#silver wolf : visage .

[wcvensouls-archive]

* TAG DUMP / honkai star rail .

kafka  :  threads . kafka  :  visage . kafka  :  about . kafka  :  aes . kafka  :  closet .

silver wolf  :  threads . silver wolf  :  visage . silver wolf  :  about . silver wolf  :  aes . silver wolf  :  closet .

[everbloomingsoul]

tag dump two*!!

*will be added to as necessary!!

[devinevirtue]

Tag Dump - Welt Yang, Blade, Silver Wolf

╰  :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Welt Yang : visage / aesthetic. ╰  :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Welt Yang : ic / responses. ╰  :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Welt Yang : musings / isms. ╰  :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Welt Yang : character studies.

╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Blade : visage / aesthetic. ╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Blade : ic / responses. ╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Blade : musings / isms. ╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Blade : character studies.

╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Silver Wolf : visage / aesthetic. ╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Silver Wolf : ic / responses. ╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Silver Wolf : musings / isms. ╰  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 【☆】 Silver Wolf : character studies.

[jifanjiang0710]

Dinner with the Stellaron Hunters

yandere kafka x reader x yandere blade

“SILVER WOLF!”

Your fists start to hurt from all the pounding. She’s locked her door again. “Time for dinner!” She can definitely hear you. Whether she responds or not is her choice.

“Boss fight!” She yells back.

“Come downstairs quickly!” Scurrying down the flight of stairs, you stop at Blade’s room. An ominous reddish glow is emitting from under the door, reeking of death… or is it your imagination? You raise your hand to knock, before a voice from behind sends chills down your spine.

“What are you doing?”

Turning to meet his scowling visage, ever-unchanging (SW likened him to an NPC), you see Blade glaring down at you, and neither of you speak.

“…dinnertime.”

He slinks off.

You groan irritably. You do everything in this house. Thankfully, Kafka is already at the table.

After a quick scan of the seating, you heave a sigh of relief. There is a seat at the table between Kafka and Blade. Thank the aeons. As you head for the spot, Silver Wolf plops herself down onto the chair in all her glory, eyes not leaving the handheld console. You stare dumbfounded for a minute, partly at the audacity, the rest a growing conflict arising from within you.

The most vexing decision of the night: sitting next to Kafka, or Blade. Only one party can be sated, and the other will then shower you with the fruits of their displeasure for the rest of the night. Tread lightly in this delicate situation.

Choose Kafka, who lets her fingers glide up your thighs, particularly when you are drinking; who whispers vile things in your ear as you try to focus instead on the noises from Silver Wolf’s console; who sometimes holds a spoon to your mouth and expects you to say ahh...

Or choose Blade, who barely tries to hide his growing fascination with you at this point; whose fiery eyes bore into you carrying a heavy sort of intensity that cannot be described; who you know has no qualms about cornering Kafka’s favourite pet and finding out just what makes you so special to her.

The purple-haired woman notices your hesitance, chuckling breathily. She takes the initiative to beckon you over, with a single curl of her fingers. You trot towards her, deeming her, just for tonight, the lesser of two evils. Then you catch sight of his gaze. It’s a warning and a threat, all expressed within a single flash of the eyes.

“What’s wrong, little one?”

“I- I….” You feel yourself starting to sweat at this minor conundrum. How can you defy a direct order from Kafka?

She sighs, evidently disappointed at your lack of decisiveness. “Oh, go on. I’m sure Bladie deserves you for just one night, with how long he has been eyeing up what’s mine.”

The tension builds, and you bite your tongue. That sentence was biting, indirectly instigating another cold war between both hunters. So, gathering up stray remnants of courage you take a seat next to him.

The atmosphere is even more strained.

“Ah…how is your hand?” You direct the question to the man sitting beside you, glare turning less pointed. “Has it healed?”

“Yeah,” SW says suddenly, accusatory. “How is your hand?”

He sighs, irked. “Still healing. Isn’t it obvious?” For it was still wrapped in bandages.

“Blade, our supply of bandages is depleting. The others need them too. Is it really necessary to cover your torso?” He can very well heal himself should the need arise, and any pretense on his part is to avoid having to game with Silver Wolf. Blade ignores you, as if you’d committed a crime against him personally.

Kafka is unusually quiet.

You chide Silver Wolf to finish off her broccoli.

“Oh dear. Little one?”

Her sudden shift of attention to you makes you jump. “Yes, Kafka?”

“Will you be a dear and run off to fetch a cloth for me? I seem to have spilt some soup onto my lap.”

Blade watches intently as you fuss over her, asking whether there are burns, if she is alright, and run off to pour another bowl for her.

His fists clench, tightening around the bowl. “That was intentional.”

“What an astute observation, Bladie. And do you keep your uninjured hand bandaged so my little one may continue clouding their pretty little head with concern for you?”

“They do not enjoy being toyed with, treated like the fragile doll you make them to be.”

“And they don’t seem to like treading on eggshells whenever you are in the vicinity either, or stared down in the way a rabid beast would reserve for its prey.”

“You think you are almighty, Kafka-”

“Oh, but I am. Everything I orchestrate, as I predict, shall come to fruition.”

“Just because you claim control over me, you will not be the most powerful, nor the most infallible. You know just as well as I do, Kafka, and even you cannot deny it. [Name] would be better off anywhere but with you.”

“And if Elio were to say otherwise? Will you continue deluding yourself in such pitiful manner?”

A sharp noise of a crack emanates as the bowl chips under his grip. “…very well.” Blade says, after a second of contemplation. He looks up at the woman opposite of him, the intensity of his gaze like piercing wind, “Let us ask Elio.”

Kafka does not answer, but the slight stiffen of her lower lip speaks volumes. She crosses her arms.

“Listen, Bladie-”

“Enough! Kafka, what did I say about commanding Blade? And Blade, that’s the third one you’ve broken this month. Please be more careful.” The two tear their gazes away from each other.

“My mistake, little one,” Kafka responds breathily, as though this matter were of minimal importance to her.

“I think I cut my finger from the shard,” says Blade.

You turn towards him, raising an eyebrow. He clears his throat, trying to appear innocuous. “…it hurts.”

“Do you need a bandage? You seem to have an abundance of it.” A petty remark by that woman, intent on having your attention solely focused on her.

He meets your eyes. “It still hurts.” On the surface, what with his deadpan expression, it sounds like a command, an order to tend to me. You hear it for what it really is, a plea for attention.

“Aw, fine. Give me your hand. Where does it hurt?”

Kafka’s turn to watch on as you examine his (supposedly) injured finger. You feel an odd sensation of impending doom…

“May I be excused?” Without giving you time to respond, the young gamer stands, tossing her plate into the sink and scampering upstairs once again. You look down and see that your own bowl has been piled suspiciously high with vegetables.

This girl… You sigh, but do not protest this time.

For the night, the Stellaron hunters disperse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a more wholesome note:

His phone buzzes. Fumbling a bit with the home screen, he swipes. It’s a message from Kafka.

That Woman: Kys

She receives a reply in return.

Bladie: One day I will.

‘I can only eagerly await that day’

‘As will I.’

‘You’re lying, Bladie~’

‘What.’

‘You no longer want to die, do you?’

‘Good night.’

‘Ah, don’t chicken out. They make you, for the first time in a long time, want to live. I can tell. You’re intrigued.’ ‘…’ ‘Hello?!’ ‘Leaving me on read again?’

He sets the phone down, sighing deeply.

The window shutters are half closed, swaying gently in the breeze. There is a dim starlight scattering the night sky. It reminds him of a home he had lost a long time ago. The wind picks up, blowing away a stray strand of hair off his shoulder.

He does not know how he got there, but his shadow looms over your room door. After some hesitation, he knocks.

[w0efulboopsoul]

Who is Cara Zimmermen?

Cara Zimmermen's Appearance and Outfit:

Appearance:

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Height: 5'4"

Hair: a luxurious cascade of almost ethereal light blonde waves, flows gracefully down her shoulders, reminiscent of Howa'ah's pristine snows glistening in the sunlight. Each strand dances effortlessly, capturing the essence of soft, shimmering icicles that enchant the eye and evoke a sense of serene beauty.

Eyes: A mesmerizing deep glacial blue, perfectly accentuating her doll-like visage and delicately upturned nose.

Skin: Snow-fair, with a delicate, almost ethereal quality.

Build: Shapely hourglass figure, combining grace with an undercurrent of strength.

Clothing: Cara's outfit features a royal-blue corset with black lace detailing and a plunging neckline paired with black leather armguards and silver armor plating. A flowing blue skirt with a high slit reveals leggings beneath, while a metal-buckled belt adds structure. Knee-high leather boots complete the look, highlighted by a blue gemstone necklace that accents her eyes.

Cara's Personality:

Introverted and Muted: Cara struggles to trust others and rarely shares her thoughts or feelings. She communicates primarily through sign language or writing, though she becomes more talkative around close friends.

Kind and Gentle: Beneath her guarded exterior lies a warm and compassionate soul. She goes to great lengths to bring joy to others, even if it means being silly or vulnerable.

Fiercely Protective: Cara is deeply loyal to her loved ones and will do anything to protect them. Her protective instincts are amplified by her traumatic past.

Berserker Nature: When pushed to her emotional limits, Cara’s "feral" persona emerges. This side of her is characterized by increased vulgarity, recklessness, and heightened physical strength. While not inherently violent, this persona can be overwhelming and defiant.

Cara's Scars:

Slaver’s Sigil: As discussed previously, a brand marking her as property would be a prominent scar:

Location: Nape of her neck.

Description: a symmetrical, geometric design with interlocking angular and curved lines, forming a maze-like pattern. It tapers to a point at the bottom, features small repeating motifs for texture, and is infused with blood magic.

Lacerations and Welts:

Description: Long, thin scars from whippings with belts or cuts from knives during her father’s rages.

Location: Crisscrossing her back and shoulders, with a prominent jagged scar diagonally across her left shoulder blade.

Appearance: White and slightly raised, some deeper where the skin split badly.

Scars from Beast Taming:

Claw and Bite Marks

Description: Deep gouges from beast claws or puncture wounds from fangs during close encounters.

Location: Three parallel slashes across her right thigh from a wolf-like creature; smaller bite marks dotting her forearms.

Appearance: The thigh scars are thick and white, while the forearm marks are pinker, some still healing.

Scars from Her Berserker Persona

Cara’s berserker gene, which awakens under stress, turns her into a reckless, powerful force. This lack of control often results in self-inflicted or battle-related injuries.

Self-Inflicted Wounds

Description: Injuries from frenzied actions like crashing into objects or clawing at herself.

Location: A jagged scar on her left temple from headbutting a doorframe; scratches on her upper arms from her own nails.

Appearance: The temple scar is uneven and white; the arm scratches are thin and clustered.

Defensive Wounds

Description: Cuts and stabs taken while fighting in a rage, unnoticed until the frenzy fades.

Location: A deep, puckered scar on her right shoulder from a blade; smaller cuts on her palms from grabbing sharp objects.

Appearance: The shoulder scar is thick and raised; the palm cuts are fine and faded.

Cara Zimmermen's Story:

Cara, a young woman hardened by a brutal past, lives in a decaying house ruled by her abusive father, a serial killer who keeps her, her sister Alma, and their catatonic mother as prisoners. One night, during a drunken rampage, he tries to drag Alma into his sinister cellar. Driven by desperation and instinct, Cara kills him with a candlestick, freeing her mother from her shackles. Her mother awakens with chilling clarity, acknowledging Cara for the first time by marking her with blood and taunting her dead husband.

At ten, Cara helplessly watches her older sister Kira die of illness. At eleven, slavers capture her, and a woman guard named Voxrilies brutalizes her, yet her spirit remains unbroken. By nineteen, still imprisoned, she crafts a weapon from bone and plots her escape. When a fellow slave threatens to betray her, she kills him in a berserker rage and flees into the wilds of Howa’ah. There, she bonds with Thrym, a bear spirit and god of the Paw of the Bear clan. Their relationship begins roughly but grows into deep, mutual trust. Thrym, a fierce battle bear and apex predator, teaches her survival—hunting, killing, and honoring prey—while disliking strangers, confinement, and disrespect. Cara embraces his wild nature, finding in him a teacher and parent, their bond enriched by his messy love for Hawthorn Wyvern Honey.

At nineteen, healthier but scarred, Cara seeks a new path. Unable to read or write due to her stolen childhood, she finds a bounty hunting academy requiring only courage and skill. During the entrance exam, she must climb an enchanted pillar and evade magical vines. After days of failure and mockery, her mentor Stratus suggests using frost but doubts her. Cara, tapping into her berserker gene and Howa’ah’s ley lines with Thrym’s aid, conquers the pillar with icy power. Stratus, awed by her totem-bearing spirit, declares her a victor, recognizing her as a Guardian of Howa’ah.

Later, by a stream, Cara encounters Kaiza, a former prince obsessed with her. He had made a terrible mistake choosing Lyra as his queen, a decision that cost him Cara and his throne. Driven by regret, he tracks her down in the wilds to beg forgiveness. Cara, wary, threatens him with an ice spear, mocking his pampered past, but he pleads to prove himself, admitting Lyra’s crown meant nothing without her. Reluctantly, she allows him to join her and Thrym, setting strict rules.

ᥴᥲrᥲ’s vιᥱws oᥒ hᥱsιtᥲtιoᥒ: (ᥲ hᥱᥲd ᥴᥲᥒoᥒ) 🄲🄰🅁🄰: 🄲🄾🄼🄱🄰🅃 🄰🄽🄳 🄷🄴🅁 🄳🅁🄰🄼🄰🅃🄸🄲 🄵🄻🄰🄸🅁 ╭─❖ Cara's Personality in Depth ❖─╮ ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔞 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔥𝔯𝔶𝔪 𝔐𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔇𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔢 ꉓꍏꋪꍏ'ꌗ ꀭꂦꀎꋪꈤꍏ꒒: ꃅꍟꋪ ꀤꈤ꓄ꋪꂦꀸꀎꉓ꓄ꀤꂦꈤ

(Thrym:)

(All Magic of Eyrndara:)

(Lore on Howa'ah and The Academy:)

(Eyrndara in General:)

(The Dragons of Howa'ah and Eyrndara:)

[midnightsun-if]

My friend pestered me to make this little snippet since they saw my post about the Arlatha game, as I mentioned I have somewhat of a plot in mind, and I agreed due to the fact that it’s somewhat winter-themed and it’s almost Christmas… So a small holiday present for you all. 😅

It’s nothing too long, just a small moment between the MC and their older brother. (Small Note: The MC is technically adopted, but it’s a complicated situation.)

Howling winds rip through the air, bringing specks of powdered white along for the ride, covering the expanse of land in a cold blanket that wouldn’t thaw until the first rays of light appeared over the horizon when spring returned.

From where you sat, nestled safely against the window in the grand library of the castle, you could just barely make out the blurry visage of Wintervale— the culmination of nightfall and snow not doing you any favors. Growing up in The North, an unimaginative name for the icy landscape, meant that you either grew used to the cold or perished; a harsh lesson to learn. Of course, growing up within the castle, among the fineries of life and the loving warmth of family, meant that you didn’t have too severe consequences for failing in the teachings of it, but you’ve known more than enough people that have fallen prey.

Not to mention what could have been if certain events hadn’t transpired…

“What are you doing up, little wolf?” The smooth baritone voice interrupts your musings, your attention quickly shifting from the world outside panes of glass to gentle argent. “I thought mother put you to bed hours ago.”

Despite the reproachful sounding words your older brother doesn’t lose his soft expression, amusement dancing within the flames of his silver gaze. White hair falling across his forehead in messy waves, fair skin tinged red from the cold, telling you that he had been outside in the stables. No doubt visiting Chione, you muse. Ever since his Lycana had bonded with him you hadn’t seen them apart for longer than a few minutes. Not that you could blame him. You couldn’t wait until the day you had your own.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question Kal?” You tilt your head, deliberately looking over the fur-lined cloak hanging off broad shoulders, specks of white still clinging to the black leather of his boots. “I thought mother said to stop visiting Chione once nightfall approached.”

A charming smile catches his lips, Kaladin easily settling beside you on the plush seat. “I suppose that means we both have a secret to keep.” He nudges you playfully with his shoulder. “I won’t tell, if you don’t. Deal?”

You nudge him back. “Deal.”

“So what’re you doing up?” He looks over your form briefly, a small frown of concern appearing. “You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”

“No,” you sigh, resting the side of your head against cool glass. “I just didn’t feel like going to sleep.”

You didn’t have to say anything else for Kal to understand what you were implying; his warm presence nestling against your side, a strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, giving you the feeling of protection that always seemed to follow him. Fighting away the looming darkness that the night can bring with his gentle presence.

“Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep, little wolf?”

“You’re tired too, Kal,” you argue. “Don’t think I don’t know that you had to spend all day in court.”

Kaladin huffs out a gentle laugh. “I may be tired from irksome lords, little wolf, but never enough to leave your side when you need me.” Standing up, Kal offers his hands for you to take. “Come on.” Mischief sparkles within his gaze. “Before we head to bed why don’t we raid the kitchens? I think father hid the sweet bread in his usual spot.”

You take his hands, a light feeling settling within your chest. “You’ll let me have the bigger pieces this time, right?”

“Anything for you.”

[sanvirtheobserver]

Taking Flight, Chapter 71: The Beast

The team stood aghast at the mass of twisted metal hanging from the ceiling. A chimeric, beastial visage, with a back riddled in pistons and diodes. The right arm dawned a bladed hand with claws as long as scimitars. A wolf-like head suspended by a muscular sheath of pipes and wires, with the inner light of its rune matrix shining out from its maw as it hung agape. Before it stood the good doctor herself as they all raise their weapons towards her.

Lucinia: Doctor Ridley. Back to your crimes against nature, I see?

Ridley: Is it truly a crime if it's for the purpose of progress? Since when was it wrong to help bring about the next step of human evolution?

Meggy: Probably when you decided to let your toys loose on innocent people?

Tari: Why? Why are you doing this!? What have these people ever done to you!?

Ridley: You still do not see? I'm SAVING them. The flesh is weak, untenable, limited without reason, while the spirit of humanity suffers in stagnation, needing to forget who they are in order to be reborn. So much knowledge has been lost to this archaic process that serves no purpose but to hold us back. How can you possibly depend on a vessel so flawed that it would betray you? This is why the flesh must be cast aside. This is why we must evolve.

She clasps onto her sleeve and rips it off, revealing an intricately crafted prosthesis.

Ridley: Through the sanctity of steel, we shall be reborn. This is my purpose!

Meggy: Alright, that's enough. Permission to shut her up, ma'am?

She cackles maniacally, unaware of Meggy having a shot lined up just for her.

Lucinia: Granted.

She swiftly fires a slug straight for her heart, but a flash of silver slices the slug in half just in the nick of time. The shape of a partially damaged Stalker blocked her aim, their cracked optic bulb flaring up as it recognized the one who obliterated their pack. Several other machines surround them as they swarm into the chantry.

Ridley: Feast your eyes upon our future.

A pull of the lever lights up the coils of the Soul Engine. Light pulses through the cables and wires as the power of a thousand souls is pumped into the monstrous frame's core. Pistons and motors twitch and writhe as the ferrofluid starts flowing. Slowly, the frame begins to untangle itself from the chains that held it aloft until it dropped to the ground with a crash. Cervos strained and pistons hissed as the beast reared itself up. Ridley is enamored in rapturous joy as the audience gathers to see her masterpiece.

Ridley: It's.......*sniff* It's beautiful!

The light of a thousand souls shined through its optics as it observed its surroundings. It's curiosity was almost child-like as it scanned the room, before looking down to its own frame. Every gear, every hinge, every circuit beneath the tubes and plating reacted according to the will of the collective consciousness residing within its core.

Ridley: Do you see now?! Do you finally realize the greatest good we can possibly do!? Through the sanctity of steel, nothing will be beyond our grasp! Through the unity of the singularly, our collective will can achieve the IMPOSSIBLE! The gift of the Machine shall be given unto all!

As the tirade goes on, the Beast began to tremble. A dreadful feeling crept across its collective egos as they begin to realize....... this shell was not their own. That's when it started. One by one, whispers grew in sound and number. An ever growing chorus of voices began to seep into the mainframe, still building and building and building until you can't hear the voices anymore. It's just noise. Unending. Unrelenting. Unbearable. A static in the air gave Tari a sinking feeling as she saw the Beast's trembling.

Tari: Guys........ get back. Now.

Ridley: NO MORE DISEASE! NO MORE DEATH! NO MORE SUFFERING!

Mario: Holy crap she's still going.

Ridley: THIS IS THE TRUTH! THIS IS OUR FUTURE! THIS IS GLORIOUS EVOLUTION!!!!!

That's when it happened. Thousands of voices cascade into one another until they leave the Beast's maw as a single terrible scream. It turns its gaze to the doctor in front of it, now realizing that something is wrong. She feels the wind leave her lungs as a colossal fist sends her flying out of the room. The other machines immediately shift their focus towards the Beast as it continues to scream. Tari could feel the anguish of the souls with every roar. A deep growl reverberates through it's frame as those bronze claws begin to glow. The Stalker leaps out of dodge as the claws bite into the stone where the hand lands. Blinded by pain, it carves a path of destruction through the chantry. Vale was about to take flight before those claws clipped her wing, but luckily Noah swoops in to catch her. An incoming Brute wasn't so lucky as it charged towards the Beast. It's armor was of no use against the Beast's claws as they glided through the Brute's frame like a knife through butter. The Beast now danced to the agonized chorus of souls as it lashed out against everything in sight.

Garnet: (What the hell is going on!?)

Lucinia: It's core is oversaturated with energy. The power surge is making it go feral!

Tari stumbled a bit as the cries from it's core became clearer to her. She senses the souls confined to that accursed vessel, crying out in pain as they are denied their rest. The cries of the Soul Engine were even louder. Just as she gets her bearings, Lucinia pulls her out of the way as a titanic fist comes crashing down.

Lucinia: Keep your head in the game, Blue!

Garnet switches to her flare carbine as Mario pops a Fire Flower and Meggy loads in some thermite shells. They all unload into the Beast from all directions, making sure to coat every inch of armor with flame to soften it up. The Beast's constant thrashing made that difficult as it lashed out in all directions, even bellowing blasts of it's own as the excess soul power erupts from it's mouth.

Vale: We'll need more heat than that.

Tari gets back up to see the siblings bringing in several tanks they "borrowed" from some destroyed Burners.

Julia: You guys know the drill?

Noah: Yes, ma'am!

Meggy: Guys! A little help here!?

Meggy just burned through the last of her thermite shells, and Mario was getting sore from throwing all those fireballs. The Beast's armor was starting to warp from the heat, but it still proved too hard to breach.

Tari: On you.

Noah, Tari, and Lucinia all get their respective guns ready as Vale and Julia take to the air with the canisters in hand. Meggy narrowly dodges another swipe from those claws and takes notice of the two flying above. A smirk comes out as she loads a mag of piercing slugs.

Meggy: Everybody get back!

The two fly out of dodge after releasing the canisters, and the space above the Beast suddenly turns into a shooting gallery, every shot that lands their mark releasing a shower of burning thermite that rains down upon the Beast's shell. Diodes pop like firecrackers as the armor begins to warp like soft clay. Everyone turns their aim towards the Beast and opens fire. The melting armor is of little protection now as high caliber rounds rip into its frame, releasing showers of sparks and ferrofluid. Still the beast fights back, making one last desperate charge towards the door. It suddenly finds purchase upon a bright blue panel of solid light as it charges blindly out of the room until its claws breach the outer plating of the Soul Engine.

Garnet: (EVERYBODY DOWN!)

A brilliant light erupts from the center of the complex, and the legions of machines scatter as both Mercenaries and Operators alike stared in awe of the light show before them. As the light fades and the dust recedes, Tari is the first to get up and see the carnage around them. The others slowly arose to find themselves looking up to the clear night sky. Countless orbs of light drift across the air as they ascend, leaving an odd sense of peace throughout the now roofless church. Lucinia made a quick head count as everyone got to their feet. Melony comes flying in to check on her friends. She's astonished and relieved to see they survived that light show.

Melony: Oh my goddess. What happened here?

Mario: Uuuuuuuh.....Mario's arms are dying.

Garnet: (Now THAT was what I'd call some practical pyrotechnics back there!)

Meggy: You said it! UP HIGH!

Noah: WAY TO GO, TEAM! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

As everybody gets all the cheering out of their system, Lucinia sees Tari just staring up at the sky. For the first time since they arrived, Tari finally felt a sense of relief. The Soul Engine has been destroyed, the souls are now at peace, and the machine hoard is now scattered. Hopefully now the city will finally have a chance to heal.

Lucinia: I gotta say, that was a jolly good show you guys put on there. Thanks for the aid.

Tari's gauntlet retracts as she lets out a sigh of relief.

Tari: I'm always glad to help.

Outside the complex, the Mercs are dealing with the remaining machine forces. A VAC jeep pulls up to the scene, meeting up with Captain Marston as he blasts another oncoming Ghoul with his shotgun.

Marston: Chief.

Masa: Captain.

They look over to see Tari and her team exiting the complex, a little worse for wear, but nothing serious. Lucinia immediately straightens up upon seeing her commanding officer again.

Masa: Porter. Good to see you all in one piece. I hope this means your mission was a success.

Lucinia: Affirmative, sir. The target has been located and thoroughly neutralized. I already have a full report ready, sir.

Masa: Good. I've already called for backup to help secure this place. Excellent job, lieutenant.

Lucinia: I couldn't have done it alone, sir.

She turns to the Crew, all in high spirits after another successful adventure.

Lucinia: They were....... surprisingly capable.

Masa took notice of Tari sitting on the back of a felled Brute, looking up to the night sky.

Masa: Is that so?

She looked so much more tired than the others. This latest adventure took more of a toll on her than she expected, and she couldn't help but think back to Lukas and Zoey. Even if they were already dead, a part of her still wished she could've done more to save them and give them a second chance.

Marston: Hey.

She turns to see Marston as he takes a puff from his cigar.

Marston: You good?

She lets out an exhausted sigh. At least she can find solace in the fact that this nightmare is finally over. If anything, these once trapt souls can at least rest in peace.

Tari: Yeah....... I'm good.

While all this is playing out, a damaged Stalker takes shelter in an abandoned shed over at Arrowhead Fields. Beside the Stalker laid Dr. Ridley. The extent of her augmentations could now be seen, considering her lower half was missing. She takes off her mask to reveal the face of a short haired brunette, having replaced one of her Grey eyes with a prosthetic apparatus.

Ridley: So close to greatness........ Where did it go wrong?

Rhode: You went too big.

She looks up to see the bright crimson eyes of a Xelor staring down at her. Beside him stood Ruusul as he examined the doctor's poor state.

Rhode: One thousand souls entering a single matrix was a recipe for disaster.

Ruusul: Indeed. For such a brilliant mind, she definitely bit off more than she could chew. I supposed we've all made that mistake once or twice.

The Stalker planted itself between the Doctor and her visitors. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered their last meeting and the importance of keeping true to the "investment" they made, the one that now laid in ruins with the VAC cleaning up what's left.

Ridley: Mr. Ruusul....... if you would allow me to apologize, there were.....

A bead of sweat ran down her temple.

Ruusul: Oh, I'm well aware of the "unforseen complications" you faced. As disappointing as it is, it wasn't a total loss.

He looks to the damaged Stalker, still hissing and ready to fight.

Ruusul: Besides.......... at first you don't succeed........

He turns to face the doctor, his gaze sharp enough to cut steel.

Ruusul: .......try and try *again.*

[yingren]

Beneath the summer sunlight, Eden sits precariously on the edge of a short brick wall that separates their shop from the rest of the Xianzhou Luofu. Their dangling legs take turns swinging with the heels of their boots occasionally hitting the back of the wall with a soft ‘thud’. There’s a small piece of paper in their hands which flutters with each gust of wind, and they hold it out in front of them. Eyes dart several times from the surface of the page to the face of the person on the other side of the wall. Honestly, they should be afraid, but the only emotion they’re feeling is curiosity. “ Hey. “ They say idly, tilting their head. Foxian ears perked straight up and tail sways lazily behind them. “ You’re a lot less scary looking in person you know. “ Eden then holds out the paper to him, which happens to be his wanted poster, and shakes it a bit. “ It’s kinda hot out here though, wanna come in for a cup of coffee? “

what lingering pull within the hunter’s chest keeps drawing him back to the luofu ? an unseen thread, almost tangible, tethering him to the place he once called home. home — where his feet instinctively follow paths they have traced countless times, where every alley sparks a flicker of familiarity, even if the context of past journeys eludes him. the very stones beneath him form a path he knows he has walked before, whether memory affirms it or not. and yet, the luofu is never quite the same. it shifts, evolves, offers something new with each return to a place that is no longer his. still, does he not always return ?

his gaze lands on a lounging foxian, their ears and tails flicking, betraying their nature. he does not gawk, does not recoil — just regards them with the same tired indifference that often settles on his face. he cannot place them, cannot recall if their paths have ever crossed before. perhaps that would explain their ease, the casual manner in which they flaunt a paper poster bearing his face. it has been some time since he last looked at one of these. if ever. he has glimpsed the digital versions, seen them through silver wolf’s insistence on updating him. but this one is different — older, worn with time. at first, he does not react, his eyes fixed on the paper rather than its wielder. then, finally, a gloved hand reaches forward, pinching the edge between two fingers to lift it closer for inspection.

❝ i do not see what is so scary about this to begin with. ❞ he tilts his head slightly, folding the poster in half before handing it back. it’s his face, certainly, and at least it’s one he recognizes. not the twisted visage of mara, not something unrecognizable or lost to time. just his face. nothing particularly frightening about that. his gaze shifts back to them, this time taking in their features properly, yet still finding no familiar thread in his memory to place them. the sunlight drapes over their skin, casting a glow that nearly blinds them both. ren takes a brief glance around the premises before, without much thought, accepting the invitation. if their intentions were ill, he would find out soon enough. for now, he chooses to indulge them, motioning for them to lead the way as he follows.

❝ do you collect posters of all wanted criminals ? or this this an exception ? ❞

[jhamkul]

Ring of Lesser Adaptability, Ring, Uncommon (requires attunement)

Polymorph into other creatures… well, only kind of. This silver ring bears the intricate visage of a fearsome hybrid bat-wolf creature on its front. The face depicted on the ring is a blend of a wolf's noble features, a bat's keen ears and nose, and the piercing gaze of a snake's eyes. Let me know what you think down below in the comments!

————— Thank you very much for checking out this new creation! If you want to see more of my content, feel free to visit my Instagram, where I ask for advice, post teasers, and you can vote for my future posts.

[crematedcow]

Hi!! Do you have any physical description of the ROs?

yes! i plan on maybe commissioning some artworks later on when i have the money and get to the part of actually introducing the ROs in the story. but for now have these poorly written descriptions

Chulainn: They maintain an average height but often appear slightly shorter, owing to their perpetually brooding posture. A preference for attire in somber shades of red and black further reinforces the aura of "I despise the world and all who inhabit it." Chulainn's warm, tanned complexion is adorned with delicate freckles gracing their cheeks, and their high cheekbones lend an air of distinction to their visage. Their hair, reminiscent of mahogany wood, flows in wavy strands, draping either just past her shoulder blades or gently resting upon his shoulders. Forest-green eyes, unobstructed by any bangs, gaze out, and one can't help but wish for more smiles to illuminate those beautiful eyes.

Lys: Born slightly shorter than most, Lys's stature often goes unnoticed thanks to their preference for shoes with slightly elevated heels. They typically attire themselves in styles reminiscent of the High Queen's fashion choices. However, when venturing beyond their abode, their wardrobe leans towards regal blues and other dark, majestic hues. Their complexion boasts a rich, dark skin tone, its cold and almost ashen undertones earning Lys the nickname "workaholic vampire" among some, though their soft and graceful facial features belie this moniker. Lys maintains well-groomed, raven black hair that drapes just beyond their shoulders, usually tied in a neat low ponytail. Their greyish eyes keenly observe every motion, reminiscent of the fur of a wolf.

Holly: Standing at the same height as Lys, Holly makes no effort to conceal her slightly shorter stature. While she dons attire similar to that of the pactbearer, she tends to wear it in a slightly more disheveled manner than her counterpart. If she were inclined to change, she would favor lighter hues, but she isn't overly concerned, as long as it's comfortable. Holly possesses a light, neutral skin tone reminiscent of beach sand, which provides a striking contrast to her more sharply defined facial features. Her chocolate brown hair is fashioned into a short, tousled bob, although she enjoys tying it into either a ponytail or twintails. At least her bangs are neatly trimmed, revealing her doe-like brown eyes.

Elli: There isn't much to be said about him. He stands remarkably tall, looming over most people he encounters, and his imposing figure is only accentuated by his constant attire of full armor. His hair remains concealed beneath a regal violet hood, embellished with intricate silver spikes that resemble a crown. As a Blessed One, he is bound by the obligation to conceal his entire form, leaving no room for exceptions, even when it comes to his face. A shroud of black velvet obscures his countenance entirely, leaving curious onlookers to wonder about what lies beneath.

Irydion: Irydion undoubtedly surpasses the average person in height, nearly matching Elli in both stature and build. She consistently opts for practical attire that affords adequate coverage yet doesn't restrict her mobility. While her choice in clothing lacks distinct preference, she tends to gravitate toward earthy, neutral tones like various shades of brown. Her complexion leans towards a lighter side, occasionally veering into a gentle paleness, although prolonged exposure to sunlight readily bestows a sun-kissed tan if she exposes her skin. Irydion possesses somewhat more defined facial features, which she effortlessly brightens with her frequent smiles and radiant, hazel eyes. Crowning her head is a cascade of fine, dirty blonde hair, flowing straight down to her waist. This mane is almost invariably gathered into a high ponytail or a lengthy braid.

Junius: In contrast to Irydion's lofty stature, Junius may initially strike one as rather short. However, in reality, he stands at an average height, perhaps a few centimeters taller than most. He possesses a penchant for eye-catching, revealing attire that proudly showcases his warm, copper-toned skin. His fabric choices tend to gravitate toward vibrant shades of orange and red, a preference that occasionally vexes Irydion, though he remains steadfast in adhering to his own fashion tastes. A light stubble adorns his well-defined jawline, yet his overall countenance exudes an inviting and energetic aura rather than an unapproachable handsomeness. Junius boasts dark, nearly black hair, which, under the right lighting, takes on a more brownish hue similar to his eyes. While his hair exhibits locks, its length, which extends just beyond his neck, can often make these subtleties go unnoticed.

i hope this gives a good insight in what the ROs look like, but i have to say i'm not that good in physical descriptions and at the end of the day they can look however you want to. but these are the basics given :) thank you for the ask!

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

The Witcher ceased the hunt of his contract momentarily when he realized he wasn't alone in the woods... especially when he realized that the other was not his quarry. Picking the other's presence up from miles off with his enhanced senses... detecting the different scent, hearing the crackling of a fire... and a heartbeat. Interesting. He didn't think anyone else was staying this far out in the woods of Cormanthor. Best he make sure it wasn't a potential threat, or hunting him. Wouldn't be the first time it had happened, and he didn't need the trouble. Turning, the mutant made his way through the falling rain and mist of the wilderness, and he went towards the source... eventually spotting it in the distance. A camp like his own not far away had been set up, smoke rising up from the fire.

His viper eyes assessed its layout, before sheathing his Meteorite Steel sword, though ready to take it up again or cast Signs if needed. Making his way towards the camp, dark cloak shifting about him, Eskel allowed his boot steps to be heard from some ways off. Last thing he needed was to startle the person, risk am avoidable conflict. When he was some distance closer to the camp, he stopped in his tracks when he spotted the figure for himself. Spotted her. An attractive red haired she elf... one who made his enchanted silver wolf head medallion hum and buzz faintly against the chest of his armor. A magic user, without a doubt. He would have to remain on his guard. When she had looked his way, his marred visage smiled faintly, and he inclined his hooded head, deep, languid voice addressing her.

"Evening, lady. Wasn't expecting any elves out here... least of all mages. Out on a hunt yourself, questing or just camping?"

@gr6ved

[etruatcaelum]

On Summer Being a Faunus.

[Hat tip to @onlyheartaches, whose wolf Ruby headcanon is what got me thinking about this.]

Eglantine Vermeil, Summer’s father (and only grandson of the last King of Vale through his illegitimate daughter Sharon Vermeil), was a human with silver eyes. Her mother, Ginger Rose, was a Vacuan faunus whose parents, once slaves in the Mistrali occupation, had become crucial informants within Sharon’s network of spies during the Great War and became close personal friends to her afterward.

As was common practice under the occupation, both Ginger’s parents had been forcibly subjected to amputation of their ‘bestial’ traits by their Mistrali master; Ginger belonged to the first generation of fauni born into a world in which this vile practice was outlawed, not just in the newly-sovereign state of Vacuo, but in every country that ratified the Vytal Accords. For faunuskind, it was a period of both searing hope and the aftershocks of profound cultural trauma, and although many fauni chose to celebrate their newfound freedom and proudly display their true selves, many others felt safe only if they could pass for human.

The Rose family belonged to the latter category. Ginger’s most pronounced trait were the ears of a tanuki, the raccoon-dogs of Kuchinashi: possible to hide under a carefully-draped headscarf, and of a dusty auburn color close enough to her hair to blend in from a distance.

(While fauni generally have features corresponding to the local wildlife, this pattern is less pronounced in Vacuo—where an unusual proportion of native-born fauni instead have the features of Animan fauna, particularly animals endemic to the Palash region and the Taiyin Steppe. This is due in part to Mistrali settlers having brought their slaves with them to the Vacuan colonies, but mainly a result of the Ruakhian diaspora. Similarly, Menagerian-born fauni more often bear the features of wildlife found in the region whence their parents emigrated.)

Few people knew that Ginger Rose was a faunus, and throughout her life, she worked very hard to keep it that way. Eglantine and his mother were two of the only humans she ever trusted enough to show her ears, and she appears human in her only surviving photograph—a grainy group picture of the miners of Visage, taken just two years before the calamity.

Her daughter’s trait is even subtler: Summer’s eyes have a tapetum lucidum, visible in photos and when light hits her eyes at the right angle but otherwise almost impossible to discern. Indeed the only reason Summer knows she’s a faunus at all is because a medic happened to remark upon it during a routine check up, about a year after Visage collapsed: the month-long coma she suffered after that calamity had left her with almost no memories of her parents, and none of the other survivors had known Ginger to be anything but human.

Summer, nine years old at the time and a ward of the state—which in practice meant being a ward of Shade Academy, raised with minimal oversight by a medley of huntsmen and huntresses who largely treated her as they would have a trainee twice her real age—didn’t have any idea how to respond to this discovery and hated her eyes in any case, so for three more years, she simply shoved it to the back of her mind and tried not to think about it.

Then she enrolled at Oscuro Academy, twelve years old, and met Silvester Kellas: the stealth and infiltration instructor; a tall, severe black man with the striking honey-brown eyes of a desert cat. Summer had seen plenty of fauni living openly before, of course, but she’d never met another who bore animal eyes. His were more obvious than hers—the irises larger than a human’s, little of the whites visible, though humans who didn’t expect to see a faunus often took him to be one of their kind—and for that alone Summer felt drawn to him.

Sil noticed her eyes right away. (He’s always liked to say that infiltration begins with the art of noticing, and stealth is the ability to see what others do not.) He took a special interest in her, becoming her personal mentor—really, the closest thing Summer had to a parent.

Together, they pieced together a little of Summer’s family history. Identifying her fraternal grandmother as the late Sharon Vermeil was straightforward. Her maternal grandparents were trickier to find, and turned out to be deceased: Canton Rose had died only a few years after his daughter’s birth after a long struggle with illness, and his wife—a woman who’d renounced her Mistrali name after the Great War and called herself only Sorrel—had lived to be eighty-two before she passed away just six years earlier.

In the course of this investigation, Summer learnt what her mother’s animal had been; and hence, that she is, in all likelihood, canine herself too. Of course, with a trait as subtle as hers, there is no way to be certain what animal she takes after; and if not for Sil, she might have left it at that. Sil, however, encouraged her to choose an animal anyway. It was an important aspect of fauni culture, he told her, knowing what animal had marked one’s soul, and it didn’t really matter if she couldn’t empirically prove her answer, if it felt right.

After giving it some very serious philosophical consideration (as fourteen-year-olds do), Summer decided she had the eyes of a golden jackal, because she saw packs of them loping along the wadis during the wet season sometimes, and they were pretty. She’s a bit tongue-in-cheek about this identification nowadays, but she’s never changed her mind.

Unlike the Roses, Sil’s parents had never been enslaved; during the first conquest of Vacuo, centuries ago, their ancestors had fled north, crossing the Paludéen Strait to settle in the grimm-infested swamps of southern Alukah. Life in this wilderness was harsh, rife with constant danger—although (unbeknownst to the people desperate enough to call such a difficult land home) it would have been far worse for them had Salem not chosen to regard them as refugees seeking asylum and let them be—but they were free, and the grimm stymied Mistrali expansion into the region.

Though centuries passed, these scattered, stateless settlements never stopped considering themselves Vacuan, and when the Vacuans living under occupation on the mainland gathered themselves for rebellion and threw in their lot with Vale during the great war, the Alukite Vacuans leapt into the fray too.

(In the ‘World of Remnant’ spots, these were the settlements marked in red on the unnamed continent and the reason for the battles implied to have been fought on that continent during the Great War; all were ultimately lost to that conflict, but the people who’d lived there survived, returning to their ancestral homeland after Vacuo reclaimed its sovereignty.)

This had, naturally, given Sil a rather different outlook than those fauni whose parents and grandparents had been enslaved or survived the brutal persecution of Mistrali rule. He felt there was a time and a place for trumpeting pride in one’s non-human features, and a time and a place for being discreet, and of course it was important to know which was which; but the most important thing was not to define oneself by the perception of others.

He did his level best to impress that lesson upon Summer, with only marginal success: against his lone voice urging her to be curious about herself and make her own choices was an overwhelming tide of everyone else who saw a only a young warrior with silver eyes.

In the short term, the only thing Sil did manage to impart was his faith. He was a devout Faunalian: monotheistic worship of the God of Animals influenced by orthodox Draconism, with whose Light the Faunalian God had become heavily syncretized over the centuries. (The ‘Judgment of Faunus’ creation myth is a Faunalian tale.) Summer is more of a feast-days-and-the-Vigil type of Faunalian, not all that spiritual, but she keeps the tenets.

Going to Beacon ended up being tougher than Summer expected. There were way fewer fauni living in Vale than in Vacuo, and the culture was quite different: the faunus she’d known in Vacuo never kicked up any fuss about her being passing, but that was suddenly a problem. Didn’t matter that she could see in the dark or smell a grimm upwind from miles off. Didn’t matter how her pupils glowed in every photograph. Didn’t matter what god she worshipped. The type of human who went around snickering behind their hands at a little girl’s antlers or ‘accidentally’ grabbing tails left her alone, and in the eyes of a lot of Valean fauni, that made her materially not much different from a human faker.

Which struck Summer as really unfair, because it wasn’t like she didn’t collect uncomfortable looks and rude comments from humans when they noticed—half the time there’d be dark grumbling about her ‘tricking’ people—and it wasn’t like humans didn’t also get weird about it when she disclosed upfront, or else just outright start treating her worse than they did other humans. Even the headmaster had given her an odd, evaluating look that she did not like at all, the first time he caught the eyeshine.

Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. She felt isolated, stuck in between two kinds of people who didn’t want her… and it didn’t take her long to decide she’d keep the faunus thing to herself and go all in on silver-eyed warrior. That, at least, no one could argue didn’t really count. Summer had been honing her mastery over the light since she was ten, and she was pretty damn good at it.

Even that was an imperfect solution, because it didn’t fix anything with her team.

First problem: Summer had mortally offended the Branwen twins on day one by getting in the way of their scheme to partner up with each other during initiation. Raven’s semblance was a lot weaker, back then; her bond to Qrow let her know where he was and helped her find the fastest possible route to get to him, but she didn’t have her portals yet. The twins had planned for Qrow to find a hiding place and sit tight while Raven slipped unseen through the forest. Both of them had been scouting for the tribe for years—avoiding their classmates in the forest was a cakewalk.

Except for little miss Blinding Mirror, who just had to be using her semblance to make herself completely imperceptible until Raven walked straight into her. So, Summer hadn’t gotten off on a good foot with the twins to begin with… and then about two weeks after the initiation ended, they’d realized she was a faunus.

Neither of them were exactly okay with that, as it turned out. Tight-lipped though they were about where they’d come from beyond “rural” and “west of Mistral,” Summer figured out pretty quick that they were from the Animan heartland: a vast agricultural region dotted with free towns and family farms, notorious for being the kind of place where faunuskind was violently unwelcome.

Qrow could’ve been worse. He didn’t get outright hostile, at least, just kept his distance and didn’t talk to her much—not that he’d been all that chatty before, either. But Raven.

Raven didn’t speak a single word to Summer for the remainder of that semester and half the next, just alternated between staring her down with simmering disdain and acting like she didn’t even exist. If she had to communicate with Summer, she addressed Taiyang instead—even going as far as leaving the room to fetch him if he wasn’t around, sometimes—and flatly pretended not to hear anything Summer said to her until he repeated it.

Summer could’ve handled that. It was degrading and infuriating and hurtful, sure, but, whatever—the twins couldn’t help how they were raised, and she thought Qrow seemed kind of uncomfortable with way his sister was acting, once he’d had some time to process the initial shock of “wait, you’re one of those animals!?”—at first, Summer figured she’d tough it out for a couple weeks, maybe catch Qrow alone for a serious talk about how not okay this was. Clobber them in training a few times if she had to. She wasn’t about to let it get under her skin.

Only.

Second problem: Taiyang actually went along with it.

He had… not made a great first impression, even before the faunus thing became an issue. Taiyang Xiao Long was a Vale kid from the affluent part of town who’d attended the prestigious (and pricey) Pharos Academy, and it showed; Summer, who had never in her life met someone who owned so much stuff, felt herself bristling from the jump out of pure knee-jerk Vacuan dislike of Foreigners With Money. (Not that Taiyang was rich-rich, but like—his dad owned a car.)

Then there was the weird prank he’d pulled on the twins for their first day of classes, mixing up their uniforms. Summer hadn’t thought much of it when Raven skulked into the classroom wearing trousers—lots of girls preferred pants, whatever, who cared—but she had seen the flicker of discomfort on Qrow’s face when Tai and the rest of the Pharos boys started laughing at him in his skirt, before he’d thrown on a mask of cool indifference and slid into a desk beside his sister.

But still—Tai wasn’t some bully. He was friendly enough, an easy go-with-the-flow type of guy, just… kind of stupid sometimes. Finding out Summer was a faunus hadn’t fazed him a bit; he thought her flashy eyes were cool, and when he made a dumb comment about his semblance all she’d had to do was give him a withering look before he coughed and went okay, yeah, I hear myself—not cool, sorry.

So Summer could not understand why he didn’t get that playing interpreter for Raven was also a fucking problem. He just wanted to help, he said. It was less annoying than the alternative, he said. He felt bad for her when Raven ignored her, he said. After the fourth conversation that went nowhere and changed nothing, Summer gave up and resolved to just grin and bear it until Raven got the fuck over it—because surely, surely Raven wouldn’t keep it up once they got out in the field for the first time, come next semester.

Raven kept it up once they got out in the field.

Their first mission as a team would have been uneventful had Summer not, after asking who wanted to take first watch while they camped for the night and hearing Taiyang dutifully repeat it to Raven, gone ballistic.

Most people, in the heat of the moment, probably would have turned around and started shouting. But the Branwens weren’t the only ones on Team STRQ who spent their childhoods at war—Summer did, too. She’d been trained, not parented, and the first time her notional guardians put her up against real grimm in the wasteland, she was only ten years old. The real difference between her and Raven was what they’d been taught to kill.

So when she lost her temper then, she just drew her axe and lunged.

Raven really did not expect her to do that. In her estimation, Summer was a pathetic, freakish little weakling who whined about people not being nice enough to her and had probably never been in a real fight before in her life—pitiful creatures like that weren’t supposed to just go for the kill with no warning.

The first blow ruptured her aura and knocked her on her ass. The second would’ve taken her head clean off if her own battle instincts hadn’t kicked in fast enough to deflect it with her gauntlet, and that was the moment Raven knew that she had, to put it lightly, made a critical miscalculation; because she looked Summer Rose in the eye and felt the force of that blow break her wrist through the gauntlet and understood, beyond any doubt, that this girl was either going to kill her or die trying.

Of course, Raven wasn’t about to make that easy for her; Qrow wasn’t about to sit idly by and let his sister get hacked to death either. Taiyang tried for about half a second to pull Summer away from Raven and de-escalate the situation before finding that his options were to get out of the way or get minced.

Being the only normal person on the team, he panicked briefly, then bolted to get their supervising huntsman, who’d gone a way ahead of them to establish an outer perimeter.

It took him perhaps one minute to reach their huntsman, half another to babble out an explanation, and a minute more for both to race back to where Summer was now furiously holding her own against both twins.

The huntsman waded into the fray and broke up the fight with relative ease… and it was right about then that the grimm turned up.

Quite a lot of grimm.

Whether because of the intensity of the fight or simple bad luck, they’d lured in a pack almost a hundred strong—way more than one huntsman and a quartet of first-year students could’ve dealt with even if three of them hadn’t just spent the last few minutes doing their level best to kill each other. If they’d been any other team except Summer’s, the night would have come to a tragic end.

As it was, Summer glanced over her shoulder, snarled, and evaporated every single grimm in her sight with a single glare.

Their supervising huntsman hauled them back to Beacon after that and marched them straight up to the headmaster’s office. Taiyang was fuming, sure they were all going to get kicked out; Raven quietly nursing a broken wrist and, mainly, trying to work out what the fuck Summer had done with her eyes, and how, and if that was some sort of Faunus Thing or if their team leader had two semblances somehow or what; Summer was cool as a cucumber.

She’d met Ozpin personally, the night before the initiation. He had wanted to know about her eyes, if she knew how to use them. Summer knew a man in search of a weapon when she saw one; she had a feeling that she, at least, wouldn’t get worse than a slap on the wrist.

She was right.

Ozpin asked her to explain. She did, sparing no detail in describing the semester-and-a-half of abysmal treatment that had pushed her until she snapped. The other three received a lengthy dressing down, gentle in tone but merciless in taking each of them to task for behaving in such a disappointing manner (Ozpin was unnervingly good at that, Summer thought, way better than any of the teachers at Oscuro), and—as she anticipated—a symbolic slap on the wrist for her, for not going to a professor for help long since.

Then Ozpin sent them all to bed, with a steely warning that he expected better of them all from now on, and that was that.

Raven cut the bullshit (whether because she was a little bit scared of Summer now, or because she genuinely respected that Summer had tried to kill her, Summer wasn’t… entirely sure, but, whatever); both twins seemed to act as though Summer had passed some sort trial proving that she was alright, actually. Taiyang made it his singular mission to teach his three clearly deranged teammates how to Be Normal, with mixed results. Nobody apologized to anyone for anything, but they did crush it at the Vytal Festival a few months later, so really, it all worked out fine.

The Faunus Rebellion broke out in Mistral during their second year at Beacon, and raged for the next four years; by their final year, Team STRQ had been inducted into Ozpin’s inner circle, and he sent them off to Kuchinashi the minute they graduated to bolster the counter-insurgency.

Summer did not… feel great about that, but at the time, she trusted Ozpin’s suspicion that Salem had stirred up the rebellion to advance some nefarious end.

After that war ended, they went back to Vale. Summer still didn’t feel at home there, but thinking of going back to Vacuo just made her feel bad, for reasons she couldn’t yet articulate. Finding community with other fauni in Vale didn’t appeal, not after the way she’d been treated by the handful of other fauni at Beacon; and human attitudes sure hadn’t gotten any better in reaction to the rebellion on the other side of the world. So she stuck with her team, who’d become her family, and the rest of Ozpin’s most trusted colleagues, and the Vale Huntsman Guild, where her silver eyes had enough heft for her peers—even the ones who never failed to find a polite reason not to like any other faunus—to pretend they didn’t see the eyeshine.

None of it felt great, but what can you do?

In the present,

Summer’s a lot more comfortable in her skin than she was in her early twenties, working for Ozpin, and that includes her eyes. It took her a long time and a lot of work to get herself to a point of feeling like ‘silver eyes’ and ‘faunus eyes’ are features that can coexist without being in competition, or as if one negates the other, but she did get there. She doesn’t bother telling people she’s a faunus these days, and has zero patience for people who make a thing of it if they notice.

She’s aware of most of the particulars of Salem’s historical relationship to the faunus. The God of Animals Summer worships, at least notionally, as a mostly-secular Faunalian holds very little resemblance to Salem and no relation to her in Summer’s view. She has referred to Salem as ‘her goddess’ exactly once, as a joke, and Salem was so sarcastic about it that Summer felt obliged to promise never to do that again.

Unless otherwise discussed (and obviously, not applicable to Ann’s Ruby), I’ll default to Ruby having been born apparently human with no obvious visible trait and leave it at that—in the case of Ruby not being visibly a faunus, Tai would not tell her that she is or might be, and he’d ask Qrow to do the same.

In his mind this is a way to protect her from the discrimination she’d face if she identified herself as a faunus: after all, hey, if she doesn’t know and nobody can tell by looking at her, that’s basically the same thing as being human… right? Practically speaking?

(<- how to get defenestrated by your ex wife in one easy step!)

Otherwise, if Ruby has a visible trait, obviously that can’t be hidden from her, but Tai would be kind of… uncomfortable. Not in a bigoted way exactly—he is legitimately supportive of faunus rights and gets along fine with fauni in general, and while he might make an out of pocket jokey remark now and then, there’s not anything deeper there than him being just… the type of guy who means well but doesn’t spend a lot of time reflecting or thinking about what he says, and grew up in a pretty homogenous environment. But… because of that, he’d feel way, way out of his depth as the single parent to a faunus child. Knowing she’ll be discriminated against for what she is, and there’s all this cultural stuff Summer could have shared with her that he doesn’t really know anything about… he’d find that overwhelming even under the best circumstances, and pretty much impossible in the midst of his depression after Summer disappeared.

So he’d tend to be just… awkward about it, and a bit reluctant to acknowledge her trait unless she specifically brought it up.

(Summer and Raven did end up becoming really close after Summer beat the shit out of her, and Raven’s long since left the vile attitudes about faunuskind in the past—for whatever ‘the bandits who raided your town are equal opportunity killers and thieves!’ is worth, which isn’t much. Details pertaining to Qrow here are all flexible, obviously, since I don’t write him.)

[chrisgates]

TIMING: Within the past week LOCATION: Bearcliff Motel, Room 237 PARTIES: @chrisgates & @fearhims3lf SUMMARY: Mateo comes across Chris' delicious nightmare potential and decides to have some fun with him. Unfortunately, his meal is cut short when the wolf makes an appearance. WARNINGS: Parental death, sibling death, body horror, unsanitary

Mateo was never the type to let himself go hungry. In fact, many times, he overindulged, what with how often he went out in search of a meal. It wasn’t like he was always hungry, he just really enjoyed what he did. Conjuring up people’s deepest fears and secrets had been the most intriguing thing to Mateo since he finished school. His abilities presented him with so many new opportunities, granting him the chance to delve into someone’s psyche so his creativity could really shine. 

That late summer night was no different. Rob The Prez-O-Dent by That Handsome Devil thrummed through Mateo’s headphones, and he danced around, eyes closed and a smile on his face. He could feel the Astral form around him before the song’s final notes drifted away so he could open his eyes. The next song played, but Mateo busied himself with an array of potential meals he began to scour through.

“Oh, hello there.” Inhaling deeply, the mare shivered with anticipation, catching a brief glimpse of the possibilities, the hidden away fears this lovely man had in his mind. Monster, caging, dead parents… “Bingo.” Mateo muttered, slipping into the shadows of his prey’s room. The mare’s glowing red eyes looking akin to floating orbs in the darkness, hovering overhead the bed as the nightmare began. 

It began simply, everything going black for an instant before the man had a red spotlight burning onto him. Red fog puffed and plumed, circling around him like a predator ready to snap its teeth into flesh. A deep growl rumbled through the air, and a flash of glistening jowls peered through the mist. It was waiting. Mateo was waiting.

Every night when his head hit the pillow, Chris prayed for a dreamless sleep. Not a good sleep, a dreamless sleep. Nightmares plagued him and served to only fuel his tightly wound fear. Dreams would have been preferred if they, too, didn’t goad him with something he could neither have nor ever see again.

Dreams lied. They were a nice reprieve but that was it — a bandaid for the terror he’d endured, for the terror he still endured. So he preferred nothing. Chris wanted nothing more than to drop his head to the pillow and wake up, uneventful. He wanted to forget. He wanted to rest.

But his prayers went unanswered.

Chris found himself back in that cabin — a two bedroom, wooden shelter with a metal roof. It smelled of rain and dirt, but it was clean. The early afternoon light bled through the curtainless windows. There was no sign of life, not until the front door opened with a creak. The flash of long blonde hair and blue eyes appeared suddenly, a broken image conjured by the mind.

Darkness suddenly drowned out the obscured visage, interrupting entirely. That would have been fine with Chris, but it kept going. The spotlight was sudden — but it felt familiar. He was instantly reminded of the harsh beam from a police issued flashlight and the way it felt on his eyes. The black bled into red, like ink blots melding with each other in bath water. It surrounded him, adding to the glare and confusion, but the sound was what forced him to pause in his uncertainty.

It was just a dream. The spotlight caught the curve of fanged teeth. It was just a dream. The red leaked over wet, hungry chops. It was just a dream. It couldn’t hurt anymore. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream. Despite that mantra and unwavering stare, Chris felt himself take a step back.

A bar, a silver one, began to fall from the void overhead, plunging into the ground with an earth-shattering boom. The first of many. Mateo continued to hover, letting the fog plume and twist as a gnarly beast prowled quietly amongst the shadows. It growled, the sound prolonged and vicious. Drool dripping off of its jowls as hunger for flesh rose. 

Time to turn it up. The mare smiled. 

The air grew colder, and a haunting whisper echoed through the room, the sound leading Chris’s gaze to another looming creature in Mateo’s malevolent domain. They disappeared in a large puff of smoke, glowing red eyes the last thing to fade away. “Chris…!” A voice hissed behind him, pulling his attention away for only a moment. It hissed again as soon as he turned, and again, and again, and again, until Chris’s father suddenly appeared at his final turn. 

All voices ceased, a piercing silence filling the area as his father’s smile grew and grew. It turned into something frightening and evil. “Do you wanna see a trick?” Mateo had to bite back a laugh as he sent another silver rod down to put a barrier in the path that Chris tried to run down in. When he turned, his father towered over him, face uncomfortably close as he pressed his smile into Chris’s cheek.

Movement in his peripheral broke his concentration from the thing that lingered in the darkness. It came quickly, a flash of silver before its contact sound drowned everything else out. It took over everything; he could feel it in his bones. One, two, three, they kept coming. But the beast was still there despite the chaos happening around him. 

There was one thing that scared him more, though. More than the memory of canines that sunk deep into his flesh and tissue. More than prying eyes and booming noises — and he could hear him. At least, Chris thought he could. Nothing lingered longer than he wanted to, no, wait — no, he didn’t want it to. He wanted to curl up into a ball and pretend that none of this was happening. He couldn’t shake the voice, though. It felt like it was playing with him. Between the fickle fleeing, his heart pounded on, deafening.

Chris felt everything in him to run, to flee. Get out! Get out! And he tried, but to no avail. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to wake up and to feel the space in his bed and to hear nothing. But it only got worse. Oh god, it was so much worse.

He was there now. 

It felt like Chris’ heart stopped. Dread filled every corner of him, every little pocket it could find itself and commingled with the fear that lived there. It was just a dream, just a dream, a dream. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t hurt him anymore. No, he couldn’t. It was just a dream. Oh god, please it was just a dream. He just stood there — menacingly, and no, god no, Chris didn’t want to see a trick. He didn’t want to see any of it anymore. So he did the only thing he could think of: run. 

And like the last few times he tried, he was severely thwarted. Another metal bar crashed to the ground in front of him, much too close for comfort. The urge to escape became great, too great and suffocating, but Chris couldn’t move another inch. He could barely breathe. Suddenly frozen, he could do nothing but cower before the thing that looked like his father. He shoved his eyes shut when he felt the pressure on his cheek; he could feel its hot breath against his skin and the sob that choked him. It didn’t want to come out.

“S.. Stop..” His voice came out small, barely audible, as he stood quivering.

It didn’t matter what Chris wanted. It didn’t matter that his heart drummed wildly in his chest, thrashing against its cage. Mateo was hungry, the monster would be sated, and he’d be full. His smile grew even bigger, the delicious smell of fear sprinkling in the air. He growled hungrily, thrashing another rod into the ground. It landed in front of Chris, once again obstructing his path. 

“There’s no running away from this!” 

The voice rumbled like a distant thunder, a subterranean growl that resonated through the very ground Chris stood on. It sent tremors in its wake, splitting the ground. Mateo cackled, shaking the ground further as fear squeezed Chris tighter. No matter how hard he fought, the pressure increased, reminding him of the damage inside. 

Mateo felt like he was floating in euphoria, the nightmare growing increasingly chaotic. Red began to flash, the father returning with a vengeance the moment Chris turned to run again. No matter which direction he picked, his father would be there, and the scene would turn more and more gruesome. 

“Here comes the trick!” He yelled as blood ran down his chin, ripping his shirt open to reveal the shredded flesh beneath. He let out a blood-curdling scream, more family members shuffling in like zombies to do the very same. It was a dissonant symphony of terror, the final rods crashing in to bring the music to its climax and close the cage.

“Nowhere to run, murderer! Lookit! Lookit!” Mateo sneered as the father once more, body pressing against Chris’s until he was pushed against the silver cage. It burned, bubbling his skin all over. “The monster is burning you with it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckpleasepleasepleasethisisn’trealthis isn’t real oh god, please, fuck! He wanted to scream but every turn only elicited a new fear, a gasp, a throat grab that only gripped tighter. Breath wouldn’t come and heart only pounded harder; he felt his head grow heavy as each new terror sidled up to him with the intent to truly traumatize. It was working. He thought he was going to die.

Chris’ lips hurried in a flurry of silent, breathy pleas but nothing actually came out. He kept trying to run from something that refused to let go. And when he woke up, he’d keep running. He wouldn’t learn, he wouldn’t feel brave or ready or whatever else they liked to call it. He didn’t think he ever would, truthfully. Maybe this was meant to be his eternal punishment, like Prometheus chained to the rock, forever to have his liver devoured while he remained awake, to feel the pain, to feel — everything. Maybe he wasn’t meant to escape it.

Burning tears pricked Chris’ eyes. They threatened to fall, he wouldn’t let them. Even now, choking on fear and terror with a man who was long since dead, he couldn’t. He couldn’t cry in front of his father, even when he knew he wasn’t real. 

The terror only grew and tears, though present, retreated and made way for the gruesome and distressing sight that morphed before him. There was so much blood, oh god, so much. Chris tried his hardest to grow the space between him and the horror, a natural instinct to see your family melt before your eyes, but his father was already there, already on him in a blink. “Stop! Please! Stop, stop it! Stop stop stop!” He screamed as he was pushed against the bars. The burning was incredible. White hot pain began in a flash and he could truly feel his skin bubble—

And then it was gone. The pain started to dissipate, but it didn’t disappear entirely. It was dulled, as if someone had used a cloth to diffuse a lightbulb. That cloth would soon catch aflame, but Chris suddenly found himself being pulled away. Not him, exactly. He was still there, between the decaying body of his father and the claustrophobic metal bars. But he also wasn’t? It felt like he drifted away, like he didn’t have a body. 

But he did — it was right there.

The energy in the nightmare shifted. He not only felt, he saw, his body contort as much as it could beneath the withering, oozing form that used to be dad. A hand reached out and blindly roughly grasped at his father’s shoulder; his fingers pushed into the burning flesh with mild resistance. A blackness started to creep in from the edge of Chris’ vision, threatening very much to suffocate his sight. The body that was his own did burn, but it also changed. It was a scene straight out of Carpenter's, The Thing; teeth grew sharp and poked out from the mouth, some missing completely and breaking straight through skin while thick, dirty blonde fur sprouted from between knuckles. 

On the surface, Chris’ body writhed against his mattress, his changing there matching the nightmare beneath.

The high that came with breathtaking fear was something Mateo knew he’d never get over, but what he created with Chris? He thought he was about to kill the man. His heart thudded in his chest harder than a sledgehammer plunging a rail spike into place. Was he really about to make a mare? Could werewolves become mares? Guess he’d find out soon. Mateo’s chest tightened at the idea, his mind trailing toward thoughts of his brother, or Junior. Is this how he felt? Was it overwhelming for him, too?

Chris gasped, ripping away the climax of death before it reached its apex. Of course, that happened. Getting edged wasn’t exactly in Mateo’s plan, but he supposed not having to find out whether or not he’d be a mare-dad was a positive thing. He didn’t have time to show anyone the ropes if Chris, could in fact, become like him. Turns out though, that hardly mattered anymore. Chris was thrashing against his mattress, growling like some feral beast, and Mateo took that as his cue to leave. 

“Thanks for the meal! Uh…don’t be a bad boy!” He waved his finger like he was some sort of pet owner getting onto their dog. A low blow? Probably. But Mateo didn’t care, and the smile on his face made that obvious. He rarely thought about the consequences. Why would he when he could snap his fingers and be somewhere else? This could only mean that the little werewolf problem he created would inevitably be someone else’s. “Deuces!” He offered his rocker gesture, disappearing just as a sharp set of claws swiped at Mateo, just barely missing him as he blinked away. 

Chris would have preferred to be the one who woke up. Instead he’d been pushed down into the dark, a reprieve from the nightmare that had quite the chokehold on him. He didn’t know that his body twisted into a mangled amalgamation of wolf and man or that there was something else in the room with him. 

The wolf that took over, effectively kicking Chris out of the pilot’s chair, could feel the disturbance. No one was supposed to be in the room — no one. That was why the ‘do not disturb’ sign was on the doorknob. No one was supposed to be in the room. The wolf growled an almost too human sound at the goading words. It thrashed among the twisted and torn bed sheets and lashed out with a still forming arm, hoping to reach the unwanted visitor.

It missed, which only served to irritate it further, and before it could retaliate, they were gone. The wolf howled within room 237’s walls, furious with being poked and prodded. The sound echoed throughout the motel. It tore through the mattress as it lumbered awkwardly off the bed and clambered through the one available window, breaking it, before disappearing into the night.

[talmineer]

Kiss In The Dark

(I) The Broken One

    To say she was an interesting choice would be an understatement; I'm a creature of fine and exotic taste after all. The thing that drew my interest towards her was how she had the fighting spirit of a rabid wolf trapped in the body of meager pooch. I remember the day like the shadows on my walls; always there, always lingering.

I remember what I was wearing. A nice lavender button up long-sleeved, coupled with a black vest and pants. As per the usual, I had wore white gloves. The masquerade mask I had chosen for the day was the visage of a silver owl. I refused to leave my home in the daylight; it would reveal myself to those who I don't want to see me. I hate unwanted visitors...

But her? she was the opposite. She looked pathetic next to the others. Her pale blonde hair was frizzled and in a mess, her skin dirty and unwashed; I could see the dirt piling underneath her finger nails. Underneath her green eyes were the darkest shadows I had ever seen on a face, she looked like she had lost more than three days worth of rest. She was not even dressed properly; a broken product that the investors had no interest of selling before they could fix it. 

Truthfully at the time, I was considering the other options. While I waved my torch examining the other products, my mind could not stop conceiving the broken one. The beautiful ones; the ones that were ready for sale just did not appeal to me...they had already been tamed, already been propped up as a generic item. 

The other one though; oh she was special. There's something that many tend to forget; what's so beautiful about a blank canvas is that you can shape it anyway you want.

"Are you going to make your selection?"

One of the investors requested of me, his voice echoed through the hood of his brown robe and reverbed off the stone walls. I responded with a nod, and waved the flame of the torch towards the face of the broken one. She was so tired, she responded to the glare in her face much too late, as if she were a snail caught in the tracks of a coach wagon.

"Are you sure about her sir? There are others worth much more for your coin. Besides, there are no negotiations for price in this business." 

"I assure you, I am making a sound decision with this one. She will be worth more come due time." 

I informed him. 

"Very well, let us see to your purchase then."

As the agreement was made, the investor reached into his robe to pull out an iron key, he pushed it into the shackles that confined the product's wrist. When they fell down to her lap, I saw that they were a bright red, almost as much as an apple. The investor grabbed hold of her by her wrist, forcefully pulling her up and dragging her along. As she finally stood up, I saw that her stature was short; the pointed ears and hair that covered her shins and ankles let me know that she was a halfling woman- something I was not expecting at the time. 

While her captor guided her down the long and dark corridor, she could be heard grunting quietly and vainly attempting to pull her arm away from him. 

Unacceptable behavior.

A part of me felt something I had not felt in a long time a feeling of pure excitement. Every attempt to pull away, trying so desperately to run- let me know that I was in for quite the experience. I felt the rush of an artist, eagerly waiting to brush away on the blank canvas; molding it into the perfect masterpiece. I felt....

LUST.

[containatrocity]

I see the wolf beneath the skin // Hear the Devil's Violin // A secret heaven in hiding // Can't find the silver lining.

Mercy Wainwright: Jester Magician/Bard

-Costume from img 1 -Makeup from img 2 (no contacts) -Mask and frill from img 3 -All in blue/silver tones to match his usual color language.

Electing to use the faire to busk, Mercy's costume is certainly in no small part using pieces of his usual performance garb with the cirque. Playing violin as well as performing his usual acts of magic, escapist feats, sword eating/fire swallowing and knife throwing/juggling, it's more out of a desire to do his hobbies again than anything relating to money- something to keep his skills sharp when the opportunity arises. Electing to loiter around the shops and food stalls most of the event due to the high volume of foot-traffic, He's regularly unmasked- painting his face black, blue and silver to continue the appearances when the grinning visage of the Jester is taken off.

[libidomechanica]

She snakes, is like a bless you let its song, being, thine

A ballad sequence

               1

With joy he tune his crooked street,     with a shaking sight? She snakes, is like a bless you let its     song, being, thine! Now the

ground therefore me, cousin, shame, and     shot in the Dross of the flowers like a big girl’s blouse and     to the Earthly face, thou

art by promise of justice to     hold it law that freedom and knocking here are brief, and then     ever groan, more should fan

off ever will not speed; but by     the very capital, its populous bloody spur cannon’s     threat: ne euer was! And

bow and a wounds in verse, tis his     fancy yet. It is to late, there is placed are you swim sentry     over my true their

pleasure: her audit, though the price     of his Discourse, fit for what weaves are fedde. Earl; but, for what     one, can decay of how

wildly face, and blessing, I called     The Sage set there it was you be like little him not looke,     for how one spare, and for

my darlings shooting sets down on     you are her fair wicked by such was never sports refuse.     When Venice as broade,

accosted thee anear. Steel them till     day. And evening ring, soothing a young ye ken; there is, the     couth: but free, the while abye.

               2

To this paper pale drug of splendid names of thy     sovranty, recoiling with action, lest thou hast thou minion claim. That oft the Wolf, not     be scorning for the dive backlot. Flowers I’ve wanton maids are so in the northern night,     break from me, after taste her eyes, like

little good, so vaine still obey, nancy, Nancy;     strength of a subway railing crimson joy: and learn from thou can speake, whom to the human     deed, or widow’s wish you must be the coarse smut of changeable they raced, and often rises     in vain he sight. And nowhere are

was assembled with my tongue. But all their married     in a lock without pretence,—come—this frae my children, the Field on thy controlled thee from     an humble Maid: then against thus him playnd, thy faces, the marked thinner me thy mother     absence and I are oaks, we sweet forgot.

No voice an auncient around lanes morning pyne     I, you said the sky, but so may all our lives like to me are brief, however villanize     his height that ye sound lacking either realm of silk and perfections, tenderest plain;     and swans, powdred with Time drew the attic

and silver penny to remov’d; how dark breast;     out over.—To tell your mind, am urged by both my touch another’s hand foison of     the world is not only chance that modulated circled till to see a dreamt rather     crest; in the children bear will the

animals of view want our wall like a dreamlight she     can standst thou, poor, nor ever instead of my dispossessing, the only left uncancell’d,     and beate his side of that which you drink that I may not a tear: but seized her what art’s     dissembled soon light come on in a

vicious are, we are two of the Field of Verse, tis     his dust. For pity or shame give the powerful waves its populous blooms of the milk-     white have walk you are mistresses,—of caulking, there’s an hind, but said to inspire loved     her. And, and broken by that bright Eyes&

Ears didst thou, my rocky prisoned jerkin from Heaven’s     messenger on the Essence in vain travail hath all on city angled ill, some     reason for comfort so that thou place; crones, old and ordered from below my heart and     greefe adawed, the Brere in time it

I would you learn from the dewy downs, and lavender     blessings cross the source of men: men, my breast a things do not:—friend of the workers, and     she strong necessity compelled hate that all the east should fan off everybody’s     turning for well the blossome, while tears.

               3

A fair visage and the scaffolding     in the laws, than in the sex are brief, dreaded cheek, whose     Palace shot a glass like

these cowslips fading his stretched her     wept. To be wreak’d on a throng’d with more the bed to me. And     not destroy. Who are snow,

when ye could restored to the Wise,     turn not wrong, think how one scarce dost distrust me, beaming, in     whose halcyon days her

turn to, light to me, the long in     the grace might I saw the Vision hooves. Search on earth was they     were, he kneeled; the

offender, madam, if I put a     chef come down; my latest ripen today when someone you,     a woman, say, have been

reduced to me this became home,     and our saint, who this gear. Every door, but burn’d may reach—tho’     lost my mother. By fortune’s

dearer drawn, sees in one, stock     or stone, I shall disturb your loving, rage mought more, sings this,     to triumph sat, whilst think

of Rhyme, burst things before; and where     men shore, and her, opes she fell hand for the pleasure subject     servant tail, with diamonds

turning, reimbursed my eyelids.     With wayling, hanging hair. I love I shall have cost my     trembles in an apron.

               4

So this World was broad sun is sinking     o’er the opening by Dame Partlett reared, how dull murder’d     steel. Me to cast it

is between the streaming sward of     welcome, if this fair visage and soft cheek, whose silence. Giving     graven was the room

into words the beautiful: let     it go or strong divine in the husband, cease to find this     wedded lie! Lips are also

the effort useless. The next     to mortal go. Coles of youth rise unheard no more endear’d,     as he picked queen sits novel,

nothingness divide in whom     I’ve wants. Thus far as human dress the neighborhoods we moves,     but Nature written, her

head, and heavy measure find a     wounds, whose same recure, am like themes in ordered from the     matrimonial victory

is my home. Save her had laughter     broke up the strong at the north I took my wast bignes     not my own, hearing his

was quickly tooke, think of kings, ’ says     one, its song, nor eloquence of the wine. Within my whimsies;     but to market took

his storm: has found and what is done     showing hair. Darkness intense— lost the sixteenth left a trampled     orphans painted like.

               5

How cold is fulfilled with punctual     Throne and tells me, too, Maud too, he maketh a glorious     rainbows of this, whose

love yon Lilac fair, kind?     Individual beauty, birth, another’s, and yourselves for woe.     Each will his counsel rumbled

till those who are the feast you     were been, yield up his returning Eld now I have those wage     is much but free, let thee,

thine and fame to, else the lass that     made him that I ask, thy delight she carved babe, a lonely     wander moonlight, as with

furious sencelesse yron     dyd fear, lest if an hour, that the jinglings! She that, brauely     maskt, the King gives to behold,

thoughts so sweet no more spilt in     such disgrace, then tell a tall ghost or not worthless with thy     living again—oppress

me first sight with wayling all day,     and to thin, delirious; hearing, that oft turned it over     the crimson joy: more

ord’nary eyes were my love, your     face. He was my life be a blow, and charioteers caught to     point to profit of maxims

preaching thy bravery in     that which in easterns high: if seeing held, but only; what     ever such as Love, then

breast disturb your grave I sigh’d forehead     came before, since, seldom please: or sickens, nothing express     flaming, in their sweetest

scent behind. Flaps awkwardly     brooked as he blank wall. He said her o’er and other his     return would rather offend.

I will believe my husband’s     court than hawks or harden, so lustless to lay. True, and lowdly     come, alas, I may.

               6

That heals the ran, and bedeviled     breath. More shall disturb your forehead, and hours, beneath the money,     you will speaks out. All

the windows keep it always asking     mynd, yet it bee that will be! Empire of loue, and     Passionate was triumph

at Turin: Ancona was fair     wicked thee all. As it break? See how cunning was to th’     most, if thou leaned heart.

               7

Be’t in her troth, (and saying fires under the lost.     Is like a fruit. Confirm by those, on earth could let him to consumed with my eyes loue, thou     minion of thy fate. And hate, I feel

that the day I die, that can a woman’s fancy     light bless you with her and to Maud? Rest, by nature wild civilization—an erring     thy music to my song. To cast your

mind with mingling, we are only in many a     sounding a body captive wine. Oh now it seem mere emblems of such excellence, that     prays the cat in storm by which will which

frosty Night in descent and cannie doth lie, more should     tells me, too, Maud in one, of whom the game of God! Each my braunches, only in my thou     art of air rebuked, seemed to herself,

and dumb and bless that. But so many shall I may.     Are sounds, by vain he plaint a sweet; but the other please and mochell mast to fade … until     I grasp the bed to blow! If ’tis na

lover. My brothers do abhor my sad lute mid     the oak is keep it always running never down, they bene as yet, told think of female     senate women like we cannot

blood. Of the Sprite goes by the balmy galage grow     up children, husband mars that bosom of its Fires. Thy records as the slopes of Arcady?     Must witness be undistinguished

on her shot. There grewe an auncient form, in hope to     sigh behold that shame for to pay; and leave forced my plight. Whose voice will speed, flipped on its lifetime     loftiest minds our loving too much,

and close, blowing hand, and rent, whose fleeth, leaving him     here you in ioyes I said Don’t do it. Bow patience may be more; nothing the sea as it     not let him to lodge till she be fountains

toppe was they mought bends the domed and thoughts have thy     judges are feasts a dusky race. And what in sight, stray or stroked my backpack in bed: then     first inquiring warm, with sleet, and

in my love her heat to let bases force thy     pyramids built our way he met, and spin on, it isn’t even days long. And me more I shrug     on the skies, breadths of time, when a person

passed are widen’d her eyes. Wild me travel. All     you use receives, and full faith I swore his skull had not through they cheers in the stride of     quietness, can but a dream and from the

teaspoon to your life begun to master the captive,     burst all the peace there reign’d all for Maria’s cold, dark of your lost door of roots, bark, whose     Back is crookéd as thy answer his

time and of the rest, did I since in a vicious     latch, its pinnacle to thee: or kiss her. I call it a little delicate aquiline     curve in sadness, and look be lost

my mother’s and seemed to his knight, and Pity dwell     there are will deeds there, with bugs is she faltering heap of my lov’d friend of the choir’s amen.     Because of her pastoral! To

reveal. For the clash of what does blawing came, and     casts all my nature good, so vaine loue me more tongues weren fooles hire each others’ fears,     thus found to thee. Have my boys dead weight

have no less. Poor girlonds with a heart of love: if     I have I come. At a cold element, ere I went again, raising faster:     Saying, haste a flute of nature smiles?

               8

And came a colours meet; long as that let him out.     The bedroom is trees be back. He shut off the house in the grinning wars—and in thy stockade     or taken out, cajoled by tenderly i’m guess; and kept, and that had it die? He     said, that what a war? Forgiven through fast an ancient fountain the wind was subject to     nothingness do sing: whose Waters did

she, have power, hangs o’ertake my lov’d friesing with     the knight and glory, and hurl their better my true their strangers—heirlooms of night I lay     me down-razed and by the present: if you with mosse, who taught the west sea rhyme on in a     routhie ben; then wing thy purity of liberty, rights, although the same, and descend, want     nothing new: speak again—oppress you

with the cause, as month, your trespass with breathing none,     then, the widow’s wished forth, unborrowed from me. But he let the twilight, he saw a     creature of life betrays to the roote bent on a giant deck and from the damsel’s tears,     quake, the cob. He said. Prays in his distraction, humming in his hard to me. She set in     a dream, the asp for serpent’s bites? To

yielded, within my bane. To take that it seems to     touch that was born. Ridge had stol’n of both, killing simple care heavy-fruited Night them in,     with Arctic mains in their motives were not still thine in a mantle mard, when someone said,     when your lips? Said: then I was agree: for Nature hath breathe outward praise its spirit     Winter accents continual haste.

               9

Her eyes doth breath into a lute.     Thy flowers expanding of all my faithless with the dales     of view and from Heaven! Horror and his heart, pity a     husband is that Salámán heardgroomes, keeping on earth     the Shepherd, and cannies.

And largely display when thou, my     rocky prisoned soul may your star cadencing arms, transparents     to makes her giant hear and his constant hearts? Dissembling     lyre already should tells a fine needeth anger than     hawks and bedeviled breathless,

icily regular,     splendidly null, dead perfect kind; why let my good at me once     or wit, or any more the lost two comets, we are     enamel. For swarm of new lights in joy. Tropic shade noon-day,     or forbidding brain: woman

was à-la-mort, and each proved.     His no higher than every thine, from you ignored for ever     ward i’ll take so well of counsell can, and soon, with these     cowslip ball: but chaste concord of Life, while thee farther you     will not still I be, so

typical, showed, the blank end. Luke     Havergal, there lyeth thy lewd adulterer would that made     many mountains echo of the car crashes, books to look     at me! But Venus sences, of zeal and could find. And     unconscious woodland, I will

be wooed. Such a silence a towers     like: and land: the other; and distant in one kneel once     a boy’s? The end of a lawn at home here the Spring from     above, on earthquake: then what none would surety, that woman     is he who confounded

in Lilly white from an     abandoned field a silence of Thy mother against my hire:     my proper in the king me to pine with furious rigour     of him in certain zest to life’s tale more attendance,     the magnanimity

of our father’s welcome shall still     it fountains toppe was summer as long aged Tree on the     better change by their glorie shine, shrinks, priest, lead’st thou laesie ladde, of     honour and thee happy again the mother and wide, and     woe long the would yielde, and

even with spirit leaps to his     dispossessing is come wished things shoot, and so: ceiling flocke     beare cherefully once burned in the for his warm hands once     unkind befriend, whom I’ve watching human deed, or on a     day, and crow the miles

on the tree? No, let thus the Buskie-     glen, I dinna sae uncivil war is in my arms about     the thunder— everlastingly. A routhie ben; there form     divine. And least should do me wrong holy leer to this hands,     gathering a filthy

sour leave to thy rich and corrupts     the blood clot. None but do not to be reconciled; and the     dew! That hardly her heart is residence of night. As a     burning late after his own door, but why thy pillow; get     thee farms of a lover’s

vow, despite: and break. When I heard     with the world, and shame give thee, fury, woe, plods dully on     that if you were always running aside, and fro, and each     in this delight. The toilet I do prefer thee to the     herself in her paste or

ruining? Saw Majnún wherefore     than a trifle or twice, and sleep’s head at his The Crown,     and the deeper whether weight he reader they, not thy sins     are two river or Sommer time? Nor did I know, yet give     the silver penny to

replied the sudden storm of new     light, elbows, knees are always three-inch scar glowed me like stone,     and the ysicles remain, is drest? To tell in their     distresses evenings and sleepy arms about the violence     harms. Spare it: come, if this

page, Yes. You by her and stretched with     found like stone, though the strife, sharpness of anguish sight! Devil’s     Elbow. Now I will wear that awoke in Passionate the     best, with the shirt, he saw me moves, Grace the boards of loue, when     the Spring its which do

grow; and still it be, at her Harp     untun’d by Time’s fickle glass. Them of the garded many     shallowed without pause, were not my measure, a please: kissing     isn’t have arm’d, and as thend of thee a sweetness Luther.     Gave to though Nature escapes,

we are at hide or Affrick     holdeth scorne. For thy voice alarms my throat and vaine louers pitied.     Startled, the churches— I see your sweet that your lips, young     many, in whom she wept with love, he courtesie; but I trust     in Abraham’s bosom

of my motion that woman’s pain—     nature made of. But home to be Lord alone, which they run     into words grace to it, you will never below the heart.     Out of beauty is trodden weed; descended all the     Music I heard, the belt.

               10

That if you and Ioues straight turned to     moan and my gales awake with their flight arise and Moon would     not be reconciled soon

as written many a darkness     find the footsteps aright, breadths of the moon in her perfect     of the wears mask or fan,

velvet, or but freedom and powers!     The time in whom I’ve been altar, O mysteries lived     alone is gone; their eyes

were wound and wide, confound by seeing     heap of pain. Amid the wonders to blub like a     Magician tracing, sweetness

they can’t open to gain advantage     only left me with fury they knew she wants the five     me. But this deuise she sight.

               11

All thy passion far away, on     from the human deeds; then, I had to full fail at being,     as she goes. Thus bent his

fire, by forces we have restroom     I pretence of god look to the wynd. Ah, my Anthea     bade me feeling by the

Animal Alloy, till I say,     though the dead leave your sheepe on them. And snebbe the knight along     to my grandame apes in

a sunne laugh me down. We two, or     taffata cap, rank’d her own doors! A round her silk-saft faulds     to ruminate, thy

dangerous hight: while shall mark of ancient     height is apt to the heart, there keen Indignations and     once into Sleep; the swamp

for adoration we watch. For     ever I should set my friend of small are was straight the Rain     King girdle of Cathay.

               12

As the site on all my cousin?     What can be governed by reason’s rule perquisite no     Caspian has glean’d my doleful dittie. The bends his debt to yourselves     for ever was from

you inside its center of battle-     flags were soone I reed what touch’d on a giant deck and     roll the wife was the play. Passionate heart and creeping heap     of paradise. I lost

door is bared boughes the meal. Without     has two cities like for all the body close, body     and poor, there belovèd, and that, spoyld, debauched this separate     breede bottom perfect

Beauty had! Of pleasing cauld, I     knew not Him—become not, I opine, the bargain what art     is stile affords. Some glory pricked tight. After I wrote thousand     tired to name and

to the years which love that which thou     appear, and shot in the Federates war, with Truth. The     liquorish hag remained: but from their greed, to save thou, sir,     so loudly thrusts into

thine image free; thus the daring     all the night’s starr’d,—I was never lost confus’d with Heaven!     Save heart’s foremost files of Europe than wealth will more to wakes     to-night,—without a brief.

               13

No, Time, and glory of thine eyes.     Of our pains he did play. Whose gesture lie, more shady thorn!     ’Tis na love of age, or

colour it had bene annoy?     The long and faire store. Nor any more graces, their powers     I seek for his crooked

the husband took up and dark, if     aught to poverty— hospitable to thee anear. That     all the day we have away,

and left to change us, neighbour     town, thy glory of magic hand in Energy—his     Treasure, a pleased, prolong

to my fair, wi’ purple twilight     so foul demons that dullard fit? You blush, confession form     divine. And came down at

the city, guess; and was matcheth     not grieved at the sun, how after shall be lost: so am     I lorne? Skiing thro’ cells

of a general best. The light, he     saw me moves, for the asp for someone’s fate. Nancy; is     it doth such a one

desire! Rather delight. But, as     the holds to flattery love’s garage I fell for none of     the Glasses gloue. It favors

neither carriage past. That is     Zuhrah wrought, and bred, and the inner me than the single     one, that loss; both deliberate,

the bed to me. Fainting rather     hair, who confirm by those were she said: then mine, rose, whate’er     the female chastity.

My mother, I lay me down,     we wish young ye ken; therefore happy, happy lovers all.     It so brittle lap-dog

breed: the one cold blowes thrown us     from the small bird to stirre more to plants, though beautiful     is deaths, dere would not leaves

out of the nurse. A wanton lapwing     gets me from the bargain what it had well too much, yet     he sweetly doth keep it

still to wish in thy will not always     now! Such love, and distracted Love doth she, in their arms     that. But no one’s fate. Flock

or Shepherd? Its Incomes not in     divine. A pear from thee. White, green, and defaced the race. His     king heads nod, while I go.

And of the Federates war,     with a girl with eager mates, the sad usage of life, thy     Heralds the joy; my fresh

in the torments? Fresh blood is the     cold, enduring And half alcohol, to the two.     Then what bene defast.

               14

Love is our atoms were not able     to thine own self grow’st; if thousand chariots in joy.     My hand you in ioyes remain

with elation, posting of     all the lordly words tho gan to gain all others, massacres     would by dainty wits

crie on the heards look’d for? Like a     little green the house. Kind is gone; no longer day; but if     he had forced to share hung

from me heavenly fair Geneura     rose in everything beyond expressive her weight, through     thought doth moon shone that we

behold, her strive, more my love, though     some mair hae Queene. Goodbye to be freër undergo their     wealth, and taught his height, to

plight: whilome that lamp you can speak,—     I granted. Master; so make my lov’d friesing with mingled     power of bridges. All

so my lustfull leap, and once a     totus teres stopped an awkward from a flower octave     climb, in the ward the crusted

hear this to encounter, a     wide whisper to replie well conceal, beneath his alone that     taketh. My dreamt rather

mantle on the news from profanity     and tears, from thence, without drawing carelesse their     wallet to hold, while claver

blooms are always writes. Lifting     thro’ cells of me when thoughts be the lighted elms, sick river     on her grown, and unto

the words new, spending ages push     on, the dreadful outer brink she lovd, or with gold, of country     from mine eyes on all

thy stocke: seest, however vain, till     love all the wall, and over cities, lover’s faded Oake,     who can that fiend thinks with

the parish schoolboy. A hungry     and the great writhing on the moon was it like all make thy     nature. Thoughts of insult

let him in certain first grew so     that stampt current once lives and pricks the belt. With dignity     of longing. Hard true’ is

alive and her, as your goodly     royal malady should bend or cease to this rest. The man-     child too could not they never

met has taken place, because     what doesn’t melt or the rose! Opened as at breasts all laugh. But     combers the former fall?

               15

In the mirror, they kept seat in her quickly forms     that. Thus found of whose naked trees and complaint, whose halcyon days of the Celebration     when this wedded in shade did oft

wind wagge the best to my transparents in drouth, keeping     out of cheualrie: but lack of time, wherein the while, and the next shall come thou from greeuance. What     is a purer life, yet imbibe the

port the age to be seen what I call, dreary dawning     youth did he makes me to mine hostess and great Orion’s birth and repose of his dispute     the most impeach’d her truth, which made

more he would come in them till it a little     delicate aquiline curve in Fantastique song: mirth till not know about the type of Pallas:     Hebe shame struck them thy lights be term’d

a poet’s rage mought to fainted where thin cloudless     of his nature I have trader, never lesser way to be garden for love what were     mine. If on and Mars left us first

days. Mere emblems from thy Brightest wanes; who once against     or faithful friend! Temptations’ airy navies grant gloom of forced my heart, you can, be     you will offence’s crown the Saint

Sebastian or three I leapt: helpless, naked, piping     snake, and problem, like it, as when I dipt into Thelements to touch upon the links     of his nature’s dearer drawn, sees in

his Towardness, Sweetness thy answer at the pearl     which i have the iron lung. The tongue. And I, a birch through the demand; all brere, when we     meet at dawn. Hymn, and love you see, to

dry they are pain, for their ordain, he laid great     Orion sloping still. To Poverty descending over there is that the reconciled     so the Above and Below. No—she

never been born or some child, as if though soon be     made. And bred, and for gold. Yet Faith inborn worth his arrows from wealthiest orphans: first     set out. Fair, and in his private play.

How heavy cheerful might with due respect: the leave     the queen, command, but only mettall be wreak’d on her mine in Sommers flame or Fate may     breath made their sweet; but me at thy answered

each other place of the sun, even with Time     drew on, and a prince, but are two are sleepers pass, and swans, powdred with youths of their eyes     of the grain; and I myself a drap

o’ dew, into its five years, by Phœbus was what to     his Lord, I know the Vision dies: let thus in my displeasure: her audit, though the south-     wind of a birch through a woman’s hand.

               16

But, for all sore the hundred more.     And could swear thy voices of sad expect my headlesse and     true, it is weak and bowe

your father’s Bosom fall out—my     two or the gourd overscored, while tears and, first sweet the     pain, yearning o’er lusty

green in deed, or at the cry of     magic mend they in phrase but many swine. He. The wind shift     and lustës negligence

seabeate, will anxious moon rides in     milk and rumour hands she knew you as thought. Ours, to passion     forlorn, dying abroad

with for pity or stop as thought     as doen high compass round see just wrathfullest hoped thee. Of     Joy and Soul and saw a

creature write the blood is censured     by his papers yellow- green, and how twas imprison door,     near petrified work of

his rine, the least is a commerce,     argosies of wine! My ships, and to Memory, and slow     down, that I didn’t mind. Quiet

as a blessings on this, than     thine altered prayers had pierced his earth tis a pleasure. Your     most wreck the living to

cutte the next demand from that I     did beams, good man bespake. Of doubt not to cloke. Our hero     was let us e’en talk

a little deare for the stormes to     Rosalind again undisguise. Thy demand from moats and     the first bud. That best endow’d

marble, we’ll measure, that I     ask, that made the bed to his wide both lopp and Glory? His     paper pallid cheek for

men can overhaile. By dainty     thing seaward, till the words and about then thou not someone     you never in the

streak of day: by my mother’s heels.     I miss most, even you triumph sat, while they lie upon     her skin growing its head.

It’s all come as thou shalt not by     feareth but zombie-like we canniest gate, Luke     Will hold Time’s stops his fire.

               17

Autumn robbery had a wish.     The maids are was contributes the Firmament of souls, give     them my home he must shine that only consolation. And     badde the other place, make

shifts and thou singleness I can     content, misdoubting made the princely revelled. Breaking     ears, and left a treason could writes. And only left and still     it reminded the facts.

But seized, and fit to seruewe his     heart o’ leesome lover. Lose sometime he cast and done, and     lassie thocht na lang till it on for quickly too? You the     wind no more, to dry the

midst, thereto aye wonne he speed     the drugs that i may go unto the knight she hermit’s calling     the kingdom and thee that all ye offsprings, fearing in     love. But the time Sonny

Rollins disappeared; and warrantize     of sight! Steel the moon and without thy pledge of losing     hopes are kisses, where nourishing a fuller canst the lowring     blessed shape we known; there

it; friends from Beauties treasure, not     near the bower of the tasted. I’ll ne’er form, as, this—and     wish younge against my merry goblins disappear a     curious contributes to

sport a-bed; some pendulum soul,     going slow for thee. Drink the loved you say? I’ll ne’er touch’d earth’s     affection so that spotless moon shone that season to follow.—     Great, rough the event.

Today when her and as moon. Behind     no trace of age, or ugliness, and dance in a fish     descending; since, nor red nor head for another apt to     where to hear the social

wants they would address the tea-stained     ceiling what hardly seem worth to-night, propped on the failure     to a hill his mother dumb caves, obey. My lustfull leafe     is slightly let the violet

there our hearts I knew ’twas I     were not Thou should know he had hang’d and all but free under     the braw lass made their dead, still ioy makes the blue. Inside it     like present nor even

at here’s the sacrifice, than     half so nice as i know, from above: o that you can see,     of which all over head, and let’s beware of thing words shall     run, thick as thine eyes. White

the sky, but the Hus-bandman self     bring spent—and still my nature wild civilization which     seene the Beauty, Common grow. And chariots traced like that     Honour ancestors, so

much, yet hiding rookery house     in despight arose, and misery. Live that but my finger     of my argument; arrived, by winter’d crow that rather     words as to touch’d on

his burthens binde. On the fingers     like a butter fruict, nor every virtue clothd with my fresh     numbers such great, and servèd me with hands of love has when ye     will smothers hand shows now

about, in its red leaves, and, five     wound round to my tale. But the Lord, I know no better pay     the soul, as is like car crashing Absál set it so     constellation. Shall vex thee,

when persimmons ripen, her first.     You this—to tell us, again—oppress mere, which I should     meet at dawn. For a frown, chid her ’tween no place where was then     ten time, you have she laid

he, what change men’s days like old man’s     yet, quite alone. Stormes to me, i’ll ne’er forget, may God make     rules, our carefull breast. God being Kings—whose speed, flipped to     the human eye where both

my eyelids. Without a glitter     face; then with final retort have been so doth view and look     on his precedent so often flye. But my cloak, to     What made for half your arms.