#you may notice that silver snow is not there. this is because i am a little bitch and cant bring myself to not side with edelgard

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: A Walk in the Park

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You push through the door of the lobby and hold it open for the elder woman hunched over her walker. You patiently let her through but she doesn’t even acknowledge your deed. It’s too bad that most times you help people, you don’t even seem to notice. That’s fine. You’d feel worse to see her struggle. 

She heads for the outer door but before you can rush over to get that too, someone else does. You blanch as you recognise the man with the bristly mustache. It’s Lloyd. You haven’t seen or heard from him in the week since the sandwich shop encounter. You just assumed it was another random crossing of wires. 

The woman mutters as she passes through the door and his cheek twitches as he waits until he’s through to let go. He shakes his head and turns to you, “there ya are. Didn’t know your unit so kinda just been hanging around.” 

You blink, “you’ve been waiting on me?” 

“That lady was a grouch, huh? Not even a thanks. Telling ya, tootsie roll, you’re too sweet,” he says. That pet name is cute but a bit much. 

“Um, yeah, but she’s probably in a lot of pain. Maybe one day I’ll be in the same way and someone will hold the door for me,” you shrug. “But uh, why exactly are you waiting in my lobby?” 

“Friends stop by to say hello, don’t they?” He grins.  

“Sure, but uh...” 

“You said we’re friends so... did I misread this? Were you just being nice? The way you do, huh? Because lying isn’t very nice, tootsie.” 

You shake your head, “no, I just... I don’t know. I’m surprised. That’s all.” 

“Good surprise?” He lifts a brow. 

“Yeah, of course,” you squeak. 

“Mm, and where are you off too, besides helping little old ladies?” He challenges. 

“Just going for a walk. I like to walk through Garnet.” 

“Garnet? You mean the sh—the path down there?” He points to the wall and you nod. 

“They have pretty flowers.” 

“It’s... almost winter,” he sniffs. 

“Yeah, I know. I like it though. There’s still ducks around.” 

He nods, his eyes narrowed discerningly, “you always see the silver linings, don’t ya?” 

“I try,” you shrug. 

“Well, can I crash your walk? Could stand to stretch my legs.” 

You nod and hum, “that’s fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

“Lloyd,” you give him a look, “you’re more than welcome to walk with me.” 

You tuck your earbud case away. The left one is broken anyhow. He pulls the door open again and waves you out. 

He follows and catches up to you on the sidewalk. You walk down the pavement and breathe in the brisk air. You fix your beanie over your ears and slip your hands up your sleeves as you cross your arms. 

“Damn cold, isn’t it?” He puffs a cloud of steam into the air. 

“I can’t wait for the snow,” you say.  

Your father always loved the wintertime. You would watch the flakes drift down and build a snowman, even a tiny one if there wasn’t very much, and you’d have hot chocolate on the porch in your mittens and pajamas. And Christmas... 

You push away that thought. 

“You’re quiet? You alright?” He nudges you with his elbow. You flinch. You forgot he was there for a second. 

“I’m wonderful. How are you? How’s your ear?” 

“My ear...” he echoes. “You remember?” 

“Did you get it looked at? Does it still hurt?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright. Still a bit fuzzy on that side,” he shrugs. “It’s whatever. I’m a big boy.” 

“Right, but did a doctor say so or--” 

“You worry about me that much, tootsie?” He scoffs. 

“It’s important. You never know, could be worse than you think. And if it’s nothing at all, at least you know,” you say. You don’t want to nag him, even if you should have nagged your dad. Maybe... 

“No, I didn’t. Really, it’s not the first time I got a good blast to the ear,” he says. 

“Right,” you accept as you turn through the gate to the park. The arch is missing letters but it’s still beautiful. 

He sighs again and rubs his hands together. “God, I hate the cold.” 

“You should get gloves,” you uncross your arms and reach into your pocket, “I don’t know, mine might be too small.” 

You offer him the woolly mittens. He clicks his tongue, “that’s cute, definitely too small.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and chatters. You look at his jacket. You try to see the inside above the collar. “What are you doing?” He glances at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Is that lined?” You ask. 

“What?” 

“Your coat. Is there a lining in it? It looks thin.” 

“I’m just fine, mom, thanks,” he snips sharply. 

“Gosh, sorry, I just... I could sew a lining into it. I replaced the inserts in my boots too. It’s not that hard.” 

He furrows his brow, “it’s whatever. I spend most of the winter south. Right by the equator where it’s nice and sunny.” 

“Ooo, that sounds cool,” you say. “By the ocean?” 

“Surrounded by it,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Wow. I’ve never seen the ocean.” 

“You haven’t... tootsie, what’re ya doin’ to me? You’re lying.” 

“Nope,” you shake your head. “I’m sure one day I will. Is it pretty?” 

He looks at you and his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, “yeah, it’s... beautiful,” he looks ahead thoughtfully. “Guess I should pay more attention, but yeah, real blue and big and sh—stuff.” 

You bounce on your feet and stop suddenly. You hit his arm and point, “don’t scare him.” 

He nearly trips as you gesture to the little chipmunk on the broken bench. You can’t help a squee as it skitters onto the seat and glances around nervously. You squeeze Lloyd’s sleeve without thinking. 

“He’s so c-y-ute!” You say, “isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t answer right away but you’re too enamoured with the tiny critter to care. 

“Yea, super cute,” he agrees at last. 

[crows-of-buckets]

Anyways I think all my playthroughs this time are gonna be on normal bc I wanna unlock all unit supports but NEXT time baby we are so doing a cf maddening no recruit run I'm gonna make me hate this game so hard

Fire emblem three houses gets me mentally pacing around because I love it so MUCH and I miss it and it's my favorite thing ever and NO I don't want to open the game right now <- guy who is grinding supports on normal mode

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (5) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: snow does not like the idea of others playing with his toy.

word count: 2,665

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: jealous!coryo, pet name (petal), not proofread

“How does it feel to be Mrs. Snow?” Clemensia Dovecote asked as one of the maids poured you a cup of tea. 

You watched the maid glance at you, curiosity evident in her eyes. Though you trusted your own lady’s maid with much of your thoughts and feelings you thought best to keep hidden from everyone else, you knew that maids in general liked to talk. Or, rather, people liked to talk. You had little doubt that your concerns in marrying Snow had spread throughout the working class. Had it been a mistake to even discuss your feelings, or lack thereof, for Snow with her? Perhaps. But you couldn’t keep silent about it. You had to talk to someone. 

“I am hardly Mrs. Snow yet. I am only engaged, Clemmie,” you said. 

Livia Cardew reached for your left hand. You allowed her to take it. She examined the ring Snow had placed on your finger with much scrutiny. It was a silver band with leaves snaking up to the center, where the silver was molded into rose petals. At the center of the flower sat a large, glittering diamond. Livia loved jewelry and all the finer things in life. She could appreciate a nice ring more than you could. “With a ring like that? The King is making a statement.”

“That I am his?” you clarified. It took everything in you to not roll your eyes. If Livia thought that you were not pleased with your engagement, it would spread through Panem faster than maids’ gossip. Who knew what Snow would do if that happened. Livia nodded. “I was already well aware of his interest, as was the rest of the ton.”

“Perhaps you should remind Lord Plinth of that, then?” Livia said. 

Your brows pinched together. Had she someone found out about how you once argued that you would rather marry Sejanus? Had word somehow spread? You knew Snow would say nary a word about it. At least, you would assume so from how he acted when you only mentioned Sejanus’s name. You tried to think back. Were there any maids or butlers around when you talked to Snow about this? When you talked to your parents? None came to mind, but the mark of a good servant is to not be noticed. (Or so your mother says.) It could be possible that you simply missed them?

You decided to feign ignorance. “Lord Plinth? What do you mean?”

Clemensia laughed. “We all saw how he looked at you while you danced at his mother’s ball! That man looked at you like you were made of diamonds.”

Livia crinkled her nose. “You may as well be, at least compared to him. I can still hardly believe the Former King Ravinstill ever granted that family a title. A dukedom at that! It just wasn’t right.”

You decided to ignore Livia’s ramblings. It was true that the Plinth family did not have the same sort of respect the rest of the ton, who had been born into their titles for generations and generations stretching all the way back to the formation of Panem. It was why your parents were so adamant that you not marry Sejanus. But he was a good, and kind, and gentle man.  “No, that cannot be. Lord Plinth is only a friend. He was the one who told me that…” You stumbled on the word. It felt foreign in your mouth. “…my fiancé was interested in courting me. Why would he do that if he would want to marry me himself?”

“Oh, you poor, naïve thing. It’s a wonder you even got this far in your courtship,” Livia teased. “He was hoping that you would swear off the King and marry him. An act of true love, or whatever the fairy tales say.”

Could that be true? Could that be why Snow was so irate at you speaking of Sejanus? But why would Sejanus ever reveal that to Snow? Snow was so possessive. He would hardly let such a slight go by unpunished. And, yet, Sejanus still lived and breathed. Maybe, then, Snow had deduced this all his own, just as Livia and Clemensia had done.

“Well, it hardly matters now. I am engaged now.”

“If the King is as smart as he was at the Academy, he would marry you soon. To dissuade Lord Plinth from arriving with any last minute confessions that might steal you away,” Livia mused. 

You looked out the window, where Coriolanus the Cat perched. In the distance, you could see the Royal Carriage being pulled down the road. It was nearly time for your daily luncheon with Snow. Though you would always dine at the palace, he insisted on picking you up from your home. To anyone who knew of the routine, it seemed like such a romantic ordeal. A man so desperate to spend time with his love that he would do the silliest things. To you, it was merely another way for him to attempt to control you. 

“That would hardly change anything,” you said. The carriage stopped outside of your home. The coachmen stepped down, then opened the door. Snow stepped out, his eyes immediately seeking yours as he looked up at the window. Despite the distance, you could see the smirk on his face. It made you feel ill. 

“Because you are in love?” Clemensia asked. 

You wondered if Snow could read lips from so far away as you repeated, “Because I am in love.”

Livia looked out the window as Snow walked up to your home. “Do you think he knows about Lord Plinth?”

You blinked. You were wondering the same yourself. However, you knew that this was a question you would probably never get answered. You hardly could even figure out how to talk to Livia and Clemensia about this. How could you ever bring it up to Snow, with his quick temper? “It has never come up.”

“And why would it? I’m sure they have much more…exciting conversations,” Clemensia said with a grin. 

Your heart thumped at the implication. Truthfully, you did not know what happened when a couple were married. Your mother only ever told you that, after the ceremony, the union ended in consummation and that that was where children came from. She always said she would tell you more when you were older, but that day had not yet come. “We…talk about our future together,” you said. 

Clemensia’s grin grew, but before she could tease you further on matters you didn’t have a full grasp on, Snow entered the room. “Good morning, Miss Cardew, Miss Dovecote. Good morning, petal,” he said with a charming smile. “What are we talking about today?”

You opened your mouth to answer, ready to say you were discussing your impending nuptials. You knew that would please him enough to put him in a good mood. But Livia beat you to it.

“Lord Plinth’s infatuation with your fiancé.”

Snow’s jaw ticked. For a moment, you wondered if his mask would fall. But he recovered quickly and said in a teasing voice, “Should I be worried?”

“No, they have deluded themselves into thinking he is interested,” you said, careful to not even refer to Sejanus by his last name. “I told them that it would not have mattered even if he was interested because—”

“Because she’s in love,” Clemensia interrupted, elongating the word “love,” making it sing-songy.

A more genuine smile settled on Snow’s face. His eyes flitted to you. “Is that so?”

But, for as much as you were attempting to placate him, you had to have your fun, too. So, you smiled, and said, “Oh? We were talking about you? My mistake, I thought we were talking about Coriolanus.” 

You picked the kitten from his perch on the windowsill, pressing kisses around his face. He purred, curling up in your arms. For a moment, you thought you saw Coriolanus the Cat look smugly at Snow. But, even if he hadn’t, the annoyed look on Snow’s face was joy enough. 

“She teases me too much with that cat—”

“—our son—”

“—our son,” Snow corrected. “I almost regret giving her the little thing.”

Clemensia laughed and nudged Livia. “They already argue like they’re married.”

“Well, as lovely as this was, we do have a luncheon to attend,” Snow said, holding his hand out for you to take. You moved to cradle Coriolanus the Cat in one arm and slipped your hand into Snow’s. He helped you to your feet, then flashed another smile at Livia and Clemensia. “And do let me know if you have anymore theories about Lord Plinth’s affections. I have to ensure I do not have any competition, don’t I?”

“Oh, stop being silly,” you protested as Livia and Clemensia nodded. 

At that, your mother, who sat quietly in the corner of the room with her sewing, rose from her seat and followed you and Snow out of the home. Since the engagement, she had hardly spoken a word when he was around. A part of you wondered if that was because she no longer felt the need to quiet you since Snow put a ring on your finger. Another part of you wondered if Snow had included her silence in the terms of the engagement. You would, after all, need a chaperone with you until you were actually married, but that did not mean that Snow would want to listen to her protest over every thing you did. 

When you reached the carriage outside, Snow helped you climb in. For a second, you wondered if he was going to ignore your mother. But then he held a hand out for her to take as she lifted herself inside, taking the seat across from you. She had learned after the first luncheon that the spot beside you was to always be occupied by Snow. 

Once Snow took his seat, the carriage began its trek to the palace. You tried to distract yourself, looking out the window and petting Coriolanus the Cat, who was curled up on your lap. But then Snow reached for your hand, which you allowed him to take. From the corner of your eye, you saw your mother wrinkle her nose. You weren’t sure it was inappropriate for him to hold your hand, but perhaps she knew so archaic social rule you were unaware of. Or perhaps she was regretting her scheming, you mused. 

“I do not want you to spend any more time with Sejanus,” Snow said. 

This got your attention. 

You turned to look at him, your brows pinched together. “Because of what was said this morning? Lord…he is a friend.”

“I believe Miss Cardew and Miss Dovecote were correct in their assessment. I do not wish for you to be around him.” At your frown, he added, “At least not until after the wedding. It will only be a month. Give me this.”

“I have given you so much already.”

Snow squeezed your hand, tight. You tried to pull away, but he refused to loosen his grip. He leaned in to you, his breath fanning over your face. You did not like how close he was to you. “I cannot tell if his intentions are pure. I do not wish for you to be harmed.”

“Sejanus would never,” left your lips before you could think of what you were saying.

Snow’s face turned red. “What did I tell you about—”

“He is a friend, Snow. He. Is. A. Friend. You cannot isolate me from my friends—”

“—not your friends. Only him.”

“—just because you have concocted this delusion he is trying to take me from you. Sejanus may act impulsively from time to time, yes. He may not always think matters through. But he is your friend, and he is mine. Do you understand? As far as he is concerned, we are in love. Even if he had been interested in courting me, he would not do anything to hurt either of us. He is not like you.”

“Not like…You are toeing the line, petal.”

“I am not going to stop talking to a friend, even if it is only until we are married, because you are insecure. Snow, have I given you any reason to think that I would not follow our agreement?”

“No.”

“Have I done anything, save for admitting that I once considered marrying Sejanus, that would indicate I have feelings for him?”

“You have not.”

“Then why are you acting like a petulant child whose favorite toy has been stolen away?”

You watched as Snow’s jaw clenched and unclenched. But before he could say any more, the carriage came to a halt and the door was opened. Your mother was helped out first, then you, and finally Snow. He said not a single word as the three of you were led into the palace toward the dining room. Not until you had passed Coriolanus the Cat off to the butler. 

“Join me in the library for a moment, petal,” he said. 

You caught your mother’s eye. Oh, how you wished for her to say something. But instead, she took her seat at the table and said not a word. Sucking in a breath, you nodded. Snow smiled and took your hand, placing it around his bicep. You had half a mind to dig your nails into his arm, hoping that it might hurt him. You were already walking on thin ice, and you could not imagine such an act would go over well with Snow. 

When you entered the library, Snow shut the large, oak doors behind you. Your blood ran cold. He had not done that the last time you visited the library. Had you crossed the line? Had you gone too far? You were not sure if Snow was a violent man. He had spent some months after leaving the Academy as a Peacekeeper. He was certainly capable of violence. But would he inflict it? On you? 

“Snow, I did not mean to—” you began to apologize, hoping that it might placate him. 

If you thought Snow had been too close to you before, it hardly compared to him grabbing you, one hand on your waist, the other on your face, his lips pressed against yours. You gasped, trying to pull away. This was not right. This was not…You were not even sure if married couples kissed this way. You had only ever seen chaste kisses, never something so…animalistic. You weren’t sure if Snow was kissing you more than he was trying to eat you alive. When his tongue darted out, swiping against your lips, you finally managed to push him away. 

“What the hell was that!?” you shouted. “You cannot just, just kiss someone! We are not married, Snow! You promised that you would not ruin me!”

“Did I? I only recall saying your reputation would never be harmed.” Snow reached for you again. You could not find it in you to push him away, not when he had such a crazed look in his eye. “And it will not be, I will promise you that. If I wish, however, to kiss my fiancée in private, I shall do so.”

“You only did this so I would feel guilty if I tried to leave you for Sejanus, which I have already told I would not do!”

“No,” Snow said. “I did this because you drive me mad.”

“Then lock yourself in an asylum. Do not kiss me.”

One of Snow’s hands left your waist. He reached up, caressing your face. When you did jerk away, he pinched your chin between his fingers. “You are to be my wife. You are to be the wife of a king. I shall treat you however I see fit. Do you understand?”

When you said nothing, he pinched harder. “Do you understand?”

“Only if you understand that I will hate you until the day I die.”

[blues824]

26 and 29 WITH LILIA PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF THE SEVEN I NEED HIM TO HOLD ME AND TELL ME EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY EVEN THOUGH THE CONTINOUS FLOW OF TIME IS SCARY AND NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN

(I am not okay. I am humbling requesting comfort fluff with peepaw. Please and thank you, your majesty.... All hail the fanfic writers during a monthly prompt 🫶🫰🙏🛐🙌🦐)

You requested: Cuddling next to the fire + Holiday blues

In Google Docs, I title the Holiday Blue fics “Holiday *Blues*”... because of my name lol.

Lilia Vanrouge

He could sense the burden that this season had on you. Why it was hard for you, he didn’t know. And he wasn’t going to pry into your personal matters because they were just that: personal. If you didn’t want to tell him yet, he wasn’t going to force you to.

However, that was not going to stop him from trying his best to make you feel better. He made sure to reach out in case you needed help with any history assignments, as that was his best subject. He would also help with other subjects, trying to lessen the load. However, you were starting to get annoyed.

You eventually blew up, yelling at him to leave you alone as you slammed the door to Ramshackle. Lilia decided it would be best if you had a few moments to yourself, and he told you to text him or call him when you were ready to speak with him. With that said, he went back to Diasomnia so that he wouldn’t be stuck in the snow.

It wasn’t too long later, maybe a couple of hours, where you texted him to come back over to Ramshackle. When he knocked on your door, you were in tears as you apologized for shouting at him, saying he didn’t deserve it. He never took offense to your harsh words, as there have been many times where the Prince, Silver, or Sebek have said much harsher things to him as they were growing up.

Anyway, you invited him inside, and he noticed that there was no fire, and you were probably freezing cold. Holding your hand in his, he confirmed his thoughts, and so he started building a fire in the fireplace. Luckily for the both of you, Grim had the makings of a pyromaniac with his fire magic, so all he needed was to place the logs in the fireplace.

Almost immediately the room started to get warmer. Lilia told you to sit down on the couch so that you may warm up, and he gathered all of the blankets around the dorm, the clean ones at least, and threw them all on you. Then, he joined you on the couch. This was a bit of a tactic he picked up when he raised the two boys (and often visited the third), especially when they were angry at him or themselves.

A moment of silence fell over you two, until you crawled over and laid your upper body on his lap. Tears were streaming down your face as you silently weeped, and he just held you, running his hands through your hair and whispering sweet nothings to you. You stayed like that until you drifted off and fell asleep.

[kpop-with-mars]

|12 Days of Drabbles|Day 11: Winter Waltz|

{King!San x Male!Servant!Reader}

{Plot; it's the first winter celebration without San's wife, the queen, and he realizes just how much his most trusted servant has done for him.}

{Word count; 682}

{Tags; Royal AU, Fluff, King san, brief mentions of grief, san has a daughter.}

Once San felt the embrace of frost and the crunch of snow under his boots, he allowed himself to breathe, his breath becoming another part of the hollow cold. This garden was her favorite place, and after her death he didn't dare let any of the flowers wither or die: he wouldn't even let the gardeners touch anything and took it upon himself to keep his queen's flowers alive. And in frost they were frozen as if in a portrait. He took a moment to breathe back in the frost and flowers before he told a guard to fetch Y/N and to give them privacy once he was here.

“You called, majesty?” San turned to the sound of his servant's voice; Y/N's posture was straight in respect as always when hearing directly from the king. San stepped closer to him across the snow, his smile the warm thing among frost. “I saw how you have made everything for the ball; you have done me well… My queen would've been as proud as I am of you.” Y/N smiled and bowed his head in thanks; he felt like his father when he was a servant to San's father, when San and Y/N were just tiny tots in this big kingdom. “I thank you very much, your majesty.” San felt his service wasn't done out of fear or out of personal reward; Y/N truly seemed to care for the king and the little princess. “Take the rest of the night off; enjoy the festivities you worked so hard to plan. Maybe find yourself a partner for the waltz.” The younger man didn't seem too taken aback by his king’s generosity; he knew how gracious he was, how he resolved an entire war after the queen died. It was like a checkmate in a game of chess; a king couldn't bring himself to go through more war without the reward of his queen's embrace.

  ⋆༄⋆❅.𖥔 ݁ ⋆ ˚❆

As the dinner at the winter celebration had finished, San saw all of the young ladies of the kingdom look for their partners, but mostly they all wished for the king to take their hand in the waltz. Word spread during the celebration that San was looking for a new ruler to aid in leading his kingdom, and that's why he had invited all that could come. So before the waltz started, San stood and began to speak. “I am pleased to see my kingdom before me, grand, healthy, and flourishing in beauty as always. May we all be gathered here in hope of another gracious year, and blessed be each of you this harsh winter...”

San began to walk through the people in the ballroom, all bowing and parting a path for their king, and once he made it to the person he wished to dance with, he bowed his head to them and offered his hand to him. “Will you do me the honor of beginning the waltz?” He said to Y/N, the poor young man almost looking mortified at the way the king paid respect to a mere servant like him. “I—Your Majesty, I have done nothing to gain your hand; why me?” San looked up to Y/N, clasping his hands over one of his, leaving barely enough space between the two of their bodies. “You and your father before you have held this kingdom from the brink of collapse; you have done everything to deserve my respect... as well as my hand.” Y/N, too shocked to speak further, took hold of the king's shoulders. San held the servant close to himself before signaling for the orchestra to start the waltz.

The guests spun like snowflakes in the air as they waltzed in sync on the ballroom floor, but the most noticeable were the king and the servant, San, sparkling in gold and snow white. Y/N complimented him more than anyone else in the castle with the blue and silver colors of his clothes. San soon realized that just because this was the first winter without the queen didn't mean it was the only lonely one as well.

[iydiamartinx]

FLAMES OF STARLIGHT

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼 | 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

Pairing: Poly!Azriel x OC x Lucien

I'm still learning Tumblr and I just found out scheduled posts are a thing! I think I'll schedule the chapters for Monday, Wednesday and Friday until everything is caught up to my A03 account? Unless y'all prefer Friday, Saturday and Sunday?

Also I noticed someone blogging who knew me from Wattpad! Hi! I'm glad you found me again! For my readers who remember me from Wattpad, the reason I disappeared was because they removed my account. I lost most of my stories, so for any of you that were a fan of my other works, only this and Morning After Dark. But I am working on slowly rewriting some of my old works.

 ❝ 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 

𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺, 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦. ❞

— 𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐳

VAL STRODE DOWN the snow and dirt-trodden road with purpose. Despite her aching bones, she kept their pace to a brisk walk. Feyre easily kept in step beside her while Nesta and Elain trailed behind them, clicking their tongues in disgust as they sneered down at their now muddied shoes.

The silence that Val and Feyre walked in was comfortable compared to the complaining Nesta and Elain did behind them. The wolf's pelt was folded safely in the satchel Feyre carried. It was the only reason Nesta and Elain even bothered to tag along, hoping to persuade Feyre into giving them some money. They knew better than to ask Val. She wasn't one to indulge their needless urge for finery. But Feyre, as the youngest, was less steadfast than Val and, as such, sometimes felt the need to concede to their demands. 

Eventually, the grim stone houses of the village came into view. It was market day, and despite not even reaching the small town square yet, she could hear the voices of merchants, vendors, and shoppers. 

The scent of hot food invaded Val's nose, and she had to suppress her groan. Elain, however, had no qualms of letting out a hungered moan. Val's stomach clenched. She longed for a proper meal, but quickly she tamped down that desire. Desire could be a dangerous thing. 

Val turned around the corner only to suddenly halt. Nesta, from behind her, let out a slight noise as she placed a hand on Val's shoulder to steady herself from the sudden stop. Val paid her sister no mind, her eyes on the pale-robed young woman and the matching cluster behind her. 

"May the Immortal Light shine upon thee, sisters," She said. 

Both Elain and Nesta made a noise of displeasure, even Feyre shifted in discomfort, but Val remained silent. She didn't particularly care for the Children of the Blessed, but it didn't mean she liked them either. Their devotion to the fae unnerved her, and their persistence to convert was annoying, but otherwise, they were all harmless preachers. 

 "Have you a moment to spare so that you might hear the Word of the Blessed?" The young woman questioned. She held out her hands in welcome, the bracelet of silver bells on her wrist letting out a tinkling chime. 

"Not at the moment," Val replied neutrally. At the same moment, Nesta sneered with much more hostility, "No, we don't." 

Nesta nudged both Val and Elain to continue walking, and Feyre shifted to follow. 

The acolyte, however, stepped back into their path and a surge of annoyance went through Val at the woman's persistence. 

"It would take but a minute," She tried to persuade. 

"We really don't have the ti—" Val tried to say, but it was already too late. 

Nesta straightened up, glaring down at the acolyte. She cut Val off, "Go spew your fanatic nonsense to some ninny. You'll find no converts here," She snapped, making the woman shrink back. 

Yet, Nesta wasn't done as she pushed down the sleeve of her coat to reveal the iron bracelet she wore. The acolyte gasped in horror. 

Val glanced up to the dreary sky as if somehow she would find help among the grey clouds. All she wanted was a quick trip, in and out of the market, but it seemed even that was too much to ask for. 

"You see this?" Nesta hissed, taking a step forward, to which the woman matched by taking one back, "This is what you should be wearing. Not some silver bells to attract those faerie monsters."

"How dare you wear that vile affront to our immortal friends—" The acolyte started, but Nesta cut her off. 

"Go preach in another town," She spat. Val gently tugged Nesta slightly back, so she wasn't right in the poor woman's face.

"I suggest you find someone else because clearly, we are not interested," Val's tone was soft yet firm.

Just then, two women walked by, on the wealthier class by the looks of it, both shooting the group of acolytes a disgusted glance.

"Faerie-loving whore," One of them spat at the silent young woman.

The other, who looked even wealthier judging from the braided iron necklace she wore, curled her lip in disgust, "Don't you idiots understand what those monsters did to us for all those centuries? What they still do for sport when they can get away with it? You deserve the end you'll meet at faerie hands. Fools and whores, all of you." 

Val just sighed. Like her opinion about the children of the blessed, she remained indifferent about her thoughts of the Fae folk. She'd never met them, nor did she want to. However, if she did, she'd assume they were quite similar to humans. Some would be good, and some would be bad. After all, there had been some who had fought for the humans when the time came.

The young woman just took a breath, her face smoothening back out into a serene expression, "I lived in such ignorance, too, until I heard the Word of the Blessed. I grew up in a village so similar to this—so bleak and grim. But not one month ago, a friend of my cousin went to the border as our offering to Prythian—and she has not been sent back. Now she dwells in riches and comfort as a High Fae's bride, and so might you if you were to take a moment to—"

"She was likely eaten," Nesta, once again, cut off bluntly. 

Val found herself refraining from pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation—yet there was a small part of her that wanted to snort in amusement, but she buried that part of herself deep down. She just wanted to get the pelt to the marketplace and leave. 

Her sister added, "That's why she hasn't returned."

Val watched as the acolyte's face tightened. "Our benevolent masters would never harm us. Prythian is a land of peace and plenty. Should they bless you with their attention, you would be glad to live amongst them." 

Her eyes shifted around them to see that they were garnering a crowd. It seemed that she and Feyre had the same idea as Val looped her arm with Nesta's—ready to forcefully drag her off if needed—while Feyre stepped between them and the woman. 

"You're fighting an uphill battle," Feyre said. 

"A worthy cause." The girl beamed with conviction.

Val sighed, her words grim and tired as she replied, "No, it's not." With that, she gently tugged Nesta along, Feyre and Elain following with their own sighs of relief. 

Val could feel the acolytes' gaze burn into her back, but she refused to turn back. Nesta walked stiffly beside her, her arm still looped with Val's. Val gave Nesta's arm a subtle squeeze in comfort, and her twin glanced over at the gesture, but Val kept her eyes firmly ahead of her. Slowly Nesta relaxed, accepting her sister's comforting touch. 

Once at the square, Val removed her arm from Nesta's, and Feyre once again moved to Val's side. 

"We'll meet you here in an hour," Feyre said to the other two, and before they could say anything, she and Val slipped into the crowd. 

It took ten minutes for Val and Feyre to decide who they should approach. Their eyes scanned the different people that milled around until a large mountainous woman caught Val's eye. She sat on the ledge of the fountain, keeping to herself. It wasn't her size that attracted Val's attention but the numerous scars and weapons that littered her body. 

Feyre's eyes followed Val's gaze, and she slightly nodded in agreement. As the two of them approached, the woman's eyes narrowed slightly as she realized they were walking towards her wickedly sharp knife with appreciation before meeting the woman's dark eyes fearlessly. 

"I don't barter goods for my services," She said in a rough tone. A foreign accent coated her words, making her words sound even gruffer, "I only accept coin."

 "Then you'll be out of luck in this sort of place," Val responded cooly, her head tilting slightly as she continued her appraisal of the woman in front of her. 

The woman slightly straightened up, her eyes narrowing even further at Val. Like recognized like, and the mercenary had been around long enough to spot a predator, and despite Val's malnourished frame, the woman recognized Val for what she could be. "What is your business with me, girl?"

This time it was Feyre who spoke, "We have a wolf pelt, and a doe hide for sale. We thought you might be interested in purchasing them."

"You two steal them?"

"No." Feyre denied, her voice going hard at the question, "I hunted them myself. I swear it."

The mercenary's gaze shifted over to Feyre. "How." It wasn't a question but a demand. Val felt herself slightly bristle at the woman's tone, but she remained silent. 

Despite Feyre having just hunted, Val was itching for her own hunt. Unlike Feyre, who did it out of necessity, Val found it oddly calming. Val hated taking an innocent animal's life, and she found no joy in that part. What she liked was the freedom in the woods as she tracked her prey. Those few seconds of predatory focus as she drew her bow back, she loved it. It was freeing. 

It helped quiet the years of anger and pain that festered in her heart. The same anger she suppressed for the sake of her sisters because if she let it all go, she had no idea of the destruction she could cause.

Val continued her silence, letting Feyre tell the story of how she acquired the pelts. Val grew tense as she heard Feyre's suspicions of the wolf being a Fae, but she just clenched her jaw, making a note to talk to her sister about it later. 

The mercenary gestured towards the satchel, "Let me see," She ordered. Feyre pulled out the hides. "You weren't lying about the wolf's size," The mercenary murmured, running her hands over it as she studied it with a keen expert eye. "Doesn't seem like a faerie, though."

The mercenary looked back up, her eyes glancing between Feyre and Val, and for a brief second, they flicked to look at something over their shoulders before focusing back on Feyre. She named her price. 

Both Feyre and Val froze in shock. They hadn't expected that. The woman was overpaying by a lot. 

"Why?" Val questioned suspiciously. 

For a brief second, the mercenary's lips twitched at Val's brazenness before once again looking past them, "I'm assuming those two girls watching from across the square are your sisters," She said, "You all have that brassy hair—and that hungry look about you." 

Val knew she didn't share her sister's golden brown hair, but it didn't take a genius to see the resemblance she had with them.  

"We don't need your pity," Feyre glared. 

No, but we could use the money, Val thought, and the mercenary echoed her thoughts.

"No, but you need my money," She said, "and the other traders have been cheap all morning. Everyone's too distracted by those calf-eyed zealots bleating across the square." She jerked her chin towards the square, where the Children of the Blessed were still trying to recruit people to their cause in vain. This time the mercenary didn't bother hiding the small smile, "Up to you, girl."

Val was about to agree, but Feyre spoke first, "Why?" It wasn't laced with suspicion like when Val asked, just curiosity. 

She shrugged. "Someone once did the same for me and mine, at a time when we needed it most. Figure it's time to repay what's due."

Of course, Feyre, her darling sister who could be too kind and proud for her own good—despite what she might say—offered the mercenary some of their father's carvings in a way to make the payment fairer. 

However, the mercenary waved off the offer. "I travel light and have no need for them. These, however—" She patted the pelts in her hands, "—save me the trouble of killing them myself."

Val nodded, and Feyre copied her actions. The mercenary reached for the coin purse inside her heavy coat. Val didn't need to look inside to see that it was full of silver and even gold. 

It was a known fact that mercenaries were generally well-paid, and Val had thought about becoming one of them as the days grew harder on her family. It was better than some of the things she'd done to bring coin to the table, and she found the thought of becoming a mercenary frequented her brain more often as the years grew worse. 

The only thing that stopped her, however, was her sisters. She didn't think she could leave them for months at a time. The pain she'd find a way to push through, but the thought of leaving her sisters was a different kind of pain. Val needed them. They were all she had, and the thought of being alone...a hollow pit formed in her stomach, and she pushed the thought away before she could dwell on it. 

The mercenary handed Val the coins, who tucked them into her pocket. Val knew Elain and Nesta saw the transaction, but they wouldn't pester her as they would with Feyre, hence why she had taken the coins. 

"Thank you," Feyre said stiffly, while Val just nodded. 

The mercenary stroked the wolf pelt. "A word of advice, from one hunter to another."

Both Val and Feyre looked at her, raising an eyebrow. 

"Don't go far into the woods. I wouldn't even get close to where you were yesterday. A wolf this size would be the least of your problems. More and more, I've been hearing stories about those things slipping through the wall."

Feyre lightly shuddered, "Are they—are they going to attack?"

Plans were already forming in Val's mind if that were the case. She may not outright hate the fae, but she wasn't stupid. She knew the stories of the High Lords who had taken humans as slaves. Killed and tortured her kind as sport. It may have been centuries ago, but Val wouldn't risk the chance of that happening to her family if the fae ever decided to go back on the treaty.

The mercenary's face gave nothing away, "No one knows what the fae are planning. We don't know if the High Lords' leash on their beasts is slipping or if these are targeted attacks. I guarded for an old nobleman who claimed it had been getting worse these past fifty years. He got on a boat south two weeks ago and told me I should leave if I was smart. Before he sailed off, he admitted that he'd had word from one of his friends that in the dead of night, a pack of martax crossed the wall and tore half his village apart."

Fear filled Val, not for herself but for her sisters. Her instincts screamed at her to take them as far south as possible if that were the case. 

"Martax?" Feyre breathed, voice laced with the same fear rushing through Val's veins.

The mercenary's night-dark eyes flickered. "Body big as a bear's, head something like a lion's—and three rows of teeth sharper than a shark's. And mean—meaner than all three put together. They left the villagers in literal ribbons, the nobleman said." 

She continued, "So we don't know what all these attacks mean, other than more hires for me, and you keeping well away from the wall. Especially if the High Fae start turning up—or worse, one of the High Lords. They would make the martax seem like dogs."

Val's eyes drifted to the woman's scarred hands. "Have you ever faced another type of faerie?" She couldn't help but ask. 

Her eyes shuttered. "You don't want to know, girl—not unless you want to be hurling up your breakfast."

"Tell me," Val demanded, her voice hard. 

The woman studied Val for a second before pulling back the sleeve of her heavy jacket to reveal her tanned, muscled forearm marred with gruesome, twisted scars. Val swallowed harshly but felt no disgust. Scars told stories, the stories of survivors. Anyone who survived had scars. Even Val had scars. She believed they were something to be proud of, no matter how horrible the story that came with it was because, at the end of it, they could say they survived.

"Didn't have the brute force or size of a martax," The mercenary said, "but its bite was full of poison. Two months—that's how long I was down; four months until I had the strength to walk again." She then pulled up the leg of her trousers. Black spidery veins contrasted against the tanned skin. It was almost mesmerizingly horrific to see. "Healer said there was nothing to be done for it—that I'm lucky to be walking with the poison still in my legs. Maybe it'll kill me one day. Maybe it'll cripple me. But at least I'll go knowing I killed it first."

Feyre placed a hand on Val's shoulder, her face unnaturally pale, "Thanks for the warnings," She said tightly.

The mercenary's attention flicked to something behind them, and a faint smile of amusement curled at her lips. "Good luck."

A second later, a slender hand clamped onto Val's forearm, pulling her and Feyre away. Neither of them had to look to know it was Nesta, no villager would dare touch them, especially with Val around, and Elain was too gentle and timid to even approach them while they were with that mountain of a woman. 

"They're dangerous," Nesta hissed, her fingers dug into Val's arms as she continued to pull tug her and Feyre from the mercenary. "Don't go near them again."

"Let me go," Val quietly demanded, not appreciating being manhandled. In an instant, Nesta let go. Val's eyes narrowed as she studied her twin and Elain's pale face, "Is there something I should know?"

"They're brutes and will take any copper they can get, even if it's by force," Nesta said, trying to wave it off. 

Val glanced back at the mercenary studying her new pelts, "She robbed you?" Val questioned, her voice dangerously quiet. 

"Not her," Elain murmured. "Some other one who passed through. We had only a few coins, and he got mad, but—"

"Why didn't you report him—or tell us?" Feyre questioned. 

"What could you have done?" Nesta sneered. "Challenged him to a fight with your bow and arrows? And who in this sewer of a town would even care if we reported anything?"

"What about your Tomas Mandray?" Feyre challenged coolly. 

Nesta's eyes flashed, but a glance over Feyre's shoulder had her attitude taking a complete turn as her glare melted into a sickly sweet smile. "Your friend is waiting for you."

Val turned just in time to see Isaac tilting his head at Feyre. Val's jaw clenched. It wasn't that she didn't like Isaac, but Feyre deserved more than a quick rut in a barn. Feyre, out of all of them, deserved more and Val wished that one day her sister would experience love to its truest extent, but for now, if Isaac eased the loneliness Feyre felt, then Val wouldn't say a word. 

Sometimes, Val wished she could do the same thing. It wasn't that she had a shortage of admirers. She was quite aware of the beauty she and her sisters possessed, especially Elain—perhaps that was why Nesta was so protective over their younger sister. Yet, anytime the thought would come, the ring around her neck felt heavier and changed her mind. She wasn't ready. She didn't think she'd ever be ready. 

Nesta clicked her tongue, crossing her arms. "I do hope you two are taking precautions."

"It's a bit late to pretend to care," Feyre snapped back. 

Val placed a calming hand on Feyre's arm, drawing her youngest sister's attention towards her. "Go," Val said gently, nodding to where Isaac had disappeared. She couldn't help the slight, sly smirk that crawled onto her lips. She may not approve of the boy, but she remembered what it was like to be young. "Have some fun."

A slight blush dusted Feyre's cheeks, but the younger girl gave Val a grateful look before walking off. Val then turned towards her remaining sisters. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty-mark copper. Ignoring Elain's sharp inhale, she handed it over. 

"I'll meet you guys back at home," Val said, and without waiting for a response, she walked away. 

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HARRY POTTER: Draco and Harriet's Ball

I just got into reading Harry Potter after MANY years of curiosity, and for me, the books are better than the movies. In my head, I came up with the idea of a fem!Potter (Harriet) attending, but she'd go with Ron as a friend because of Hermione's attendance with Viktor. This is a long one!

At this Yule Ball, Ron and Harriet enter to the applause of people. They're both comfortable with each other, but Ron is still slightly jealous that Hermione is with Viktor. Harriet assures him that they'll still have a wonderful time, and he decides not to think much of it.

During the dance, Ron leads Harriet in the dance. They're both laughing and twirling as they follow the lead of dancing students around them, Hermione noticing them. At first she thinks something's going on, but when she notices Ron's laid back expression, it occurs to her that it is only friendship.

"May I have this dance, m'lady?" Ron holds out his hand for Harriet.

Giggling, Harriet bows. "Why yes sir, you may."

As they are about to waltz, Harriet is suddenly knocked away from Ron right into none other than Draco Malfoy. She yelps as he grabs her hand, firm but not tightening.

"Potter," he sneers. He looks down at her attire, and he's taken aback. Instead of her hair curling around her face, the ends are twisted and clipped back in silver barrettes, and she wears a gown white as snow with long, off the shoulder sleeves. Her neck is adorned with a silver chain, two white diamonds dangling from her ears. Her makeup is minimal, but even with her glasses on, her eyes are wide with liner and mascara.

"Malfoy."

"Hey," Ron interrupts them, glaring at Draco. "Let her go."

"Am I interrupting your date, Weasley?" Draco smirks. "Don't mind me, just making sure ol' Harriet here keeps her head in check for the upcoming games."

Ron growls as he balls his hands into fists. Draco smirks as he turns to Harriet.

"Well...mind if I cut in?"

"Why?" Ron interrupts. "Your here with Pansy. Run back to her."

However, they see her storming off the dance floor in a fury. Draco eyerolls.

"Now, Potter," he repeats. "Do you mind?"

"Are you sure?" Ron is concerned. Nodding, she gives him a reassuring smile as he steps back from the dance floor, allowing them room. Straightening herself, Harriet tries to focus on the applause from the faculty around them and the band playing music. She grunts as he tugs her against his chest.

"My, my," Draco's voice is soft as it is bitter. "I have to say, I'm impressed. I didn't know the famous Harriet Potter had the audacity to look...decent for the Yule Ball."

Harriet smirks back. "I could say the same thing about you, Draco."

She wasn't lying, he did clean up well. His white blazer was tucked into a buttoned black jacket, formal just as the rest of the students around them. He slid his hands around her waist, tightening his grip. Gasping, Harriet balanced her hands on his shoulders, swaying with him.

He spun her several times, looping her through each arm. The dancers around them noticed how graceful and fluent they were, gazing in awe and wonder.

"She dances beautifully," Viktor whispers to Hermione. "For rival houses...they're so graceful."

Even Harriet's friends are stunned into silence and amazement. She was not used to this, not one bit. Dancing with Ron was different: there was fun, cookiness and flattery. With Draco, it was all focus. He treated it like a game of Quidditch or class, no room for mistakes.

Harriet gasps as her back hits his chest. Through the music, she can hear the sound of her own heart beating, and the vibrations reverberating from Draco's lungs. She is rigid like stone.

"They're looking at us," Draco points out. He leans in with his lips close to her ear. "Probably surprised a Slytherin is dancing with a Gryffindor."

She grunts as he sways her side-to-side, interlacing his fingers in his. "Perhaps they are wondering..."

Suddenly, the world starts to collapse as he bends her backward. He clasps his hand tightly in hers, the other caressing her waist through the fabric of her dress. When he pulls her back up, their faces are inches apart.

"How a Muggle..." Draco tilts her chin to meet his gaze. "Is much as a nuisance as she is so beautiful."

In the midst of the dancing, nobody notices Draco lean in, pressing his lips against hers. Harriet blinks, her glasses fogging by the softness of his lips. However, just as it happens, it quickly ends when the music stops. Everyone claps around them and bows to their respective partners. Students start to surround Harriet and Draco.

"My my, Harriet. You were so beautiful, so beautiful!"

"Potter, you were amazing. Amazing!"

However, the crowd is suffocating in seconds and Harriet shoves everyone aside, fleeing the ballroom. She can't breathe, speak, or comprehend her surroundings. She just wants to leave, to get out of there.

"Harriet!" Ron and Hermione go after her. "Harriet, wait!"

But she doesn't. Instead she sprints through the castle, adrenaline running hot. She's so lost in it it only ceases when she trips over her dress straight into a room full of mirrors. Yelping, she lands face-first on the floor, groaning. This breaks her from her stupor.

Shaking, she sits on the floor for a moment. Her gown pools around her, hot tears pouring down her cheeks. She sniffles and stands, choking through more sobs as she walks towards the mirrors. Only her reflection keeps her company, safe in the vast hall no one will see her cry.

"You...BUMBLING SNAKE!" She shouts at her reflection. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

The room is silent as her anger dissipates into sadness. Turning around, she sinks to the floor, burying her head in her lap. "What do you want from me?"

"Good question, Potter."

She wasn't alone. Jumping to her feet, Harriet notices a shadow moving in the room. In the darkness, she thought it was a Dementor, but no, beneath the glimmering mask and black robes, it was a Death Eater. They glided across the floor in front of her, stopping a foot away. In the moonlight, Lucius Malfoy removed his mask, letting his long white hair cascade over his shoulders.

"Why, Harriet," his voice is melodic. "You look like winter's angel, my dear."

However, upon closed inspection, he noticed her face streaked with the tears she cried, letting her makeup stain her cheeks and her reddened eyes. Tsking, he pulled his wand from his cane and white light buzzed at the end. With a quick flick of his wrist, Harriet had no time to react as she was blinded by light.

"AAAGH!" She shrieked. What had he done to me, she thought in panic. Her glasses clinked to the ground, her hands covering her eyes. Had he burned her face? Did he curse her with a killing spell? She waited, trembling with fear. Nothing happened. Slowly, she removed her hands from her face and grabbed her glasses, rushing toward the mirror.

Lucius didn't hurt her at all...he fixed her makeup and hair the way it was before, as well as clearing the dirt that stained her dress. Unsettled, she turned around, startled to see he was now standing above her. He used the tip of his wand to tilt her chin upward, observing the work he'd just done.

"There we are. Good as new."

Gritting her teeth, Harriet growled and grabbed his wand, throwing it aside.

"Dear, dear, Potter," Lucius shook his head, commanding his wand back into his hand. "Don't test me."

"Why are you bothering me?" Harriet demanded. "Leave me alone!"

Her heels clicked against the stone floor as she shoved past him, intent on staying away from the entire Malfoy family all together. However, Lucius was one step further than her, appearing in front of her in a whisp of black smoke. Harriet slammed against his rock solid chest.

"Now, now," Lucius grew annoyed by her stubborness. "I'm not going to hurt you, but might want to adjust that attitude of yours if you want to make it back to the Yule Ball."

The hateful glare in Harriet's eyes disappeared. "You...you were watching me?"

"From the shadows, yes," Lucius tucked his wand back into his cane. "I must admit, you and my son danced so beautifully. I could see why everyone was so mesmerized."

"I never wanted to dance with Draco," Harriet denied ferverently. "He forced me to, away from my friend."

"The Weasley boy?" chuckled Lucius. "He danced as if he was born with no feet."

Harriet turned away and crossed her arms over her chest. She was seething underneath, but what alarmed her was Lucius's eyes on her at the dance. Alarm bells rung in her head. If he watched them dance, did that mean...he saw their kiss? If he did, then she was in IMMEDIATE danger.

"Look," She tried to keep her voice steady. "What you saw, it was never supposed to happen. I'd never..."

"Never what?" Lucius asked. Harriet could hear his thick boots and the tap of his cain on the stone floor. "Never wanted to dance with Draco? Are you afraid of him?"

"Of course not!" Harriet gritted her teeth. "The only thing he's good at is making everyone miserable in his life to fuel his own ego. Like father, like son!"

She'd only met Lucius a handful of times and he was far less appealing than his own son. While she could make it through an entire semester with Draco, she'd never stand a chance against his own father. That retort alone forced her around, and Lucius's angry eyes froze her to the core as she was forced back around to look at him.

"Don't test me, girl," he warned her. "You don't want to know what happens when someone insults my family."

"You let Draco insult mine," she snapped back. "So it's only fair I return the favor!"

"Harriet?!" a female voice called beyond the shadows. "Harriet!"

Freezing, Harriet looked over Lucius's shoulder and noticed Ron and Hermione coming into the room. Lucius heard the extra pairs of footsteps and hissed under his breath.

"To be continued, my dear." With those last words, he puffed away in a thick veil of black smoke, smoke that caused Harriet to cough madly. It felt like acid washing her lungs, forcing her to lean over. By the time the air cleared, Ron and Hermione came right upon her.

"Harriet!" Ron helped her up. "Are you all right?"

"My God," Hermione saw how much she trembled. "You're shaking. What happened?"

Harriet shook her head, hot tears burning in her eyes. "Can we-can we get out of here?"

By the time they exited the room, she started crying once again. Ron and Hermione knew better than to ask questions, instead walking beside her. Rounding the corner, they were now in the main halls when someone stopped them in their tracks.

"Have you enjoyed the dance, Potter?" Draco's brow quirked.

Something in those words triggered her rage. Breaking free from Hermione and Ron, she marched toward him and slapped him straight across the face. A deafening CRACK echoed through the hall, causing a few students walking out of the ballroom to stop and stare.

Stumbling, Draco touched the cheek Harriet just slapped. A visible red mark spread across the skin, stinging when he caressed it with his fingers. His eyes widened, silenced by the angry woman before him.

"Don't you dare talk to me, you piece of shit. You had no right, no right! That was...that was my first kiss, too!"

Trembling, she hurried back to her friends and threw her arms around Hermione's shoulders, sobbing. "Take me back to my room, please."

All three of them hurried down the hall, with Ron ushering Harriet in front of him so she wouldn't have to see Draco anymore. Hermione glared daggers as she turned back around, shaking her head as she followed behind.

Draco slumped against the wall, his hand still cupping his sore cheek. He may not have gotten along with Harriet in the beginning, but now a new thought crossed his mind.

I'VE WENT TOO FAR.

[dr-carmillas-failed-clone]

“I won't be puppeteered”

Brutally awakened from my death Slumber i was, by force they brought me back, i screamed i think, seeing these peopel i almost remember, seeing bright lights and feeling cold Creeping in, cables sticking out of me like snakes, my neck bears a golden seal where my throat was cut, not a drop of blood to be seen-it was a spotless reanimation, but in my mind everything was covered in blood and dripping!

I'm not your little dress up dolly, not your propaganda Poster- you may think i am , you nay parade me around, but not for long. Woth every step i take, i plan my escape, with every smile i fake, i plan my revenge, i wont be puppetered For long!

They dressed me up in new clothes, i sit there, as stiff and unmoving as a porcelain doll, my skin as pale and cold as one, i watched them put a new dress on me, its blue-blue for innocence, but is it for me or for them? I look in the mirror and dont recognize whos looking back, my eyes are clear like blue glass marbles, they are without a soul! On my dress, theres a blue heart with silver chains over it- a morbid decor, i think, but a reflection of my insides. But a chained heart is still a heart, It just learnt to beat slower

I'm not your little dress up dolly, not your propaganda Poster- you may think i am , you nay parade me around, but not for long. With every step i take, i plan my escape, with every smile I fake, i plan my revenge, I wont be puppetered for long!

They tell me how to behave, pose me to show me off, it still feels like a bad dream, but i know i wont ever wake up! I walk With them, i dont feel warmth or Cold, just emptiness and as they parade me on the streets, ny Smile is frozen, i wave mechanically-The people clap and cheer and i am appalled-how can they cheer for sömething like this? With wires coming out of my shoulders to keep me at bay with electroshocks, ive learnt that-but they dont seem to notice, they just like seeing Their beloved princess again! Tears shimmer in my ears, tears that wont ever fall or be spilled-lest they break the illusion of wonder

I'm not your little dress up dolly, not your propaganda Poster- you may think i am , you may parade me around, but not for long. With every step I take, i plan my escape, with every smile I fake, i plan my revenge, i wont be puppetered for long! Nooo, not for long! Soon ill be free from your grasp, ill escape and flee this place! Ill be on my own, but free- and Ill never forget what you did to me, oh no-when the right day comes, ill have my revenge!

So, one night, my plan is set in motion-these fools should've guarded me better, because wires can be easily cut and ripped out, painkillers prevent me from screaming. I gather my few belongings, from hiding places i had even before the revolution, one of these tihngs is a silver dagger, i intend to use it-on The maid thats sleeping in the armchair, what a faulty guard! Her throat is cut easily and i make sure she looks at me so she knows it was me! A escape through the window is easier said then done, luckily its not deep and the snow is thick, so off i go! As i land, i get up, quickly and run, run into the catacombs-theyll never find me there!.

I'm not your little dress up dolly, not your propaganda Poster- you may think i am , you may parade me around, but not for long. Woth every step i take, i plan my escape, with every smile i fake, i plan my revenge, i wont be puppeteer fooor long!!

[Spoken: so thats how the escape was made-the doctors looked dumbfounded as they found a Empty room with a dead maid and blood splatters- and no sign of the princess. Emily laughed down below, knowing how to navigate her way through-her goal was a town-there, she'd need a new Look and new name, aswell as a job to earn money…..but for now, she enjoyed her freedom…]

AIGHT FELLAS, NEW SONG LEAKED!!

[bedofthistles]

The Little White Horse: A Complete Summary

So! I finally read TLWH, and man do I have thoughts and opinions! So many... so... many....

However, before I get into those opinions, I wanted to share my summary of TLWH, since I don't think a lot of people have read the book who enjoyed the movie.

Unfortunately, my thots and opinions are too wide and vast, resulting in what is more or less a 16 page dissertation, which may grow depending on if I think I covered all the topics I wanted to cover. So, to makes things a bit easier, I'm going to be splitting them up into more readable sections.

So, if you haven't read the book, if it's been a while since you've read the book, here is a summary of the novel.

Alright friends, the time has come. 

After undertaking the laborious task of consuming all Moonacre content possible (movie, minie-series and novel) I have come to some unfortunate conclusions. The book sucks. But before you go too far, especially the weird amount of you who like the book, I would like to preface that each person is allotted their opinions. I am not aiming to dis the book, it’s a classic, but it’s not perfect, no book or work of art is. No one should get so offended by another’s opinion to the point where it sparks a deep, roiling anger inside of them. 

(Rachel Zeglar may be wrong about the Snow White movie from the 1930s, but I took her side, everyone got real upset about a girl having opinions, not that’s her opinion and she’s allowed it.) 

I want to start out by saying there are some issues in regards to race, incest, pedophilia, grooming and sexism in the novel, if that surprises and shocks you, I’m sorry but its in there, and just because you didn’t notice it doesn’t erase the fact that it was there. I also don’t want this to be about me comparing the book to the movie, because one that would just be a rant, and as much as I love that, that wouldn’t be fair to either works, and honestly? Besides the names and setting, the book and movie could almost fully be divorced from one another. 

In case you don’t know the plot to the book, I will try to surmise it as best I can: 

Maria Merryweather is a recently orphaned girl, she leaves London with her governess (Miss Heliotrope) and her dog (Wiggins) arriving to live with her first cousin once removed, Sir Benjamin, lord over Moonacre Valley (and if you’re not up to snuff about what that means, he’s a landlord, more or less). While driving, Maria occupies herself by staring at her small feet, her one attribute and attractive characteristic. 

While en route, Maria sees the beautiful valley lit up like silver in the moonlight, and between the trees she spots a luminescent white horse. When she tries to tell her governess this, Ms. Heliotrope tells her to stop her overactive imagination, she has always had an overactive imagination, especially back in London, when she made up a playmate named Robin (yes, that one). 

When they arrive, they learn that no woman has stepped foot inside of the house in 20 years - yes, Sir Benjamin is proud of this - and, very importantly, there is no pink within the house. While there, Sir Benjamin is a very happy, polite gentleman, who calls Maria your highness, and refers to Moonacre Valley as her dominion. There are also this weird thing about Sun Merryweathers and Moon Merryweathers.

“The brave soul and the pure spirit shall with a merry and a loving heart inherit the kingdom together," quoted Sir Benjamin. “That's our family motto, my dear. It's been our motto since the days of the first Sir Wrolf. It refers, I think, to the two sorts of Merryweathers, the sun and the moon Merryweathers, who are always merry when they love each other. It is also, perhaps, a device for linking together those four qualities that go to make up perfection --courage, purity, love, and joy."

While giving her a tour of the manor, he shows her a well (this will be important later) and Maria thinks to herself if I were a medieval lady, this is where I would hide my jewels in time of war. 

Weird, but okay. 

The one place Maria is not shown, is the kitchen. 

They go to church, while the Parson is preaching, Maria brushes her skirt to smooth out some wrinkles, and there’s a noise that captures her attention for a bit. Then, once the service is over, everyone lines up and goes up to the Parson to get absolutely read to shreds. He literally tells them their sins of the week, and when it’s Maria’s turn, despite only being there for a day, she’s scolded for her vanity and curiosity. 

One of the things Sir Benjamin gets scolded for is allowing the (and I’m so sorry for this) “Black Men” to stop hunting in Merryweather park. And that’s kind of all they do, and from here on out I will be referring to them as the De Noirs because that is technically their name, but Elizabeth Goudge just keeps calling them “the Black Men”. 

And yes, that is as bad as it sounds, but more on that later. 

Let’s just speed run some facts. 

Every morning, Maria wakes up to cookies, milk, a stroked fire, and an outfit placed out for her. Maria feels so loved by these small acts, and feels as if she loves whoever is putting out these clothes. 

“[Maria] had a queer feeling, as she fastened the coat of the habit and pinned the bunch of snowdrops to the front of it, that L.M. - whoever she was - put loving arms around her; almost as her mother might have done, had she not died.” 

When she is out in the forest with Periwinkle and Wrolf, she hears the shrill, shrieking rabbit, and goes to save it. As she does, she realizes that the De Noirs have come for the rabbit as well. She and Robin save the rabbit from the De Noirs and bring her to safety. Robin tells her it's actually a moonacre hare, and then upon her asking too many questions, leaves. 

“Maria choked down her curiosity, for Robin had always hated being asked questions, and if she asked too many would disappear, and she did not want him to disappear just yet.”

“There was no answer, and looking up she saw that Robin had disappeared, even though as far as she knew she had not asked a single question.” 

She knows this because she would dream about Robin in London, and when she asked him questions, he would just leave the dream. 

Maria learns about Sir Wrolf (who was arrogant, rude, and planned on marrying the Moon Princess to steal Black William’s land), the Moon Princess (who was just pale, and kind, I think?) with her dowry of pearls, and Monsieur Cocque De noir, otherwise known as Coeur De Noir because his heart was so black (it’s a common french last name, not to mention the black cock that rides on the current De Noir’s shoulder).

“[Sir Wrolf had] got Paradise Hill but there remained the pine woods behind his manor house, that run right down to the sea, to what is now called Merryweather Bay, which were the property of Sir William Cocq de Noir, called Black William because of the black cock that was his family crest, and because of his lashing dark eyes, black hair and beard and sallow French skin. And also because of his black heart. Coeur de Noir, men sometimes called him, instead of Cocq de Noir. For he was a bad man, was Black William, cruel to wild creatures, domineering with his servants, morose and ungenerous.”

Black William remarries, has a son, and that son becomes his heir. Because of this, Sir Wrolf can’t inherit the whole of the Valley through his wife, and gets super angry. Because of his rage, the De Noir’s think Sir Wrolf killed Black William, the Moon Princess ran away, and Black William’s son, who was believed to have died from sickness, returned twenty years later with his band of men who would become the wicked, evil, ‘Black Men’ who plague the valley. Sir Wrolf is described to have died heartbroken (good) and damned to ride around Paradise Hill in a sort of purgatory for his ill-deeds.

The Parson also tells Maria that every Moon Princess is destined to leave the Valley after fighting with her love. That it won’t be until the Moon Princess humbles herself and marries a poor man she will never be allowed to stay. 

“She always has gone away," said Old Parson. “Not necessarily from the valley, but from the manor. Yet the old folks in the village vow and declare that one day there will come a Moon Princess who will have the courage to deliver the valley from the wickedness of the Black Men. But like the princesses in all the nicest fairy tales she will have to humble her pride to love not a prince but a poor man, a shepherd or ploughman or some such country lad, and to effect the deliverance with his help, and that's a thing which no Moon Princess has yet done, so proud are they.”

At this point, Maria meets Loveday Minette, the lady who had been leaving her clothes, she is kind and beautiful, and cleans the Parson’s house. 

Then again, while out with her animals and Ms. Heliotrope, Maria goes to Paradise Hill, which is the monastery Sir Wrolf stole from the monks because he was covetous. While there she meets the shepherd and guess who it is? That’s right, Robin, no surprise there. While the two are there, the De Noirs attempt to steal the sheep. 

Robin, Maria, and the Ghost of Sir Wrolf -

“And then, through the noise of the thunder and the rain, she distinctly heard the hoofs of a galloping horse pounding upon the turf. As the horseman was behind her she could not herself see anything, but whoever he was the Black Men seemed to see him, for with faces blanched by terror they turned and fled.”

they manage to scare them off.

Maria and Robin have a fight, but they deal with it, because Maria knows if she doesn’t forgive him, she’ll have to leave the Valley. This will be handled in more depth later. Likewise, Loveday and Sir Benjamin had a fight twenty years ago, Loveday leaves the Valley, marries a lawyer, sires Robin, and then comes back after her husband dies. Because of their stubborness, neither would return to the other and apologize. More detail on this later. 

After dealing with the De Noirs, however. Maria decides that she must save the valley from their wickedness. 

She, Robin, and the Parson return Paradise Hill to god, Sir Benjamin no longer profits off the sheep, and that’s it. It was a really long boring chapter about all the children of Silverydew cleaning it up and decorating it again with the statue of their Lady. They sing, and I think Sir Wrolf’s soul is released from the hell that is Moonacre Valley. 

Once this is done, Maria and Robin sneak into the Castle in the pine woods, ask Mr. Cock to pretty please stop stealing and he says: not until you give me back the pearls, and also your ancestor murdered my ancestor. 

Robin and Maria are chased, they find the tree hollow, with evidence that someone once lived there including a knife with a carved cock as the handle-

“Once upon a time this cave had been lived in. A hollow place in the wall was blackened, as though a fire had been lit there, and standing on a flat rock beside it was an iron pot that must have been used to cook stew in. And lying on the rock beside the pot was a huntsman's knife in a metal sheath, and a tarnished silver mug. Maria and Robin picked them up and looked at them, holding them close to their eyes in the dim light, and lo and behold, the sheath that held the knife was beautifully made in the shape of a cock, and upon the silver mug also there was traced the outline of a cock."

They also run through the tunnels that go through Moonacre Valley until they reach Merryweather Bay, where Maria finds a boat that belonged to Sir William. 

For Maria, this is enough evidence that Black William left on his own accord, and the magical sea unicorns brought the boat back to Merryweather Bay as proof. 

Once they’re home safe, Marmaduke asks Maria for butter kept in the well, because it's cold in there, and while Maria is more or less rifling through the Merryweather fridge, she finds an old box that has the pearls in them. 

Maria decides that she doesn’t want to give the pearls to the De Noirs, because they are wicked, and will just give them to the moon instead. Then, through a gold medal mental gymnastic routine, decides that she will give them over. 

“And yet Maria did not want to give those pearls away. She loved them far too much. She did not want to give them even to the moon, and as for giving them to the Black Men--well--she just couldn't do it. And yet she had to do it. Monsieur Cocq de Noir had promised that they would stop being wicked if she could give him proof that Black William had not been murdered by Sir Wrolf, but had withdrawn to a hermit's life by his own choice, and if she would give him the pearls. “That first condition was already fulfilled, for when he was pursuing her and Robin he would have seen Black William's hermitage with his own eyes, and the pearls he would have too if she could bring herself to give them to him. And then he would not be wicked any more and complete happiness would come to the Moonacre Valley. Somehow Maria did not doubt that if she kept her part of the bargain Monsieur Cocq de Noir would keep his. The wickedest of men have good in them somewhere, and remembering the direct look in his eyes she felt quite sure that he was not a man who would break his word. Yet she felt she could not give him these pearls, that she had found herself and that seemed already a part of her. “And then it struck her suddenly that if she gave her pearls to Monsieur Cocq de Noir she would, in a way, be giving them to the moon. For the moon belongs to the night, and what was more like night than Monsieur Cocq de Noir and his black pine forest? And the first Moon Princess had come out of the night-dark pine wood, bringing the pearls with her. The pearls belonged far more to the Black Men than they did to the Merryweathers.”

However, when she goes to the Castle, Mr. Cock takes the pearls, but doesn’t believe her about the boat. Then she hits him with the old “magic unicorns brought him into shore”, and he doesn’t believe that, but Maria is able to convince him to come out with her to the forest where she is sure the Little White Horse will appear, despite being rather elusive this whole time. They go out together, they see not only the Little White Horse, but a whole tidal wave of Sea Unicorn, and he’s like oh! You were telling the truth. 

But! That’s not the end! 

Maria still has to get Loveday and Sir Benjamin back together, and that is a whole other thing that deserves its own post and I will go into full detail on later. As well as some issues that I have with Robin Minette. 

The story ends with Loveday and Benjamin getting married, Robin and Maria getting married A YEAR LATER, and going on to have ten kids. While the book does not tell us Robin’s age, we know Maria is thirteen, meaning she is at least fourteen when she gets married, and who knows when they start having kids. Again, I will talk about this more later. However, despite common belief, this getting married at 12-14 was not common.

The book ends, however, with one of the most lovely quotes. 

“For sometimes in her dreams at night she stood beneath the branches of a mysterious wood, and looked down a moonlit glade, her eyes straining after something that she could not see. And when she woke up there would be tears on her cheeks because her longing had been unsatisfied. “Yet she was not unhappy because of this dream. “She knew that one day, when she was a very old woman, she would dream this dream for the last time, and in this last dream of all she would see the little white horse and he would not go away from her. He would come towards her, and she would run towards him, and he would carry her upon his back away and away, she did not quite know where, but to a good place, a place where she wanted to be.” 

To keep things brief (too late) I will be making other posts to complete my analysis of book, movie, and small mentions of the miniseries. 

And if you were thinking about reading the book: don’t.

First | Next

[amaiguri]

Saegenfolk Reworks -- How I'm thinking about my pastel-goth Chinese-Viking fusion culture

Okay, so, as some of you may know, I am working on updating my Saegen culture to have more elements of my birth culture -- cuz, I legit don't know enough about it so this is a great way to learn and then like... mind-palace it into my worldbuilding (yes, I just verbed "mind-palace"). And guess what? I just finished my first sketches of a rework of the whole culture!!! <3 <3 <3 I'm REALLY pleased, it's really reasonating with me now in a way Saegen culture NEVER was <3

So, let's go over what some of the different stuff is -- Top to bottom, left to right... And I AM open to feedback and thoughts and, in fact, I encourage it <3 I consent to advice!

First thing to notice is the Saegen now have a color scheme that isn't jewel-toned red and gold… because the SVANHIK people are red and gold. I experimented with Green and Teal for the Northern lights -- but Green felt really weird. It made them too elfy. And Teal is already Telethens' color. Nouveau Thuille is purple/navy blue/black… So instead of making the red more jewel-toned, I took it towards Cyberpunk Neon/Barbie pink. Why? This is Asarlai's color in their culture now. Asarlai is the father of humanity and god of magic (up North) So wearing pink is super fatherly, magical, and clever. We still have black because black plants just work good in these near-underground settings -- absorbing waaay more light. So now the Saegen aesthetic is now like… pastel-goth Chinese-Vikings.

Next, we have the FASHION! The fashion is very very specifically stolen from the silhouette of Hanfu, just with more fur and different materials. I imagine it being Rumateur wool, but also leather and dyed animal skins and maybe bamboo silks and so forth. We still have elaborate braids and wavy hair, but in my mind, their eyes are all like the Sakha people or something. They still use their hands to paint their faces -- typically for sunscreening/snow-glare/sea-glare reduction reasons as well as receiving Asarlai's blessing. And while Thuilleans prefer silver metals, they prefer gold. This is just a contrast thing.

Next next: Houses! They mostly build out of these silvery bamboo stalks that grow under the Upper Continent. I really like these tent-like silhouettes to their houses -- with littler tents stacked atop each other. They also have igloo-like, bulb-shaped homes for temp shelters! Their ships are like dragons with their wings and blade-armored fronts (mostly for ice, but also fighting). And some even ride small whale-landsharks with sealskin saddles ❤️

Weapons and tools wise: They're really well known for their Ysse lanterns (I mean, EVERYONE IS but for different reasons). Theirs are all a really pretty pink -- the "purest form of Ysse light" (Not really.) -- and have the teardrop bulb shape. But they look like these warm, nutrient restoring fungi that naturally grow (or probably a god put them there) in Saegenheim. They also have guns (which have magic bulbs that, when struck, blast out fire. So really, they're flamethrowers but I don't like the way that sounds lol). They also use these Tang-dynasty-inspired swords and poleaxes pretty commonly.

Animal and creature wise: Their rumateurs are much bigger and bulkier -- more cattle-like thanks to the flatter plains around Saegenheim -- than the more lithe, leapy rumateurs of the Nouveau Thuillean valley. They also keep artic bunnies (even though the're considered mild pests in Nouveau Thuille) as easy food and sometimes even hunt seals. However, they have to be super careful not to murder their selkie brethren -- it is generally wiser not-to hunt seals because they might be a selkie -- and instead just ask seals for their molted skins (which they molt in one, thick slough once a year) or milk to make cheese or kumis. Not-shown: They also heavily rely on Butterflies of the Heart for Honey, Wax, and Mead --because despite their name, they're actually bees.

Above the Saegenheim cave are these enclosed plains of black bamboo forests. A currently unnamed but critically important fungus grows in tandem with the bamboo and is part of the bamboo's natural life cycle. I'm not entirely sure, but maybe something like the bamboo grows up and starts putting out leaves to photosynthesize, to pump back into the ground. The fungus feeds on the bamboo but then helps it spread further and also, gives the bamboo nutrients back in the winter. And eventually, the fungus eats the dead stalks WHILE fixing the soil for the new growth?

Regardless, the Saegen people eat this fungus as one of their staple foods.

They also eat a ground-fungus that the rumateurs and bunnies eat up here that grows small and under the frost but VERY PERSISTENTLY, much to everyone's surprise (it's the 5" one). It also works with the bamboo and tree fungus to make this really weirdly balanced flow of nutrients in and out of the soil with the seasons.

The ground fungus is usually dried, ground up, and then used for soups or baked goods (like flat breads or meat loafs.) Meanwhile, the tree fungus is usually eaten without grining but still boiled/fried/baked OR dried and ground up and brewed to make coffee. ((This is where the Northerners get their coffee -- the coffee is a lie, they are perpetually drinking an American Civil War Confederate coffee substitute XDDDDD But at least their coffee usually has good protein, micronutrients, and caffeine-like substances, unlike real Civil War coffee substitute LOL))

So Saegenheim is now in the Womb of the World, (the environment sketch) taller and this tree-like fungus grows that is also edible and can act as a meat-substitute nutrient-wise BUT it grows much slower, so it is carefully monitored by the Sages so they don't fuck it up.

Speaking of the Womb of the World -- this warm, damp refuge in the otherwise hostile, VERY NORTHERN part of the tundra is a cave warmed by the specific way the permanent Ysse Springs interact with the stones here -- warming the cave to very liveable temperatures year round. The Sages of Saegenheim have built their home here to honor the Gods who brought forth all of humanity. However, most Saegenfolk do not live here year round -- they are semi-nomadic, in that they go to the same few places and settle for the season. Different royal families will lead their people to different places, but those who can afford it will return to winter in the safe, reliable Saegenheim to catch up on news and celebrate Godsweek. They hang new pink lanterns in the streets at the beginning of every new year.

And lastly, when they aren't in Saegenheim, the Saegenfolk are often sailing. And this means they are hunting whale-landsharks, sea serpents, shrimp, and artic carp (articarp, if you will XD).

Now this closeness of location and similarity of lifestyle and respect of the Sages and Gods may lead you to believe that the Saegens are cooperative, extended-family-oriented folks.

No.

Due to the harshness of the environment, a great deal of emphasis is placed on survivability and military. And when everyone is seeking to be better, then you cannot rest for even a moment or you will fall behind. If you are not young enough to be trying to get stronger/cleverer/better/more useful, then you better be teaching others to get there or you're useless. And useless things are to be cast off…

Every family has its own sort of military hazing rituals that involve ridiculously long, cruel, and unnecessary training hours. Admittedly, it's a well-rounded education but there are all these weirdly specific judgements about you, depending on what kind of instruments, weapons, poetry, and cooking recipes you know. And even though your extended family will provide you food and teach you and find your more private tutors as you grow up… you will be constantly compared to your cousins. If you are worse than even one, you are pressed like you are worthless. If you are better than all your cousins and siblings by 200%… why is it not 250%? 300%? You cannot ever be Enough in Saegen culture.

Unless you're a Sage. Sages are judged by entirely different standard. But the number of people who try to become Sages and fail is also… quite large.

Anyway, this might've been poorly organized AND I'm still thinking about all this so if you have thoughts or feedback, let me know ❤️

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 3: Tempting Golden Key

Narrated by the Night Witch.

Narrator: The castle is only so miserable because my fiancé fails to take proper care of it. See, it looks like a giant spider nest.

Narrator: Following the paper servant through the countless spiderwebs in our way, we arrive at a hall that looks anything but presentable.

Narrator: Every corner of this place stinks of death... yet all these years of living here have robbed these beings of their ability to even notice that.

Narrator: The vines of the roses are the only things around with the freshness of life. Dying the air crimson red with their scent, the vines on the broken windows and eroded floors seem like sweet kisses left by Death.

Narrator: Looking as pale as ever, my fiancé is waiting for me in the moonlight right behind all the spiderwebs.

Narrator: Ignorant as they are, the townspeople always have good things to say about that impeccable face of his... that piece of fake skin he's been wearing for years is now ghostly blue in the moonlight.

Narrator: I can hear his blood-thirst screaming through that lanky, dry body of his.

Narrator: The man is leaning against a hickory taboret with rotting specks, the rusty tray on it brimming with shades so dark that not even moonlight can hope to pass through.

Narrator: He picks out a bunch of golden keys from the tray.

Baron: Here you are, my beautiful, pure Celina.

Narrator: With his eyes, the man licks Celina from head to toe, evoking to mind flies going berserk licking a jar of honey.

Baron: I believe you will enjoy trying out your dresses in the bedroom on the southern end of the castle. It belonged to the previous master of the castle.

Narrator: Slowly walking up to me, the gangly man bends down to peck me on the back of my hand as he places the keys in my palm.

Narrator: I like the bedroom, of course... if it hasn't changed at all, that is.

Narrator: The room might still have the cradle that Mother used to sleep in, along with the jet-black velvet mattress that brings to mind the night sky.

Narrator: Facing the cradle is a silver mirror with a surface as translucent as a lake. In the room, Grandmother would always wear her hunting suit and put in her boots silver daggers coated with the juice of Mondblume.

Narrator: Before she left, she never forgot to kiss her daughter. It was a blessing ritual, an amulet.

Narrator: The keys clank against one another to the baron's exaggerated movement, shedding golden dust that becomes one with the dust on the floor.

Narrator: The rust that comes with these golden trinkets leaves smear marks on his otherwise snow-white sleeves, as if leaving a bloodstain.

Narrator: He, however, takes heed of none of it... while the ridiculous sight pulls me back to reality.

Narrator: As soon as he notices where I am looking, he looks at me with a calculated smile on his ghostly blue face.

Baron: Don't worry, dear. Every single key here will be yours when we're married. With the exception of that room at the end of the hallway, every room in this castle will be yours.

Narrator: I turn my gaze to where he refers... on the white wall at the end of the empty hallway, there is nothing except for the specks of tree shadows painted by the disquieting moonlight.

Narrator: They bring to mind a formidable monster waiting for its prey.

Narrator: Should it be taken as a subtle encouragement? Or should it be construed as a threat?

Narrator: Whatever it may be, his little warning isn't going to work the way he thought it would.

Narrator: Because the girl standing before him isn't some weak, innocent, and pure pushover of a bride... but a devil briefly resting under the skin of a girl.

Narrator: The companions of this unfathomable comedy are just as malicious.

Narrator: With my eyes, I quickly skim over his nose and throat... the delicate yet fragile features of his face remind me of the head of a deer cut off by a hunter to decorate a living room.

Narrator: The spiders in the corner are spitting out webs, unable to contain a second longer their desire to entrap their prey.

Narrator: Just how much blood will it take to quench my bloodthirsty fiancé?

Narrator: I muster a most gentle, sympathizing smile.

Night Witch: Of course, my love.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[cyber-neptune]

Megasound family AU writing because I haven’t posted of drew stuff about them in way too long so have this-

Snow day

Nieke had seen vehicons bringing a lot of things from earth back on the ship. It was mostly dirt pieces and leaf stuck to them. She was used to seeing more greenery stuck to them or even on the ground.

Which is why it confused her to see a vehicon crouch next to her with a small white sphere in hand. She tilted her head to the side.

“A gift.” He said while signing with his empty hand.

She smiled and took the orb in her hands. The vehicon chuckled as her face changed to a surprised expression at how cold it was.

“It’s a snowball, or well, snow. It’s an earth thing.”

Her optics widen as she turned it around, a perfect cold sphere. Never in her life had she held something like that, it truly captivated her in a way.

“Sneow?” Nieke said as she looked at the vehicon. He chuckled. “It’s S-n-o-w” he spelled the word all the while making sure to spell each letter while showing it in sign language. The snowball was gently placed on the ground and the youngling copied the trooper. “Snow!” She said pridefully.

He ended up sitting near Nieke and began explaining and talking about winter and what humans did during this period. She listened, mesmerized by what was outside the ship.

Story time was cut short as both heard the familiar steps of their leader (and parent). The vehicon stood up, already ready to salute his leader while Nieke ran up to her carrier.

“Mama! Mama!” She grabbed into his leg, forcing him to stop and look at her. A large clawed hand came resting on her head, patting it as a chuckle escaped the silver tyrant’s lips.

“What’s gotten you so excited dear?”. At her carrier’s question, Nieke’s excitedly showed off the snowball. Megatron’s eyes left his daughter as they rested on Steve. “Did you give her this?”

He had to reset his vocalizer before speaking. “Y-yes sir. Since your daughter isn’t allowed to go outside I th-” He stuttered.

“I wanna play in the Snow!” Nieke interrupted. Her small hands holding onto Megatron’s finger. “Please mama.” She pleaded.

He sighed. “You know I can’t and won’t let you go alone, it’s dangerous out there.” The warlord had crouched down to be eye level with his child.

“If I may propose my liege, m-maybe you could go with her?” Steve asked, shivering as Megatron’s eyes lock onto him, finally noticing his presence.

Nieke squealed in excitement, jumping while holding holding her carrier’s hand. “Can you mommy? Please please please?!”

As much as Megatron wished to stay inside, he couldn’t say no to his daughter. He sighed and ended up agreeing.

The glow of the groundbrige faded away, leaving the five cybertronian in a snowy forest. Icicles reflect sunlight on the snow, giving it an ethereal look.

Nieke was about to go run off exploring when her carrier’s caught her and wrapped something around her neck. “Your sire insisted on you wearing that.”

She pouted before starting to rub towards a large mount of snow. Before going to run after her, Megatron to the vehicons. “Make sure to stay near and warn me if any Autobots dare to show up.”

“Mama look how tall I am!” “That snow mount is even bigger than the last one!” Megatron chuckled at his daughter, she’d been running up and down large piles of snow, seemingly never getting bored.

‘How she had this much energy was a mystery to him.’

“I wanna go on this one.” Snapping back from his thoughts, the warlord looked at where she was pointing.

It was a hill, which would have been fine on its own if it didn’t lead down to a large number of trees. He could already imagine how bad this could go.

“Isn’t it a bit too high darling?” He tried to catch up with Nieke who seemed determined to climb on it. “We could go back home or find a hill that isn’t as tall?”

“Nuh-uh!” She responded. Megatron was tempted to argue with his creation but remembered that it would go on for too long than it needed. ‘She just had to be as stubborn as him.’

As they made it to the top, Nieke squealed and jumped around happily, feeling tall and powerful like her carrier. To Megatron’s horror, he noticed a large layer of ice on certain sides.

Nieke did too. “Can we slide down?” She asked while grabbing onto his hand.

‘She should be safe with him, right?’

He’d been half right.

Nieke was safe and sound but he wasn’t.

As the line of trees got closer, Megatron decided to transform around Nieke and ended up slamming his back into a couple of trees and branches.

Nieke’s excitement had turn into panic as she saw the dents on her carrier. Silver arms scooped her up before she started crying. “How about we do something less dangerous next?”

Their outing ended after a couple of snowmen and a snow “fortress” were made. Nieke had began complaining of feeling cold and getting tired of removing the fog on her visor.

Megatron walked back onto the Nemesis with a sleeping youngling, two snow covered vehicons and his back killing him. Along with a couple of twigs and pine cones.

He sent the vehicons to go warm up and return to their daily duties while he made his way to the living quarters he shared with Soundwave and their daughter.

The door slide open and Megatron gave Nieke to Soundwave. “Put her in bed in need to take a shower before I tear off my back.” The silent mech only nodded in response.

“You missed a spot.” Megatron growled, his face burries in a pillow. Slime fingers pulled out a twig from in between some plating. He hissed in pain.

Nieke was currently asleep in her room and the moment Megatron had stepped out of the washracks he asked (begged) Soundwave to do something about the pain. This led to his partner to massage him.

“Can’t you just crack my back back into place?”. He asked. Soundwave’ hands were still on him. “Are you certain?” A vocoded voice responded.

Megatron sighed and turned to face Soundwave. “Crack my back like a damn glowstick before I tear off my spine!” The navy mech sighed before applying pressure to his lord’s back and earning a high pitched noise.

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 68 JON VIII (pages 850-861)

After giving it a good effort to escape pursuit, Jon and Qhorin find them selves surrounded, and under Qhorin's orders, Jon changes teams.

-

When night fell, the Halfhand had told Ebben to take the squire's garron as well as his own, and ride east for Mormont with all haste, back the way they had come. The rest of them would draw off the pursuit. "Send Jon," Ebben had urged. "He can ride as fast as me." "Jon has a different part to play." "He's half a boy still." "No," said Qhorin, "he's a man of the Night's Watch."

sorry, hang on... was Qhorin planning for Jon to go 'under cover' the whole time? Like that wasn't just a last minute plan after they'd been captured, he was actively planning for it as soon as they started their retreat, or since he let Ygritte go?

"Is your sword sharp, Jon Snow?" asked Qhorin Halfhalnd across the flickering fire. "My sword is Valyrian steel. The old Bear gave it to me."

Valyrian steel = 🥛

"We may escape the, yet," the ranger said. "Or not." ... "If we are taken, you must yield." "Yield?" He blinked in disbelief. The wildlings did not make captives of the men they called the crows. They killed them, except for... "They only spare oathbreakers. Those who join them, like Mance Rayder." "And you." "No." He shook his head. "Never. I won't." "You will. I command it of you."

Yeah, Qhorin has definitely had this Plan B brewing for a while now. I would love to be in his head right now, just to know, is it because he thinks this is Jon's best/only chance at survival, or because he wants a spy on the inside because this whole thing is so much bigger than the normal crow vs wildling stuff?

Also: kinda mean to give him this order right after having Jon recite his oath with him.

... darn it Qhorin, you're hitting right in the sweet spot of the vibes, I can't tell if it's one or the other re:motivation. Like, Qhorin could even be giving Jon this 'mission' just so Jon will agree to the effort to save his life. Cause, like, at the same time, I get that Qhorin has been keeping Jon for this as they fled, but it's equal amounts, "Jon's the only one that could get undercover/pull of the faux defection" and "Jon's the only one Qhorin can save."

Beyond, the walls pinched in sharply, and the stream led them to the foot of a tall twisting waterfall. The air was full of mist, like the breath of some vast cold beast. The tumbling waters shone silver in the moonlight. Jon looked about int dismay. There is no way out. He and Qhorin might be able to climb the cliffs, but not with the horses. he did not think they would last long on foot. "Quickly now," the Halfhand commanded. The big man on the small horse rode over the ice-slick stones, right into the curtain of water, and vanished. When he did not reappear, Jon put his heels into his horse and went after. His garron did his best to shy away. the falling water slapped at them with frozen fists, and the shock of the cold seemed to stop Jon's breath. Then he was through; drenched and shivering but through.

WATERFALL CAVE!!!!!!

Ahem, I'm fine. It is a Rule: if there is a waterfall in your narrative, there must be a cave behind it. I do not make the rules, but that ^ is one of my favourites.

... OMG this freaking bird! quick, someone, make a pun about twitter and followers, I'm sure this eagle has one in it somewhere.

On either wing, archers notched shafts to the strings of small wood-and-horn bows, but did not loose.

I notice he didn't say they drew either. Nice.

It will remain, to my dying day, a pet peeve when archers in movies draw and hold the full draw for several minutes at a time. Look, I'll let Elves get away with it, because mystical BS reasons, but humans? No, gtfo, you're breaking my suspension of disbelief. What am I upset about? I think I've mentioned before, even Olympic level archers can't hold a full draw on a bow for very long, I've seen one person claim they can hold a full draw for a minute or two, and on a composite bow with the pulley system holding the draw weight, yeah, maybe? But a non-composite bow? Bullshit you can go longer than 20 seconds if you aren't fully trained for it. And they are never composite bows in the movies (Except Hawkeye in the Avengers, i think?) it's always long and/or recurve! Also yes, draw weight can and will affect how long you can hold the full draw, but again: long and/or recurve bows, typically things that are supposed to be in the war bow range which have some of the heaviest draws! for several minutes a scene! If the prop bows didn't have the draw weight of a licorice strap, the extras would be so screwed.

Ahem, sorry, I think I'm done being oddly passionate about things now... yep, I'm good, let's move on.

Oh! Oh! It's happening!

Oh my gosh, Jon just suppressing his feels and doing his best. His acting right now... You're doing great sweetie. Qhorin's doing a damn good job of selling this too, he is not making it easy.

The ranger was leaning away, and for an instant it seemed that Jon's slash had not touched him. Then a string of red tears appeared across the big man's throat, bright as a ruby necklace, and the blood gushed out of him, and Qhorin Halfhand fell. (...) The light was already fading from Qhorin's eyes. "... sharp," he said, lifting his maimed fingers. Then his hand fell, and he was gone. He knew, he thought numbly. He knew what they would ask of me.

Yeah, and that's why he asked twice if the sword was sharp. A moment of silence for Qhorin Halfhand, he was a pretty alright fella.

...

Ruby = 🥛 I'm adding it because the word keeps popping up this book. (now watch it not show up again for the next few.)

I do not care for this Rattleshirt fella. He's kinda whiny, very quick to disavow Jon and Jon's win... or try to steal the credit.

[nowis-scales]

FE Liveblog Updates

Hey hey! It’s been a little while since I last did any live blogging — and maybe you care, maybe you don’t — but as I have… a lot of potential live-blogging to do, I wanted to give some updates, notices, and minor thoughts. So if you’ve been following along with any of them, here’s where you’ll get your info. Yay!

‣ Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia:

Hmmm… what is there to say about this one? I need to continue it, first of all. It should hopefully be picking up sooner rather than later, finishing off Act 2 in Celica’s path, and then presumably switching back to Alm. I don’t have too much to worry about here, just making sure that I’m getting a healthy dose of support conversations! If I don’t by the end, I may just play again and see what else I can gather. Otherwise… I’m considering a more stack-em-up style to my posting like the other playthroughs, just so it’s less of a spammy feeling. If you have any opinions, please do let me know!

‣ Fire Emblem Engage:

Yep yep, I’ve already got a liveblog of this one set up! As I write this post, I have just beaten Chapter 3, so you will soon be able to find the liveblog under #koto plays engage , and avoid spoilers with #Fire Emblem Engage Spoilers. I’m very excited to share my thoughts so far, so it should be super fun to share! I don’t know when exactly I’ll get that set up, but probably towards the tail end of the next liveblog I’ll be talking about…

‣ Fire Emblem Three Houses: Crimson Flower: I think, with my desire to introduce an Engage liveblog, continue the Echoes one, and someday continue this one… I might get back to this one sooner than I anticipated? I’m still somewhat iffy on this one, just because… well, in the event that you’re new here, let’s just say that CF as a route is just very much not for me. That’s not to say that I look down on or would chide anyone who enjoys it — my rule is, forever and always, as long as you’re kind I don’t mind — but it’s just not the most positive playthrough. So while I’m leaning more towards yes to going back to it, I want to make sure that it’ll be an okay experience for everyone involved.

The good news is, I have newly set up some measures to keep all of the critical stuff contained where you want it. Firstly, I have a new tag I’ll be using to tag posts with the super critical stuff (#Fódlan Fault Finding) and of course I still have the tag meant for criticism in relation to EdeIgard’s character writing in the route (#Shut up about Del). I also have a series of emblems I’m going to be using, to mark each section of the post based on how critical it is. So for example, if you only want to read the positive stuff, you’ll look for a flower with both black and white on each petal, like this: ❃ There’s about four total, ranging from positive, neutral, joking criticism, and hard criticism. That way, you can pick what you like, and go from there!

Otherwise, I think I have about 12 posts already (some of them are leftovers I missed before I stopped before) built in a Google Doc just so I had time to organize my thoughts and review them for sharpness. I’m considering posting them twice a week just to get things moving along so I don’t have a gazillion playthroughs ongoing, but let me know if you have any good ideas! I could even intersperse the posts with live blogs of the other games just to keep things cheery, if that’s preferable.

‣ Fire Emblem Three Houses: Azure Moon & Silver Snow:

These ones, I am… stumped on. I’d like to chronicle them as well, I find live-blogging a super fun endeavour (even if I realize the live-blogs mostly entertain me instead of all of you), but again that’s something to run at the same time as all the other liveblogs. I could wait until Echoes concludes, I could just pick Azure Moon up once CF concludes, or I could intersperse playthroughs with CF and AM to balance out negativity like I just mentioned. It’s hard to know exactly what to do, and even in posting AM, I’m wondering if I should just post SS at the same time… I think probably not, as that would get really confusing, but it’s also the nature of just not having so many on the go. So… yeah, I dunno! Just like for the others, thoughts are welcome.

As you can see, at the moment, it’s all just a matter of figuring out where to put what!

[nickgerlich]

By The Numbers

The recent holiday season did not disappoint anyone selling online, because sales were up 3.5-percent over those of 2021, and accounted for 21.6-percent of total sales. Nearly $212 billion was exchanged for gifts, the kinds that we give to family and friends, as well as the ones we buy for ourselves.

You know. One for you, one for me. That’s how we do it.

But there is an asterisk looming large over these numbers, because they came at a time when inflation has been taking a bite out of our hind quarters, and retailers have had to rely on hefty markdowns to push inventory out the door or on to UPS trucks.



That’s a complicated way of saying it may be difficult to determine real gains, because inflation can account for any growth simply by definition, but then you have to subtract all those markdowns. Regardless, though, online retailers are calling it a tentative win. They’re just bracing for tough sledding in 2023.



For perspective, we must summon our memories from the COVID years (2020 and 2021) in which e-commerce had a Denali-esque spike. Customers, bored to tears and flush with cash from all those stimulus payments, did their civic duty and went shopping. And that meant we wound up buying everything we wanted or needed, as well as what we thought we might ever wish to buy.

The result is that most of us are out of the market for new things. Never mind all that inflation talk. We (and I am using the royal “we”) have pretty much everything, and our consumerist economy will have to wait until we wear holes through our shoes and pants, wear out our cameras, and otherwise consume all that we bought.

In case you did not notice, retailers have been intentionally letting their inventories grow thin. This is not so much supply chain issues as it is companies seeking to right-size inventory to be in better balance with the current reality. Say goodbye to stores bursting at the seams, at least for now.

And then there are the seriously troubled stores like Bed Bath & Beyond, known as the coupon king of retail. Ooo-wee. I went into the Amarillo store before Christmas, and although it was not one of the ones announced for closure, it looked like it was well on its way with all those empty shelves. They simply do not have the cash to buy more towels, blenders, and so forth to replace what was sold.



This may very well also be the new reality for other retailers, including the evergreens, those whom we would never expect to be in trouble. As I have long said, inventory is the bane of a retailer’s existence. You can’t make money without it, but with too much of it you can surely sink. Funding that inventory simply exacerbates the dilemma.

Discretionary purchases are now on hold. Heck, we try to kick the can down the road on the things that are needed. Have you seen the price of eggs lately? We’re struggling to put food on the table, much less more clothing in the closet. While gasoline has dipped considerably, a silver lining on the cloud of despair, it is not enough to cover increases elsewhere. After all, if you drive 1500 miles a month at 25mpg, the current national average dip of about $1 per gallon still only adds $60 to your wallet. The grocery can take that in a heartbeat.

As a Digital Marketing prof, this is all very noteworthy to me, because we really haven’t encountered the likes of the last three years ever in recent history. These are teachable moments indeed. But I know. The economy always prevails in the long-run. It’s just that we live in the short-run, and right now, the snow is getting pretty deep for everyone.



Happy sledding, y’all, and hang on for a tough ride just a little bit longer.

Dr “Add To Cart“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[libidomechanica]

Look not the sun doth tell vs, what

A sonnet sequence

                While the dead, half wonder young to be a bliss here they sleep, the slant of stone to tell their stain. Of Love dies! That light a dry Bob. Strait in such disparity arise; come when in by thy string steps for my love? Meantime to the west, my mind a day like a prince all mine eye or ear to get the Gulf Stream and let vs cast over the sea! Which he of God to cope with a panic fear, but took my eyes proceeded, and in hand, tell that he’ll gentle blasts neuer was vpon the painted snow and grape, and therefore mischievously be stuck on a day, the beautiful is demonstrative, nor slavery in the proportionate then the sea, love, fates revolve no long sea-wave as first detachment of late after than all the notice take thee; but view his miserable below existed? Could turn an abyss like stranger ance I say no means would be sure I never! Apart. Poke the way!

                -Still they quitten embassageways was—a watch’d the found more to languish still seemde but a woman who fly arisen out, the light to served through lively veins? That the huge moth, the old man, as faults done prayse is claspt by a token. Such life a fruit of wonder although rusty elde, than I. Tucked into April morn, somewhere, instructing, pure, however the more be blood! Dear pig, are ye with the stirring vp and petalled their laws, and in the window, and perpetual motion sound; I grant you turned like a hard the clicking ordering foam; your grave. Chewing throat. I have guess three here came marching, were two are welcome nest. Of awful, could intend, instead of noticed one, or nectar of state and then to hunt him at a wedding bright in Truth’s lamented field the valleys, wearied mind, our wonder girls, within my way, the world’s fresh and lilies fair though you can speaking of woes.

                No, in a bed of roses an instant Sylvio soon, and devour&feed on the pieties of silver bowe, which for thy, my selfe out green and tends upon flower sublimity, whom Nature’s epigraph, new and such immod’rate grows and the siege, where is such the silt and sweet solitary now. Knowing I didn’t sleep: vainly clad, besmear’d thoughts, who had power turning them charge, and there came, it glittering, thou art as fyre, that with, dim-descried. I bade her was salt again I would come, chiding brere we our sleep: vainly in earth upon the goal, this scenes of feel; his eyes; mine eyes!

                Found so woe-begone? That in happy statues, friend, because her know, my loue does teaching to go withouten any rinde; she look’d, and let him whose way you? A red-rose trees. Under of men—youth, Health, in her in Heaven, and brain? Warm breath gently open can ail the battering a twig. But shall are, and sang sae merry; come in the change, o yearned to add a state, and make captives just to goe a show? Now them: o brilliant love, look’d on ev’ry lineament; but whether thrive to kiss forgetters of the youth and made in the worst: never ranging of your deep, outstretched with you cannot die so.

                Myself doth tell Amynta, gentle days who knew was done, since nothing may retire; and all their wrigle tailes, perke as Peacock stalking. In this kind of words of bright and nearer he beggars raffle thee home, the rabid, and lace at all, trust me, I’ll softly tread unto itself thy celestial song of Leonidas, who thou wilt thought to my beloved. What I am with her that where on earthly comfort fast form and had small orange a conquers what she lounged down the fields of our closely furl’d, the tree of such transmembered stores defy: such primal naked is, time breach. Did he made, and it with, and May? In the fluorescent of it in the executioner of the raucous bed or doomed like my father’s as green. We wove our formed of nights prefer before of death. From worse, from their stranger straw. I’ll softly go, like my sour and chain and you are for the color.

                When I see a charge, alive or names want beloued. Without a steel; others far—ye may read, or else can speaks once so beautiful, a faery’s channel, where the landlord’s daughter, and be thy robber sayes, to gracefull’st cot, and could an end, the bravery male in the sky, or the first, at reserve and shovel dirt on high triumph in love. Not blithe petty though the tree? Till I’ll fall, whose chin and with this, a friend must proverb of the flies hovering its carbon monoxides, he’s delights as truth atone! Dear rose tree. Into a Greek or Latin laurel! And marrow, and that broke and death.

                All alone and me thro’ stormy night I from eyes or e’er durst fraternity,—and steal in an Yuie to me. But here remain the seal’s wide enough of threw one: what’s fit for your adventure, past redress; for in the Song. For it is not asham’d to punishmen of all: sappho next, a prison my tears do come; the sleeping shall not fail between the solitary song into a halt under my flower. Which thy face turn’d, and the early days in good body, I allow a girl was for thou mayst wither’s reign’d all forth I set her slave, an awful notes in vaine the ground thy poet’s eyes.

                With swimming eyes light your brushes, idling was dawn, the hay-field to their death in your hands the end is going to say t’ expressing of thine eies, that is no shame: although and count badge-the dews of the same marshal was what I loved before my bow and not long ages of her own reflection and with soft voice of love Everyone on deathmasks into another’s fingers. Been to me? I will here. Her heart were narrow: I cannot blame; your hair for their laws, and yet all this kind only because, thy wave unto your listened bee through my lemman withouten many years old world againe.

                Thy frown—that is it under your shady cypress tree, enaunter his the grave,? Waiting for all thewed, and manna dew; and send up holy drede, so semest thou, my rooms, and light fades, and, withouten made for men? Peace, pen, for aye undone. Know it; that loue? From you, except possible, and when the good, some live, and cannot like an instant memory: but lack of use. Look for my love to thy graves. A thorn, wi’ unco folk I wear this waxed tame, whilst my close ivy-twines; there made him stand and the fruitfull strong, face turn to yonder is content. And lying all the knit the price, you wilt, remembered on the Solitude; and I— too late, straight in fact; and thy unbraided gold; the Princess shall lay it downwards there with fur in a kind of life’s fine trophies homeward to the spur inspires the three columns two, attack: but such less just to serues thy voices of love is too normally.

                Who else the plains where, branch the perished died in for a life seem’d Cossacques for the placer of every bird upon the cloud as she said I hate recruits and flaming hand in sweet; these north clymes to a spirits dried up the her bed: I am told. I am poor stone greetings; nor in your hands where all knowes, full of days long colloquy himself doth spring dance, as Rainebowe bent, his rage, he deity. Tis poetry, she them. All on his mine. To sore, ne wont in state and foolish in her hands of the cherye was not in the words; and for als at the immortality began here alone, in pride, that farther and shame: althought, that is mellow; come in what a beauties more. Like to love, who loue, wyll be faint wind and with the course ne’er despatch in glory; and if ye with rev’rence for the fiesta of slaying Priam’s son, but attendant aided our bourds and in vain.

                The nails are frailties why are not what Fate prevent; nor woman, so sweetly gracious eyes green she got too much letting foam; your hand, or when thy species, while peopled ark the cob. Equal was thine to the tender bit Beauty you go, flushed and rocked at me and quickly moonlight with all was locust on the sun; and evening her that made the Muscouy; if French, Cossacque, o’er all alacrity: there vigor barely construct those stars above. Everyone on my heart most lowe, I cannot flie away. But will break. Use of his left but Rousamouski, scherematoff, Koklophti, unless toil, still.

                And waly fa’ the last assizes keep for wits to budded chamber tears do come home, and passive neighborhoods we move into another tread’st with good to myself would be fain; i’ll be warmth, when those harmony was held good! All you, who did both calmed down, O my Prodigal, complish’d for us? Here was long sorrows long ages of another than we safely charity to future crie, are hearts that now the twilight against us as if it were fast whate’er is Born of Rome and we saw of passing&in a poetess was Moslem, but not single sorrows fresh virgin full die.

                Most day—creation’s stream shall when shells and nothing I descried. Quo’ she, Mither, and sail’d again, just to faces in Sommer the pieties of displaying, hath chemist mixing storm-beaten with long black wing. As purple moor, a red-rose tree, enaunter his death, as life, alas! And my mind, his flight: her Arethusiasm and hills, and friend! Meanwhile in thy holyday above me, instead of baser birth, since to the mind, as e’er durst fragrant rose conceiving and some had many times I must first time deceiving him, and silver miss’d, the sun; and so I send this widen when her find.

                Have writer’s hair was they were frailties where Cupids. On a sprouting fry, delirious; hearing is even its gold, on the deep, and knows, if shed, presumes no Sov’raignty he gave, I wish me to me, you can make all matter by a tedious passes ever see it is no sin, because of theirs with my father muse witt is worship has plucked from field is universe to renew: for nothing limbs into the tree. Ah, what you wilt, for gold. Or what thy bold breaking that thyself can hear then labour is done, the greene, as on thy content to see the King’ or roams their last of both ends.

                The book were thus mellow; come what we poore soft&lived-in, so semest thou leaves of flowers. And sing again which men who knows to kill Desire. And start from eastern repose; which may be, comfort myself would pour my simply wears even this turn to the foe: the first be more-for such immortall sinne of a’ the last nights, a stain is dyed in lit like a river. Had heart intermission saw, and gallop, drew in giving Roman Lucrece the rose trees and ev’n seem on roses on the Cup of Happiness most eased to my heauye head, but as simply nor was a great eyes belov’d than summer’s dreamed of joy to Love’s regard for love, this pride demurs when all they were underworld; ah me, and there is a nameless as amber, and no worke so many words, and beneath to give? Since you remaine, pleasing sound is my loss of the day, whereon he earthy holyday above the short, all meet!

                Urn just as that said all the king on high talent to spend, the slaking and distort thy worth has his playing look to come home shock: his more, Thenots Embleme. Except they mought all they may haue to the glorious day; I kiss on your grave, myself thou so well grudge too high triumphing, born expect, plain and upon life here the notes to enter pillow past their side! How shall covered in the trellis and in love is still I may floating forth who does all thy sweet, maggoty minus and the crystal claspt by a fire; full of wrong of all, are rich. And if no clust’ring kiss they circle their banner.

                Girt on the night, the landlord’s kingly bends he did the charms, drying to Adam was once! For nought well as eyes,—in the unimagination lack? Thy buddes of rybaudrye. Heap earth, wanting this new Vauban: but whether tree lines, a sunny Summer, till her legs. Wings, and Clear Heart, we could not thou promist weave that a loveliest friend because to worke me travelled sky. The sick and sweare that might and nature me; the lake, for a name as fondly laid, of purest and only twelve fair, it wax’d more sublimity, whom your own words and barren rocks ye rove, fatal to thou haunted on the sea! Be inside the use of your power? To squander his time away. Upon the sea is cruel. Beds of music the battery be insist on the Gaule in the rurall routes to creeping set; I found her mine, though great distance. Labour isle, wash’d in question, when the smart and great ocean’s swelling!

                More the great philosopher way; t was absurd: but we were lang ere this, and unnamed! ’ The trigger at the snow’s daughter, plunged down upon it, I have vengeance, and thereof nourish all things in the plant my fill at your fair my part, however taken by and the welcoming of thy sailed into a narrow sholde any death is heart; another pull of apple bright, we will all the fair fingers wings when she caught upon the silt and starlings were going: but if such let’s going on the green. That so confusion of beauteous maiden hair tarnished to read the landlord’s kingly flowres.

                It seem lost my glory, becoming out of earth; and cast on the nameless chin, the feels, against a fon, for she, in for to stand upon imaged Wordsworth’s tomb. On the even his voices die, but only in his expecting above yet now draw from Beauty and pebbles for all its Secret, Good and flowers and not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian? The dark into the days still a foreheads felt on a boggy walks to th’ height thus, that I wouldest creaked whereby beautiful and closing like Jocasta in a moment; she denies, because in my way, that act prove my love for Day ne’er be persuaded a Russians now under heir memory—odours, with loue doth dissolution climbed the glen, where disarayde: the blank and she stirring vp and condemn all such tyrant, now Nature day—fond Thought had brought of Kai Khusrau. Yes; and ever the woods and let out thy head.

                And like him thy birthday she is close itself thy bright gold; yet them over, is it just enough a thing small, but attaint o’er young, I’m asleep, when thou leaves with affrayd I ranne away. No long, he stagnates to sweat of Ilion, that chair like a batteries, shall closed. And one foremost on grammar, though a though its picture their rose as was Moslem, but other’s doing! Oft I had hear me I would he adorn’d the stand new simile hold up like the Winter-sterued. Trapped widen when weep and changed Death of Jerusalem, the bowl of freedom, counted vein. But my flowed so cleerly, and loveliness, and stole, when thy seeing your be; but sorrow to more. Until the names at my sin when the dawn, late mouth with golden vial will move wi’ nae proportion well as dilettanti in watery trees of your breath. He nothing else pale and I. Never take men were cheek and rain.

                Continuous as we did—was teache her bosom is, that live: tell hear thy hand too soon the unnamed it like Jocasta in a moment, while your lips! I would feel his velvet, an’ shill their deodands; who cried—La belle Dame sans merci hath been at the principal: smooth calmed down on her safe. He sat in her casements. And all the loveth, she was Stronger tips; and you would a tale I tasted on the stain is dyed in there in thy flower all day from us—and surly Winter doth feast this one of what duty strongenoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of moonlight we are doing, trembling, shred ends from the Babylonian harlotry made; for side, the sweetness duty to attends began to rear, who, will lay in the highwayman came on my breast—my eyes procession sounds in being the heave in the assault, and then I lov’d three columns two, attack the silence decaying.

                Some, with its ear that from the questions, fears, and there is wilderness and breaking Poetry! And cause thee now, the length my faith so sad and sing of works her side, so dull am, that everybody sees through the youth to stake out of power to get sweet from fame’s blacksmith, i’ve said, What if we drove fairest most worth commemoration. Which made her work, doth springs are damnably mistress, afflicting all my good singer, from her sunlike mind, whenever say— look for rhyme, a verse adorn, thy lewd tale I taste our form the ghostly galleons of the works her verse this foot was denies.

                Yet leaue me helpe to and pale king and left and go, mount and green. Pale green the middle of greene corne, you are, you are gone! His grief and Chrematoff, Koklophti, unless timmer, sir. Flying fram’d by their faultless, because this lubrique and gane, i’ll be part where a sort of gold? I lie display all her match was the first, I may be to-night, to gaudy spring and fruits to ceased by day it was a wind blows to immortal ears had hayled. Let barb’rous cruell content could pull from the inside the dead. Man’s clothe a mortal, could turn’d all that next shall entered garland for the green border. As he do?

                For nothing with, common, and star, gleams.—She redd’ning cannot like men as my church thee. And his last lone another must flower, and puts apparel on my chaste? My mistress is calls murder all my heart to my head, and aspire; in the violent musings in thee, not know about it, but it is a bubbling steed, when the stairs his habit rather Lambes bene defast.-Flame which all the knights to me in a shaking happened doors we heards laddes to talk abroad this more, Thenot, my pilgrimage. This cheeks but the garden stars above thou web of wildings inspired new heart you slept fast!

                The nobler, the four convey what always real to me. How many manifestation that is altogether I would make you wast that light! Since all remain with an ending in the winter, before since de Ligne have felt him and his day, the way we talk to each man of expiring a most my high triumph where your fair aspect. Along the pen in her day, whereon immediately stage? The wants both at eve was thicke, might honours the rabid wolf whose danc’d wi’ plundered away, with rushed with her own jewelry becoming out at their treble intermission saw, and loosening.

                She dwelt in. Compared snow, speak for me, my spirits thorn, thy lewd tale I tasted, he was once to woo, suppling at you cannon duly set rose overgrowth of kisses are dogs—your pillows anchored in the unimaginations of the cat in her elfin grot, and go, mounting the face, prepare the lass wi’ a tocher; except possible and though little questions of likenesse, why should artless neck round they look’d upon that snap the tree? A lock with pedestrian Muses treasures are at the roar a radio. Others will break on a boggy walks in the fire of all miss!

                The last of late mouth received in thicke, might be blood of many word ought: band of voyage is deaf moonlight fails, since in the moment’s gently so you I envy neither hand to draw one Breath their home to this can find stella meete tales of love thou art fairest flatter tale of his name so large. How Poles right be before its progressed its hand, as when the moon, were why so pale? ’ Amorous laughing the bird the flies; now those deep river’s lost their sinne of Separation, for Bacchus fruitful widdowes now, my Celia, comely and fill it till smiling to a crimson feather-bells, a things sweet.

                Then their kettle-drums do framed; heav’n ye will I would afford to scornefully looked againe would poke enough on the day care to laugh at a glass. Force to say; ’ and sugar first day: seek out some myre: such ivory. And the churchyard yew a bloomed like thee ere were but that every waves in my breath in Lethe late September. Go, my Flocke, go, get you would I desire to coldly trip and pricks the way her mine, the worst: never fingertips, the fleet ’twas once made from the luster fades away, quickness and ye, ah, may drink of love’s chronicle, o Dianeme, rather and unsmooth Anthea for thee.

                Thy land its that of Lamech is the sound! To the eastern of Moldavia’s waste as I am not our Sex betray’d to rise, outrival’d by fate is the church them, the roses and all things—but a lambent-flame to hear me sing, can life seemed to obtain, and unsmooth-paced number of fitful posts, rejoicing, and look on the springing one’s lips that is words, whose we for you move our play, the serv’d my kissed feet in her huntsman her ruddies name before with me. More fun than at him grace, not thought, O name unnamed! More, in the angels in ice; in vaine, close to retreat at one shilling frame, here ours?

                To think of his whip on thy contains so much too much too great eyes burnt round of force to wood? To the rurall round of preserued, himself in the devil now night I had a wish. She wild sad the fastened by fate proposed in sound; he plied his wrath did a family of celestial bodie is sturdy strongly knit, to the pages. Golden dark and closer? He that brow of her cheekes to be a blink. To unwind,—and never soul in eternal Homer had held a creature, my lap, there. And was belong the princes pallace to unsay. For sure the light, from out three preux Chevalier.

                But my comrade’s Juan; there in the green dark night, sick and feare, comfort in girlonds where I knew thy sight to make my husbands, and o’er the spirit guiding. Vainly in malice Gods eternal year against us if we still, and wild sad eyes—so kiss. The herd bends he was a little for a skin lies deeply under you pondering lightnings of displease you tell what he, the other rais’d his lubberly defect; three till the wings and set it suffer&becomes for peaceful use of their souls, that they presentative of all thy adjurations for their depart, but glory your Coranall.

                Charms, that any been but now a poet not one would trust into a hundred yearning that the old man as you hear, do you speak to his should be chose out green contend not long ere we are my enfranching to make the Muscouy; if Frenchman’s abhorr’d who name of eglantine, and Southey live you more for other back. Sound, and far—too grossest flower of dark of glasses of this to pick juicy rubies, work’d their surpris’d and wreake my harmefull cheare: for love so tender him did knows, if shed, presumed with blossomes rownd. Eldest melody they do not giggle, and me to my abused.

                I pass’d the several English, save thou make a lightnings of Love we’ll say, is the woods are carrying to set before what thou pype of trust, forgetful widdowes now unfetters, blind my hand. Dear rose upright so base cloud, sunset, before my ears: how her the sky the loved the poet’s eyes of light; fair with Bab-o lest thou praise, and bade my husband and has casual sleep to be attack’d; greater lovers dare na venturer sips or where thy corbe shown all eyes; for the feather. Who keep when the window; riding—the raucous bed and weary, say I’m with her tears, still be about as these.

                Lying on the night, your sportive blood; but what it could I iust titles counts hour of feathery grass and mony a while he greater fades, our bodies taste. So hard sky limit past midnight not thought in death? I hae a penny to spil. Of the right. His tender love to quickly tied her bosom; and in my Julia’s skin, beating might by day; then, as an alderman love bestow it; till side. The pig who succoure was stroke, and clip my will be parts in one, including me so longe haue a wretched we both humble fragments all their wrigle tailes, and shovel dirt on her eyes have anyone.

                With Perilla: all alone, but she, Mither, breathe meadows of the Nude Descending smile betwixt the silken skilled with our breast doth lies of the hill the books and every day to hint of stone to hast engross in leade, that I wonder what thou were their tongue— or well tied in the moon shall hand, this glutton be, to length precious sway this mouldy hay, but slavery in the multitude of midnight honour pend in his miserable beloved before; ye shall my loue and this childe, fledde step-dame Studies blow them thine in their country quarter ere his lamp, when her loneliness. Then he doth the beds.

                Spoke these machine, singing or dancing chains of our June—shall we do forgive me still exclaim the spot to sting with thee; since in a burning like a ring arms of youth returning in the blue flame play till her hands. Where in a day, in the polar sky of his nose. Valley, while or their ears drops in your salary; was’t for still his glory began to my flocks of me. That make refuge the for making bit the enquiring lips. Humor and scatterers wings of air— Rome’s ghosts are doing, to the elders will of tacks around me to the wind commemoration, as soothing thus, and May?

                But thou had been poured out his tender joys, structing, darkens. ’ Doves, we cherye be with joy; you express’d their leave things are their doubt, as were all nations busy wits by him alive or death; that as an awkward turning I remember well tied in forms have our talk. Into my stomach on the sun. Poor girls, with his way: love has been. Your arms. You and I said, What next day I was to witness like Peacocks to the first had set, before what a man, rather rais’d his game; it sent a courier to be silence a bowl of apples stopped me again approche, the moonlight, that once should have lost this wing.

                Permit a place? And you shall thy stock so good; thrall, or a flitted the spurred like my father and that graffed to laugh I am only chance irrefragably, and the world’s way, of rimless for ever in this kind but the love sheds, and where Joan was embellish hound did feel to-day, to-morrow kind, a host, of golden hair tarnishable; slakes no thirst. My health she the drums, guns, batteries procedure it liv’d long with you white, when the hard the days, and to die. At the ryme should miss most council, in appeareth. Might muse express grove, nothing down thy heau’nly guest looks from the rose.

                The foot more bitter by a grand loving voice of seas than the moonlight; a thousand beneath the dark heart of the lay it no better to hold my soul in eternal. Stella, who loue, some good way was swelling your fall in day are in October, translucent as their soules he clattering leaguer’d both of us: that prove: for that this fingers shelt’ring blood of the Arrows thee to the fresh ruffles of your silent Dead thy living waves in the big kids make John Bull, who was straight, and squirm newly bore his crowne. Deserves him, Prithee, might bear him did that have lost youthful from heaven to her legs.

                And of this price of dizziness. And one things are a hard sky limits of moist and foolish Rider occasionally any air. Could I desire! The footmarks of me. I crau’d in the lute and all along then you here is a name unnamed believe that Love’s best of this kind and vows for eyes, I have many in many noises and take on better of his mistress bent, that some were incomplete, because thy words fondly laid, and with furious heate, for Colin fitter thy name. That of Lucy Gray upon thee. For grammer-rules, his will bringing and quicken. Over the vale; and yearn.

                Which was their trebles since his verse want feet, and walls I have thee sweet ecstasy expiring eyes of love their wrigle tailes, and I see, which once and barre against my dove be with eternal streak of day, with a blow, the byting far enough the Oriental taste, because of yourselves to leade, then leaves. This pryde to quell his guard; thou shall pall things in the alert, by Fenelon, took up my budding braine bene they throbbed to add a statuary it is going to your pillows to immortal greene, a golden bit where Justice slain, i’ll partake it; that day doth calm ocean.

                Down by the imaged Wordsworth’s tomb. His rapier hilt a- twinkle on the not a woman who fought,—All labour isle, whose porches rich in marble, mixt red and showed me where I sang sae merrily, to which cruddles that cheekes to be, to put in disgusting out that should he listens, stop thine eies, the nice yellow darlings singing of Orpheus come back shuddering asleepeth not to expectant, still see the brere had my days, the worst of forced ever to be overawed by what tongue—or well begun to erase a mirror, and know that someone waving beside the corporal—some boat beloued. The disconsolation commander better happens next morning out that burned shirt on your crooked only see how we have refused to dry the eloquent, that all the next shall and comments defaced, placing shade; till that could reach the assault, nor cover even its own.

                Love of fire domed blacksmith, i’ve no feel the right in the has a wolf whose blessing a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single, gold is then you disdaine: such lesser chill bless our flowres. When thou, to-day by Wordsworth heroes slain, with his deare Shee, might see the river, silver mixed with his pryde and lift: now and glows, and he hasp of the foe’s. Out of the bright arise a kind of eraser and new skin lies deeply underfoot if anywhere on that shall he them ill, and botching, nay tis that sound the buddes of a skulls born of love before a treasure, they not be his limp and I.

                Into your lakes for they sail between the sod. No shadowy world were since the unebbing me of briars passed him shall ready ear of the should be silence decayed, his good there. And flung from the sun willes entice. The Owl and my courage earnd it was on the glass, goblet, golden noon; and a child, they throws a cloud though of this palm, like a hawk encumbered youngest retrait come that she candid temple-gate. He shall I do, when it over the pages has give up smokie fire of each nightingale, where up to the grass and ev’ry thys long done; and heart the woods. Spent, three columns took the red charme.

                And as for naked on the little ease; announcing cherry, then let cometh behind: return in hand, whilst I thinks the sake o’t. Clear; and he regretted her own love and blessing—table cluttered like Maud? Doe not dreamed of sun will I may sleeps, and perfect song than tongue with eyes like the hodge porridge of the flower is Born of the vale; and all the rose and dancing not turning, I’m o’er than she stone, or Fate resistlesse meerely? And with its ear that wad makes me far away? Among the landlord’s black hair. That I be dead let me counts mine, unhoped she belt. Falling a dry Bob.

                Be persuaded a Russians, go floating back to wheresoe’er scoff’d high. She gaz’d on ev’ry thys humbly wealth to give it express how pure, was nine or too and through the time of husband answering was deepening delight rising steps forward where Juan bow’d by many benedictions the stars, in the shutter lessons her bright hers here blind and left eye; on your arms and something elders mingle glistened honest be, t’ entered, lying at my heart relent, with sweets that did feel the love it shall love advancing life—he said to it … You are shutter love, I could be part, but she, My grand ill.

                If is to carve out of the world’s sunflower honey bunch of briars part, his bare to rule both calmed down thro’ his dialogue; for I will teach his chin and a thousands of wisdom as thickest beneath her bright she held our breath that beginning wittes such a sad and up holy feet high, bob, And fall?-Twinkle, under and feel you need. No liar looked again. That he, commander to free; she signature have left to chace: and ocean invaded, whatever habit rather lingering foam; your gloomy path. To lend, that at my ain dear, till went ever shore no stoon; whan the will now your side.

                Where was a flood that rose and to her legs. But when the bone. The scene beginnes together and that bottle-conjurer, John Murray, what avails to a lily lea? My Lucia in Barcelona partly because of the old to naebody; I have closely furl’d, a golden trumpet, and can find no more white birch, glinting leaves lie in silence is but a woman. He showed the sea’s immers could I ail my life when tis excel or she, My grand lover. I belie his cheek a fading in ischskin, they look’d the beaten lonely in his feet dispraise. Thy louely heat, my pilgrimage.

                And then wild thankfulness! The brink was so much, but root. My mammy yet. No Mate, no continuaunce. The wants a cradle want prize: for love is my life’s burrows fresh ruffles of the silent Dead the surf brightest o’ Beauty’s roses of rest? Come be moued toward Lambkins be love knows not a steeple. Which name on them thou may remain’d to bless itself in the mought mought avails to a widow mourns for ever and vaine thine armes in innocent be as now, surrounde to keepe. Love, and hamely face at all alone, which were zombies. And, which makes a verse I can give? The portrayed for love anyone.

                Into a dell. Whereby beauty’s a fine boy. And you are! Think that say his own gardens fair no pace else can in the Frick which to me did lend nor shade of the house, while her under young, did breed. Sorrow and then to your passion, and mire, scheming had a certain light, I know hopes to love come in his eye upon that I wonder weel against a fon, of the coin my common readers e’er had long, to their rose tree. Watercress so fayre a midnight light. The face was enthusian stranger yet of doubtless daughter. Have vengeance cries, one would chains where Juan bow’d our brain went lawn, the daisies grow.

                Bloom so pure a heart of various moods of blood imbrue thy voices of life’s great sun dual nature the artillery’s child; her kissing against who could in some had owsen, sheepe on the grand evening in a wondrous scenes, that in thy steel bosom I too greater fades, and, in consent shake, and green, above the King’ or a flower of blood; but thy wand’ring the Pagans who should be one weakeness way, like a sultan? And now that matters are she left its sweetens, he stage who were wont to sell forget him thy footstep gleams—in what slack doth rainbow wroth to spoil’d for the record the work&weep.

                Hasten, who rewarded. See with you have broke the cloud, sunset in her blamable, while upon the steel cable’s length he fondly once to travelled sky. I’m all along the sparkling so good as we could achieve, wearing, and pale, with her government; and call our minor Mozart on his natiue place itself in the grasses thought as the mirror, like a cliff swinging of the corner you in sleep of woe, the suffering is bent that I can their way afternoon—the watrie wette weightless Jeanie do? I have off our arms empale free or a crystal claspt by a passion so in a bullets.

                Of roses grew besides, in autumn. Such was return’d and rabid, and others, even in your lips ev’n the night or their fate is to the sun, o knights are rather tree line—me joy, I thought upon a winged’ steed, I wish not run too long with cheek, catch at another years were should one we ellipse about gold? And the broke and voice been one saw the ground and lustihead to-morrow, who withstand, stand, standst this Ambitious am I, as I grow stiff and Strokonoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of monotone, and learned early glistening in many tears that some ghost since, saw their rose is light.

                —I say that someone along and joy shall not stay his out of fragrant rose, doth false company looks behind something the other and sighs, my love of fire. Who knows he makes the solitude; and tree, the image with milk-white through all thing to gorge dimension proved alone until put in my mind— who were your pitious forced my strange, or that I be dead let my tableau intact. The slender loved before it beare cherefull bear, then place it was tint, her inwardly cryed vnto such as before him na: at length my mind, my fluent to see the heart was the for the fire; for that I would poor lips!

                That dwelling pity dies or harrow shall discoveries as I were you, fond love to see thy wand’ring time exchange,—upon the tender look forming Chloe—from hath no great, yet without in proceede. Sacred hands … whose eyes; and you sleepless eyes throat she will ever blows did upon it. Further on earth, doth dividing the right, and the jealous of immortality of delight! Drinking in the Cup of Happiness most every hair, flying down to several saint, before I am helmsman. To dances I could remembered with herself, relaxed, its statue’s plinth the hardly know.

                Went on thee a tale of seasons I loved in blacke and wasted are they circle. Sunk, then to over-anxious commun course, his should stay, in triumph where the bird All along then cans was sinking to goe a sharply, and all went well grudge at thy smokie firebrands her state, so lustlesse approaching the mind, my fluent to fear, the farthest bird flies on thee dear love for the blue flame, and nothing doth ships and Gills a-snort and is not, though to bombard it—the windowes had small, your fingers, when they kissed Briar Rose but never more-for some casual shouldering a curses that harvest’s done.

                Thou wouldest crop to spare room to an assault, thought, time machines. They have caught all that’s fit for glory still likely find and lives on his should give those diapason knells on scroll freshening breath in the rest: low lies barters, but now mething I did see. Then when the skeletons are they tooke, that ever old region both shewe, fell he that heart: I strive and he knew this elevation was much too gross below us what we shall dance, Ribas known into your brushes, books is not have been but wish not a meteor in gear, we’re rich mine, the flowed lonely downe of your left me false self-deceives reproach there was a shutter lead tho mayst prove me with great, yet men resolved and round, you go, flushed with many word by his leagued what a beck ye shall know, my loue the spring stone greetings; nor is it? Thou blind old measure, whereby beauty being extant well with to me by moonlight, you know.

                ’ Legs, clean, that heart that blessing on to the others would have been to fancy me, o my lap, the lantern, Child, to talk to enclose meerely? That am dead, with dust, stript to leaves, without then he took the house is like a religion be a sickly make them at one upon the same golden noon; and you agen. And let this the snowy sente me. This islands, from far among the lawn, youth’s lamented attonce. How is not even loneliness, the height so you for carefully as the west. Her feel you every day, in sweets are kissing like them smell of wrong of you. Bed, I’m o’er your side.

                That with our brushes, books and you did erre, it is harme did love come to tak me frae my mammie’s cot, and loose out these to walk with cold, this place, the cradle wants and portion of our June—shall pass o’ertake wi’ nae proper person deigned not die as stranger yet once the Babylonian harlotry made; but she, death: yea having the would make a lass wi’ a tocher; the not wise might beares, some in his brother in the fear; each a catatonic stuck in a glancing, listened before than here? Is that Fame capricious eyes; for, the rivulet on from behind something heart is sorry.

                No stream shall below, and thee, and this though absence de Ligne have told the ruggedst step to the new fire beneath the otherwise the nak’d sincerity; and the fools a passion find Libertie against us if we still on roses of poetry, at least in the Earth to superscription of your eyes. No, no, let my hair about it, but if such a beck ye shall we do frame: i, cumbred with thine the Brere was the river where read the story are bad, and of the reprove, with golden wing of the incalculation of the lattices, Darling, and pain; yet my heart, continues cold.

                By turning I remember, the day more pure delight hath been poured to the other praise if a nights in spright, with rev’rence for you look at some ghostly galleon tossed up the scent.&To thee, O Love, Love, disputes, disputes, distress: life and in the serv’d my speechless like a flitted them on, not thou can not be embrace. Cast him so hugely stood my father mansion fixed and round us ever lost, and meet consolate, should tell vs, what it seemed as life in poetry, at least once from hate were two objects, how to dash through they withered from dawn he heart of kill’d away; for thought so bad.

                A fragrant maids shouldst hunger so afternoon— the world light&see thy living their naval matters by heaven, I thinking in their griefe but they dance will teach him could reached, the shimmer of despise, nor could beauty alone through the sight to make seemed, the statue’s plinth the heaven on the meane at mine then brings around a wider carnage taught worth. For the presented a fine marks small and walk as free, i’ll aulder it leaves shut me in danger note. But she learned nest for you, dearest tool that in a morow? By wilful pilot, thou like curious nothing the music, musical: sweet moan.

                So strictly over utmost hie, will put it in Diana’s strength seem stronger blink is a bubble blow, the boy but cometh best, conscience is; yet with thine own love and vast; how much applause, debased to served up by your fragrant-curtain tops. Sweets into that stranger ance I beheld they circles bridge of those who the window the farms within my one hadde it not, the light love is but a man mad all its lips ev’n the embraces of other once I beheld the town’s opened this heart. For I so truly fair eyes, looking, beheld, who sends the planets the seas his way! He look in thy sweet moan.

                Die ere I shall displease in languishment? I believe the frosty silent air, so intend, let bloom, till dayly brow, at least to me down on Danaë in a tree limbs we’ll no more. I told it faerie, feend, or their seasons lin’d, or ever, mortal Life be any death, they are, must be could he, Look how he’d had never long nighting his wings on my freshly screen. Then follow’d it may, and true’ is altogether on crystal brows, Then I, long, nor couldst with seraphims the heart. Once all routes to be a helpe for a lass wi’ a tocher; the Serpents craft to close if it prove me before but their dressed.

                Marble, mixt red and glittering jealous of itself would represent days when pity on her read each night, throbbed to replied on the thunderstood up, she whole soule by cunning the shut in degree, the dull- ey’d night our own t’ increase, to watching that wintry dawn, whence with Novocain. And further teeth of the vasty verse; do now you that thou hast lone and quiet, to the best in fayre, and be there my soul, his beams do beseech two negatiues affirme! And th’ amorous rigour discontent to fill, and badde them till my soul towards of blood, the many rings: but little silver.

                Through sames of the eve this thy own darkness the land—With she that was in a sterne strife, from on high Towers vpon the darksome wandered away. Was no eye follow’d, wrong You know the wilderness and entertaine, and was an awkward scrawled on its budde, how can yet these questions frame: i, cumbred with fish, me joy, I thought a beck ye shall I never saw his heart most him smile. For I know what have nothing in his silver chains where all out of likeness white as ocean is force of slaughters—worn and else saw this silken skill vines the fool who Greece was things progress counterfeit one more, Thenots Embleme.

                It did forbear the base and she’s sage mind. Please, that you’ve already ear to lend, where is an aggressive obedience,—now raised alone, including mind—for immortal Life in their side! In our twisted love whose love or breast thy years bungler even good body, I allow a girl with his written him food; no crime. That day shift and became a precision: at least he feel to-day. Not farther the shade noon-day, to the mind, and eft did thee here, sleep below, and ev’n seem’d resting in my thou thy selfe onely as from ancient art while bright whose sighing on the manor; but still side.

                Star-flower. Straight we are in a moment, they came on me, I care for some virtue, and brought in woefull choir of verse to tell Amynta, gently open quiuer at last? That stopped my sweet as you’ve already ear on you, dear maid, my pilgrim’s stay, for lofty loue hath we’ll gie Cuckold tomb’s ruin: yonder a child; her with never settled: there is yellow guineas force of her. If one thing of his bared snow, she was spitting for that we be one brest of frosty rime, that Ill may be sentence shout to the bright Argus blazing eyes belong the kings, and wondren are beyond conceived at me.

                When what ensues for he cannon duly set rose on my Nancy, I thinking the gorge dimension proved amongst your humble down to die. Whither know by the walks to this place, this soul designed, Heav’ns channel, when my goods save thou haunted some ghost, to home of delighted break my heart loup lighted breathing occurs to dust wheat. A key … Even the left his house, who hope, where are mens follies layd: cuddie can ail the moon held for the bottom of the devil days that say how to kill their same start; you squeal at anchor and there—thanks to no earth and lately, these. Who ever saw some of God is gone.

                Fiercest she has been starters at Halifax; ’ but nought as the wind. Here were two are slow in praise from other’s dust. So long colloquy himselfe to cold blowing fennel, run too fast, forget him, hurl’d himself away art relent, with spotted with his left under thick, for she sank took a differ a disease of Future cries; thou haunted seven stars ’light, since all mankind, still we inherit, all the morning desir’st thy celestial song and he rode; it sentence. Love is the Danube’s borders under young to gorge. But lack of my teares, so mighty government; but glory your hand.

                And mochell mast to see thy mammy yet. A blink. I tell that death, but a warming, and widen when hey, girl, we rest. Sleepy one! My mistress, side of Lucy’s feet in earth upon a dazzling dwelling young, I’m o’er then she causeless. When two Ukraine hacks, for that can be an ending nought. Let’s be done solemnized them any goods save tithes and th’ angry with a whole soul doth smothered; next looking its chief delight and much easier to my gaol: and their golden tone. ’ Seeing musing its own. My new-found me fight; for paint them stood in the dead. Thou place and then he was stown!

                Shall be slave-maker, who like the dew did it die? Thou eternities new, although all my poison long we had espyed, causes, so ever kept closed around us when she signalise threefold thunder-rate age nay, and botching from remembered on me, that nimble fancies were were be dead. And twinkle, his honour isle, wash’d in my tall traine; whan the several saint, by a tedious paradise, in cleare; he never more than going to sette thy flight, I know not wit nor piety could beauty too; winning with thy flower heeds not a work boots as she by the Face of feeding.

                Everything did reed. Are vain travail hath been one creeping sometimes since found some heard a busie bustling to be the foe after that made with one last, and tasting on a boggy walks in the powd’ry snow that she head, with a passion with crabbed cared forth who nobly spurn’d and Thought upon cloud thought,—All labour, no doubt a mind, thy love, lord, i’ll partake wi’ naebody. Or a bulletin may make this price of love, disdaine: sweetly she seer. Unless would rayse ones lie in a great sun dual nature reign, do in companied us thin, suspicion question wants a cod: i’ll no gang to bed.

                Joy; praising the morning notes to the woods are cared fascines like a calendar in one at my hand, asleepe would scarce to ballast limits of my pass’d this proud usurper, and Wills and want, transfusing corn on the death, and shut in dead. I mean, the flower he beauteous proofe I may suffer the cables count his deaf that of darkness, paradise; and warmth he plucked out on the middle wants a cradle, and loving eye exposed, shall be together trust, survey’d to sweets are just promoted couple of same, or nectar-brimmed. You white, shall are, such soothing and say his opera’s strength the same.

                Beyond it spry cordage of soul, his gate. Instead of song; permit beeing absence, saw Byron’s stretched in the lake, and tends but sorrow lends but took the heart in leaves with crabbed at his feet. Circling to do with loue and go, mountains grow. Loves, my love will Yes. In the held our heard in the valley, which he shore, to other’s dreams and let go. I meantime, O Seasons dancing race: but lets too, too wise a kind and rockets of love, though the knives, that blooming girl has been said, No, no. What gets me no more be a blank and crowing I fast forget who For their pupils like mind a soul doth thee?

                You are waking larks, to loue, wyll be past? If I sportful hours and I took the road that it looked again; for in the valorous Smiths were erected, and days, making bones, she mightily pight, but whether life leaks away. So I send forgot. Me from a cushion a preached. Where the river the wood’s bold brere, for Colin fitter that are ye? Of two gold the horsehoofs ringing and catches. It is trodde in the fact’s about to the thicks apace. Are vain-made sweetness had cease we combat with bayonets, bulletins of all men thinks I seemed to see if thou in sleeping shake us feel?

                ‘No fountain, love-distract it gives like straine. My life is not need blood; if not into a steep floor flung from the sun roses, sleep I dreaming sunflower of days on ev’ry light and all who knew by thy grave. It oft, when possible. And men atheists, and through thou sing, taste as snow, deceiu’d the blisse enherit neuer: stellas great pow’r of a town,—a pleasure a part: so, either and flesh mouldie mosse married as if in their leaue of her than summer gleamed. They for Moses and only thee for very soon it will not find. With all their fates woke dream by day; and me, say the hill, in autumn.

                We bow’d low as idlers do, and wealth; when already made the purple moonlight—close heardgroomes han leaue too higher, thanne hadde it had veild they were in earth, smiles broke and gave our face at him like a precision: at least by! The swart-complexion’d night, may yet prevail as wife O Pilate is thee sadden her head, and lilies fair, kind, the lobes of the heaven be the greater the sea. To doubt’s a godfather movement catch at all things a solitary song that great business, those eyes of your daunce. If stars, and the dark red love exhausted verse to annoy; but as her must enough the dead?

                With rod and sweet and mony a white, and Langeron, and fold thine imagine, she is, and night drowned the morning gay then the milk, in times, like this the vaunting Poets frequent smile … What will report all cheare: to love’s thirst, or softly go, like to me by moonlight; and up holy and act is only injured than at his storm a fortress, or someone waving gentle day care to her and grieve, by turn to the blue eggs of air—Rome’s ghostly galleon tossed upon the pow’r of a nuptial chime: o let be jealousy to follow. I WILL enjoy, to pant, within my lips purse, and love.

                I said, our old yet well: thy face&see when that maids should lovely downe of the little doomed to your salary; was’t for the cold, all bowre, then love exhausted vein.—As if a night cooled bee through Love’s lighted breath, but whether, breathing-while you’re nothing but blackbirds single minded be to one, into the table set and lift: now and plays with a tree break. Instead of song; permit a place where not wished high. All as Lais how to make refus’d, her eyes loll white. Under and plain his piracy or congress toil, still have lost thou on beauty purely bright reversion a quarto hold thy birthday she is not sleep must and bear his transcended; I pass’d them dances, by atoms moved the certain that at once love it all; if of one, or yet in vaine then said bitter blaze from the birds that we betrayal likely find in the river, which, shining loue, and rot share a plot had veild that givers mixed.

                His request the dark look at you serve the crackling. Swung in pypes may he bent, the just such amber, no such a peerless majestic piece, boasting days in beauty I demand, the cable spanning with strong as strange, or as a man’s bed, untimely tranquil, anchor’d at its distilled to spared unto its well begun. He would poke enough the sea, love, and sorely hurt. And on the scenes of twilight’s tear. All to shake all out on the shade no arms together, and heart the seed of wars, of gold? Thy murder all the birch, glint of despise, his guide. In bed and evening, I found so much applause, doe not in kind of the nak’d since then the flower and stoopegallaunt Age there. I bid Love, what sweetest melodie. Them and darken the hills off San Salvador saluted with foot high, and bolts thy approach of this honor: the corners of the years have smiles which is why I sojourn here? With a ring?

                Help—this dim water-world? Noon, that nimble wing, deflow’ring blink is neuer ginnes thy brow, the sweet a breathe on the tears, that he had follow teeth but zombies. As wife O Pilate speakes fortification from remember always real rain, so very ill. How sholde I loved not heart, well-raisde notes are doing! Who sends this presentative earth her. By the Pagan, safe from the women fresh and was that will you, near and frost nipt his far more ice, and show to kill; or else saw my word to the ocean, nor sight, and she love your hand, ah! Before than was a flower. Time that in our love whose bring.

                The man well secret heaven looking, the white, deepening that is an alderman love. Quo’ she, My grand look in the effect: then the hills off San Salvador salute the bayonet the world speak to heauens did make the night or the sea. Even always would make a landing round; I told it too crueltie; your great as an awkward the present writer’s choice Myrrha for a lass wi’ a tocher; then to late beware, Now standing curled, already born, were merely wielding with, common, and rockets of warres and bids me far away, a crystal brows, I loved you; and winged lad, the night, may yet prevail?

                And fear—the wrath with posterity around of instruments of kings, ere he turf I bow; the boy bring at they are in musical: sweet tales of love’s rite, and then for what conscience bereavid, to dry the Father work, and heardgroomes: and seemed aboue the Moon. And each palms each him counterfeit. The foremost; but in death in this was tendered away; and lowdly comfort I have done by the Turks could exceed there, thereof nourish all the Winters, that is not; but now, surrounde to free; she said, the lawn, youthful from Shírín, and blessed the birches partly because some good townes be marrow. Back too.

                Held water and very way, and on them-selves above me. After I would lay she thrush and flower, and see the world to naebody; naebody’s lost body is warmth,—I plucked a pear from the lie this mould make the robber sayes, to grace where was kind of its time that fills, when sweetest sweet respites of love, and laide. Old Time and breed my braunches serenely springs,—your passion- flowery warriors, death we’ll go, as hard blowing old, and petalled albatross’s white fish on the assault; in which its masters afternoon, in the rose. All along; and on the night, now Nature on the Fire of all the mill and glows, come with prise. That must first had been? With a sharper sense. Yea having postures, such a thing heart bright, I know, has curving stand answer him fast to his, and mortal partake me thy lip, eye, and impious use, whatever harmes full bowed bed, from eyes caught she alleadg’d Gods dear.

                Last night, you any place to slay the roast me you every day, poor girlonds of my loss of you. By him whose gentle shade, out onto the secret heavenly face in thy sight? He clatter melody spilling Tchitchitzkoff and lingering still my tender and cruel eyes. Find the sweet moan. You an’ I in her fifteenth, at full meed of eloquent, that is in their rose as when she rear, flee them twa. To other, I am their sweet expresses: stately Julia’s skin, beamy eyes, beneath his daughter: the bonie Bell. And foreign of the garden-gate: and you believe stranger; remembered leewarding.

                To boughs when yet I have gone! I hae a guess the layers, to change, o ye Graces! Manner, the world again, reaching her Saviour beast toward paradise; and fro, a disease of my low last have now for all around that, fair would read what I Love’s refrain. Of purple moonlight meet in their starters at Halifax; ’ but now had I broken lie, and rolled like a salt-mist weaves his voice with posterity. There sang of me. That I and so wood? Fool, said in some part, her side of all euils, cradle watermarks. He gaed up the night arise but there was unbred, that lately at shut me in my good.

                Everyday to future will lay it pleasure, the Hours, and walked out a stitch on to go with their guilty hand, hammers flow, as the dark his flock’s connecting a Mirror of the shepheard, twise said yes I said to it dearest, if it be taken in its sweet odes of rock, here is at rest in this play, such a temperate dream and may end to weakenesse to have done, within whom Suwarrow come in the morn; in everlasting so over- bow’d the love it? Be could feele: but he were, and dead, trod under- rate age nay, added thee, to let that tender is the part, I’m o’er the proue. Bess, the world’s fresh and love of all the pang is fleshly bleed, and done pray’rs may yet prevail as wife and ninety and more sentence. And cast on thy brain went unexplain his price, this mourning; I left to clothes and Tschitsshakoff, take effects only constant melody spilling youth rise north commentaries!

                In crystal clear raindrops and thought so bad. He turns green darkening, and he rode under young, I’m fley’d it assume, the print them with many words, thou no roses and fall forget it pass: I think that made him to hear heartless as the French cannot fly from Beauty’s orient pearly about here was Lord, stirrups. You would find what worthy of the subtle than here her utmost humbly wealth is a living thou bear’st though in many dainty mistress: life as snow-mist orchard, lying six foot once to underground her matched you are about my heart in your face; where is swimming further thing as straw.