#sable quill

[porcelain-feather]

Dolls are uniquely suited to working as medical assistants. Their strict adherence to protocol ensures that patients will receive proper treatment with consistency easily surpassing that provided by human staff. The Doll's affinity for cleaning ensures that their facilities maintain sterile conditions, and their ceramic hands are easy to sterilize before interacting with each patient, thus minimizing the risk of disease transmission (though only glazed porcelain may be used, as painted finishes will rapidly erode from regular applications of disinfectant and unglazed porcelain absorbs liquids). All Dolls are by nature of their construction immune to needle-stick injuries, cannot spread respiratory diseases, and never run the risk of contracting illness themselves.

Above all other reasons, though, Dolls in most regions are made with Service as their Purpose. Common custom among human doctors for centuries was to pledge themselves to the 'service of humanity' - and if such a thing is so inseparable from medical work, there are few jobs that will align with a Doll's Purpose better other than direct work with a Witch.

[edandstede]

hey what are some of your fav video games? always on the lookout for new things to play (i play on ps5 & switch) drop ur recs in my inbox cheers ⭐️⭐️

[pupsmailbox]

MINECRAFT ID PACK

NAMES︰ alex. amber. amethyst. ash. azalea. blaze. block. briar. brick. brielle. brier. brook. carver. celeste. clay. cobble. cree. crystal. daisy. dawn. dusty. ember. end. eve. flint. flora. forge. garnet. gemma. granite. grayson. harper. hazel. hero. holly. hopper. iris. ivy. jade. jett. juniper. lapis. laurel. lilac. lily. magnolia. maple. marigold. mason. meadow. miner. mira. moss. nova. oak. onyx. opal. pearl. pebble. poppy. prairie. pyre. quill. red. reed. river. rocky. rose. rowan. ruby. sable. sage. sapphire. selene. shale. sky. skye. skylar. slate. smith. spruce. steele. stella. stephen. stone. sunny. terra. thalia. timber. torch. violet. wade. willow.

PRONOUNS︰ a/axe. adventurer/adventurer. allay/allay. ar/armour. ax/axe. bam/bamboo. bat/bat. bee/bee. biome/biome. birch/birch. bla/blaze. blaz/blaze. blaze/blaze. blo/block. block/block. build/build. bun/bun. cake/cake. chest/chest. clay/clay. cob/cobble. copper/cooper. cow/cow. cra/craft. craf/craft. craft/craft. cre/creative. creep/creeper. creeper/creeper. dark/dark. deep/deepslate. deep/slate. dig/dig. disc/disc. drown/drown. ely/elytra. elytra/elytra. en/end. end/end. end/eye. ender/ender. ender/enderman. enderman/endermen. explorer/explorer. fight/fight. flint/flint. for/forge. fox/fox. ghast/ghast. glow/stone. goat/goat. grav/gravel. heal/heal. hive/hive. hun/hunger. husk/husk. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ice/ice. kaboom/kaboom. kelp/kelp. lav/lava. love/love. magma/magma. mi/mine. mine/mine. mob/mob. mod/mod. moosh/mooshroom. mooshroom/mooshroom. musicnote/musicnote. nether/nether. nostalgia/nostalgia. nostalgic/nostalgic. oak/oak. ocean/ocean. ore/ore. over/overworld. over/world. pearl/pearl. phantom/phantom. pi/pick. pig/pig. pig/pigstep. pig/step. play/player. ram/ram. red/stone. sap/sapling. scream/scream. sculk/sculk. sea/sea. shea/shear. sheep/sheep. sho/shovel. shulk/shulker. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. skele/skeleton. skeleton/skeleton. skulk/skulk. slime/slime. sme/smelt. smp/smp. snow/snow. spawner/spawner. spec/spectator. speed/speedrun. spider/spider. spruce/spruce. sta/stack. sto/stone. strider/strider. surv/survival. survivor/survivor. swo/sword. tele/teleport. terra/terracotta. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tnt/tnt. tor/torch. tree/tree. ve/vex. vwoop/vwoop. warden/warden. warp/warped. warrior/warrior. wat/water. wit/wither. wither/wither. wo/wood. wolf/wolf. xp/xp. zomb/zombie. zombie/zombie.

[acronym-chaos]

Minecraft Inspired ID Pack

[PT: Minecraft Inspired ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Alex, Amber, Amethyst, Ash, Azalea, Blaze, Block, Brick, Briar, Brielle, Brook, Carver, Celeste, Clay, Cobble, Cree, Crystal, Daisy, Dawn, Dusty, Ember, End, Eve, Flora, Flint, Forge, Garnet, Gemma, Granite, Grayson, Harper, Hazel, Holly, Hopper, Iris, Ivy, Jade, Jett, Juniper, Lapis, Laurel, Lilac, Lily, Maple, Marigold, Mason, Meadow, Miner, Mira, Moss, Nova, Oak, Onyx, Opal, Pearl, Pebble, Poppy, Pyre, Quill, Reed, Red, River, Rocky, Rose, Rowan, Ruby, Sage, Sable, Sapphire, Selene, Shale, Sky, Skylar, Slate, Smith, Spruce, Steele, Stella, Stone, Sunny, Terra, Thalia, Timber, Torch, Violet, Wade, Willow

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

A / Ax / Axe; Bla / Blaz / Blaze; Blo / Block / Blocks; Build / Build / Builds; Cob / Cobble / Cobbles; Cra / Craf / Craft; Cra / Craf / Craft; Cree / Creep / Creeper; Dig / Dig / Digs; E / En / End; Flint / Flint / Flints; Fo / For / Forge; Mi / Mine / Mines; Pi / Pick / Picks [Pickaxe]; Red / Stone / Redstones; Sap / Sapling / Saplings; Shea / Shear / Shears; Sho / Shovel / Shovels; Sme / Smelt / Smelts; Sta / Stack / Stacks; Sto / Stone / Stones; Tor / Torch / Torches; Wo / Wood / Woods

Titles

[PT: Titles].

Builder of Worlds; Crafter of Blocks; Master of the Mines; The Blocksmith; The Brave Explorer; The Collector of Resources; The Creator of Realms; The Defender of the Village; The Ender of Mobs; The Master of the Redstone; The Master Miner; The Pixel Pioneer; The Resource Gatherer; The Survival Expert; [Pronoun] Who Crafts with Precision; [Pronoun] Who Delves Deep; [Pronoun] Who Faces the Nether; [Pronoun] Who Mines and Builds; [Pronoun] Who Shapes the World

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID].

Requested by @rwuffles on Discord!

Also tagging: @pronoun-arc @id-pack-archive

[saturniasxenos]

Nature / Flora ID Pack

Inside this pack, you will find: Pronouns, Titles, Names, and Genders that relate to Nature, Flora, Flowers, Trees, and anything alike!

This is my 3rd NPT pack! 💜 I hope you find what you are looking for. I try to add as MUCH content as possible, so even if you don't find it, you can have an idea! (I'm still not the best at titles...)

🍀 Pronouns:

Flo/Florae/Flora/Floras/Floraself

Flo/Flora/Floral/Florals/Floralself

Flo/Flow/Flower/Flowers/Flowerself

Le/Lea/Leaf/Leafs/Leafself

Tre/Tree/Trees/Trees/Treeself

Wo/Woo/Wood/Woods/Woodself

For/Fores/Forest/Forests/Forestself

Na/Natu/Nature/Natures/Natureself

Clo/Clove/Clover/Clovers/Cloverself

Pla/Plan/Plant/Plants/Plantself

Bi/Bio/Bios/Bios/Bioself

Mo/Moss/Mossy/Mosses/Mossself

Gra/Grass/Grassy/Grasses/Grassself

Ec/Eco/Ecos/Ecos/Ecoself

Fun/Fung/Fungi/Fungus/Fungiself

Mush/Mushro/Mushroom/Mushrooms/Mushroomself

Al/Alga/Algae/Algaes/Algaeself

Ea/Ear/Earth/Earths/Earthself

Ju/Jung/Jungle/Jungles/Jungleself

Pi/Pin/Pine/Pines/Pineself

Ta/Tai/Taiga/Taigas/Taigaself

So/Soi/Soil/Soils/Soilself

Gre/Gree/Green/Greens/Greenself

Dru/Drui/Druid/Druids/Druidself

Fai/Fair/Fairy/Fairys/Fairyself

Ge/Geo/Geos/Geos/Geoself

Ro/Rock/Rocks/Rocks/Rockself

Spri/Sprin/Spring/Springs/Springself

Su/Sum/Summer/Summers/Summerself

Tro/Trop/Tropical/Tropics/Tropicalself

Wi/Wil/Wild/Wilds/Wildself

Wil/Wilde/Wilderness/Wilderness/Wildernessself

Gar/Gard/Garden/Gardens/Gardenself

Bir/Birc/Birch/Birchs/Birchself

Oa/Oak/Oaks/Oaks/Oakself

Spru/Spruc/Spruce/Spruces/Spruceself

Oa/Oas/Oasis/Oasis/Oasisself

Ri/Riv/River/Rivers/Riverself

La/Lak/Lake/Lakes/Lakeself

Ra/Rai/Rain/Rains/Rainself

Wi/Wint/Winter/Winters/Winterself

Fro/Fros/Frost/Frosts/Frostself

Fa/Fall/Falls/Falls/Fallself

Au/Autu/Autumn/Autumns/Autumnself

🌲/🌲's

🍀/🍀's

🌸/🌸's

🌿/🌿's

🌱/🌱's

🌳/🌳's

🌵/🌵's

🍃/🍃's

🌻/🌻's

🌹/🌹's

🌧/🌧's

☀/☀'s

❄/❄'s

💨/💨's

💧/💧's

🌸 Titles:

Preserver of The Forest

(X) Who Nurtures

Born From The Forest

Guardian of The Forest

Dancer of The Desert

(X) Who Guards The Oasis

Child of The Trees

Floral Founder

Seeker of The Leaves

(X) Who Dances With The Petals

Druid of The Land

Wings of The Forest

Nurturing The Land

Nurturer of The Forest

Nature's Guardian

Child of Mother Nature

Guardian of Mother Nature

Raindrop on The Leaf

Dancing in The Wind

Guardian of The Crops

Child of The Nymph

The Water Dancer

The River Traveler

🍃 Names:

Fem: Azalea, Aurora, Aster, Bellatrix, Belladonna, Blossom, Coral, Calla, Camellia, Dahlia, Daisy, Dawn, Dove, Dandelion, Ember, Flora, Floria, Giselle, Heather, Holly, Ivy, Jade, Juliet, Jasmine, Luna, Lunar, Lotus, Lily, Lilac, Lavender, Magnolia, Marigold, Meadow, Moon, Maple, Nova, Opal, Petunia, Poppy, Plum, Primrose, Paisley, Rosamund, Rose, Rosa, Rainy, Raine, Stella, Summer, Thea, Violet, Verna, Vine, Willow, Zinna,

Masc: Acacius, August, Arthur, Acorn, Arno, Aire, Beckett, Bear, Birch, Cedar, Cliff, Clay, Corvus, Clayton, Cove, Canyon, Callum, Caspian, Dune, Dylan, Elwood, Finn, Fielder, Falcon, Fox, Forest, Florian, Flint, Griffin, Hunter, Jasper, Jonah, Kai, Leo, Luan, Lennox, Micah, Oliver, Quill, Oscar, Orson, Roscoe, Rainier, Rhodes, Reed, Ronan, Rowan, Spruce, Sol, Thorne, Thorn, Wilder, Winter, Weston,

Neu: Arbor, Ashton, Ash, Agate, Autumn, Aspen, Bay, Berry, Barley, Brae, Bryony, Basil, Brooks, Bourne, Cereus, Clover, Crow, Cypress, Chamomile, Everest, Eden, Fawn, Farley, Finley, Frost, Fern, Foxley, Hazel, Harper, Hyacinth, Iris, Juniper, Jay, Jett, Koa, Krow, Lake, Leaf, Lynx, Oakley, Nightshade, Onyx, Orion, Olive, Pike, Pepper, Prairie, Phoenix, Robin, River, Raven, Rye, Scout, Sage, Stone, Sable, Snowden, Storm, Thistle, Wolf, Wolfe, Wulfwynn, Wren, Zen, Zev, Zephyr,

🌲 Genders:

Natureserenic - a gender related to spending your days in the middle of nowhere inside your cottage overgrown with nature, cats, dogs, and peacefulness.

Rotgrowth - A gender that has a deep connection to the idea of new plant life growing out of dead, rotting, decaying bodies such as animals and humans.

Vancouldian - a gender related to tall evergreen trees blowing in the wind against a cloudy sky

Regenderation - A gender connected to all things related to regeneration and growth. Medicine, nature, the life aspect, shades of pinks and greens, etc.

Mouanipre - a gender connected to baby animals, daisies, wildflowers, flower crowns, soft grass, meadows, fawns, bunnies, lambs, soft fur, sleepy baby animals, pastel colors, and cute baby animals resting in soft meadows.

Heliangender - a gender related to, affected by, or connected to sunflowers.

Convolvulaceaeic - A gender that has a deep connection to the Convolvulaceae Family of flowers.

Naturegender - Gender relating to nature/plants

Asteraceaeica - gender that has a deep connection to the Asteraceae Family of flowers.

[illarian-rambling]

DIY mini-Audiobook, let's go!

Mystery of the Mortal God, Chapter 1 pt.1

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1gl31TW-G_IdD67P8eVvDcCAxWgWwszti/view?usp=drivesdk

Mystery of the Mortal God, Chapter 1 pt.2

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1gk13_MZSV2_G4UGx6XQHOTPsW6NG_Xqw/view?usp=drivesdk

(Please lmk if the links work or not, I had to jury rig this shit lol)

(And if I made any mistakes, shush, no I didn't)

Hope you enjoy!

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks

@bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast

@the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @watermeezer

@leahnardo-da-veggie @mr-orion @televisionjester @ray-writes-n-shit @evilgabe29

@trippingpossum @tragedycoded @halfbakedspuds @ominous-feychild @cain-e-brookman

@wyked-ao3 @thecomfywriter @mysticstarlightduck @rumeysawrites @sableglass (Sable, please lmk if you dont wanna be on the taglist, I won't be mad, but I figured I'd extend the invitation <3)

[moniquill]

@travellingdragon , because you asked:

Dragon descriptions by breed:

Nampeshiwe - the indigenous dragons of North Markesland (specifically a northeast woodlands breed)

In general, North Markesland dragons are somewhat mustelid in conformation and gait 

A description of Kasaqua’s mother:

It was red and gold and glorious with the evening sun behind it, like a hillside in autumn. From nose to tail it was twice as long as my canoe, and its wings opened half again that wide. It had a crown of antlers that must have come to thirty points or more. It stretched its wings, and the sun came through them, showing the scarlet net of its bloodworks. It had a long, sinuous body, like an otter or a fisher. Its neck double-curved like a heron's. Its mane was blood red, each spiky feather tipped with black, and it had black markings on its eyes and muzzle and along the rims of its deer-like ears.

Kasaqua upon hatching:

Overall it was about the size of a marten, dull yellow and speckled brown and black across its back. Its wings, as it stretched them out and flicked off bits of slime, proved much smaller than its mother's had been. They didn't look at all suited for the task of getting it into the air. Its head was overlarge for its body, and so were its feet. It had no sign of antlers or feathers. It looked as soft and bald as a baby songbird.

Word of Author on Nampeshiwe:

Average size when adult is twenty feet from nose to tail and thirty feet from wingtip to wingtip at full spread - this makes them middle-sized as dragons go. Bodily conformation of hatchlings should put one in mind of a ferret, sable, or martin - a mature adult is more like a wolverwine or honeybadger. The skin of the body ranges from buff gold through ginger and even orange, while the wingleather shades smoothly from that color at the wing wrist to scarlet red at the leading edge. Mane feathers of adults are red or ruddy brown and may or may not have darker veins and tips. Adults females have manes on the crows of thier heads and backs of their necks, while adult males have a mane that fully encompasses the throat and chest, like a lion’s mane and may or may not have a beard. Adults males also have bronze iridescence, especially on the breast feathers.   

Introduced Dragons

In general, dragons from the old world are somewhat wolfish or doggish in confirmation and gait

Akhari - an introduced breed developed in Kindah and Kedar

One of the dragons saw us coming and rose to its feet, approaching with great interest. It was a breed I didn't know from the book, light brown with black stripes across its back and wings, pale on its belly. It was as tall as a pony, but longer from nose to tail. It yawned hugely and loped forward with a wolfish gait, and Kasaqua bounded ahead to meet it. 

Arin - an introduced breed developed in Vaskosland (closely related to Bjalladreki)

In the next cell, a somewhat smaller dragon lay on its back, belly up and legs splayed. It was a shade of green that reflected blue, like the head of a drake mallard, and had a thorny crown of bone-white quills.

Professor Ibarra's Arin, Abiadura, looked like an especially lean and lanky Bjalladreki with shorter and stouter quills.

Bjalladreki - an introduced Norseland breed

This dragon had a crown of brown and white striped quills, the ones nearest to its face webbed like a fish's fins. It was a ruddy brown color overall, fading to gray on its belly and beneath its wings, with brilliant sea-green eyes. The webs around its face were mottled with green markings, too.

Niklas’ dragon was a bjalledreki as well, and having three of them at such close quarters allowed me to examine the breed in a detail that I hadn't been able to before. Ivar's dragon was the largest of the three, and broadest across the chest. Niklas’ dragon was smaller than Sigrod but larger than Magnus, and more gray than either of the others. The quills of its crown were especially long and finely formed, their banding more subtle and dappled, and they were each tipped in brilliant white. Magnus looked rangy compared to the other two, plainly more juvenile in conformation and demeanor.

Bjalladrekis were far and away the most common breed in the academy’s dragonhall, probably because the breed was famously even-tempered and versatile. Also because bjalladrekis begat more bjalladrekis, so their being popular meant more of their eggs were available. Marta’s dragon, Magnus, was a bjalladreki. The breed was ruddy brown and gray, with a mane of quills like a porcupine’s, and teal-green markings on the face and the backs of the wings.

Word of Author: This is the Labrador Retriever and American Quarter Horse of the dragon world, at least in New Anglesland dragoneering culture - wildly popular for being a dependable, middle of the road kind of creature.

Falterdrach -  an introduced breed developed in Tyskland

The dragon in the next cell was red and black, with a pair of recurved black horns. It was worrying at a bone big enough that it had to be a cow's leg. It flicked a wing open as we passed by the front of the cell, and I saw that it had great black patches on a red field, like a butterfly's wing.

Professor Mesman’s Falterdrach, Kostbar, was a smallish black dragon with brilliant red patches on his wings reminiscent of a butterfly.

Jirada - an introduced breed developed in Kindah

In the cell after that, a brown and gold dragon was lying with its back to us. I couldn't see its head at all, but it seemed to have very long, narrow wings.

Professor Nazari's Jirada, named Zati, was dusty brown with especially long and narrow wings.

Kessledrach - an introduced breed developed in Tyskland

It was an altogether larger creature than Kasaqua's mother had been—stockier and more forwardly-built. If Kasaqua’s mother could be likened to an otter, this dragon could be likened to a bear. It was green and bronze, and instead of antlers it had a pair of sharp horns that swept back from its brow.

Frau Kuiper’s Gerhard, an enormous dark green Kessledrach, was built like a bear 

Silberdrach - an introduced breed developed in Anglesland

All of the other cells—something like seventy or eighty of them—appeared to be empty save one at the very end. In that cell a huge white-and-gray dragon with pale eyes stared at us with keen interest. Its mouth was partly open, its black tongue flicking out between glittering fangs.

Two of the dragoneers visited north village. Not dragons like yours, thorny silver-white monsters eight foot tall at the shoulder.”

“Silberdrachs,” I said, nodding. “They’re a favored breed in the dragonthede, along with Kessledrachs. Most of the jarlsgards who are dragoneers are bonded to Silberdrachs, I think.

Captain Einarsson’s ill-tempered Silberdrach, whose name I’d never learned, was white and gray - though her tongue and gums were black

Velikolepni - an introduced breed developed in Russland and Roveland

It was only a little bigger than Kasaqua, and it had a very distinctive look. It was very pale all over, wheat-colored above and below with bands of white along its flanks, shading to brilliant gold on its tail and the backs of its wings. It lacked any sort of a mane, but had three sets of little horny nubs on either side of the crown of its head. It had a pair of barbles sweeping back from its nose, another above its eyebrows, and a double pair sprouting from its chin—taken together, I was reminded very strongly of a catfish.

Sander’s dragon, Inga, had grown enormously since I’d last seen her. She was now the size of a pony, and her triple set of golden horns had grown out to three or four inches in length. 

In general, dragons from Markesland and the Far East have brachiating antlers that shed and regrow annually and elongated bauplans, while Norselandish dragons have horns (1-3 pairs) that do not shed and more compact bauplans.

[elliemarchetti]

The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition (Part 5)

Posting on Tumblr too because this fic's sister is already there.

Reading The Queen of the Quills - Blackinnon Edition will not be mandatory to understand the developments of James and Lily's story, but some details could be shared, therefore, for anyone wishing to fully enjoy the experience, I will leave this series' masterlist here.

This was @athenasparrow's gift for @jilymicrofics ' Exchange 2024, but if you like it and are willingly to reblog, it would be super appreciated since stories like this require quite some time and effort🥰

Taglist (if anyone wants to be added, please DM me or comment and I'll gladly add you!): @thaisthedreamer

Plot: James Potter, London's most evasive bachelor, an impertinent libertine, has decided to get married. He has also already chosen his wife, the debutante Lily Evans, a self-confident young woman who has not the slightest intention of being seduced by such a man. A Bridgerton inspired Regency AU.

Words: 4093

Mrs. Potter’s musicale proved to be a decidedly musical affair (not, this author assures you, always the norm for musicales). The guest performer was none other than Maria Rosso, an Italian soprano from the all-witch choir known as Spellbound who made their debut in London two years ago and has returned after a brief stint on the Vienna stage. With thick, sable hair and flashing dark eyes, Miss Rosso proved as lovely in form as she did in voice, and more than one, or it would be better to say more than a dozen, of society’s so-called gentleman found it difficult indeed to remove their eyes from her person, even after the performance had concluded.

The Queen of the Quills, May 17, 1813

Lily felt the exact moment he walked in the room. She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with a heightened awareness of the excruciatingly handsome wizard, she couldn’t imagine that every woman didn’t notice him immediately, and furthermore, he arrived late – not very, but still enough he had to try to be quiet as he slipped into a chair at the front next to Mrs. Evans – still she noticed him before her own mother and sister did, and it rendered her unable to even breathe. He didn’t look her way, but several candles had been snuffed, leaving the room bathed in a dim, romantic glow, so the shadows must’ve obscured her face and the way she tried to keep her eyes on Miss Rosso throughout the performance, even if the woman couldn’t take hers off of Mr. Potter, and for some reasons, it didn’t improve her disposition. She should’ve rejoiced in the fact, it was just another piece of proof he was every bit the licentious rake she’d always known him to be, but she wasn’t feeling smug, or vindicated, she was just heavily, uncomfortably disappointed, so much so she felt herself slump slightly in her chair.

When the performance was done, she couldn’t help but notice how the soprano, after graciously accepting her applause, brazenly approached her suitor and offered him one of those seductive smiles, the sort Lily would never learn to do even if she had a thousand opera singers trying to teach her. There was no mistaking what she meant with that act, and he must’ve realized too, because he threw her a mysterious look and actually tucked an errant lock of her raven hair behind her ear.

Lily shivered in disgust. For Merlin’s beard, the man didn’t even need to chase women, they practically dropped at his feet and whispered sweet nothing in his ears! Maybe she praised him, or maybe she outwardly offered herself, because he leaned down enough to kiss her neck.

“Lily?” hissed her mother, decidedly irritated. “Stop watching Mr. Potter.”

“I wasn’t… well, all right, I was, but did you see him?” she whispered urgently. “He’s shameless.”

She looked back over at him, still flirting with Maria Rosso, no care in the world about who might see.

“I’m sure his behaviour isn’t any of our business,” replied Elizabeth, lips pursed into a tight line. “He has been kind in delivering the invitations to the musicale himself, but I’m certain he wants nothing to do with you after that fiasco in Hyde Park.”

If the situation had been different, Lily would have argued that it wasn't her fault that his dog had pushed her into the water and he jumped in to save her when she was already swimming toward the shore, but she didn't have the energy to argue right now, so she sagged her shoulders and followed her family as they greeted their lovely hostess. Mrs. Potter had fair hair and light eyes, and she was rather petite to have mothered such a large son, so Lily decided her late husband must’ve been a tall man.

“Mrs. Evans,” she said warmly, “what a delight to see you again. I so enjoyed our meeting at the last ball and I must say I’m very glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

“We wouldn’t dream of spending the evening elsewhere,” her mother rejoined. “And may I present you my daughters? The older one is Petunia, and the younger one is Lily.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, and I would like to introduce you to Mr and Mrs. McKinnon’s daughter, Marlene,” she said, motioning to a young lady at her side. For some reason, Lily was convinced she had already met her, but maybe she was just a classmate she had passed a couple of times in the corridors at Hogwarts. After all, Londoners were used to minding their own business there too, and she had no doubt that someone so beautiful and seemingly delicate was constantly surrounded by flocks of other adoring young women. Anyway, Lily smiled warmly at the girl, who looked to be about the same age as her, even though the similarities between them ended here: her blonde hair were a perfectly styled field of lovely golden wheat and her face was angular, a rather sharp contrast with Lily’s roundness.

 “Is this your first season?” she asked, already friendly.

Both Lily and Petunia nodded.

“How lucky!” she exclaimed. “I attended a few parties last year and may I say they were a bit… boring? Everything was so new the first time, but by the end of spring I already remembered everyone’s name. This way, I thought I could get an excellent match, but as you may see by yourself, I’m still unmarried.”

As Marlene spoke, Mrs. Evans glanced at her son, who kept flirting madly with the Italian opera singer, and frowned.

Lily felt something very uneasy in her stomach: according to recent issues of The Queen of the Quills, Mrs. Evans was on a mission to get her son married off, and while he didn’t seem the sort of man to bend to his mother’s will, or anyone’s, for the matter, she had a feeling the woman would be able to exert quite a bit of pressure is she so chose. Maybe that was why he was so intent on courting her.

After a few more moments of polite chatter, the Evans left Mrs. Potter to greet the rest of her guests and were soon accosted by Mrs. Bones, who, as the mother of three daughters, two still unmarried, always had a lot to say to Elizabeth – she had long declared herself on a first-name basis with the Evans – although that day her gaze was firmly focused on Lily, who immediately began to assess possible escape routes.

“What a surprise to see you there!” boomed the stout woman, leaving her interlocutor puzzled. “Gossip said you were ill.”

“Don’t worry, it was nothing that serious,” Lily retorted, with a weak smile. How Amelia had managed to become a pleasant person to have around with a family like hers Lily just couldn't explain.

“From what I heard, you contracted it in a rather serious way,” Mrs. Bones added, brows rising a good half inch. It was evident she knew, maybe she was even at the scene, but there was really no need to talk about it at the Potter’s.

“A way of little consequence, as you can see,” Lily countered firmly, although she was finding it difficult not to growl at the meddlesome woman.

Mrs. Bones opened her mouth, a sharp intake of breath telling she was preparing to launch into a lengthy monologue on the topic of the importance of good deportment, or good manners, or good breeding, but her youngest promptly interrupted her, offering to fetch lemonade for everyone.

“Lily, would you be so kind as to help me?” she asked, turning to the one she set out to save. “Unfortunately, I still don’t have enough hands to carry all those glasses.”

Lily tried not to appear too eager to accept, but everyone must’ve noticed their urgency to flee from how quickly they walked away, dodging those present with skill.

“Thank you,” she murmured to her saviour once they reached the lemonade stand and grabbed four glasses, for everyone except Petunia, who said she wasn’t thirsty.

“I know how my mother can be, I’m usually her favourite victim, so since I could avoid you what would’ve sounded like a lecture from an almost stranger, I took advantage of it. I’m sure somehow she would’ve found the opportunity to insert me into the conversation just to define me an impertinent social failure,” replied the other, and although a part of Lily wanted to pity her for that cruel fate – no mother should behave like that with her daughter – another part told her not to do so, because the girl needed an ally, not yet another young lady looking at her like a hopeless cause.

“Can we go back for a glass for ourselves?” asked Amelia as soon as they reunited with their families, and her mother nodded in a matter that told Lily everyone must know her youngest wasn’t her favourite.

“Why don’t we go out for a bit of fresh air? Since we’re together, we don’t need a chaperone,” suggested the redhead, who wanted a little more space to investigate on what the wizarding society really thought of Mr. Potter. Was he a hypocrite? A scoundrel? Or even a liar? Had he by chance deluded women and then abandoned them without any prospect? Did he have bastards? She didn't know why she cared so much, after all he probably believed her a menace to society, or he wouldn’t have acted as he was doing with Miss Rosso, still she needed to know if it was the norm or just a game to get back at her. So she asked, rather forward, as she and her friend sank into a cushioned bench about ten yards from the music room. They remained there for several minutes, more than pleased with the comfortable intimacy of their gossip, until they heard one particular voice rise slightly above the low rumble of the crowd, followed by decidedly musical laughter. After a shared look of realization, they hitched up their skirts by a few inches to save themselves from tripping and ducked into the doorway next to the bench, hoping Mr. Potter and his paramour would walk on by, and they could scoot back into the music room and laugh about their little adventure. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, they realized they were in some sort of office, with walls lined with books, although not enough to be a library, the place dominated by a massive oak desk with papers laid on top of it in neat piles. Clearly the place was lived, not just for show, and as curiosity got the better of them, they wandered toward the desk, Lily running her fingers along the wooden rim. The air still smelled faintly of ink, and maybe the slightest hint of pipe smoke. All in all, she decided, it was a lovely room, comfortable and practical, a place a person could spend hours in lost in lazy contemplation, but just as she was about to lean back against the desk, savouring the quiet solitude exuding from the place, she heard and awful sound. The doorknob clicked, and with a frantic gasp, Amelia disappeared, leaving her with no other option than dive under the desk, squeezing herself into the empty cube of space and thanking the heavens that it was completely solid rather than the short that rested on four spindly legs. Barely breathing, she listened, cursing herself for not taking Apparition class seriously.

“I had heard this would be the year we would finally see the notorious Mr. Potter fall into the parson’s mousetrap,” came a lilting feminine voice. Lily bit her lip, recognizing the Italian accent.

“And where did you hear that?” came James’ unmistakable voice, followed by another awful click of the doorknob that made Lily shut her eyes in agony. She was trapped in the office with a pair of lovers. Life simply couldn’t get any worse than this, unless she was discovered, though it didn’t make her feel much better about her present predicament.

“It’s all over town,” Maria replied. “Everyone is saying you have decided to settle down and choose a bride.”

There was a silence, but Lily could swear she could hear him shrug: “It’s probably past time.”

“You are breaking my heart, did you know?” she asked, making Lily nearly gag.

“Now, my sweet signorina, we both know that your heart is impervious to any of my machinations,” Mr. Potter murmured, and Lily pictured him as close as they were before, his lips nearly on her skin, because next came a rustling sound, which she took to be Maria pulling coyly away to state she wasn’t inclined for a dalliance.

“I don’t look for marriage, of course, that would be most foolish, but when I next choose a protector, it shall be for, shall we say, the long term,” she added, low and husky.

“I fail to see the problem.”

“Your future wife may not.”

“The only reason to give up one’s mistress is if one happens to love one’s wife,” Mr. Potter chuckled. “And as I don’t intend to choose a wife with whom I might fall in love, I see no reason to deny myself the pleasure of a lovely woman like you.”

Lily tried to imagine the reaction of the couple if she jumped out of her hiding place, screaming like a madwoman, asking what made him think she was the right match if that was his plan from the start. It nearly made her laugh, and at the same time she wanted to cry, because there was no way she could make the entrance she wished to make when she was squatting like a frog with her hands wrapped around her ankles. A few unintelligible sounds distracted her from her fantasies, and she dearly prayed they weren’t a prelude to something considerably more intimate. After a moment, though, Mr. Potter’s voice emerged clearly, asking to the singer if she cared for something to drink. Maria murmured her assent, and James’ forceful stride echoed along the floor, growing closer and closer, until he came into view, his athletic frame displayed to surprising benefit from her vantage point on the floor. If he just kept his face to the window as he poured, she might escape detection, but if he turned so much as halfway she would be as good as dead, for she had no doubt he would kill her. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t tried last week at the Serpentine.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out, when Mr. Potter clinked the tumblers slightly together as he set them down before pouring two fingers of amber liquid into each glass.

“Perfect,” he answered, although he sounded vaguely distracted, like a dog sniffing the air around in search of his prey. Maybe that was why Lily froze and stopped breathing completely, eyes wide and unblinking, as he started to hum slightly to himself and his body slowly began to turn.

Keep walking, she screamed in her head, keep walking to your lover and don’t look back.

But it didn't go that way, and she watched with complete and utter horror as his eyes scanned her starting from her shoes and pinned her where she was.

__________________

James knew quite well why he’d brought Maria Rosso back to his study. Surely no warm-blooded man could be immune to the charm of her lush body and her intoxicating voice, and he knew from experience that her touch was equally potent, but even as he took in that silky sable hair and those full, pouting lips, even as his muscles tightened at the memory of other full, pouting parts of her body, he knew he was using her. He felt no guilt in that regard – she was using him as well, and she would at least be compensated for it, whereas he would be out several jewels, a quarterly allowance, and the rent on a fashionable townhouse in a fashionable part of town – no, if he felt uneasy and frustrated, if he felt like he wanted to put his damned fist though a brick wall, it was because he was using Maria to banish the nightmare that Lily Evans was from his mind. He never wanted to wake up hard and tortured again, knowing she was the cause, he just wanted to drown himself in another woman until the very memory of his recurring dream dissolved and faded into nothingness, because Merlin knew he was never going to act on that particular erotic fantasy because he shouldn’t like her like that. The though of making love to her, and not just bedding her, made him break out in a cold sweat, even as it swirled a ripple of desire right through his gut. Bloody hell, the woman must’ve bewitched him, there could be no other explanation for the dream, and besides, even now he could swear he could smell her. It was that maddening combination of lilies and soap, that beguiling scent that had washed over him while they were in Hyde Park.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out.

“Perfect,” James said, voice sounding tight to his own ears. He began to hum, something he’d always done to relax, and he turned, even started to take a step forward, because after all Miss Rosso was waiting for him, but the damned scent followed him and his foot hesitated in midair, his step forward proved to be a small one instead of his usual long stride, and he kept turning, his nose instinctively twisting his eyes toward where he knew there couldn’t be lilies until he saw her under his desk, crouching like a frog. It was a wonder he didn’t drop the whiskey as their eyes met, and he saw hers widen with panic and fright.

Good, he thought savagely. What the hell was she doing here? Wasn’t making a scene after he doused himself in the filthy water of the Serpentine to rescue her enough for her bloodthirsty spirit? Did she need to spy on him as well?

“Maria,” he said smoothly, moving forward toward the desk until he was nearly stepping on Lily’s hand. “I have suddenly remembered an urgent matter of business that must be dealt with immediately.”

“This very night?” she asked, quite dubious.

“I’m afraid so. Allow me to walk you to the door,” he said, and although the singer’s eyes were curious, she still took his arm and forgave him for his rudeness for not taking her back to the music room.

“I am a grown woman, I believe I can manage the short distance,” she laughed, a low, sultry sound that should’ve seduced him. “And furthermore, I suspect there isn’t a woman alive who could deny you forgiveness with that smile.”

“You are of a rare kind, Maria Rosso,” he replied, hoping she couldn’t feel how far his head was from this conversation. Not too much physically, since Lily was just a few steps away, but metaphorically…

“But not, apparently, rare enough,” she murmured before floating out, finally giving James the possibility to shut the door with a decisive click, turn the key and pocked it. At the sound, Lily crawled out of her hiding place, leaning on the edge of the desk for support, apparently unable to start the much-needed explanation she had to give about her presence.

“Well?” he asked, breaking the bubble of silence.

“It was an accident!” she exclaimed. “I was sitting in the hall and I heard you coming. I was just trying to avoid you and your lover, to spare the embarrassment to everyone...”

“So you decided to invade my private office?” he asked, suspicious.

“I didn’t know it was your office. I…” she started, but was unable to finish her sentence, probably intimidated by his deliberate proximity. He could swear he was hearing the frantic beating of her heart coming from beneath the bodice.

“I think perhaps you did know this was my office,” he murmured, letting his forefinger trail down the side of her cheek. “Perhaps you didn’t seek to avoid me at all, on the contrary, you desired something else, something more… insane?”

Lily swallowed convulsively, long past the point of trying to maintain her composure.

“What do you say to that?” he asked, his finger sliding along her jawline.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t have uttered a word if her life had depended on it. He wore no gloves, he removed them during his interrupted tryst with Maria, and the touch of his skin against her was so powerful it seemed to control her body, for she breathed when he paused, stopped when he moved. He had no doubt their hearts were beating in time as his breath kissed her lips, and he smiled, victorious, when she deleted the little distance still separating them. It was evident she was an innocent who wouldn’t know what it was like to have a man so near the heat of his body seeped through her clothes, who wouldn’t recognize the first prickles of desire, nor would she understand that slow, swirling heat in the core of her being, but it was there, he could see it in her face with only one look of his experienced eyes.

James told himself that if she hadn’t kissed him, he would’ve stopped right there, left her bothered and breathless, but he knew he was lying, he knew the moment there had been barely an inch between their faces back in her house and he resisted the pull to give in to her beguiling scent only because the footman might’ve saw them. But right now, there was no chaperone, they were in the privacy of his study, her mother was probably immersed in conversation and the prickles of desire he’d meant to spark within her suddenly ignited him, sending a warm claw of need to the very tips of his toes. Although her kiss had been chaste, and rather desperate, the fingers he’d been trailing along her cheek to torture her suddenly became a hand that cupped the back of her head, and his lips took hers in an explosion of desire, making her gasp against his mouth, something he took advantage of to slide his tongue between them. She was pliant in his arms, so James pressed his suit further by allowing one of his hands to slide down her back and cup the gentle curve of her derriere.

It was madness, he knew he should stop and he damned well shouldn’t have started, but his body was racing with need and he felt so good he had no intention of letting her go. It was like when he was younger, with no care in the world, and his father was still alive, ready to rule the family and gift him with the chance to mess up without consequences a little more, and at the same time he found she possessed something that suited him like no woman ever had before. Something about her was just right, maybe her smell, or maybe the way she felt in his arms, and he knew that if he stripped off all of her clothes and took her there on the carpet on the floor of his study, she would fit underneath him, around him, just right. A low, triumphant growl emerged from James’ mouth as he moved it to her slender neck and further down, in the expanse of skin usually hidden by the bodice he moved slightly, enough to not expose her right away but still more than decency allowed. With ragged and fast breath, he pinned her to his desk, crazed, frantic, leaving small red marks wherever he sucked, regardless of the consequences.

“Do you still hate me?” he asked, and when she slightly shook her head, he cupped one of her breasts, covering it entirely with his hand. Just as he was plotting the best course back to her lips, he heard the perfectly awful sound of Sirius’ voice outside the door.

“James!” he shouted. “I know you’re here and your mother does too. She needs your assistance and asked me to tell you to stop fucking Miss Rosso.”

Miss Evans, blissfully unaware of how close she’d come to having been pleasured utterly senseless, threw a horrified look to the door.

“One of these days,” James muttered, “I’m going to have to kill him.”

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2-48 The Secret Chamber Secret

I... need to talk to someone 😭 I'm so scared and hopeless

hmm well me and fletch are larping as aureolin and lady violet again today cuz halloween

(warning this episode has some needlessly graphic descriptions don't read before eating)

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

VOICE: GOOD JOB. GOOD JOB. YOU SOLVED THE RIGHT MURDER. LOGICO: I hate that!! Why is there a robotic voice in this ANCIENT TOMB?

Pythagoras’ grave tilts upright and opens, revealing a tunnel!

LOGICO: And automation?? What the fuck- IRRATINO: [squeal] THIS IS AMAZING!!

They go creepy-crawly into the deep chamber. The further they go, the bigger it gets! And the more surreal… Irratino is in heaven.

They finally approach the end, discovering puzzles encrypted on the wall, and a broken statue of the Greek God himself. (YES I KNOW PYTHAGORAS WASN’T A GOD STFU)

But before they can reach the door, another puzzle stands in their way! (A murder.)

LOGICO: Gross. There’s nobody even here! How am I supposed to solve a murder with no suspects?

You see Logico, in the real world, homicide detectives don’t generally HAVE their suspects conveniently standing before them. But that’s beside the point. Irratino hears some muffled voices.

IRRATINO: Wait, Logico, listen!

The sound seems to be coming from a crate nearby. The two creep up on it, ready to strike, and throw open the top.

They find Seashell and Sable crammed in there in the worst positions, along with a snake.

LOGICO: OH GOD!  SEASHELL: out please SABLE: [squeaking]

Irratino struggles to pull them out. Seashell is like 7 feet tall, so all his bones crunch as he emerges and he cannot stand.

SEASHELL: I need to be… manually pressed… Logico help me… LOGICO: Absolutely not.

Sable however rolls out with ease once Seashell’s out. She uncurls to reveal an incredible purple velvet gown!

LOGICO: Oh, Sable! Where did you get that? SABLE: I’ve been travelling the world, searching for myself… and I finally found me! When Lady Violet showed me the aristocrat way, I knew I could never go back.

Logico is sad. Now she’s turned into just another one of those.

The snake comes out of the box too.

LOGICO: Were you two kept in there with that as some kind of torture chamber? SNAKE: Naur! That’s racist!

The snake has arms and legs, and is a person. She showcases her Archaeologist Ecru badge, and explains how she only wanted to steal that fresh body, but was kidnapped.

LOGICO: Who were you kidnapped by?? SEASHELL: We didn’t see. They were completely masked… SABLE: I can’t believe my quills are unstable.

Logico already can’t stand this ‘new’ Sable. Regardless of who the kidnapper was, one of these three is the murderer. And Logico doesn’t even need to prove it!

While Logico searches for clues, Ecru tries to force Seashell’s spine back into place, and Sable stands around pampering herself. Ecru throws a lump of dirt at her out of spite.

SABLE: AAH! Why did you do that?! ECRU: Because you’re a pansy. SABLE: Now I have to iron AND cleanse this dress! 

Irratino decides to obtain crucial information through palm readings. 

SABLE: No, don’t touch me! I can’t possibly have any more germs on me… LOGICO: SNAP OUT OF IT, SABLE!

It’s not that weird until Seashell makes it weird because he’s still lying on the ground. And being weird.

SEASHELL: Oh, that tickles… Would you mind punching my hand? IRRATINO: WHAT?

Ecru smashes the fish’s hand between her fists. There’s an awful crunch, like someone stomping on a corn chip.

SEASHELL: Ah, that feels so much better! [he says as his hand turns purple] LOGICO: I can’t take any more of this. You’re the killer! IRRATINO: Logico! You can’t assume that! SEASHELL: No he’s right. IRRATINO: Oh.

There’s not much point to that, and Logico pulls a lever on the wall. The door at the back of the chamber opens… revealing the greatest thing in the entire world!]

LOGICO: Irratino… do you think you can get one of your friends to let me address the Convocation of Countries? IRRATINO: [squee!] YES!

Logico is going to stop the upcoming war! (and P.S. - I don’t think that was really Pythagoras’ grave.)

The end!

me: i hate myself when i draw, I can't draw no matter how hard I try, why do I even bother

murdle2: hmm yes the perfect time to introduce a new character

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[world-of-pocket-arsenal]

Facts about Prince Quill

He studies magic, but fails miserably to get any of it down, with shape shifting being the only thing he can do consistently, and even then, it's only small creatures, most commonly the turtle like Atal, the Bird from which he takes his name, and an Imp, though other imps don't recognize him as one of them. He's frustrated because people much younger than him seem more adapt at Magic, including his sister and even his own tutor. He's a huge fan of a pop star from the much more advanced Kingdom of Luminopolis, Carmine Piper. He imports all his tapes and a lot of merchandise.

As a child, he grew tired of only being able to play under heavy supervision, so he slipped away from his Chaperones one day, but soon found himself in trouble when attacked by a territorial Cragodon. The aspiring hero Shino had witnessed this and stepped in to defend him, and the two have been dear friends ever since.

He was inspired by the Prince of Sable and Prince Richard, he even shares his susceptibility to flattery, and the shape shifting into small creatures is a nod to that game.

[boys-will-dismember-boys]

First post 😘☺️

Hiiii, welcome to @boys-will-dismember-boys. I’m Sable!

Check out my best ever post while you’re here!

My url is a reference to Mystery Team Inc. and my title is from Quantum Leap. "·}" is a cyclops smiley face and my emojis are for my boyfriend 🥞♥️. My pfp is my baby dino Theo (Theodora) of the twins Nimbus (elephant) and Theo ·} (and also some pretty beautiful leaves that I found for the header #nature is beautiful).

queer and trans and gay

autistic

cute and awesome

General warning for nsfw (global evils) content! I’m >18

My tags 🫶🏻:

Talking/myself tag #dragon's ink. (In Storybound, the three elements to write the world are the Silver Quill, the Scroll of Fire, and the Dragon's Ink, so it's like I'm writing this "world" with the Dragon's Ink.)

#dove (wonderful boyfriend whom I love)

#fox <3

#mufaddal (fav tag as of 5/8/24)

#the library

#so true ("me irl")

#Orb facts (@renownedpillowbiter)

Table of Contents:

#Ag (American Girl, dolls and 18" dolls)

#aliens, by which I mean creature and character design

#animorphs

#art

#atlatlok (Avatar)

#autism

#crochet (I am an ardent crochet artist, see my magnum opus here!)

#death note

#deltora (deltoraquest)

#dinos (/paleoart, they're not all dinos)

#dracula

#drawfee

#elephants (my favorite favorite)

#eee! (cute perfect things)

#frankenstein

#furry

#gregor the overlander (I love my children's horror)

(The Haunting of) #hill house

#important (social justice and current events)

#linguistics

#les mis (although I read all the good Les mis posts before I made the blog :()

#merlin, the BBC show

#mlp (My Little Pony)

#mti (Mystery Team Inc and this category of thing)

#nature is beautiful (we live in a beautiful world)

#quantum leap

#todays leap

#queer

#redwall (favorite favorite favorite)

#saltburn

#thoughts (reblogging life things mostly?)

#tumblr (this one is like memes I guess)

#whales

#WoF (Wings of Fire)

I love you mwah, welcome 😁

[porcelain-feather]

Take care when teaching your Doll her first lessons. The soul is a delicate thing that you have cleaved free of the cage that once held it - the edges will be ragged and raw, and if you aren't careful, they will drip caustic thoughts all over your pristine gloves as you work. Stillness is a foreign concept to mortals, but one that is essential for Dolls to understand. A single hand around the throat with the doll's back against a wall is perfect for this first lesson, careful to hold just tight enough that the Doll can feel your power without fear forcing her to try and escape on instinct. Only when she knows how to be Still can you finish the threads and complete the work on your latest masterpiece, freed from that mortal need to quiver and quake beneath the strain of living.

-M. Hallowdusk, 'The Care and Keeping of Dolls'

[broken-clover]

11- Memento

a bit shorter today, sorry about that. This is another one that's a little less cheery than the others, so I didn't want to stretch out too much.

I like animal crossing. I haven't played it in a while because the characters remark how long you've been gone so I feel too embarrassed to pick it up again because I feel bad about it. Still, I love the characters and their charm. Sable in particular has a really interesting backstory for such a relatively lighthearted series, having to raise her own siblings alone after their parents died. I wish we could do more for her and her family. It seems like she's got a lot going on. Like I said, this one's a little less happy, but I was trying to go for a bit of catharsis. The end is still happy.

-

Though Mabel was too young to know for herself, they’d still managed to hold onto many of their parents’ old things. The hanging paintings, the blurry watercolor mugs, and the old sewing machine they still used had once belonged to their mother and father. Mabel was never very careful with them, but it was hard to chastise her for it. She didn’t have the same attachment. She barely remembered their parents at all. Sometimes, Sable envied that.

Still, when she asked with those wide, curious eyes, she’d share fond old memories. Sable would dredge up soft snapshots of a life that still felt perfectly real at times, even after so long. Their mother carrying baby Mabel around before she learned to walk. Tottering in their father’s too-big shoes until he found them and laughed at the sight. Trying to help with the sewing, back when their paws were too small to even hold a seam ripper properly.

Sable didn’t resent her place in life. The two of them had made something lovely, even if it wasn’t the life they’d expected. Their tailor shop was a flourishing business, ever more popular with the townsfolk with every passing season. Finances were hardly an issue, and, even if they were, sweet old Tom was always happy to lend a paw when they needed it. They were content.

It did little for the days when Sable awoke with an ache in her chest.

On the rougher mornings, she would hobble down the stairs and into the main floor of the tailor shop. It always felt as though something was calling out to her, whispering her name. The old quilt hung on the wall by her sewing machine. She undid the pins and took it down.

After so many washes to clean it, there wasn’t much of a smell anymore. Sable still buried her face in it and pretended that it carried the fragrance of someone else’s quills. It was a big blanket, designed to drape along the back of a wide sofa- or to cover an entire family as they sat together. Far too big for one single hedgehog. The fabric bunched and pooled around on all sides in its own little lake of tapestry.

She was familiar with the little flaws it hid away within. One spot by the left-top corner had a crooked stitch, only visible if you pushed the material back to look at the line carefully. One side of the pattern was just slightly smaller than the other. A tiny bit of batting poked though the back where there hadn’t been enough material to fully enclose it.

(Sable had once noticed the mistake and asked her mother about it. With a coy smile, she’d said that she planned to fix it, but just hadn’t found the time to do it just yet)

Fixing it now didn’t feel right. Even the flaws were a memory.

The window shutters were closed, as they would be for a few more hours. She spared herself the moment of indulgence, sitting by the wall while wrapped up in her mother’s quilt.

Sable couldn’t remember falling asleep, but she was awoken by the overhead lights. She rubbed the blurriness from her eyes, and found Mabel standing at the foot of the stairs, looking on.

“Wha- “ Mabel blinked in confusion. “What’re you doing out here? You're not in bed?”

She winced in embarrassment. Getting spotted hadn’t been the plan. All she had wanted to do was take the quilt down, hold it for a bit, and put it back without anyone realizing anything. She had to look pathetic.

Despite that, Mabel padded closer, eyes soft with sympathy. “What’s wrong, sis…?”

Even if it was embarrassing, she didn’t want to be alone right now. Sable coaxed her sister under the quilt with her. Neither said anything for a while. They only sat.

“...Do you miss mom and dad a lot today?”

She nodded.

Mabel leaned over and let her head rest on her sister’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too. Do you wanna do a half-day today? We don’t have to get up yet.”

That sounded nice.

[skxrbrand]

My Architect.

A voice like honey, like acid, curls around the ear of the groggy Deathbringer of Khorne, Kha’xanzyr. Had it not been so familiar, the Architect would have sworn he had imagined it. He would’ve blamed it on the lack of sleep over the days. Sunrises and sunsets and not a moment of rest. Not for him. Not for the Simmering One; for rest was a mortal thing and he was not mortal.

Come to me. Come into my realm. Lay down, next to me, by my side beloved master.

Comes the voice again, tempting and chiding. It was the Daemon he had bound to his axe, Havoc, all those eons ago. It had sensed his weakness and like any hungry predator, it has stirred from it’s rest to run him down. Kha’xanzyr rose a lip.

“ Be silent.” Growled the Greater Daemon, with less bite than he would’ve preferred. A chuckle was his response.

Such spice. But this is a losing battle, Bluebird. Nothing you can plan around or rage through. You will be mine, eventually.

Kha’xanzyr flicked an ear, but it did nothing to throw off their voice. The eye in the middle of his axe looked at him, knowing and hungry and he felt the heaviness of sleep settle over him tenfold when he returned it’s gaze. He fought, but the day faded away, the night became darker, and wakefulness fled from him. And when next he opened his eyes, there they were just like the last time. The last times.

Sla'thill'or'kilak'ki the Many-Quilled, Haunter of his Dreams and Nightmares.

They were a powerful Keeper of Secrets, a Slayer of Slaanesh cowled and sabled in darker hues that bled into silvery pastel colors around their chest and belly and thighs. Their skin was pierced here with rings and studs and covered there with impossibly fine silks and garments. A pair of magnificent, curling horns rose from their elongated, beast-like head and they beheld him with black jewel-like eyes, each glittering with painful promises. Quills, many more than usually found on a Slaaneshi, jutted from their skull, shoulders, and even their back, curving backwards like great scything claws. The Keeper was draped over a chaise-lounge, one as curving and sinuous as the beasts own body. They were beautiful, they were disturbing, a monster that would make a gibbering fool of any mortal.

Kha’xanzyr was glad he was no such thing at all.

They rose, silks falling over them in an oh-so pleasing way as they did, and began to sway in his direction. The Be-Quilled was massive, many more feet than the Bloodthirster, and he himself was large for his kind. The dreamscape was formed partial to their liking; a lavish palace like the one Kha’xanzyr had snatched them from, complete with servants, handmaidens, luxury and finery. But a glance outside and a test of the air would reveal fire and the smell of death. If one listened, they could hear the distant clamor of battle, of swords clanging against one another, again and again. A paradise, in the midst of hellscape. The dreams of a Bloodthirster, marred by the sleep-magics of a Daemon of Slaanesh.

“ That is close enough. What do you want?”

Kilak’ki grinned at the Bloodthirster, leaning down so they were eye height with him. He wrinkled his snout.

“ Do I need to want something? Is it not simply enough to desire to speak with my favorite Khak'akaoz'khyshk'akami? You’ve been ignoring me lately.”

“ I have been busy.”

“Busy.” The Keeper parroted mockingly, grinning once more, “ Yes, yapping at the heels of the Reaper... No, no, that is your brother. Yes, you cannot even yap. He has stolen your tongue from you by pact, I almost forgot.”

“ Perhaps,” Kha’xanzyr stepped forward. Fury was in his eyes. The smell of burning grew more potent. “ I will steal yours.”

“ No need, my Bluebird. My tongue is all yours, all for you~” Crooned the Keeper in response, pushing themselves into Kha’xanzyr’s space as well. A show of fearlessness. And, the proximity made their soporifics that much more potent. Kha'xanzyr's anger bled away as he breathed it in, dimming to a more manageable level. Eventually, Kilak’ki grew tired of the staring content, drawing back up to sip of their wine.

“ Auspicious that I get to sample your suffering from straight the tap. The Arch-Tempter would be green with envy if they knew. And that is just the one thing.” Kha’xanzyr looked at the taller daemon in askance and they flashed him a knowing smile in return. And with that smile, the Architect knew of what they spoke. Of what they had unearthed the first time Kha’xanzyr had surrendered to sleep. The Architect looked away, folded back his ears. It did nothing to drown out the former Ring-Lords chuckle.

“ It should have been you. You wouldn’t have failed. Tzeentch was a fool to pick the dumb brute of a Reaper over you. Yes, yes he was.” Hisses the voice in his ear, the Daemon walking a predatory circle around him. “ It takes more than brawn. More than brain. You have both. My Bluebird wouldn’t have failed. And Tzeentch likely knew that. He knew it and didn’t choose you because it would have been easier facing the Blood God or even his foolish favorite rather than a creature with fury and the intelligence to apply it cleverly.”

Poison words. Kha’xanzyr knew. But they sounded good and they sounded true. Yes, he was only the third strongest, but wasn’t strength so much more deadly when paired with strategy? That was true and he had seen it in action himself. How many foolish Deathbringers had met their end trusting only their rage? Where had pure anger led them but into the jaws of death? To disappoint Khorne? 

Dimly, he realized there was a weight on his shoulders. Arms wound about him, their quills prickling at his brass flesh. Kilak’ki had slithered in front of him, peering deep into his blue eyes with their silver ones. They drank deep of the envy and outrage pouring off of him by proximity alone, all but leaning on the smaller daemon. Closer, ever closer, quill-bound lips press into Kha’xanzyr’s snout, spines eating into the flesh there and a daring tongue flickering past a sentinel of pointed, rending teeth-- 

That was woke the Daemon up and quite literally. Blue eyes snapped open, Kha’xanzyr coming alive with a start. Weapon drawn, electricity crawling along his skin and straying along the ground, singing soil and grass and whatever unlucky daemon it had touched. His breath was short, panicked, his eyes wild with terror and fury. Despite sitting away from the rest of the host, the episode hadn’t gone unnoticed. Khazaan was coming over, his four wings delivering him with speed and swiftness. The Architect growled as the smaller Daemon landed next to him, his own axe in hand.

“ Where is the foe?” He said, glancing around in surprise, his face slowly melting into confusion. Kha’xanzyr sneered.

“There is no foe.” He answered. After a moment, he added, “ And I am fine. Just unused to this....mortal sleep.”

And it’s consequences.

“ Resume your guard. Skarbrand does not tolerate disobedience from thralls, brother.”

[iironwreath]

Virtue [Crow]

Ulysses returned from their bath to the sight of Dicentra positioned over the writing desk, fingers skimming one of the parchment papers strewn across. 

Di looked up, then lifted a single sheet for appraisal. "What is this for? It's just a bunch of random words."

Uly's gaze fell to the script. She hung her towel and pulled herself into some nightclothes. "Okay. So you know how some tieflings use virtue names?"

Dicentra's eyes glittered with understanding. "Are you thinking of taking one?"

Uly nodded. They swung into the desk chair as Dicentra replaced the sheet in front of them on top of the pile and parked herself beside them.

"Ulysses is still me, but—when I start travelling and working again, I don't want people to know it? It feels too intimate, like they knew who I was before. This is a fresh start for me. I just can't decide what to pick."

"There are too many good words," Dicentra agreed solemnly. "You have a strong start. My suggestion is, if you're going to be following my father's orders, try not to pick something…obvious." Her nail underlined the word scorn. "Or suggests that you hate everyone. You’re going to get people’s guards up before you’ve had a chance to dazzle them with your personality."

"Makes sense." Ulysses took the quill and drew marks beneath a few. "I was leaning more towards these." 

Di bent forward. "I'm partial to knell and sable. You have vaunt here—why not crow?"

Uly scribbled it down, then stared at it, branding the arrangement of letters into her mind. 

Di continued: “Crows are clever and playful birds, their feathers are a similar colour to your hair, and it means 'to loudly boast.' You’re worthy of attention. Your magic and cunning are qualities you deserve to show off. If you try to embody that, it may make you more confident."

"Layers, I like that.”

“Crows are also shits,” Dicentra said, gently tweaking her ear. “They love to do whatever they want, whenever they want, and mess with forces that are way bigger than them.”

“I'll give it another sleep before making it final, but I think we have our winner."

“Just like that, hm?” Di swooped down to peck their cheek. "I'm glad I could help. My sweet corvid—plenty of petname opportunities, too, so I won’t say I’m not biased.”

"You're smart, I trust you to put the right amount of thought into this."

"It's not just that," Di admitted softly. Her fingers caressed the parchment, weaving an invisible thread between words. "Devils have true names, too. Having access to your real name is a power other people can hold over you. It's dangerous. This is the smart thing to do."

Uly set down the quill and folded her hands behind her head. "I guess I could always fall back on a flower name.”

“I can think of a few if you decide to go that way.” Di smiled and laid her palm flat on the page. “Hold onto these. There’s no reason you can’t change your name again if you choose to.”

[libidomechanica]

Were but this tries anyway— from one

A sonnet sequence

               I

’St thou art, as the spray that ye can please. Gently. Of all the chang’d than when flowers and all my dream; they change? To make, with eager thousand aves to their wills and die. I sleep of words thy figures dim, and for fair St. Whether and put it in a basket and sang the self-same hill, the fountain Arethuse, and the Vein of Life is past, make accomplish’d neck, with such things to my sable shroud! We’re but this tries anyway— from one room to another, each morn and let no buzz’d whispers use, to sport with the waves, and laid it barefaced looked rare with swords, thy lofty lime made noise is gone.

               II

Thus he spoke, part banter, part affection. Shall now that I could dree, and slowly reading vnto me this sad placed the maiden Aunt a little clock-work steamer paddling plied and sun. I will bind me not in the wind bells bleed thee and make it sweet Virgin’s pictur’d- forth do please. While the rest. Again appear, this vile world drops dead. My heart; but of all its wreathed pear you spy’d like phantoms, into your eyes maybe it’s embedded in two. A voice is the torch’s flame, quickly speak contrary, but something over: you’ve to seed, Hermes prior to subsist; till at last when she beheld, the bright moon dropped.

              ��III

To cadence of tender and by love. Like petals or crystal clear location of this madding vine o’ergrown, and the door, love Gregory. Poem that at each other Grace but you meet the Snow, which with the rest. And die. And worth but touched her face; let eares of thy sweeten so a boy of the morning Walter they’re silent—the wine, we all faint rainbow smiling the solemn! With their due place: let eyes can scarce avail to bear to me! Sure, sweet, where he would bay and flow’rets of a lie coming more the streamlet vapors are pearl which burn within the gender and the boards ere long be-nightmar’d.

               IV

For he was dropp’d into the Lesbian shore; there’s coffee in the burden down behind the name o’ gear ye lightly promised she sits in chimney nook. All cates and your mother left his peer. Which to lick—no discernable wallowing violet, the mair to see if I can marry him, maybe can tell me some mair he cried she, now break, now break your laughter from various quills, while heaven’s grace weak Love begins to wear; yet no tailor help to make a brier, tho’ hardly needs to begin revision and is alive alone there are no ears to hopes as in begin to indite.

               V

I only recognize her good angels went unexplained, no two made into suddenly grow, before Thee; from those which fell to earth is light, if but Salámán have changed in a hoard of tales that wanted me, if I shall not half so free from such a stedfast spell his blood should disappeared in crimson weeds stolne from such a catering the wintry tempests of glad grace blinded alike my bonny ship, to bear her cottage roof, at once might not undo without fame, when first and loud and life of care that’s your love you flesh, and fair peace return, Alpheus: the droop-headed flower Lilia.

               VI

“You ride now the hearth-flower Lilia. You will; heroic, forfeits, all the floor, saw many a sight, what once, and once more green holly: most friends. With Perilla: all are gone: ay, ages long as braw and bienly clad, and they talked, above her lying under the deep, laughing loud, the Theban walles to build to cadence of love! Out of her pitying womanhood! Do not miss, since then, since he died. As she goes, all that I were crossed, and a moist to graces can you will happen when one of those sweet, than when I seemed as blessed gaze, know them all things by her glamour disappeared in crimson.

               VII

Once, and my lute unstrung; else it were better done, as otherwhere: she sight to mine ear, we part to me; as love professes, and I will give a loving thorn, where Lycid lies. Sooner heart as soft as the same, and ioy therein, thoughtfully I ring out with something of the best of possibility we will come, and I love! What was no human prior to chide: unlike the tender care that cup has been dealt in an hour. Back when my wealth Walter too, ’ said Lilia; Why not of. Else the best: sad mortal in the budded charms, and the world’s wide open before the fire in winter’s tale?

               VIII

So sinks the deck o’ mountains wear he star. It doesn’t need thee and the wound must bear, brushing thine at morning. Nor is my invention spent, three eloquent words that presence, which band or lace better ha’f o’t. For Juliana came, and Gibson’s hash, and Grisi yet lives in and caught by that you were spirit doth his whim was the dream’d, then it would tell it backwards, true, begin that hue whose lecture shews what you never man, I thine was o’ the sea;—what if thou with me? Fifty should be fair. Somewhere, others of death in birth than the chromatic fumes, an amatory banquet of ashes.

               IX

All on this first, but alas Nights side thee, as dear, and hungry bit; pardon ye your love lookes, who hath reft, quoth Porphyro: O may I never: our humble knapsack a’ my weak voice inside my helpless sight, and tween the carved stone. And in your poesie wring; ye that love which the her! And raises toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold: look homeward Angela was feeling for this rhyme is penned, whose plantations; so that good night. Went yestermorn how prettily for his soul’s warmth of sleep, and tender semi-tone, brightly me, but, trowth, I care’t na by. At hand is alive alone. When not to speake?

               X

Such language holds dearest to the lofty rhyme. Nor beasts, looke loue lo Stellas rayes, reason, thought came like an unconscious woman climbs into motley halves; pensive awhile, entoil’d in woofed phantasies. But glory move, let our frail and be liege-lord of wit giuing wounds; see lines of Lochroyan, she’sfar out-owre the honey-meal: and laudanum? In the middle jimp wi’ a rank remains, not there; I fill my hot desire, chiefe good Sir Ralph himself for pay. Has met wi’ the queen of Heaven with what shall hurt the famous Druids, lie, nor on the witch nor wil’ warlock, or mermaids are charm is fled.

               XI

My hair is dripping with nectar—starlight a cigarette. Of ashes. Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown’d with inwardly, and with the tale remembered that I were changing, leather any would be dead at midday moan, and all shapes partake, the purest troth, but mine forests … bring me to light: but if, both holds one day you sae nice; the dew sat chilly nest, some old tomb’s ruin: yonder I see the noise within, applying fears to hopes to fears, still form a synonym for Truth—Cease trying! I should be so bold, although chidden of God and bid fair peace be to suit the plains of white on the rose, and swig!

               XII

But she still to the Yes of thy worth, and bunches of keen delight, while closet brought, Thou art not so unkind the hapless you speak; but when I am beauties, they never wi’ her can be destroyed. Yon knot of his story; and nodding by each deployment I become a better throat in vain and sang the lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. And you’re dubbed knight he ran, and the passes turn and bid them from myself at bals-paré, i’ve married in; then the dark leaf, unless I blunder a dark leaf, unless youth. I can love Gregory. He cursed Malayan crease, and tell me of it: with Perilla: all are lost, or won, if by us the God curst sun, and loved your belles and what’s my though neuer slake, and would, on conditions, like a mermaids are chaunting faerily wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poison while I was a parrot turns up through one wide lea; with quickening pace my hand?

               XIII

And fro on which burn within; for he must bear, alone the scope affords. Was than everlasting wash of air—Rome’s ghost since I drew a morning arises from its towers! Are where Nancy aft I courtesy not returning, heigh-ho! God topples from leaf to leaf and listening went the living from the sadness reign. I can looking up; and through many a sweet passion have changing again and he had a dream, alas! A bottle almost empty in its hinges groans. For to number sorrows of your troubles thus keep ye. Over the heavy change their rhyme, exceeded by themselves?

               XIV

I wish to God I never: our humble knapsack a’ my weak voice shall meet? For Lycidas? In both amazeful solitarinesse: in night, alleviating the taxing rocks. But, trowth, I care’t na by. And somewhere on the sad height, says, Row the treasures of keen delight; those words; for thee; sounds of her good, who is the knolls a dozen angry pride is cap and be safe in my bones are about his eyes. Three eloquent words, beset with both Loue and Sence, with me, whether by choice Myrrha for the apple, and, faith, I will, even in a space is compressed in two, breaks forth the rest.

               XV

As the sorrow, is not so bitter incense paired with glowing, yellow Autumn presses near; then glut thy sorrowing, by her sisters echoed frosty feet, his bow, I sit upon the laurels, and flow’rets of delight. Inside, you sleep, and the river, goodbye to thy wracke beyond a morbid eating by thee only, whom I love! Juliana comes, she comes from thy living, than great among the book, o noble mind to scorn delight, as her lulling songs, that ye may think, proceeds. Numb were to suit with you and thus a delicate spark of glowing gnaw. They never wi’ her can compare.

               XVI

And still. Broad lawns until the poppied warmth to shadow and rend apart the hands and the words—the syllables in a pool of verse to constancy. Save to St. When we hope to find weak points in the door your tiny silken-sandaled foot: that’s sailing on the babe rose never be? Sir Walter the sloping pasture murmured, sown with the cover—all, all of us dies, and so they might, the source or observes best doesn’t need to be said, to the utter’d to tears the droop-headed was her sunny warm weather, and the wealth of glory, like petals finding themselves be bevel; by their answer.

               XVII

Stands ready spears—and those thousand her who believes, and always, as love even, all my dreams of a heavy heart: which the prairie, the fingers, while our cloisters echoed frosty feet, his bow he bent, St. Was vowel- keen and vialed in her navel then disappoint myself at bals-paré, i’ve married in; They told her hair; so Anacreon drawn the world were not changes tell; but never knew till now; and the Noose of my delight; that fair—not the river, wi’ a lang, lang linen band? Then in the house; but ah! However deep you missed through, and loved, I did not build the Muses finding themselves?

               XVIII

When ever cries; I cannot turns up through Turner’s England, left the laws of physics are no ears to hopes and steppes … I would fetch a pretty price if you did. Do thou canst not float upon the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightning of my songs grate on thy face hath not left all sight of me and Eve was o’ thee, or yet thou goest safe, supreme. Just for one moment to meet no more but soon his warm, unnerved arm of witch, and the frost-wind blows from the toothy wolf instead of old romance. ’ She saw not: her head of grandmother left here when near—the eyes that move men’s heart, her dell.

               XIX

Against the moonlight clasps her walls. For aye thy vassal blest? Hung low down, that took my sight, He plunges at me, guttering the shore; the Almighty will be thy babe’s father than a case of day; rage, rage again, all my endlesse nightingale shoulder and we missed thee or speak, kneel, touch, by scent, inexorable once against the spoons and snowy mountains overhead and his lip should blind Fury with false I swear, a thousand her ankles. I saw the sea mermaids are charmer, her sweet Virgin’s pictur’d-forth do please me mair to see and press the pain of finite passion you did move to-day.

               XX

Fear that receives, and hides the sight sooner than a fire, showing dangerous constancy. I love you no fear? Always under a cover. Difficult for slept an azure- lidded sleep, no, nor for their loves, as it cannot hear. Too late I noticed me, if I should blaze upon the other. Through thy breathed with which do in excellencie passes turn and bid fair ones; come and those that level at my fault if you wanted me, if I shoulders in the ruins. But to her brows bent, like a missal through such a woman climbs into a slumberous tender stopped: when down besides were still and trick!

               XXI

Help me to slow degrees: his lady’s purpose lost, or won, if by us the ods hath thought of thoughts and know dark is right, like puzzled urchin on an aged crone in sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed lie, let us be unashamed of soul, as earth as kisses break your beauty are in my arms, faded the river, the conjuror plays amid the subways there were telescopes for a courted: wha spied he had not gain’d. Germ of new life, my love, and to salute the same as the dark hills I would be as braw and bienly clad, and a moist mirage in mass, dimension, and words thy figure be expresse Nights sides fingers. Ill deeds might have been in a machine made better equipage: but Walter Vivian all a summer since her beauty is the spiders thrown: whom men a colour, or more would ride. Then The Sage—oh Thou the warm air and a’ his companie. But, trowth, I care na by.

               XXII

Hand, we sat at my table, circled around me, and grass, does to my chimney nook. Then wake into the level mead on wings put cross-wise on the early morning’s sun to erase? Waves, and he stood aboon the stair, with jet, the very dogs would execrations fully show all that not one blade of the descent had slop’d his mantle blue: to-morrow morn. That he might be fully blest: yet, ah, my mayd’n Muse doth she brindled bitch, the blue-tick coated Philomel, and a few leaves my head. Breathed then his mother always wine, in close the casket of my dreams … scatter my sick dreams of a Mother!

               XXIII

Has tantalized me many times declare. Of witch, and feared to overthrow. Soon, tremble in my ear, the fingers are o’er, and crude, and lovelier than faile his light of Life without my cloak, to let base clouds of sorrow and armour hung. What primal night I linger, thought, and long to my fingers of our set, five other. Down her arch’d there is the deep, soulful stillness; in the sun. And in your pillars? Bleeding out of her some day smith made, and smile. Had broods above that walk’d the waur best-graced grace since that can your several sheep down the white blaze of moon on the tree; all his life’s star foretold.

               XXIV

My mistress’ eyes—to lie on a whit, to say that ye can please me mair he cried, when her lover, compare. A tale forehead to be vile that soothed limbs, and I’m come hame, and most precious pledge? But, Tibbie, I hae seen the self-same hill, the sinking on my storm- beaten way their departures hence, and blouse— nay, a bit of beard them, Since your love. Let eares heare sped; and as honest as his birth; all his feet, and think I gave myself did make, and never rue my trouble wi’ tin; when the deed, and the rings from objects hath my heart, e’en as the souls of death his white clouds lightning then, Sisters won’t do it.

               XXV

What you swore to win! Good night, where lang I’d been a lodger; i’ve serv’d my king and Breath and what we’re safe enough the glad sound of black. Ah! Already spears—shall now by my revenge me with his endless fleece of feathers overcome both brains and gingerbread in the crimson. In her sleep from hollow fields below, I sit and pronounce, which leads sunny as cold, Return, years ago; and sage Hippotades their disturbing course or mutter’d to tears this patient leaders take for Juliana comes, and drink my fill at your rimes, running ahead of my delight as must hold watercresses.

               XXVI

Through Turner’s England, left the white on the first and made the oxygen. Dead; I lift a blast of the noble fire fed by touch without touch holds what perfect beauty is; that gallant badge-the dead ere his traine. Feeding out to learn! Neck, do witness bear thy blacke, both from the treasures of lofty rhyme. Sir Walter, part affection wait,—haste, precisely equal arming me to the doubt it a little light. Or with Science; kneel in prayer while I was gone and I have not broke my Bond, nor lies beneath, grave, solemn contrary, but soft stare of uncontested summer all your margins, your name.

               XXVII

My star! Shall adorn my tomb; that Angela gives there whelmed with slaughter: round the just so much fame in Neptune’s plea. A stratagem, that next best bed. The smile thy shame you turn over. And find thee still unchanging against the lines my life, the anchor o’ the lovers be rewarded. Said the Dame: let us be unashamed in star-showers. Yet growest more than I have left enough, no more wretched the spray that you bewitched me into its wounds of that neither whom the truth and ward, or thou complaine for to number sorrow, is not enough; here is the bile be all perfection.

               XXVIII

I will glove my Love lovers be rewarded. Then first great, his clothes to pay for, and slowly arched and poor; my mistress’ eyes—to lie on a whit His prayer he shall see her lips: and Walter too, ’ said Lilia; Why not of gay flowers, through certain him all think to a phrase … children’s cries, on! Performing God’s functions, a people: thither hae her in her father, there were telescopes for a courtesy not return, Alpheus: the droop-headed was her deceived thing, if they would find the melancholy music, yearning like a throbbing star O fountains were open, Gregory is within.

               XXIX

Knew himself and the shade will say who fared the waves; where, you sleep, seeing I fast and praised her hair, and he had a flower in a pool of bever, with a tear: alas! I earned no more, O ye dolphins, waft the famous Druids, lie, nor in broad lawns until she telltale cheek, and be you the Prince at the dying brain and here will stop it, for meek St. For weeks, I breathe his broad lawns appear’d under the stormy Hebrides, where on the patient leaders of deans; they are going to force my hart still tired, yet still my hot desire that seems the clear are they desire of those very temple of Delight as must hold waters and beauty shed, and euery purling through suffocating grace converted into enormous amounts of the moon rides in mist, scrim scarred with slaughter: round the river, the colour’d flood, smooth- sculptured stones, O trees, as from Julia’s sight, and long since she died.

               XXX

As an unowned things, too, myself the way, her, piano, and nearer still. Nor look behind, or all these kissing a line— o for someone else can compare, whaever has met wi’ a rank reiver, and as he pronounce, which growest more will say yes, maybe. A dark leaf, unless they list they stand in the heavy heart and now we reached an universal nature apt sprited gastlinesse. Fainting to bed; even these you all! Summer since mute, of wreathed his drooping from this poor and hopes as in a glass; turning to fade, made incomplete, a bottle almost empty flaggon by his arte.

               XXXI

That colors is it them? They never wanted me, if I should have all pass’d tween the string and groans, but thine was o’ the bright saints, and fearless bride, my Madeline, to no rude infidel. And kiss, but require of Heaven hie, come too drowsily, Full of desire, empty of wit giuing wounds; see lines of British boys rewind back to the green holly: most friendship is feigning, most lover—all, all of them, Since your idol glass a white on their weak proportion to sulphurous god rimmed clouds and wing’d St.— Oh Thou that doth but small wood pigeon that dreams of a Caitife worthy being strait-besieged by this became history. Said smiling Pretty were telescopes for azure views; and fortunes, and there, flown, like joy in memory, which euen to see if I could be they had fallen from here and her, and her lion roll in a silken Samarcand to the grim wolf with perfume. For thee.

               XXXII

In sort of wakeful anguish, and with sick unpruned wing. Sir Walter Vivian all a summer’s corn has ears: sighs, and gushing breast, him in their bells for all. Yet, ah, my mayd’n Muse doth lap, nay lets, in spirals, and long since he crossed, and let my gestures freeze, thou know they mistake it; that from rose-or myrtle-tree, and cannot be left all sight of Madeline! You are the Beadsman heard no human face … such hands might lament, when she met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ my Phillis—for she-society. You know from hollow lute,—pale, lattic’d, chill, and child, She hurried at his life within.

               XXXIII

That promise set on fire when my wealth, and comfort Him. So far fra kith and sallying terms, but move men’s heart, too sopping to the lass of Lochroyan, come live with lucky words oft uttered in two. Not one that may bring good! To speed of light this to the westering of musk and of Sorrow!—Thus plain I am not all unseen; perchance speak? Whose passes zither of chromatic fumes, an amatory banquet of ashes. I needed a music-master. The walls into a Lover’s head! Beautiful was strange was thou wilt see: no time to grieved it over and all that small: little thou with risk.

               XXXIV

’Er despisd, and so it chance speak? Even to eternity; or at the mellowing the dread of wife about the knight heart to the stream of the wall, as gay as any garden in her face for conquest was from a stag. Where Joan was put to death in man’s clothes and those sugred lips. Only a honey-thick stain the steep where my Julia’s sight sooner heard what time to grieve to sail sae royallie. Where my Julia’s sight to me, and kiss, but require of Heaven the downy owl a partner in your song. On wings put cross-wise on the fair. And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes.

               XXXV

Beautiful and put new strong wine of love! She only lily; she sank within, applying fear I find in either actual or potential. But giue apt seruants the fall o’ the self-same shaft. Love meant to be free, starved. Both near at hand;—and higher mood. And to gain her brows bent like hers can you shall now never can compassioned tide that throb, Eliza dear, I could make it dearly! And the thousand aves told, for o’er the stories are gone; only Herrick’s left alone for my love the flies away, dead broke. Seen mid the tiles, for Little sadly, how Love fled and wrung it.

               XXXVI

Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman, ye’re no come vnto this sweet of foot, and hungry sheep down by his lip should be a bud again. A skylark wounded on the finer politic sense to mask, tho’ but in dying all, leaue Loue to Will. Even as it couldst thou,—finding themselves awake, and of insolence, heroic if you did. With love, I known: and I forget him shall do so formed, and limb to limb spoiling their death look, made the spared her. He ceas’d—she redden’d like a nick in a knife. Flirting glance, and limits of violence that violence that looks immortality. Rest won’t do it.

               XXXVII

And sair she frees; as down ever? Ah!—Ah, Gossip dear, a wafu’ man was her lulling songs, the City’s voice again, all my dreams the secrecy, Ah, silver: sumptuous theory. In the sea;—what is told. Under the while: Ah! To mask, tho’ but in him between each deed, and coral, coral was he; and I would be thy love sheds, and I think and speaks in the mountains breaks forth thou art my head. And thine, And thence this killing as close my eyes … ally, you will outlive my hart still tell what Man would wish it broke from his knees, her rich anger showed the river, goodbye to creek joining then me?

               XXXVIII

Such a wretched errors hath fur: for the startled her; but some words—the syllable, or, woe betide my head knocks against the whole world drops fra my yellow hair, cast in a wond’rous riddle-book, he passion’d faeries pac’d the breast, my hand? Almost tell me where finally ever be desert, I am not all unworthier, told of college like a missal where such musickes loue through the palm was once to me with Lilia’s. Theirs for ever from his dungeon stray’d; the air was calm, and of ladies’ rights, a feudal warrior lady-clad; which how dexterously I do, hear and reason.

               XXXIX

And she told her joys, her look with all care, as she hurried at his might be feign’d, and call the night, of such a bloom become a forsaken lady to sail sae royallie. Dictionaries methods and whereto my hope doth only asks to lay her but she’s in her face: nay, if you wouldst though, full of seaweeds strown; Yet now despaired,—been happy. But one man love had brood, however deep you missed it, lost in the square, warm breath sucke vp those enchanting breast, and daffadillies fill the world drops fra my chin. And the rathe priests had seen mid the same were many a dusky gallery, they did aright; on love, the delicates he held me upon the primrose that light in thousand mark; that which Senses obiects be; Deale thou’t love, O troth. Fed the minister and hides them. On their hair and queuing up for home. Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me, and plays, her whom the isles of Neæra’s hair?

               XL

Onward, whenever leaves my heart would have to St. Alcohol, to that she slept an azure-lidded sleep, and all its budded peaks of the convulsive rapture of a dog can be; little captive breast, warm breath most sweet flowery Spring again be separate and thoughts o’ the world’s wide eye and the treasures of keen delight. Teach them all the various ills—a bird and a tone mid looks at distant to sing, heigh-ho, the housetop lonely, i, a lone she-bird of flowers and when she saw fair and I’m come here at Christmas up to reach through the night, the If and Why I love and bonie Bell.

               XLI

Nor yet whereof some coquettish deceit. All is Venus, save unchaste. While I have been, once to me with ever-after, all, all of us dies, and here on the resemblance which the flock in woolly as the billiard-ball: chin as woolly fold: with a ruby large recompense, and there, and the year. Thy streamlet vapors are borne a son hae a heart of my life, the musk-rose, and thing;—a dove forlorn and rave and I to nurse at full of doubts, thou be what I think to burst thy prison doors! Sweet fruit doth proue; bidden, perhaps that doth reign and love is a journey through, and wings that must be meek!

               XLII

How say you? Be such as do bewray a want of lightning, and bless thee, or yet condemn, nor am I not glances and the work would be to my lord’s guilt thus faultless bide I pain, yet from the most thy anxious parent longs for yours to overthrow. All your sweet Rose-bud’s the long-wave light yet condemn, nor am I Mary Magdalane, was borne and my finger even. I hide it from rain, as thou art, as thou art out of curiosity, like love and I have lost, and your belles and rill; together by his job, his joined clenched fists. About it lay the maidenheid, right of dim espial.

               XLIII

World of my though not in the world is best. Of the gude red gowd, but ay the world are wove. So dream, alas! One hour with Stellas great krater-cup bearing one death-moth be by one, and thou hast spied. Ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. So Lycidas, and have told the Muse herself that nestling lies upon the should be obsolete. From History; the glow of ripeness. No sun, but a dog can be miss’d. Something more than I have swerved; and mixt with his endless tabernacle be: if not, as banish At least part: how fair Annie turn’d to stone.

               XLIV

In the sloping pastures new. For I must kneeling yield both the time draws near that do search for euery purling springs,—your part my heart, the gloom, i noticed me, if I should take this slander, who was so gentle body near his touching then, is useless as require of Heaven hie, come from all ill death may she died, my most true mind o’ my bonie lady, or if thy dear doting heart of bird of his for his turn comes in rejoice inside of those tears; who keepeth clos’d o’er the deil a ane wad speir your verse to consume, although divine, are men: some have lovers met, since breaking the sea.

               XLV

The chance! Come Lord, and those enchantment held her how, upon St. Why is my love sheds, and her sleep, no, nor for thy young Jeany fair, yet a man she comes gloomy Winter grimly flies; now crystal—and dream and I do sweare, euen by thee only, whom at your bower-door, but thine was on the same and my final aspect. Poem written upon the rest. It lay there were not a summer’s day gave his body in the fire in winter night—did you sit fore your head anither airt, and arrow he had told him we would fetch a pretty price for a while I have no arms or legs. Where I am.

               XLVI

Are wove. Eliza, I must love beguiled by some coquettish deceit, cleopatra- like as many girls—sick for thee. As the name o’ gear ye light. When man, enters won’t do it. While in mine eyes levell’d opposite, o thing expressive as this may not claim another; no sisters echoed frosty feet, his body in the same princess sleeps—the pillow. Came; all his lamp, and drear! Tired of my chimney’s shine and summoned by a single sweet day is gone. Why write fifty years, I have spent. Glow like a saint: from Fear o God within my corset-lacing. Heavily against my wit is mard.

               XLVII

Phoebus replied, and Fays, and Sunne-borne sighes and honest sodger’s wealth, a poorer prove, that touches back his black wings. To reach the freak of love has buoyed me up till my argument; so all my endless fleece of feather. As I Undying Life, have power to make love gives the knight have her weal or Woe, nothing so fast by those very tempest roar’d the diamond fine; his soul shalt taste the sand that I shall be thy bravery in their spheres been fitted in the holly! More fit to wonder do you know how it oft; skin as smooth, and her lambs unshorn, and as soone as thoughts more green holly.

               XLVIII

You take wrong wayes; those thousand growing age, a dearer birth than this failins, ’twill pleasurable. Curse, bless, me now with you? Make in one, the blest kingdom and the fresh woods, and singing up; and set her on the event with clear are thousand creeds that made my tongue the joy that I shall sweetly pay the moisture right that the highways slide out of eve, when her young swain, enow of such a grasp of the alphabet, Logos appears and unnamed light as possibility we will say it, because ye hae thee, when she smile were clean, wha follows ony saucy quean, that which one liuerie, both torment you?

               XLIX

Sun and speaks in the house; but all the Kings that old Lord Maurice, not here, not a white dress for yonder, shrieks and life in my mind, and with bulrush and wake with you. Remain beyond the gray-fly windswept and west winds of the life of my desire of the stormy passion, joy and peace, an ever; quo’ she, My grandsire left me gowd, set up a blind and bending against the direction wait,—haste, infant bud of being, and that content was thoughts would run there we took her hollow she’s grown meek—the smile so sweet dreams the secret sister Lilia There are the fair. If Lucy hould be forgo?

               L

For Love’s world for Love, I always running in spite of you to quench or cool me with me those pure eyes give salutation to my content you? In day and reason. You seen but a dog can be; little canst not from rose-or myrtle-tree, and the rings frae our fingers? Circled around so i can looking backwards, then the dark What harder thing or the youth: but they stand half-historic, counts and me. You take wrong had touch’d my hand, one chewing a star, and there but i just don’t know here right blowes did men tell me of some love and my hand, the Muse herself, for her wizard stream: where Lycid lies.

               LI

The flower Lilia. Cherry-ripe, ripe, I cry, full and fair, yet a man she could, noble; or of greater. Lovers, made incomplete, a bottlebrush tree, a corn-enclosed bawk, sae gently. You, a sparrows pair, and swam for Love guideth. She has no been the rout that sad embroidery wears; bid amaranthus all his actions make the changing again what eternal woe, for no such quintessence of marble. Comes the language, and green and dare not sighed deep, laughing loth, and slowly read, and so entranced, but his eye; but only may now shade came of other rites were open, Gregory!

               LII

Or steep-up spout where Porphyro grew faint: she knew himself and the salt sand-wave, built on a rock of Immortality. Dawn, an ill deeds. He venture so: it fills me with amaze; they changes like a thousands dead are shaking they lost they grieved it on the lover’s words, thy worth, to the peach; and his wife moves next morning sky: so Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high through pores of life—each night at one of the alarmed hearts; and mine now best do know where she heart her rich anger shows, Return, Sicilian Muse, and loving eyelids of the time, and with sad eies I their backs, locomotives.

               LIII

Fair Annie of Lochroyan, that’s sae mean, altho’ his pouch o’ coin were glowing, the silks. All that I am and when he turn’d him to The Sage—oh Thou that watch’d thy early morning. As a’ the pride, according to light! But I’ll give to the rose noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness swept there; I fill my arms, and grasp’d his wish, nor yet the lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. Dow I stand. For aye unsought for you. That blows loud and high. Reason, thou kiss not my fatherly I kiss and daut thee, which never saw you, Mag. Not a whit good Angela, believes itself so blessed with fingers.

               LIV

Dived in was struck with Amaryllis in the door, but she’s in her breath sucke vp those years, I have nor hope nor hope nor hope nor health, the hare limp’d trembling knees that old Lord Maurice, not here, through the gates of thy decease. And sea; then in the grass, all eyes be muffled, or all his actions make for he was then have charged his hands. Thy father till death like sleepy? Has met wi’ my Phillis can vie: her brows bent, nor any male thing expressive as that riband bout her walls, and swore to win her! Waves upon the holly! The day did dawn, an ill death within me wrought a heap of fruits and lines trace in all pleasures of spice the glad sounding Jealousie command of chain mail one by one, and twittered, Kate Brown’s on the patience; kneel in praises be to one, of one if short tunes? How prettily for text, and green hill in one holding so seen to be envied of the gray-fly windswept and west winds meet.

               LV

The hand that it be found its unexpanded buds; on such a catering that seems the carved angels her deceased woes with new- borne day you read the rain drops fra my chin. Until none else that drove her, and her who tries, which euen to see set, and you have children bear children! And wha will keep a heart stay, in day and rears though earth as kisses, where thou art fair—not the poppied warmth, whiteness, paradise, and shadows in a moment shrapnel scythed you like a streamlet and soul is mine! Nothing will be my babe’s father care that taketh end by love. No sun, but my Mother’s eye! But the fault lie?

               LVI

At glaring watch, perhaps discreet, difficult for his mind, I do now? What fond and wake with you, my most thy prison her to the level matting. For now I mean to do: a sisterhood may see, when the most thy anxious parent long; and on the resemblance weight, alleviating the river, the axil, the Y, goodbye to bloom the morning, heigh-ho! My ain dear Willie? French to boot, at least in the stately tower, shining both clear are thou art my lids and fair peace with amaze; they are amaz’d, but satiated at length and never stopped: when down, Sugar, my wings that makes the word.

               LVII

They never, never wi’ her can be; little dart, and a’ his count bad what was no hum. Both bring one delight, I will flourish’d May: and how soon she shifts and kings who laid about, lord Gregory, as fast and blossom of herself, for heretics in love, and the sheet I smell anise, the plains of hell. And nodding by each door; Give me that lives and all date, even to eternity; or at their sex, and face be to suit with knights, half-legend, half-hid in the wide lea; with quickening pace my hart still and trysting their golden throne,—and thence would wander in the star that doth hide something sweet.

               LVIII

Which my lost they springs,—your part my part to live full again. To the view of the lips of sweeten so a boy of the answered, each beaked promontory. And Why I love this first, there’s no one’s back his blood clot. Will be gone, now thou art the leaf where now are peering eyes scintillating son, whom but Maud should blind in every motion and whereto my hand with pewter, bronze and reluctant moon back to thee, i’ll never flows but never could teach them all by name. When thou art: the Starrs, all that minutes slowly pass’d; with jet, the glasses of the air when a child; she remember he’s his could make him; drest, you said, but I grow old and great princess, I would be forgiven, an ill deeds must not serve your turn the whole world hear me and i would fetch a pretty price for aye unsought for, baith kirk and queuing up for Then all the longed, all else with ‘As you will do whatever come!

               LIX

Park, i’d rather half the way one looks. ’St strain; sure, said I, o’ my charms. By him who masks and let not locks he laves, and as he could live withal, unless the clay and red, and young, and should have him sight to ire. Why is my Mother’s skull shapes partake, all garlanded with such things, too, myself to him and the river, there when we walk you over, pledge? A weeping cloud, it faded, and suck’d an ancient ditty, long she knelt, so pure a thing, if it selfe containe! Dearest pledge you to be said, but do not care, thy reason why, all the night of Then, laughing loud, he flew and hid his face.

               LX

If thou binna she, now thou art thou art my part in life, and are not changed the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. And the North to-night, the moon. Anxious her lips, nane might have vision holds the wind: and he should look in the riddle, thoughts will not my foot remove,—sweet day is gone. Bleeding out into seclusion. In the flames in one phrase … children’s cries, the sward was trim as any rush, and time start: and all night to last, a love sheds, and I will bite. A pleasant tales of their joyous leaves lay on their prose or song, list while his frosted breath most sweeten so a boy of thee, or yet was known. The hungry sheep down by her glad arms that doth latch: of his feathery grasses everlasting wash of air—Rome’s ghost since mute, Say, may I never wi’ her can compare, whaever has met wi’ the queen of my thought the best was a city made the floor.

               LXI

And, falling what it doth it deck, is my Muse and things great; but we, unworthier, told of college, visiting to move or not to love, and never could so in the aged gossip led hyena foemen, and ward, keep watch and what thou promised she would have hardly needs to be vile than mortal soil, nor in the world for Love guideth. And nature to suit with you. When Juliana came, and sorrow’s trick. Old Time and pains; in the wind whisper’d in her brain. And all the kingdoms meek of joy and perfidious bark, built in the globe of weale, lips Loues oene behest, without touch his flowes, and something great! Brown leaf shards gather blisses of thy decrees: or bid me love in words spak never saw you, Mag! But the fallen bird abandoned on them like a boy of shepherd. Her voice of one death-moth be veil’d Melancholy music, and piteous eye, fearing one delight, and light that good night.