, and in your world, it sounds like silence. Something in you tells you to let the boys sleep in your bed, instead of forcing them into the room the clearly do not want to go in. Finny is light, easy enough for you to lift up and plop on Gregor’s side, Ronan, with slightly more stamina, follows along beside you. 

The night has no major disasters, the babe is taken off by the nursemaids, and you wake to the sunlight streaming in through the window, you must have forgotten to pull the curtains, the staff would not have come in this early. Or perhaps they did; there is a bundle of daffodils upon your dresser, which you are certain were not there when you retired for the evening. Erra, one of your few handmaidens, enjoys making little displays, you assume she has snuck in some time before dawn to place them.

And then you hear it, those footsteps. No man alive can imitate the heavy, dull thud of them, you know it all too well. It stirs the boys, or, more likely, they were already awake, you aren’t particularly sure. You see the shadows change as the door opens, and you can recognise from the size of it alone who stands before you. 

“You awake?”

The response you give is somewhere between a hum and a groan, not quite aware enough to answer him, yet enough to know he’s there. You can hardly move, both for sleep, and the fact that Finny has clambered across your chest at some point in the night, but he still knows. He always knows.

Gregor trundles in, washed and dressed in his nightshirt. You wonder where he slept, surely not beside you, you are certain he would have woken you, or the boys, getting himself into bed. The light blocks most of his face, but he moves with such power you assume he has no injuries. If he does, he is good at hiding them. When he reaches the bed, he pulls the quilts away from you, and you make a noise of complaint for the cold, even if the day itself is reasonably warm. Gregor pulls Finny from your chest, and Ronan from your side, and lifts them up, into his arms, and you are quickly reunited with your warm blankets. You hear one of the boys stir, though unsure which, and he is shushed by Gregor as they leave. For once, they may sleep in their own beds.

Your husband, your Mountain, returns to your side, and climbs into your bed. He is as warm as he left you, and just as willing to wrap you in his embraces. You feel the urge to go back to sleep, to rest in his arms as though he had never gone in the first place, and it is wonderful.

But of course, it is never that simple.

Big hands find your sides, sliding under your nightdress and scraping your bare thighs underneath. Gregor lifts you just slightly, enough so that when he bends his legs, you sit directly upon his lap. You make some sort of noise, some demonstration of complaint, but he has never listened, and he will not start now. 

The first kiss you receive, after months of doing without, goes softly to the plumped skin of your cheek. Warm, and smooth and uncharacteristically delicate, like something you would dream of. Part of you wonders if this is, truly, a dream, as Gregor rocks you back and forth, hands seeking grip on the flat surface of the meat of your thighs. And he does not stop there, he hasn’t stopped a day in his life. 

He grazes you, cool, rugged hands taking their place against soft, fattened skin. You wonder how many nights he has spent alone with his hands in the past months, just as you have. He would never take a whore, he tells you, he can’t be bothered with the effort. But you are no whore, you are soft, and delicate, and willing. 

It doesn’t much matter if the noise you make is of protest or of enjoyment. You are tired, and growing increasingly wet, and this seems to spur him even more. 

“Missed this…”

He murmurs against your skin, pinching fingers pulling up the skirts of your nightdress, so your bare arse rests upon those heavy, muscled thighs, sharp with a thousand tiny, black hairs. It shocks you, just enough for you to register it, but not so that you are fully awake.

You feel his cock immediately, of course you do. Its length, its width. He is a big man, and he has no lack of knowledge towards its usage. Even from within the confines of his nightshirt its outline is visible, and you are almost ashamed of the sudden desire which washes over you. At any other point you would feign shame, you would blush and whimper. But here, and now, there is only so much longing you can hold back. 

Gregor’s great hands come up to caress your face, and he almost laughs,

“You’re drooling, love,” His thumb swipes at your bottom lip, and you resist the urge to bite, to show him you are in no mood for teasing, but you are certain your reward will come soon.

And it does, as always. In his usual fashion, the hands come first. Pinches become long, deliberate waves of touch, and there is the understanding that all of his play, his teasing, has ceased. He wants what he wants, and he wants your cunt.

In your sleep-addled state, and probably in his fully lucid reality, it is gentle and sweeter than usual. Perhaps he is being deliberately gentle to aid your fragile mind, or, more likely, he knows you have forgotten just how big he truly is, and a broken wife is just about as good as no wife at all.

One hand keeps itself firmly upon your hip, in case you slip and slide away from him, as the other caresses your inner thighs, and, when he is satisfied you can handle it, to the true purpose of his invasions. 

He has never let you enjoy his hands solely for long, and this shall be no different. For such a big man, Gregor is shockingly agile in this regard, fumbling steps and harsh palms becoming light touches against your clit. At this time, in this situation, he doesn’t dare venture any further than the surface. From his grunts and, dare you say it, his whines, you can tell he may not last particularly long, the consequence of months away from you, you suppose. 

“Hey, hey- Sleepy girl,”

Gregor’s hands leave your body, and you find yourself pressed once again to the soft, inviting flesh of the mattress, still warm. The semi-shock you experience as your arse touches the cool air is dulled, instantly, as the big man pats it gently. Your hips are lifted, and he puts his own pillow beneath you, warm.

“Have you just the way you like, yeah?”

You affirm, face pushed into your own cushion. You can hardly breathe, but with the delicious tension, it doesn’t really matter. 

And it comes, just as you expected it, perhaps more than you expected it. You see only darkness, but you feel so much more. He moves with poorly veiled desire, a necessity to touch you as only he can. You are his and, more importantly, he is yours, all yours. After all, who else is he taking with such delicate fervour?

You are kissed, you are held, and you are loved. Gregor’s cock finds its way, with simple instinct, to your cunt, and you wince and whine. He had expected it, of course, and gets no more than the tip into you before he has to stop. Not the desired reaction, but the realistic one.

“Shh, shh…” It seems a foreign sound for such a harsh creature. To hush, to comfort, “That’s my girl…”

You keen, your hips shift upwards and you let him in further, despite the uncomfortable stretching. You have always loved his praise, always loved to be his sweet, good, wife. 

Gregor’s movements are gentle. When he takes you like this, after months apart, he allows himself to be gentle. He is your returned knight, your handsome, precious husband, and there is a time and a place for him to be the Mountain. Now, here, is not that place.

When he is certain you are comfortable, that it is not too much, he helps you sit yourself between his cock and your hand. Big fingers return to your clit, and he almost laughs as you squeal, the sudden stimulation, apparently, a shock to the system.

And, naturally, it does not take particularly long for him to reap the rewards of this uncharacteristic gentleness, as you let out your long, low moans, muffled by your face pressed into the cushions, and he feels you clench around him. It is something he has longed for, there is nothing quite like it, and it always brings forth his own finish.

So he does. Thick and hot, everything you might expect from a man of that stature, with such a glorious cock. The world does not give you many pleasures, nor does it anyone, but to be here, warm and filled, is certainly a pleasure worth noting. 

Gregor stays in you, he likes to stay in you. In his brooding moments he likes to say it helps a child come forth, but you aren’t quite sure of the legitimacy to that claim. Not that it matters. You see the sunlight again, staring out your bedroom window with a wall of flesh at your back. And it is beautiful. 

He has killed men, you know that, he will have rampaged through the Vale, or wherever it was he had been sent, destroying everything in his path and laughing as he did it. You see his great breastplate stained with blood, and the image turns you in some, not entirely unpleasant way. But you say nothing, you are too tired for a second round, and your Mountain seems to have spent his energy.

Later, once you are suitably cleaned of all remnants of your adventures, and Gregor is both awake and dressed, you sit around the table, the boys clinging to their father and desperate for tales of their father’s quests around Westeros. Not much of it is suitable for children, you gather.

They spend all day play-fighting, with their swords, and insist that you must watch, to referee, and you must give your favours to both of them, because every knight has their favours. They, as little knights-to-be, are satisfied by leaves you pick from the ground.

Finny wins, to everyone’s amazement, and as his reward is given first pick of pudding. Not substantial by any means, but enough to satisfy a small boy with a love of blackberries. Everyone is happy, all is content, and Gregor fits back into the family with no trouble, making your boys cringe as he kisses you before supper is served. You deserve your rewards too, after all.

[the-kingshound]

ROs reactions to MC becoming a cold and calculated killing machine because of the torture with RO now being their only soft spot?

Ohh, anon, I love this ask and since in game action will have permanent consequences I will make a follow up of this scenario so every RO's MC has been through a different kind of torture. It got a bit long, sorry, I kept writing and writing!

Arthur

When the Knights see you, they bow.

"Your Majesty."

You nod in their direction, signing them to raise. You then unsheathe your sword and stare at them with a pragmatic, focused glance "follow my lead."

You join the battle only after the second wave, attacking from the side and rapidly gaining the upper hand. When no more opponents stand in the field but injured and dying fighters, your chest heaves and your sword drips crimson blood from the tip.

"Your Majesty, a couple dozens of rival soldiers are retreating in the woods."

Your voice betrays nothing but a cold type of control when you answer "get the heavy chivalry to chase them. If possible, we take prisoners."

"Yes, your Majesty."

Arthur will be here shortly, you think just before you start metodically cleaning your sword to sheathe it. Your King, as you predicted, reaches your small group of knights shortly after. He seems to glow like a majestic, regal vision in the bright daylight. You can never get enough.

As you approach his knights, between rigid strides you crouch down briefly to pick up something from the grassy field. You have most of the knights eyes on you as you get near your husband and offer him a daisy.

He takes it with a radiant light in his eyes, you know that the softness there is more than reflected in yours. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek before you retreat.

"For you, my King."

And when Arthur keeps you close at night in your shared bed, holding your hand and kissing your knuckles one by one, you know you you could lose you fingers and your ability to wear his ring, but never his unrestrained, blinding love.

Evaine

Arthur strides through the castle's halls with his usual composed demeanor, exhuding a reflective sense of peace that is only exterior. Inside, he is worried and scared. Ever since the kidnapping, you've been cold and distant. More focused, in a way, calculated when you would have hesitated before. No matter the thin scar that marked your face or the limp that now slowed you down in combat, you were merciless. Arthur just wants you to feel safe again.

He rounds the corner and stops in front of his knight's door. He knocks and recieves no answer, probably because of the sound of more than one voice inside. Slowly, the King opens the door, calling with a soft voice "Evaine?"

The sight that greets him is... unexpected.

Evaine's room is drowning in garments, dresses, robes and cloaks are all over the bed and the large vanity. You're standing in front of the mirror, Evaine is just behind you, their finger ghosting on your skin as they tie a golden neckerchief around your neck.

As soon as Arthur's presence is noted, you clear your throat, molding your expression back in a neutral one, but not quite as closed off as the one you always wear.

"So, how do I look?"

You turn around to let him see the dress in its entirety, the wip scars quite visible on your back. Arthur's pained grimance fades quicky in favour of a soft, sincere smile "you're stunning."

His attention is then on his knight. Evaine is radiant, more relaxed than he's seen them in a very long time. More... present. They've not been well for the past months.

"You wanted to talk to me, my King?"

"Yes," Arthur nods "since I had to reschedule some of today's appointments, your schedule has been rearranged. You have the rest of the afternoon free."

If that's not entirely the truth - Arthur was in need of a Knight for the squire training, but it was also true that it has been too long since he's had fun with the younglings - no one needs to know.

And with a cheeeful "have fun" he's out of the room.

You look at the dress you're currently wearing in the mirror one more time, than turn back and take another robe, soft and tighter fitting, from Evaine's wardrobe.

"How about this?" you ask them.

"Mh," they hum, giving it a very serious assessment "it would compliment your eyes perfectly. And it's not that heavy compared to the previous ones."

You send them a blinding smile, trowing your arms over them in a playful hug, than you let them help you hastly put it on.

Sometimes you forget yourself to the memories and the freezing phantom of a long gone pain, but everytime Evaine is there to bring you back, offering distractions that bring you joy and happiness. That night Evaine tells you you're the most beautiful and bright star in the sky and, for the first time since the kidnapping, you believe them.

Morien

Whispers of the King's hound gone rabid have all but taken hold of the settlements near Kev, the last town to know your uncontained fury as your informants found some dissidents nobles. You made sure not to leave the town unscathed to be of warning for whoever next dared to conspire against the King.

There are frightened voices murmuring of an heartless punisher, what they recount are mostly exaggerated distortions of true events, but they do get right the almost lifeless glint in your eyes as you write down orders.

At this point, even some knights are scared of you, of the seemingly merciless way you stare down at them without ever breathing a word. There is only one person able to get past the coldness that replaced your lost tongue, and it's the court physician.

You are currently in Morien's arms, buried in the familiarity of their scent that is secure and grounding. This feels like a rare privilege for how much Morien usually shyes away contact. With you they have reached a level of comfort, through, that sees you gifted with the warmth of their body whenever you need it and you couldn't be more grateful for that.

"Plans for today?" they ask you a rough but comforting tone of voice.

Frighten the knights, you sign and instantly they let out a humored chuckle.

"Alright, you have my attention. How do you want to proceed?"

Just tell them I want to see them all in the courtyard. They skipped training yesterday and went out drinking to celebrate. you let out a voiceless hum  I'm not really mad but they don't know that.

Morien's laugh is brief but sincere "well, let's go then."

And as you get ready, you tie a red ribbon to your wrist, very alike the ones that sometimes Morien themselves ties to their cane. The physician looks as it and then their eyes are fixed on your face with a mixture of emotion that is both fondness and tender adoration. You shrug, then offer them your arm as you walk in silence through the halls in the courtyard's direction.

Gwyar

The mark has made very difficult for people to meet your eyes and watch you in the face. You don't hold it against them, though, you know you're not an easy sight. The only ones in this room who can actually stomach it are Arthur and Gwyar, and while the King can hardly suppress the guilt, your manservant has managed to push it down in favour of their usual attentive posture.

With a fluent movement they are beside you, refilling your cup of whine and whispering in your ear with a bland tone.

"Lady Deva is under the impression that a necklace has been stolen by the less than reputable Lord Havet."

Your interest piqued, you arch a brow in their direction, only to catch at the corner of your eye the sparkling of jewelry.

Careful to mantain a neutral expression, you subtly extend your arm in their direction with the open palm facing upwards. Gwyar lets the necklace fall in your possession with an effortless movement, then they fall back behind you with the grace of a liquid shadow they've always possessed. No one seems to have noticed the brief exchange.

It does take the meal to finish before finally some action unfolds. You register Lady Deva bringing her fingers to her empty collarbone and instantly her eyes snap to the Lord at her side.

"How dare you" she hisses, low enough not to make a scene but with enough vehemence to make him reel back.

"My Lady, I sincerely don't know what-"

"My necklace."

"What of it?"

By now the altercation has managed to attract most of the other nobles attention. The argument gets heated quickly and as the situation unfolds you fail to contain a wicked grin. Arthur, to your left, is surprised by it ony for a second, then he catches the feral glint in Gwyar's eyes, just behind you, and he has to bring a hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh of his own.

Taking pity on them, you clear your throat, your voice steel cold but not unkind "did it have by chance an engraved pendant?"

The scraped sound of your voice, a bit rough from unuse, is enough to snap the entire room to silence and attention. The lady's eyes widen as she watches you extract the necklace out of your robe, her eyes immediately falling off your face as her expression contorts into a mixture of embarassment and fear.

"I found it just outside of the chamber, in the hall."

"Ah, I- I probably lost it" the lady stammers and you have to figh your lips from curling upwards as another wave of hilarity hits you.

That night, Gwyar is so undeniably proud of your performance you can only laugh with them and take them in your arms as you both fall on the bed. They let their gaze wonder on your face and they breathe out a raspy praise. You are motionless as they kiss your mark and you think in that instant that you'd let it happen only with them. Only with them - and the phrase holds a strange type of comfort.

[lios-archive]

Hi! 5 and 13 for the music ask? :)

5 // name an album that you feel it's perfect: oh my god this is such a though question ngl... our idea of perfection is subjective I think, but if I have to pick one album which is almost perfect it's probability The Dark Side Of The Moon. Probably a based answer I know, but I feel like that album is somehow complete :)

13 // if you could talk to any musician, who would it be? what would you want to say?

Mh, more than one musician for sure, but Neil Peart above all. I admire him as a drummer and as a human being, especially now that I've read his book. That man's life was suddenly shattered by two tragic events that changed it forever and still.. he managed to love it. Even when life didn't deserve that. He was a sensitive, smart and unique human being and I'd just thank him for all he gave us, musically and personally.

I'd also love to talk to Tommy Bolin, Rory Gallagher, Jon Lord, Keith Emerson, Chris Squire, Ronnie James Dio... I'd love to give them a hug as well, you know?

thank u soooo much for asking these interesting questions!!!!💞💞

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Tea and Gossip 06/27

Lebeaux Desrosiers disappeared through the door briefly and returned with a small tray of tea service and for something to eat he placed two small round food items dusted in sugar on each plate. He sat with his own matching cup and settled it immediately on his knee after handing one over to Cinna. “You were searching for a trinket, or they were? Whatever were you doing in Azys Lla… twice."

Cinnabar Prentice's attention was immediately drawn to the sugar-dusted treats; a hint of childlike wonder in her expression already for the mere sight. It breaks to smile to Lebby for the tea; cream and sugar, just how she enjoys. "Mh. The first was... truly, to assault the Garlean outpost... Catrum Solus, if, I am not mistaken?" She nods softly, sipping the tea between sentences. "The second was... W-well. Deemed a, viable location to. Search for a... functioning, relic of Allag... I doubt the, contingent we stumbled across cared overmuch for, what amounted to as junk, I, would think. Just on patrol... For people, like us." One of the balls is drawn up between finger and thumb with palpable curiosity. Squishy! Leaning forth to keep the dust droppings over plate, she takes a bite... and goes wide-eyed with glee! "What... What in the world is this!?" 

Lebeaux smiled politely as he tried to pick through her words for what seemed like important little snippets of information. Curious as to just what the squire and the house she served would be doing sniffing around a miserable pit like Azys Lla. He exhaled a quiet chuckle as Cinna picked up the mochi, squishing it before taking a careful bite. “It’s called ‘mochi’ and it’s a treat from the Far East.” He explained, amused watching her eat hers rather than sampling his own.  “Difficult as it is to believe, it’s made of rice and beans. Curious, isn’t it? Hmm, but what sort of relic were you looking for? Something in particular or any miserable bit of Allagan scrap to pawn off?”

And enjoy she did! There was no mistaking that she was eating candy; chewing and chewing on the sticky treat. The explanation of the treat's composition did elicit a quirked brow of curiosity. "Rice... and bean? Aye, I do taste the bean..." And after a bit more chewing with focused intent, "... And the rice! Mhm~... Mochi..." The word is echoed a couple more times silently; committing it to memory. "Ah- any old, piece that was... 'working,' aye. It, was demanded in, compense by a... particularly rude, lalafellin woman. In exchange for, key information for, one of the, de'Bayle house..." The second half of that morsel is taken in to chew eagerly. One can see the silent moan of approval on the roe's face, hide it as she might. Sweets... Nom nom nom.

Lebeaux smiled serenely all the while as Cinnabar took a few moments to really savor the sweet treat to try and taste the separate components before seeming to deem it worthy. “What sort of information could be worth such a risky mission?” He mused as he sipped lightly at his own tea. “Having to travel all the way to Azys Lla, dealing with the monstrosities that live there, then Garleans to boot. It must have been terribly important."

Cinnabar continues this trend of tasting and savoring activities when conversation allows; integrating sips of tea to the mix to see how the flavor dynamic changes... And deems best to save the tea for after. "Mh... I, believe it so... A, disc of silver... Twelve crystals, equidistant from one another- along its edge. L-like the face of a, chronometer, as it were, but... The crystals..." Her brow furrows, picking her words. "... They, sing... hum... and, to some, speak... It, happened to, Ser Guiscareaux, at the first... A-and to me, but a sennight past... Shows, visions. Places... And a, compulsion to, seek it, in the world... Places where, other crystals, await." Cinna huffs a little laugh, shaking her head. "I- know you must, think it *daft* but... W-we found them, both... The first, I am... sad to say, was. Lost... Th-the second, we did retrieve... Both... spoke. Pried from us... emotion and, memory. I, think they sought, understanding?"

Lebeaux blinked a bit blankly as Cinna explained talking crystals. Dark brows furrowed briefly and he took a long sip of his tea as he considered. “That’s… troubling to say the least.” He finally noted, setting the cup down in the saucer to resume balancing on his knee. “Do you suspect the crystals were means of communication with some other person? Rather like a linkpearl, but on a grander scale?”

Cinnabar's own brow furrows, clearing her throat a tad and shaking her head. The second mochi waits a while on her plate, hands closed around the warmth of her cup. "I'm... N-not certain. If so, they did not, seem as such... I, cannot speak for comparison, but. The closest I could, is to what the... The Hearers of, the Twelveswood describe as... The voice of the elements... Communicating, without words. By feeling. By, the mind's eye... B-but, these were not so much as, elementals, as I've ever known. A-and, we are certainly not, seedseers. None, among of us... That is... the wisdom we, seek to gain, from that... From, Miss Constantine."

Lebeaux considered that a moment longer then gave a theatrical shiver intense enough to rattle the teacup balancing on his knee. “My, how scary. Now it’s sounding more like a ghost story. I do hope you’re taking care. It would be a shame to lose such a valuable ally over something so petty as a handful of chatty crystals.” He declared, taking a moment to smooth a stray strand of his hair back into its proper place.

Lebby's sentiment was contagious; a hint of that dread prodding her brow into a worrisome furrow with the sight of his shudder. "Ah... A-aye. I've no, wish to... die, for the, crystals... B-besides! I have, advocated consulting the, keepers of the Sanctum.. Surely, they would know the... nature of the, disc... dial... platter? A-and the crystals it, calls to..." There, she can breathe a sigh and enjoy another sip of tea. Brandy catching her off guard; she'd well and true forgotten it was in the brew! The next sip comes without a startle. "... B-but, I've broached the topic of, relics... How have you fared, this while? I've, heard neither high, nor low, after the last... Foray into the, husk of a, chapel."

Lebeaux tilted his head thoughtfully. “As I said, do take care. It’s well and good to assist the others in your House but mind you don’t get dragged down as well.” He smiled and rolled a shoulder casually. “The trail has gone cold. I suppose that’s not the best way to phrase it considering the lot of you had to traipse through the ice and snow on my errand.” He exhaled a long-suffering sigh and gazed aside, looking thoroughly put out. Yet it still seemed a touch overdramatic. “I’ve found other ways to keep myself busy, yet I grow concerned. I’ve lost contact with my Ishgardian liaison. The black market trader I suspected of having the reliquary has gone to ground.” He sounded more like he was pouting than honestly concerned.

[roboraindrop]

"I think I love you" with you and Gitte??

Hoo boy, here it gOES----The littlest things can make you fall in love. Rain never fully realized this until they'd taken on the task of helping Brigitte upgrade her shield."He's just so stubborn, y'know? I'd do anything for him, but sometimes I don't know if he really knows that he doesn't /need/ to fight these battles." Brigitte sighed, reaching for another screwdriver that was laying on the toolbox. It rolled just out of reach though, and Rain was quick to pick it up, handing it to her the way their hands brushed together brought a tingling sensation through them. "Thanks.""No problem. I know what you mean though," The purple-haired medic said with a small smile. "Reinhardt is definitely strong-willed. It's hard to tell anyone like him what to do." They laughed a bit, "But if there's anyone he'd listen to, it's you. Even if it takes a million years." The fellow support's ponytail swished as she shared in the laughter, "I'm not so sure at this point." She finished calibrating her shield, holding it defensively and expanding it. "It's nice to have someone to talk to who knows what I mean. Not everyone sees him the way you and I do." Rain nodded, but was admittedly a little breathless; The sight of the slightly older squire looking so proud of herself tugging at their heartstrings. "Y-yeah... I wish everyone could." "Mh. You and me both." She lunged forward, bashing the shield against the training dummy that had been fashioned from some old bits of armor. When the metal fell apart, she beamed. "Looks like the upgrade worked! Thanks for your help. I couldn't have done this without you.""My help?" Rain blinked, finding those wide brown eyes making their knees feel weak. What was going on? "All I did was hand you a screwdriver!" "It was a really important screwdriver!" She moved forward, condensing her shield back to its dormant state. She took her gloves off and wiped the sweat from her brow before moving closer, taking the shorter support's hand. "Kinda like you.""I'm an important screwdriver?"Brigitte laughed at the absurdity of the sentence, and the butterflies in Rain's stomach kicked it into overdrive. A hand quickly went to rest there, hoping that it could settle them. What was their problem?"Hey, what's wrong?" Concern filled the older's eyes as she reached out, "You look kinda pale. Are you okay? I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?"Rain quickly shook their head, "N-no! It's just... I-it's nothing!" They took a breath to steady themself, "Sorry, I just..." Brigitte knew of the other healer's anxiety, and did what she always did when they needed a hand; Her hands found their way to Rain's face, gently tilting their chin up so their eyes could meet before taking both of their hands, which were notably sweaty. "You can talk to me, Rain, it's okay. You can tell me anything that's on your mind!"Rain's eyes darted everywhere except hers, and for a moment they considered just pulling away and moving on. "I..." Something inside of them wouldn't quite let them, though, and before they could stop themself they blurted out, "I think I love you, Gitte!" Silence fell between them, anxious oceans of blue staring into chocolate pools with flecks of golden sunsets. Rain's mind continued a chorus of 'Please don't hate me, please don't hate me' on repeat for so long that it took a whole minute for them to realize Brigitte wasn't looking into their eyes anymore. Instead her gaze fell a bit lower on the medic's face. "Do you really feel that way?" Rain couldn't do anything but nod, breathless. By the way the girl was staring at their lips the move to close the gap between them shouldn't have been such a surprise. There they were though, blinking in shock before relaxing into the embrace, arms wrapping around her waist. The little things could make you fall in love, sure. But is anything really little when the two halves of a couple have hearts the size of the moon?

[arrangoiz]

Parathyroid Article

👉Check out this parathyroid-related article published last week!

👉Intraoperative Autofluorescence Parathyroid Identification in Patients With Multiple Endocrine Neoplasia Type 1. Squires MH, Shirley LA, Shen C, Jarvis R, Phay JE. JAMA Otolaryngol Head Neck Surg. 2019 Aug 1. PMID: 31369053 https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/

👉Para más información: http://www.hiperparatiroidismo.info

#Arrangoiz…

[onwesterlywinds]

The Countess

Joachim collapsed one morning while bringing in kindling. Marielle had never seen anything like it, and she had been a chirurgeon's assistant in the final days of the Dragonsong War: he had suddenly been surrounded in a swath of light, not unlike the aurora she had let him stay up to observe past his bedtime the previous evening. If it was something to do with the aether - with his aether - she would not know the first thing about beginning to treat it.

When he had been unconscious for four bells, Marielle’s herbalist told her to bring him at once to the Countess de Thévenois.

She bundled her unconscious son in the warmest quilt she could find and took to the Pillars, knocking on whichever doors might lead her to this noblewoman. All the while, her heart raced with the fear that she might lose her youngest boy, and so soon after his own father's passing. She knew how she looked to the nobles: just another unwashed creature, using her own son as a tool to beg. They did not matter; she would never see any of them again. When at last a young knight pointed her to the Thévenois estate, she cared nothing at all for his sneer; she invoked most of the Twelve to bless him as she sprinted off down the roads he had described.

"If you please, good ser," she said to the squire that answered the door. "I'm lookin’ for the countess."

"Is she expecting you?"

"I... I don't know. But it's my boy, he-"

"Is that Joachim?"

The squire backed away from the door with a bow, and Marielle blinked in astonishment. The woman who had come to greet her was no Elezen, but a tall, dark-skinned Hyuran woman with hair the color of spring hyacinths.

"Y-Yes," she began, not sure to whom she was speaking. "Milady. He fell this morning, and I h-haven't been able to wake him up since."

"Your herbalist told me everything; we've prepared a bed for him. Please, come in."

The squire at the door took Joachim from her, and though worry still beset her, the weight that lifted from her shoulders was not only a physical one. "You are the... the Countess de Thévenois?"

The young woman gave a light, gentle laugh. "I am. I married into the job, like most of my rank."

"But then, you're-"

"Ala Mhigan by birth. And at heart, I suppose. Sylvia Marbrand. But please, call me Sylvie. 'Sylvie de Thévenois' is easier here."

Marielle did not know how to respond to that. "Ah... yes, milady."

She had made up a modest room, hoping that it would be what the boy and his mother found the most comfortable. The mother helped extricate her son from the quilt she'd wrapped him in, as well as his shirt. Even before the fabric had been unbuttoned, Sylvia could see the dancing patterns of aether swirling over his skin. The boy's mother gasped and drew a hand to her mouth as shock began to settle anew.

"It's alright," Sylvia promised. "I know it's frightening, but he's not in any immediate danger. And I know someone who can help him."

She closed her eyes, slipped deep into concentration, let the Echo overtake her.

"Are you seeing this, Mal?" she whispered in the language of her birth.

The response came back as clearly as if her sister were standing beside her - and suddenly, she was. "I am." Amalia Riot, draped with all the traditional linens and furs of a Fist, appeared to Sylvia in the quiet guest room next to where Joachim lay. "He's trapped in a meditative state. I should be able to talk him through it, but that's only if he's willing to listen."

"I think so." Sylvia pushed back Joachim's bangs and placed a hand on his forehead. "He's a good lad. And I think he's starting to get a little scared."

The boy's mother cast a sidelong glance at her, doubtless unsure of what to make of the Ala Mhigan woman speaking to herself at length in her own language. To reassure her, Sylvia said, "I don't know how much you know of the Mothercrystal-"

The woman gasped, tears gathering in her eyes once more.

"My sister and I think Joachim is listening to Her. We're going to call him back. And I know your heart is breaking to watch this, but please, I must ask that you remain as silent as possible."

Sylvia tapped each of his seven chakras - she had never seen them glow so brightly in one so young - and spoke in a clear, soft voice, as she might for her own meditation. "Joachim. Can you hear me?"

From the other side of the bed, Amalia said, "If you can hear us, close your eyes as tightly as you can."

The boy's sleeping face twitched into an expression of intense concentration. His mother gasped.

"Joachim. We need you to do something for us." Sylvia took her hand in his and clasped it tightly. Though he was not like to feel it, it was a reassurance for her.

"You're surrounded by light, aren't you?" Amalia continued. "Beautiful, warm, stretching as far as the eye can see."

"Mh-" He stirred, even twitched.

"Go toward the light."

"It's going to feel a little strange at first, but I promise that you're in no danger here."

"And we'll be with you the whole way."

A voice, trembling, resonated through both their minds. I'm not going to die?

"No," the sisters said in unison.

Joachim heaved a deep breath, stifled only by the lethargy of his unconscious form. And though neither she nor her sister could see him within the aetherial sea, they had not a doubt that he was doing as they had said.

He awoke with a sudden start and stared, first at Sylvia, then at the woman on her opposite side whom he should not have been able to see at all.

"So it wasn't a dream," he said as his mother threw her arms around him. "She spoke to me. She told me to..."

Hear. Feel. Think.

"Speak with them both, once things have calmed down," said Amalia. "He’s been given an incredible gift... albeit an unusual one for an Ishgardian boy. But Aunt Sylv is right: it's about time I take on a pupil."

And despite how much the boy had still to learn, how far he had still to go, Sylvia smiled.

[chineseblockchain-blog]

NOIZ PLATFORM评论

NOIZ Chain은 사기를 제거하고 참여를 유도하며 사회적 영향 단체를 포함하면서 광고를 통제 할 수있는 분산 된 광고 네트워크입니다. 또한, 노이 즈 체인은인지하고 고객을 타겟으로하고 직접적인 마케팅 담당자에게 알리는 역할을합니다. 이것은 전통적인 문자와는 다른 것입니다. 단지 기존의 배너 광고와 배너 광고의 문자열을 단순히 무시하고 무시할 수있는 문자열을 불러오는 것뿐입니다. 그러나 Noiz Nittworek에서는 사용자가 참여 시스템을 통해 적극적으로 프로모션을 유도합니다. 광고 네트워크는 광고 사기 사건을 방지하기위한 사실적인 데이터와 투명성을 제공하는인지 시스템 인 AI 지원 (NIKOLA) 하에서 작동합니다. 안티 광고 사기 네트워크는 소비자에게 데이터의 프라이버시를 지속적으로 통제하면서 광고 교환 네트워크에 포함 된 정보의 현실을 광고주에게 알려줍니다. 광고 시스템은 참여자의 데이터 검증을 보장하는 참여 증명 (Proof of Engagement) 개념을 사용하여 작동합니다.

NOIZCHAIN ​​광고 네트워크의 특징

* 피어 투 피어 광고 시장

* 광고주 합의 구조에 기반한 광고 승인 플랫폼 컨센서스 기반 게시자 시스템에서 작동하는 콘텐츠 승인 플랫폼

* 사용자가 NOIZ 동전에 대한 정보를 판매하는 고객 데이터 마켓

* 쿠폰 포털

문제를 일으키고있는 노젤란의 유형

소비자 문제 :

소비자는이 광고 세계에서 가장 큰 고통을 겪고 있습니다. 종종 그들은 데이터 프라이버시를 통제하지 못했습니다. 그리고 그들의 데이터는 악의적 인 방식으로 사용될 수 있습니다. 그리고 종종 관련없는 광고에 짜증이납니다. 이것은 정말로 혼란 스럽습니다. 또한 광고에 대한 의견을 말할 기회가 없습니다.

광고 자의 ���제 :

광고주는 또한 특정 문제에 직면합니다. 종종 그들은 출판사로부터 가짜 데이터를 얻습니다. 그런 다음 일부 플랫폼에서는 특정 주제에 대한 광고가 금지되었습니다. 나쁜 콘텐츠를 가진 나쁜 게시자도 평판을 잃을 수 있습니다.

발행인의 문제 :

게시자는 충분하지 않을 때 광고 교환 알고리즘을 사용하지 못하는 경우가 많습니다. 때때로 그들은 광고주와 데이터를 공유하고 싶지 않기 때문에 기회를 놓쳤습니다. 그들은 대부분 데이터 유출을 두려워합니다.

해결책

NOIZ는 소비자에게 통제권을 되돌려주는 무료 광고 공간이 있다고 생각하며 무료입니다. 게시자 및 사용하려는 중앙 집중식 광고 교환 네트워크의 영향으로 인해 소비자 개인 정보를 악의적 인 방법으로 NOIZ는 AI (인공 지능) 시스템과 블록 체인을 결합하여 이러한 문제를 해결하고 있습니다. 기술을 사용하여 광고 사기 퇴치를위한 하이브리드 증명 개념을 만들었으며 광고주와 게시자가 자신의 행동에 대해 책임질 수있는 합의 기반의 생태계 비즈니스 관행. 그 결과, 완전히 새로운 디지털 광고 교환 플랫폼이 전체 광고 생태계.

결론적으로:

인공 지능과 블록 체인을 사용하여 Noiz는 전문성으로 이러한 문제를 해결하고 있습니다. Noiz는 광고 세계의 모든 사용자에 대한 대부분의 문제를 해결할 투명성을 믿습니다. 그들은 항상 누설되는 경향이있는 사용자 데이터에 완전한 개인 정보를 제공 할 준비가되어 있습니다.

토큰 및 ICO 세부 정보

令牌销售开始和结束日期：2018年7月15日 - 2018年8月15日。

토큰 심볼 : NOIZ

플랫폼 : Ethereum

수락 : ETH

연약한 모자 : 15,000 ETH

하드 캡 : 60,000 ETH

가격 : 1 NOIZ = 0.25 USD

국가 : 홍콩

제한 사항 : 미국, 중국

ICO에 대한 총 토큰 : 180,000,000 NOIZ 토큰 할당

총 4 억 개의 NOIZ 토큰이 발행 될 것입니다. 이들은 자선 재단, 창립 팀, 지역 사회 성장, 고문, 매장 및 토큰 세일에 배포 될 것입니다.

180,000,000 (45 %) NOIZ 토큰은 토큰 판매 기간 동안 배포됩니다.

80,000,000 (20 %) NOIZ 토큰은 준비금으로 보관됩니다.

8,000,000 (2 %) NOIZ는 지역 사회 성장 프로그램을 통해 지역 사회 회원들에게 포상됩니다.

32,000,000 (8 %) NOIZ는 고문을 위해 별도로 지정됩니다.

40,000,000 (10 %) NOIZ가 플랫폼에 참여하는 자선 재단을 위해 개최됩니다. 60,000,000 (15 %) NOIZ가 핵심 팀 구성원들에게 배포됩니다.

NOIZCHAIN TEAM MEMBERS

RYAN LEUNG 사업 개발 이사 미셸 예 마케팅 이사 사라 라이 (SARA LAI) 크리에이티브 & UX / UI 디렉터 테쓰 호 제품 혁신 이사 매기 팬 자연어 처리 (NLP) 전문가 윙시 크리에이티브 & UX / UI 디자이너 조니 웡 전무 이사 양 PAULA 전무 이사 JASON WONG 전무 이사 카린 거짓말 판매 책임자 베니 리옹 전무 이사 마이클 로파 틱크 멀티미디어 관리자 코넬 도일 마케팅 기술자 고문 ALAN RUTHERFORD 미디어의 글로벌 회장, Ebiquity 루이제 AU Axis Business Consulting 설립자 및 파트너 닉 찬 MH 파트너, Squire Patton Boggs ALVIN FOO IPG Reprise Media China 상무 이사 빈센트 턱 XNInsight 공동 설립자 엘리스 기요 네스 창립자 겸 CEO, 귀하의 토큰 아님 KEDA CHE Universal Labs 창립자 엘리네 ANN Kaizor Innovation 창립자 겸 이사

官方链接

网站： https://tinyurl.com/yb72y2tv

Telegram: https://tinyurl.com/yadlt9mb

白皮书： https://tinyurl.com/ybjqmjuk

ANN Bitcointalk Thread: https://bitcointalk.org/index.php?topic=3641176

Twitter: https://twitter.com/NOIZchain

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/NOIZchain

내 Bitcointalk 프로필 URL : https://bitcointalk.org/index.php?action=profile;u=1120501