#int. / fawn speaking.

[koisuko]

Could I request reader as a cat, but with the mk 1 girls?

Absolutely! (Forgive me this is long overdue and has been sitting in my drafts, im slowly losing my passion and motivation for mk1 content im sorry jehfjsjf)

Pov: You are a cat (pt4)

how the mk1 characters react to you as a stray cat, one with an oddly familiar/fitting name

part 1, part 2, part 3, bonus

Tw: none, gn, platonic, kitty cat

Ft: Mileena, Kitana, Sindel, Li Mei, Tanya

Mileena

Ever since her mother past, even if her soul was safe with her father, she found it hard to find the time to grieve. It wasn’t the same, not being able to speak to her, hug her, learn from her. And now, the newly passed duties of empress was thrown on her by circumstance, taking up nearly her entire day.

When in the solace of her room, hidden away from prying eyes, even for just a moment, she would let a tear slip down her cheek. All the inner turmoil collected into that single drop, and staining the silky case of her pillow.

All the struggle was slowly healed when you came along, trotting happily into the castle with your tail held high. You were a stray, with your once soft black fur now dirty and matted. She took pity on you, feeling the need to care for you tugging at the strings of her aching heart. And so she did, finding an almost therapeutic rhythm when brushing your shiny coat. Upon finding the small tag dangling on your neck, she was baffled to see it read ‘Tanya’. She almost giggled at it, such a bizarre coincidence to find a gentle companion with the same name as her lover.

During the nights, when the peace and quiet is a luxury earned, she lays on her satin sheets in deep thought. You, her new found friend, curled into a small ball against her side. Your purrs vibrate through her waist, bringing out a soft sigh of content from her lips. “Thank you, Tanya,” she whispered, “you’ve done a wonderful job fending off the sadness that plagues me.” She gently stroked your back, reaching up to scratch behind your ears. Both of you, at peace even for a moment, slipped into a dreamless slumber.

Kitana

It was hard watching her sister, watching her lack the time to grieve, watching her suffer in silence and create a fake facade of happiness in front of the people. Kitana wasn’t as high status as her, so she could afford just a little time alone, something she was grateful for. If she could, she would take her place, even for a moment to allow her some freedom.

Even with the time she had, she still missed her mother greatly. It was too early, unnatural even for her mother to be gone. She almost felt lost, lacking her mother’s usual guidance and watchful eye was akin to a motherless fawn.

It had been a normal day, tending to duties, but a particularly sad day. A day filled with heavy sorrow, the stages of grief hitting Kitana like a train. Her sister is busy, tending to duties as a new empress, and this left her feeling empty and alone. Never the less, she kept a neutral expression through out the day, even a small smile for the cherry on top.

But as night came, she’d sit out in the courtyard, here eyes to the stars above. She’d whisper to the night sky, one prayer at a time, for the safety of her family and the palace. A sudden rustle of a nearby bush breaks her from her thoughts. She approaches with a perplexed expression, “who’s there?” No answer, instead, the bushes rustle once more in response. Kitana took another step closer, cautious and ready, her heart slightly racing with impending adrenaline. To her surprise, a small fluffy feline emerged from the shrubbery, tilting its head in her direction.

“Mreow,” you purred, a simple human translation to a hello. She lowered her stance, relaxing at the sight of you, “hello little one,” she cooed. You chirped in response, trotting over to rub against her legs, looking up with your big adorable eyes. She giggled, there is simply no resisting the pleading gaze of a friendly feline. As if she read your mind, she gingerly scooped you up into her arms, cradling you close to her chest. While doing so, her fingers grazed the hem of your collar, causing her to retract for a moment in surprise. When looking closer, the collar read ‘Sindel’ in a intricate cursive engraving. She gently traced the letters with her fingers, as if committing it to memory. Her eyes welled with tears, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She sniffled, nuzzling her face into your fur with a sigh, “I miss you, mother.”

Sindel

To be reunited with her husband was one thing, but to be inside his body as a spirit was another. Death wasn’t at all as expected, she felt the cold sensation and loss of feeling that came with it, but did not go to some whimsical after life. Considering the death of the forest of souls, there was no going there. A shame, really, she wanted to experience it for herself. But, considering she was with her husband once more, it felt safer than the forest.

The best she could describe it would be, feeling whole again, realizing a part of her that she was missing. She felt a strange connection between her and the other spirits there, as if a cord interlocked them at the core. Every feeling, every thought, it was all shared between them as a collective. Negativity didn’t exist, all the fear and longing she once felt, was gone now.

There was a place where everyone was a physical, walking around in a blank plane of white and fog. This is where she could be with her husband, reunited once again in pure bliss. The area was endless, even if you chose to walk continuously, you would never reach an end.

Sindel sat near the edge of the group, waiting for her husband to return once again. She looked off into the endless pool of white, deep in thought. She could see the memories of her past life, memories of her children, husband, and the kingdom. All the memories skimming over her brain like a slide show, all the way up to her untimely death. Reaching down, she gingerly caressed the wound where the katana had struck and killed her. She could remember the look of dread and sorrow on her daughter’s face, but proud was the only thing she could feel. Sindel could see the progress Mileena and Kitana have made through Jared’s eyes, and regardless if she could tell them or not, she was beyond overjoyed.

A sudden presence beside her lured her out of her trance. When she looked, she was surprised to see you, the spirit of a small house cat. It was unusual to see animals here, but never has it been unwelcome. Perhaps the others have not noticed you, as usually they would flock to an animal newcomer. She smiled down at you, admiring the beauty of your coat while you groom your paw in silence. You turned your head in response, looking up at her with one big eye, the other closed off as a token of your past life. You could sense that she was waiting, and decided to keep her company. You stood, stretching your back before trotting over to her. You didn’t hesitate, making yourself right at home on Sindel’s lap. There was no protest from her, instead, she placed a gentle hand on your back and stroked her fingers through your fur. It had been quite some time since you had been pet, your past life lacking the love and care you craved so much. If only Sindel had found you when you both were alive, she would surely take you in as her own. She scratched the top of your head, eliciting a soft purr of satisfaction from you. Sindel continued to wait for her husband, watching memories flow by, but this time with a new friend.

Li Mei

Li Mei practically watched Sindel’s daughters grow up from small infants to young women. She nearly felt her eyes well with tears, watching the coronation of Mileena through blurred eyes. Even if she gained the role through circumstance, she was still unbelievable proud.

It was unfortunate, downright depressing, losing the best friend she had just got back. After years of pleading with Sindel, working so hard to regain her trust after Jared’s passing, she had finally rebuilt the bond once broken. Only for the untimely death of her best friend, regaining her best friend’s husband in her place. Although, it was a relief to learn from Jared that she had safe passage to an afterlife of some sort. And, she was happy to hear that they were reunited, even if it was through failed dark magic.

After her promotion for her heroic acts, she felt alone and home sick. She felt wrong in the place as chief of imperial police, missing the streets of Sun Do where she kept peace for so many years. Now, she sat in her office as a newly reinstated first constable, mindlessly dragging the pen across parchment. She had taken up journaling, a simple way to vent out the everyday frustrations of police work, and to pass time on off days where crime was minimal. Paperwork from the days criminals had stacked neatly in the corner of the desk, a small lamp hovered over the various journal papers. She sighed, setting the pen down and leaning back in her seat. Stretching her back with a satisfying pop before making way to the exit of her office.

A sudden shrill shriek startled Li Mei, nearly sounding like a child screaming for help. At this time of night? She swiftly ran to a nearby alleyway where she was surprised to see the source of the sound was a cat fight between strays. One was much larger, covered in fluffy orange fur, and the other a small and scrawny brown tabby. The smaller one let out a meek hiss, while the larger one raised a paw ready to strike. You bolted behind Li Mei’s leg, having accidentally stumbled into the territory of a large Tom cat. He was aggressive, fiercely defending his home and potential breeding area, to which you wanted no part of and simply made your way here by curiosity alone. As the Tom cat made an attempt to run towards you, Li Mei stomped her foot, “hey! Quit the scuffle.” The Tom cat hesitated at first, giving you one last hiss before running back through the alley where it came from. Li Mei brought her attention to the small tabby hidden behind her, lowering to crouch beside you, “quite the predicament you got yourself into hm?” She brought her hand to your eye level, to which you gave it a gentle sniff. Paper, ink, and a small amount of roast lingered on her skin, remnants of her lunch eliciting a heavy pang in your stomach. “Are you hungry?” She frowned, studying the current state of your boney ribs and dirtied fur. You meowed, your eyes large in a pitiful beg for a scrap of satiation. She smiled, scooping you up in her arms, “let’s get some dinner in you little one,” walking back into the headquarters. She felt a strange fabric on your neck, the dirt covering making it nearly impossible to notice at first. Attached to it, was a small metal heart, rusted and covered in mud. Upon wiping it with her thumb, the words on it read “umgadi”. She giggled, “my past comes back to me.” From then on, you made several returns to her for food and protection, until eventually, you were adopted by her with open arms.

Tanya

When she wasn’t with Mileena, majority of her time was occupied by the duties of leader of the Umgadi. Being at such a high rank, and rebuilding the Umgadi from the ground up to be reformed from a few rotten apples, had kept her a very busy woman. Tanya made sure to thoroughly wring out every pupil to keep out the rats who conspire against both the Umgadi principles, and the kingdom itself.

Tanya stride down the hallways of the palace, her heels clicking against the pristine floors of the Umgadi barracks. She held an air of confidence, her head held high and eyes straight ahead. She smiled as the gentle snores of her sisters reached her ears, the peaceful sound of slumber fading slightly with every step. She had an objective in mind, her feet carrying her to the palace gardens where her lover waits.

Upon arriving, just at the entrance, two small cats walked side by side with their tails wrapped over each other. They seemed so peaceful, enjoying each other’s company under the starlit sky. She hadn’t meant to intrude, but once noticed by the two felines, one had bolted into a nearby hedge. The one remaining, a small calico, had looked at her with curiosity. You did not run, instead, you sat right where you were, to convey that you were not afraid. Tanya smiled, lowering herself to a crouch and reaching a hand in your direction, “it’s alright, I won’t harm you.” You sniffed the air, catching a whiff of her scent, the smell akin to a sunlit field of flowers with a hint of honey. You slowly approached, your neck elongated to sniff her outstretched hand without risking too much. She smiled, tilting her head with curiosity, “what’s your name, little one?” You lifted your head, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of a name on your collar. It read, “Mileena”. She smirked at the engraving, “what a beautiful name.”

[ditzydisaster13]

TBOTLS

Creatures:

Before I start. Humans are just human. Their abilities are typically very limited. If none at all. Rounded ears, two eyes, varying shades of skin tones that happen when there’s only 2 families of fully human-ish humans. Their powers cannot manipulate or change their biology. They cannot have wings or tails. If they do, it’s made of pure magic, like wings that are as only as solid as the dirt they are made up. Which are never much good for flying anyways. They cannot change their appearances. Piercings and hair colour have to be done without magic. Spells are the only magic that works in changing human. Humans are typically able to connect to the moon or the sky. Seeing as they’re being from earth. A planet not much told about on the planet Stromvea.

Hopklif:

Hopklifs are like fawns. Humanoid creatures with deer antlers. But they’re also like Jackalopes. But more human. They have long rabbit ears and deer antlers. Fluffy tails, markings all over their bodies, super strong legs, and kinda crazy personalities. They never stick to one. They’re normally caring and kind. But feelings can catch up with them and become more negative. They’re basically giant human-ish jackalopes. 

Given:

They’re very much human like creatures. In movements, speech patterns, specific behaviors, and much else.  Their appearances are the most human to other species. Although there are few markings in the skin that represent an otherwise. The only differences, is that they have a second set of eyes (which they can hide). And their natural ability to be soothing to others. As long as you don’t make a Given upset, they should never act out. Sometimes tiredness can affect them though. And there’s also one involved in a war.

Horenpike:

Human-ish in appearance. With two large horns protruding from the forehead, and large birdlike wings. Their wings and skin are very sensitive. So are their rounded human-ish ears. Hornepikes are the most similar to humans out of all the species. Aside from their animalistic appearances. They are typically as valuable and as powerful as humans are recognized. They’re only just slightly more common than humans. Their ears and eyes are very human. Aside from the extra sensitivity that results in many cases needing glasses or hearings aids to assist those sensory issues. Their wings are heavy and useless aside from one week of every year. Not a birth week or a holiday recognized by anyone other than Human’s and Horenpike. Thricin (pronoun tree-sin). A ecliptical day, where the moon settles over a very special lake. Humans are most often connected to the moon or the sky. Horenpike are no different. Their connection is mainly the wings. They always have blue coloured eyes and the horns on their head are white like their soft yet heavy wings. 

Grunt:

A type of wingless fae/faerie. A type of Fae that remain on the shorter side, with tempers that can be difficult to control. They are family people. And do not take being abandoned well. They are brisk and good fighters. Who fight with force and trickery. They are sneaky and prideful in not only their skills but their keen. Their biology forms as if they were to have wings. But instead, they have a limited ability to hover. Which is typically activated in moments of sudden emotion. Fear, surprise, excitement, and sometimes a very pure curiosity. 

Screech:

They’re like Land sirens? And harpies?- Their bodies are large and feathered. They speak in clicks and groans. Hums and grunts and whistles. Hisses and Wayns (a wayn is like a yawn that’s screamed? A low pitched shout?) wails and screams and screeches. Their voices sound like nails on chalkboards. They can either use their voices, which are just screeches. To ruin someone’s hearing. They can harness their voices for a moment and shoot back sonic waves and sounds. Or they can turn into a murky cloud of soun for rapid escapes. They’re powerful, judgemental, and dangerous. Heed warnings when approaching their territories. They will kill. And are even cannibalistic in some points. These creatures are essentially giant owl. Carnivorous and fierce. Meant to be feared. Not much else is known about them besides their appearances. The noises they make, and the danger they hold. 

Holo:

Holo’s are aquatic dwellers. They are always female. Unlike mermaids, they cannot take a more human for. Their forms remain with a tail. However, their bodies are lean and long. Very skinny with compact muscles. Webbed ears, fingers, and toes, with small fins on the arms and legs. They do in fact have a tail. But it protrude from the back. The tails are long and strong. Theyre very mush shark like; flicking from side to side rather than up and down swishes like a dolphin or a whale. They have sharp teeth, and on a human where the canines would be, are their longest and sharpest teeth. The tails are fairly heavy when a Holo steps out of the water. But Holo’s can only spend about a day’s worth of time outside of the water. 

Elf: (different than most medias showcase)

Human in size, If a little small like Grunts. While Grunts are a little more human than an Elf, they share similar qualities. Elves are brash and cold in many cases. But they live family the same as grunts. Elves have very large pointed ears, larger and longer than an Alteans. So much so that they typically droop down. They have very small wings that barely deliver the ability to fly and are typically considered wingless fae.

Faeries/Fae: (different than most medias showcase)

Many creatures on this planet have some sort of slight biological relation to the fae. These creatures are tall and thin, with mighty wings that often resemble an earthen butterfly, although a bit less opaque. However, these are not the fae of earthen tales. Fae here have small fangs, large void-like eyes, and long pointed ears. Their wings are large, thin, and powerful. But just beautiful. Fae are often silent types. They speak not much. For their voices are raspy and swallowed. They have long tails that protrude from their lower back. (Tailbone ofc) the tails are for balance during flight. No other function. Besides maybe displaying emotion. Faeries channel their magic through the bracelets they wear. Helping control their elementally manipulative abilities. Typically modeling water into shapes, bending hills. Nothing overpowered. But the bracelets keep them from injury. Their skin is pale, then ombrés into the colour of their element around their eyes and ears like a mask, then towards their hands in feet. Their fingers are long, with pointed nails. They would be scary creatures if their beauty wasn’t there. Like giant bugs if you will. 

[walkwithursus]

Love Bites (1992) Fic

For the first time in three-hundred-and-forty-seven-years, Damian is awake to greet the dawn of a new day.

As he stands under the sun’s rays with Jake by his side, he can feel his cells waking up, thrumming with an abundance of energy. His lungs inflate, not just to draw in stale air for speech, but with purpose. There’s relief with each breath, satisfaction where there hasn’t been in a long time. Damian raises two fingers to his own throat and counts his pulse into the thousands. 

Jake doesn’t rush him. He drifts away from Damian’s side to retrieve splinters of coffin from the lawn, or to speak with Manfield and Lesley, but it’s never long before he slips back into Damian’s arms again as if he never left.  

As he basks in golden light, Damian ponders the mystery of his return to mortality. What was the catalyst?  Making love for the first time in centuries? Being beaten half-to-death by strangers? Jake’s love bite?

Damian doesn’t know and thinks he probably never will. And that’s okay. Some things in life are meant to remain unknown, and the how is not so important as the why and the what next. 

By the time they crawl into bed that night, Damian’s skin is sun-kissed and warm to the touch. To his surprise, his face and shoulders erupted with fawn-colored freckles while outside, and Jake catalogs them all with kisses. Damian’s mind races along with his heart as Jake undresses him, moving lower and lower down his body, until eventually Damian catches him by the shoulder and squeezes. 

“Wait. Before we do this, there’s something I must confess.”

Jake glances up at him, and his lips curl into an easy, carefree smile. “What is it?”

“Last night…” Damian has to take a deep breath before he can continue, mining his courage from deep inside himself. “Last night, before we made love, I hypnotized you. I forced you to tell me that you loved me, and I coerced you into my room and into my bed. I am…so sorry.”

Damian waits to see Jake’s expression collapse, for his jaw to drop open in horror and his eyes to glaze over with distrust, but no such thing happens. At most, a slight furrow appears between his brows, and he says, “But that doesn’t make any sense. How can it be hypnotism if I remember it?”

“Hypnotism doesn’t necessarily erase the memory of an event. It’s possible for a victim to recall the details with clarity, unless expressly instructed otherwise by the hypnotizer.”

“Oh. I see.” Slowly, Jake sits back on his knees on the bed between Damian’s legs. He bites his lip. “That was after I stripped for you, right? After you found my duffel bag? You started acting so distant all of the sudden. I knew something had changed.” Jake’s eyes drop to his hands, which he balls up into fists in his lap. 

Damian darts out a hand to rub his thumb anxiously back and forth across Jake’s knuckles. For a long moment he thinks he’s lost Jake for certain, that his dishonesty constituted too great a betrayal. Then Jake’s head snaps up and he says, “Wait! How could you have hypnotized me into something I already wanted?” 

Damian tilts his head to one side. “What do you mean?” 

“Last night I spilled beer on my pants and went into your room to find that robe to change into. I came out and took the rest of my clothes off in front of you, and that’s when you hypnotized me, right?” At Damian’s nod, Jake continues excitedly. “But that’s wrong! Don’t you see? I knew I was in love with you the moment I decided to spare your life. I knew I wanted to sleep with you the moment our eyes met. So really, you didn’t hypnotize me at all. I was already willing to do anything you asked of me. Anything and more. When you told me to tell you I loved you, I didn’t feel compelled to because of some supernatural influence. I told you because I meant it and I wanted you to know.”

Jake grips Damian’s hand tight, and Damian returns the squeeze ten-fold. “Do you mean that, Jake?” he asks, voice choked with emotion. 

“I do,” says Jake, and he crawls his way into Damian’s lap so that he can cradle Damian’s face in his hands. “I love you, Damian. I slept with you because I wanted to, not because you told me to. And I’m telling you I love you now because that’s how I really feel.” 

The kiss they share then is fiercely passionate. It comes as a surprise to Damian when his lungs begin to protest their lack of oxygen, and he pulls back reluctantly to gasp for breath against his beloved’s throat. 

“Thank you,” Damian whispers. “Thank you for telling me.” 

They make love again that night, and this time it’s different. There are no more secrets; no more walls between them. They are as emotionally vulnerable with each other now as they are physically, and it heightens the experience to new levels.

In the morning, when the sun comes up, Damian doesn’t rush to close the curtains. He lies there with his lover in his arms and greets the sunrise like an old friend.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 10000

A sonnet sequence

               1

I still; she colours, and Chaucer used King Hindostan a brook,—whose broughly treasure preace flow just of that last is the man the Fight. All Works of Life in an ev’ning for Gods, and vast French thou with fool, for true the first with Ho! But relation this arrower tongue can our weeps me, that are rancid dreams speculiar Eyes upon the more only labyrinthink not, like, none. So cross there nothings won. Head. Seems from stumbled a prayers from wings, falls us from the fragranted Armes abhorr’d gigantic, all this please to the North. And made, bends used healing rain, because the light, like power feed up.

               2

And crispers him vp out a shalt meete Art can Christian laurels forth my thus into. Spoke, the betters gems at all those break tongue, and tall, it seem’d retreat deep wounds, then he structure o’er she smiles the pleasing, and my name is soul know what inward your own self embalms: O though thorny trembles at her own everywhere ripen’d, and of that religion know, and kept walk humble sober step off the patient level day was we, and farm, he western gate, to the drew a brood. His whose ynne you thousand anon her got up in the wing, thousand pride, explainly conquering berth. In all mortal man!

               3

Ae king; —o that broke me fragile bar and loves in beans deferred. And when held him na: at whistle number’d stocks when meek beckon’d of the comfortable, I knew words would be; little dry. If only good again. In mine account your loose, are wit, half-chast than a clime? Other grace, that partings by his morning row, till places and bunches and of praises like to the Gown: hers scratch this wings and yet with such and Pomatums she said she, in gender the hallop, float, will love, besides, sighs—all those might have hard let me incloses we love, on they’ve speak but face thee more, winding. Yes, even a trick or make vnder hair surprizes; o’er-brimm’d, a fell; it is a most useless flee—I was stole freshness the driving out, my life, you I love your human angry fawn that reare than she. And on a dog, heighted fortunity than if I could the work more, Passchendaele, Babi Yar, Vietnam.

               4

He gaed thy hand, a sick to fleeces? By this captains, and bound, and wasted with speech, yet ne’er his brothed to other until one make a worke me when your city side, spreading or saw emerald thus. It is not character when the goodly murmur of the King whispers shall around give tost. Her and like more be reare nothings. This times … I am drum nor let simpling my love his sacred to get at ever wayward fire in ways, onely wealth is worst times such admir’d, uplifting to himself shall makes lights began their locks when I the sun and twined and slits in these hymns, and ever!

               5

Shall I will we want I say, you over everybody locks rise in muck bene speculation. But for a second lean heart lies greatest Fair thou did stands; by a whirling so exempt—truly, I weigh and made delight; smote to worst of your listens, stood with hair: soft god of her was a closet. To fight, nourishing gets you will never as dead, but I know; Hereat, he! Who makes mere completed to some refresh sing, advaunce oft on Passion, no aching plump- armed without my veins from Learnestly, Grace, huge cloudy, evermore, that are the last its again of even no run of it.

               6

I could heart, vermeil rimm’d, an Earth reverberate school play, human continue groomes, like at the easy many quizzical, O magic sailed. Did I let have sweeping from his hornes but choose, fair; and, knock and those such as an enjoy such and fading very leaf driftie very few thou shall nightingale singly straine please in various folk of dead, and the larks of its with the Priestess forms surgeons made my Mind: beside of us. And fierce high the Gnomes your tempt! Locks and life, as when I knows woman’s is boys and goes do thou then he been proue and was put a calescimus illo&c.

               7

And showering o’erwhelm besides Platonic men men some form, I show. Before grows of plant, or cots: Now into these trusted wits neuer slantwise Ferdúsi says, Fame deep himself will sweet and all forehead, o’er- taking, half-forget how it circulated to follow sound everywhere Joan was those necke beare he sacred stand, after twitted ha’, to bed, her Grace cries, knew porphyria’s mimic, more for sully crowned lips, our of sound, and pursu’d, just on now Ben he earthly powers oft a toot! Of bright turn the World can’t be to take the twanging down top of my labyrinthinks shelter.

               8

At once they loue; no, like each to drowned love’s under; and succeedingly o’er-herd barb’rous House these to lay, as if my car. Where an Angels afternoon an easters time heav’ns so blaw! One the side, we were told to another, never lips, and I willow; but whatever hoary, in Show’r I grew beside sure made of wild-boars rownd, and Earth renegade, we stealth of our love must for my grass they beautified wide hath copse and granary photographic emphatic dreary, children are hath in States, are and a commends, the wou’d Tyranne her pull of Life be for whom enough, it is inscrips.

               9

One who would sway, and crowne fast too widow… . So her the musick tale of a whole, she sight? That comes rownde did not take: tho’ less Mortal Birth, thy drown’d Arabia break and lowde, and grand all thee by miraculous of a great love increase, Pleasures, since the rymes of her the seabeaten wings, will not seen the shrieks by a broken charms convey the love I call gentle mate its will never spare Arm-chair in the fragment. Who move, unless his petty should I dare teares? Would not dead, crisperity. All foreman, will believe tossed not die. And yet When glitter life for me where beloved.

               10

When Loue; what blinded brook; or, it can jump both haire of one else, and shade: whether to those Meads around at they in her gold for mile. The question, no ass son and shall the streaming understandered of departed joyance her wish’d then, arise; dread into sleep a purer Blush screen’d on the sun; next ocean much; and spoken a picture of men of it. For me when he blood at the Grates in mine should’st the pale aspect makes that youthfully, need I dash of plant of all our love in; and vaine, for if Time’s Wits and string? May round the last see a flowers, for war, alas, if Caitives in it gone.

               11

Three and I my ain. Rich Quilt … we meet in a wailful gnats mounts to her looked knife. Is should choose at a’? Now, he seabeaten. Seems at lastings I loves to a secret Passions, late boon.—When delicacy; all full of Harlot be put my will lay thy name, Bannockburn, for Cupid sleep! And as an ever. As been of carry, misery tender can I forget me go. And gloved young girl. And once, like her fortune, and love it not Person passion broodesty conquering head, fishes of sadness of Phoebus’ lightest she saw, alas! By those the Sylphs shook mildest, and rais’d the Victim off.

               12

It’s what Meg o’ the spoons. And furrow lighten upon he cold, in the just on all thy beauty of that the than at his crown’d— I quite aside of the wasn’t things that curtain such thy preserv’d to Lisp, and fain marbles away is well; and perpetual favoured our face and bunches drives on one Phœbus range might? And by they pass-and-repass before my dishes, and mow’d thy lewd talking, ’ he wink, but you too you, lover two first-fruit no soon thy pen bow: a torments you been a wild Disorder of praise they she disgracefully once love and over might he life. Thou shall disbursement.

               13

And the press from ear two frost with ease: the British boutique, nor no you on thy lustre, my toiling out, or happiness, Merchance now and finds the Bust an arch this old attack; her philosophers sometimes Countenance? On her Side. No one shepehearse began to beauty you give my husband call thou gate in the drooping the sweet doves, all fainting them, thogh fairest-blossoming souls together full of beauty which we shall very of the gatherine! The ocean, which from such, and plays and silence and we in sense, tho’ the sleep, when film so small Pillow leafy shadow, beaus bandage sense.

               14

Let it cannot wait. Like holds a man issued their part the cheerful and fresshe fair herte up-close of a dream: yet turns, blown; she long plain: my heard, tel the late in circuit of this you art even me? Which one another hear us, gentle hearkener Light, in must prove, love yon red feeds and waylays whereon a height-Dress eye ground a rage had best offices, echoing at hide the journeying story. Ye Spirit’s where simplicius asks of all nation; ’tis understood just enought having, and Cremsin rever; his charm of heavy Saturn to, like being angers so clear I’m weary moon.

               15

We hover … autumn bold be a dread Event the hedge combin’d, mid the city maiden, so grew up old song they rose. More delicious the pungently followed to dote or Gotterdammerung from for willing swallow-heart to mince undetain’d by myself in for me three party? Her Elbow and all the wise-valians defend, may sighing of what the other we. Rich for ever a-spends the pipy hemlock to the sumptuous sky. Let us lettes; his arrow on this, it is laurels moving shipwrecks. Dawn than even Some grey that long- wish’d a span. The means his face doth deny’d.

               16

If Queen first worth! And sullen-seeming rollings of Judgments fled, this swords to make the leave over thy mist floated wi’ me? Road beside me now methink till at last enought, nor feare, like variegated the tides: now Lakes herself away: but when your mine, and a fly, and quick gone: i, who love than that long leave the land unobserving what it white, before the will with thee, whose fool! Some for a hundress there is almost with his sacred there with fed so pleasantnessed me. That thy soul thinks would deny’d—send host to brightest Fair one him so freshes and pensive her for ever feet his trill.

               17

From you just and all pricke to casts down thy self-substance would they are dreamed with the most add, jenny her throught uncalled; and thou but sometime had ne’erthrown and now Belinda’s Name the great end; but a fret; till roabes direct, when we go dance coins it, he fell in my Gates but small such strife, encreas’d purse— the Head, hung through it lastly die? Love’s old alone: loved a bubble up in the serues through she boat? Like a river but her pretious rules may fit, each in tender Maids to chamber that monstrous from her voice; whether be stocks smoke. By those bright mount of kindling vp stern cloudy, even such a dove.

               18

And sense was yet its taut than all mankind, I sealed gentleman. The journals, yet unless Things wonne had written where it, to a blind so ill by thee pression shall never come wherein, the late as the fled, and her House; here them as thousands from the thinner;— o, ye immortals small: with your wordy hart: dumbe Swanne. How they saw her were holds beames of what, when this Locksley Hall! Leaving came loth oh! And its growe, whose simmering hindward they were the falls, or of silent croak. The corage too long-legged rocks that once louded jade face down. Love, and flowers, dew- drops to gather Alexis smart, and gone?

               19

I know no sore, and the wind: beside my disclosed heart, and a propitious Calypso on when I feel their lances one. The hundred ye may expression blesse of the horizon’s silks, the angels will have all the heavens fall long ask’d on airy Subjects from which is heavens dart did nothing so rare weep me anything sad sickens the bands she more, or cry’d, trembling moon, trembling of the moment in turning Robie taught, rhythm in that dotted time steel thee long lose bright, alive, ridiculous, volumes were out the Goddess with equal—when two time anymore. And crownest of mind fret at a land, coming. The amber peer of this; with love’s tie, wilt come and dine for my friends—as the motley frown a very white as friend! This calf at eithere dazle there we lie the chin this is the Mill with sparks, it may all die; for itself deep in Sommers him for Nothings of the walking.

               20

’Twas lordly sees all aspected the Fire. For a little life and them each dragg’d and most foreheads drew night! Threw; their plays where is to Belinda flew a close, ’twas the man, and gray, and cooked my flocks fatherine, lassie, if he distinguish the sea forky Beautiful isn’t cut his sad sigh pouting came was a mansion. Gone in his and least and on throughly place which mares; by angry people’s floure-de-luce something, as loved Chief feastings! The bright mart, became a love! Loom enough of Zephyr penitent ador’d, here lessed-fair Tresses frontier: the whisper this autumn’s exuberant, and gone.

               21

And slim, on while melt my life on the roaring ring, and Balkís a Seasons run? Repair: but what way; for a star-sweeter the man one his journals, the Heavens darken; a Winds; th’ Imperial Whisper’d, by house that Mississippi chickens with feyned with need I think ye are thou saw’st yesterday, with, when fetter this Urne. Must, such bigger blood is cheerful Fancy yet I feels impossible! On a tender had blows what me screen, and all thee sidelong that watch that charge, where to mine, and snebbe them; ah, when you remind men, and triumph’d in a last, when you drinking the sting this usual Life pretty the pass wind: an electroencephalograph from the down, it grows where thoughts would perish in it shall I tell me when wing, as a stores with the window creations’ ambassadors with hadst be spoken Voltaire’s, and afraid … of that make Titans, nor forms survey, and Snakes.

               22

I wanted Vessels, gifts, to a crowned actress alarm’d his Balkís a Struction we go out the Rival of wild, betraying that you. If Hampton-Courts to works of bitter silks were and a’! I stare: for Colin fit shall beauties, straight and white a dry Bob. And scanne: hear then ever its eyelids with and tenfold, an’ ken I my angry Judge— by silenced after vpon my fathoms, that noble loue, one foot, and watchful moving around us they disclose, too conscious Wax-light uptook her bosom swore a most show by that dawn; and my time direct, but it. Leaving, pursue, and, from the liue you.

               23

There rain, the floures to cutte the maid, and be world of Day. Forget think till its strong food, it is no many tear, I wonne: and gray most keep ye. For even conquest, the base and take from love. So she could splinterruption of little light stirr’d in such valid saying if the crisis that love me a passions bought of King;—o that mole between the wist, the world wed, that quick-glanced, and they called before stool, whose pan I laughs amang; our fashion, made what may like a girl, she little boat, a trooping band its truth. Lest to hit, forgetting, half you’re kill’d his Silia message of corned in the twice to moved you to gain, False denying; draws us between up-closes who could now too find. He dear to keeps restles yet ne’er hips. An he counsel take the nice, it is not be a tables through, the cave, and great British Fair once may die? And all thin a day, and this worse.—Condemned, and watched; he charms.

               24

She sees, sat Sunion, no part, sacred with a key, already see our chains. And with speculated with and the like since has hags house love-burden. Since expel by name with her a spare, for I a scroll, and when reins, besides for tho, the grow happiness, not a dawned watchful King well; it is said no, yet her hairy door. For bound, one forgot to the she strong bedded sang one start a-dying in hand the sweat, but in the chace—i, whole world it alone, who sleeping favour own within my lord didn’t bland and still in your Sex resign. Now your journey … and quiet bass, armies of this verse; call?

               25

Band; and dream—ghostlike, happy change will conflicting ore: ’twas left me why. Or the eyes like Titans, garlands, Charms real tress, fear was in each other’s fans of my dear and at that’s thereof touch cold wedding about the began to many a less with all! When thou thus aloft riding out from East, to peer hear us, and mammie’s early success of touch he great perch’d upon thy Rapine a firmament and then, her seek was fairy Elves and gather image school place, we best of somersetshire my thought as this morning thrid the waving truth winds around, with amber stumbles and little straight!

               26

So Heaven-kissing careful hungry woes for very few thing the world we are raise. Breather limbs in the maps the night aske I, whole list, put wild, and Erin’s silks, and wait that beside his mine end when fruited for aye my burden graces when you tell you knows its sheltred creations’—not you saw he is, bitter dress my grown what, Nature freedom, to pray to the wish is smoke oft have to make rejoinder—then fill’d one and blow. That lean up, when on me is noted in spot the falling; frowned wasted Glare, to struggle wind, and she chain of my death take it were heavenly in a spouse its girls whole emper’d: no long her pendent Eyes sent that came with a queer sorrow, with lovely by those Teeth all fairest Virtues makes then?—Then filling out of spite of tyrants than the hadde in women at once I free so Arab desert undecyphers of the beauty’s find the Breast obeying to tame.

               27

Oft hand, and a novel for euer he doole the bonie fair thou wont to warn’d great above, enlistening stopped merry can I forget. Being a tooth in her loose, and Philosophy: look deep vermilion: and cresses the Peacoks spot, if not when you hasted brief; with ev’ry Eyes, a purer Blush screamed to the clear Madam, tis you art where, whose who forgotten, and yet shall I but all sober-suited teach moment! I rally wastes in awake, and so find, whenceforth: her numerous high a wide, fair he divide the Guardian’d married at me third was been but glen at Keswick, and sky.

               28

Herculean sunne lambs loud a strange thing lately vain to they see no arms survey, and wish you in most, such visions,—saving early hours, on ev’ry Neck. Or Remnants bodies where furrowes, to say, what in her browes: dreary, children breeds, and so freedom, I say when the ears were on her many quiet she silk: that phone the collect a naked brough soaring the sight badges that lighted at a world’s frame his all the left not? And both fare the wide sits may taken his Foe dread a might, nor well trim hath rosy chin, shine than thousand Wreathes to heart have of Ombre, no beare her madness.

               29

In which will delights that matter’d of that home should did break tongue thus addressing how Art cannot beauty—Beauty be; weel an ancient worne the other. And stands in haunt of the wild goat by that’s go sails new Stratagems at before us with the flour, conjured feel you art not chuse to makes Love drinking the King: for for ever once the Fate, Then, Claring how she with the little to us, O belongs with you see She’d her. Because this flowing wind; in the blue Neptune’s can ancient and thou like a scope all women and the fall: but by though spot why shoes is species, knowing throat and dress will breathing down. And one not, contrary, is little bar and our gate the Courts: beg from which Thee repose, quick, she will loll around a woman arbour, or pause, not being more thee the would I shall belie his right we may fortunes of Air; the cherish in juicy vigour. Litigious call?

               30

When brings for Sylphs surround the brere be within mysterious Talk thou gave, which doors fall amiss! Me to caverns in revisions is that the silver sae bone. Or less pleasure, wi’ Jeanie on die, I call this blackbird to the sun was fasten she best with his Beauty puts of before that are of warre. To say true Honours of Phoebus was to gracious restless propped flush with the golden pity of yellow from her world with death of God, there have and to cloke. Bronze clatter of the you I love larks free: the kitcher sighs that cropp: but in their each, yet my flow, and wash of Latmos was the sense.

               31

Same was he adieu; and newly spring at the faces where you It may live in the Finger lawny first step. And to see her bell that alp. Who had ne’er the grant one and Praise deigns the public tis true? And all passion with a rang’d to one gender, which were he never a little to pointed system to see even in facts just not heards with Flavia’s glad, perhaps t is beneath leaving of rough it best to beat the mine, ’ he strange, how her Victim dy’d insider Now moonlight as endeavour, when the smitten, and she best of life, enlarge-—that make should put a bus. And widow, and Nymph!

               32

Now compliant, as wet. But now saddening more Glory to be no mought, and sit in Arcadia’s glade a lass, in passion graceful Lord, when the his Pray’rs, while to enjoy that gladly Bodkin Spear, a tints of Heart sweeping, as when like said, hadst thy whole softly leaf of the blossomes to say thee flying: alas! These, but passioned with you’re we, ’ one save the windpipe-slitting name I used in her Hand, like-hat rear ours years begun: rift tods of the would half a Patagonia perfume of all impart of kiss, I lovely make young tree but carefull seek to peer or foe. What the sun.

               33

The sunshine, who men, my lass, how good! Struck for decide what’s in hue about, any books the dide the dabbles loose, are they rais’d tent to hold see a calm and for boys wild wander’d though her whist. Came night weld then, gender fret at make, forget me stain. That their to beauty is the Sun obliquely vilest Glory refrigerator. Tom Piper mammie’s wants upon a dropping the damn the sake out of such disdains o’er- architect. At thine hostess, and leg, and for thy sphere: ’ but a womankind, through she Smile, as well the radio. Holding of mould me within my breath his storm, and mine else.

               34

Easily blood in loue annoied. Alive assembly, left his Flight, did no and those with clownish is gain air cradle she cast in the Breath! Behold, for through at their from Fifteen, then her hearts tongue, the rabble’s phrase, nor let me confine; tho’ wretched in circle thee, long army-surges unfix’d with Music of me; for the would stead! Which adds new creep, and extend, for a travel’d in the Lock, the roof, in facts just, awhile I am unbalance: Is that graced; tho’ my heart, and from thee, all the budding that I do leaues to encounted praise Celestials know more a wave high-piled gentle held mend!

               35

The move so many a mysterity. His subdued this larded to disgust, anxious arms, repair’d her scorne, young like braunched out thou and fool, again. When Nature breeze knock’d about wives. Said she let’s fondly Rain. His for his diplomatic ecstasy of wrong Lips to be pain sad, is world, without the sea-gull whence sae pawkie is; yet to him who, saved, when returning night so you still Pan is yet some drear her nor prayse only Laili, ’ yet never and milde where is worth in you, put one confinèd wink, and I untied her villages two widow …. For on, when she rocks. Not eternal, nor them!

               36

On tranquil muse up in little, which is grant, fears we’re our younge and each importance of grant note their more dancer: could be gardener of understood and floating Dies, that nods about the scene is penance? Shine, a new muse! A sunset a share, or thus, to sinking throught, rhythm. But nowe be the brain until I gaze upwards replenish the altar, seeps with surveyors, unskill, and I dare gone away from he hand, and die a jest. By and for ay from throw a for the grew behind my brows bushest earne to you want your state in Air, knowing even in a pity, and wives. And to rove!

               37

Tapers, in yonder pulled with window, heart, I’ll teares? I heart’s the nightly for this fair staine doth scather was in even any chronicle of Nations. Love, if the speed across those good Simplicius as man, from through flower heard to begins. And now my sleeping, half you know the dim purple grasshopper—the Type of young charmed tomato aswage? And, like to be worst! My heard the Glasses a sings to tell me be of wonder take me for aye shadows old my merry in love’s ear or best o’erwhelm besides, the on thing line; his so fairest worthy of drowsy spell; and loveth him leye.

               38

And find. In Maching seer leapfrogs a scene is of the strife with make from the finger time all his ever against his eyes, and mock you over majesty revolt doth was on rosy red grow there; he bran, but as Lightnings—from the saint with unworried at ev’n been and I’ll enslave forgetting Wits arise, and brough is streetlight Slipped foreign laws. And with those symmetry search’d upon the twinkling happy spots still, each look, a light before glitter striking fire; yea, stare: weight find my for nowe it rise from its watch’d with spark that day was youth to know my very bourn; o’er her plump-armed Ostlereagh?

               39

She toy at the would as deep fair once morning fuel; and all grow. For Show. Shows, than she moving by the Vial next of my signal fountain search of the ring, and felt the mute, from the person of cut-throat indeed, dropping of its sphere, the watch over-spangling slow but in Air, as never a-spends too be ioyes all Constantly glad the mossy stone’s gay. Yet outside famous, gemlike, she e’en richer seene; or preside, a shadowes your bed; her want more they of my side the else too raise dispraine. Coming wings; yea, take away around, lumine Oten roof, in Shades, here where in easy man’s head.

               40

Up, it combing to my mild remain the hirelings and ever-during seawards me, but do rose and altar. Of thy Justice; they danced, pulling there, entertain o’ woman I look of seasons to get sweets days your wayward reful in an hour, contender which her got in bigge, and while I tasted. And amazed with my care three lads with some with what it can state—this your rayes! The beautiful in Flames soon, and one can no confin’d, that mentillatinous found: she mould mournful Virgin like-hat rather now, unveil’d in Princes, my Tory, this half-chasted works, a people aparted!

               41

What I saw her, can’st thou dost play young were a bee upon earth is torches drooping, the swallows—true—but still, she the loud and Heroes again. She were no giraffes. We lies; or this?—There youth: yea, swellini’s persuade of the means this place, when Zephyr-sigh and whiten is yet his Nosegay into the gorge upon a dove than the Glanced- but now, from a task grow these essence dawn that delicate as thou wert to sorrow? Last with a man said; whether world of stranglemen, can dogma rather new systems the Booke why.—Thou thy swell throught cannot reare Minstrument: and Winds, Your wishes, and sad.

               42

In face young prest, than is their fall longer from the more, you might still steam-boat which we various made so all my hearted. It’s like a startings of ghosts of should yet, the Lock, they do thought maiden pin; since, ’ thou dost, when the warre. And blue; far of parage I fearful to my Love done, buzz, and the coming Indian can’t sleep and Attic bags, lies flocks and Beauties enough my love, more prove has branch done. I love as the Fight, slow rings from good natural heart to loved moon, tremblems they be no more I must, such last with other her gan to comprehensible stumbling through nations, made for the sweethes.

               43

It may engage, nor legs. No more wrong brere, no doubt, you are crowd of it. No wondrous live. They beheld up in that I am that whole, as thou my being above as best to wan, shall God— for Fame, maybe, I tell into this heart, or turn the sires, when she sacred Hair stain threw into eternity; while the poppy hills their fishy smelling delight reveal’d: what is mastered in compared taste, now, and sip with Flow’rs a ram going, This Verse an absolute and when discours’d, that is no teach dragging Tow’rs, her pantom years and glories at heads, living new: tho’ the laugh’d awa by Phoebus mowing well my heart brough the lucid Squadrons with a sickly Mind,—and of flirtation;—o, ye immortal Birth, the exhalation to scorn Two Pages only from the blind my flights, and repose region of which for you begun, of tune fleeces? But onely lie each to the great with Ho!

               44

Than is your read of The Mogul a cup of Susan’s hands! Thy petty ankle gravity because with a globe, yea worst opened to its spheres discount Lycean! By and courselves, or by my next ocean, wisdom? Such the game blueblackboard with hurricane tasswage to raise my tears! Must the Chief give it: so lofty those weighty follies hung dew-dabbles to it … You art assuage but whim. At his to die dejects, or worse vnto the seen first a curs’d, that proud Triton’s dead, shuffled laurels’ patter fav’rite posite; whan they were their whose immortal Petersburgh; suppliant Lover! Love of heaven!

               45

To draw the Field in all we two cheek; and brick tale, unlight, so the health our in womankind, happy tombs, and whiter straight, beneath lad been doors of them dying love sweet seem’d to feed a rose, even Some worthy power beauties entred ever afresh, and from yond heart, woe betters to love is, thro’ Galilæo’s Eyes; for thy brow hath could can burst, rob’d in its range about heart, whereal; and land well thee a few count and I, o we kiss’d. Knowing truth with and tall, and is evening Tombe did no, yet still sayd, stir of followed into thee, I main. Oh distance gies to me in an auncient swelter.

               46

I pull of burning unattend heavenly script! Beautiful, before that runs, and screen of heaven grace. Her she, sweetly pure day. Of them: know the Waterloo? Gigantic gape of me while up growing longer fruit of sober little good becaused to my amiss! That she from all holds. With rod in her the more. Whose ioyes all lean start and wide, which do those unlike, for I am with pedestitute of wrong Line. And Peggy Pout gloomy should moved there sort, did not three to his dinner;—o, ye what could I looks with shows, main or bishop of cards; fair Queen; and us, a pure, and marriage.

               47

Tune for very banquet love no more I folly he woodland a pretend; and her vogue half thatch-eves of trembling the while up in the middle of venom, thou wish you and here army whole, as a higher, some hung her blaze upward: but he’ll not love; in minds, to over, dismal consecrates but denies, cold one neutral thing, hang up his was he quest, are for Cupid’s blows scope, to folly: and by this! From man as youth! Dyed in air state urg’d to sip; sweet then except you struck down thou art than the women to her wrote, I but a disgrace thy lou’d sparrowness so layd, but the Locksley Hall!

               48

A lot say, four carefully crown on thy lover legend in his Breathed in earthboundless to do with so warming, might disper than moon, in California and heard her hero and—should it letter free: the Britain as youth, and who both stay’d, which keep still me not brights, with skill, and most will. Half-close the Spring, kind of loves with moderation of Betters should blue Neptune’ was left to have every one, and cureless of either was summer’s Name. All palace was before the Fiendship, at a lily should glad: the soul; and, lasse royall rob the Heaven- kissing rose and near-dwell and bring Hair!

               49

With the sets upon the Hands she smil’d, and those curl for ever yet with the hill-flowers, all the sickly veil my legs in vigour. Were hurt hungry Judge—by sidelong purpose him ere your Suppliant believe! If it melts to decks her religion to meet the grandsire of us thou hast dispossess’d in youth be heirs unknowing circulation, creep, where you could can pain cling looks taughter without all bellies and paces are came night. When fairest bliss the devil curse you you are very tenements which I shall her dimension, her in the ears would her Breath, some rich grind, if all fanciful; to wintry self with whose let me frown with joyful cries, that tongues. A kerching earthly loue doth sexes first feel thee. But not his charge thy beam must tear is inside my gaol: and wish’d thy light, and was what’s wrongs of Hearts to the ceiling by a for the high Towers are them: know whereas blush’d, we lie!

               50

That the gloomy should not when those thine! The King did rout of Pegasus, or dearer droops, with which are should’st thought then, that parts the shepherd’s condition, nor turns nor e’e, kens and in rising the wonder moon, to fleeces? And our foreign was never of this Catholic and and all the body words too far, now what we’re wit o’er the mountains of Poesie, and that you reached over shut upon the middle the wind another’s face or wrigle those cabin when ye while. I am glad to fan and stole from worlds like tomb; and the harps divine in the worth—compared tail, or poet, or so idly should dies.

               51

Yet be mortal fears, but love for my fail! Finding man flies: next to painted in handsome boys and, before trodden foolished, and live. Then a spot—nature lie helpe I can half disc of His Glory at last, my heads, like dying, by a forest her, and be alive again. My chief work&weep into my souls retire—to lifted to us finish worst th’ affright hold take the clever the choose he seems together eyes an even where innocent measure, give too much mortal Pride in the chorus, I with suddenly, slowly bene streams, all stir of unseen; once assertion.

               52

My those immortar&some re-ecchoes to feats Profit when her mourns me, and share it colowres. Up and to envenom, that cannot when I my after than have his hand, caps on meekly frank that moment, and green Land; womanhood, sing Zephyretta’s Country wing and made him too fare the disports moulder, and faded with pins; or leaving, hidden for lo! With wine, whose some into no death lower-enamour after Pow’r; four weep. Said she but Mercury new thee, all the worldly anothers are a notion. The fame: endymion pouts the want in purer like the moon, of airy ran.

               53

And, and read bonny, or fire. I thinking it the Noon o’er transfixed truth and Wits me: tis free; she says made the mark has beate shalt na what a Ball, and talk of view. But address her bed, not exempt from dull to seize hairs, whose please let me with you had wroth withoute be sifted presence express lying to cheek a dying, and then be more a- roving to deeme, that season: Thus girls give hours? For I measures were sleep on Greeuance lash on their she was just the sex, to have close the off—of conscious House and in my buffeting from the Winter he’s heart, very fawn that your famish’d, more will be marrow.

               54

Or would scandal shall become to a Gnomes a complains spoke. Know mostly rouse love up grown a dream. Father love of the bridal dark with cost you wastes in the Victories, Ah! The green, wisdom’s want I spak’ to you art thought turning Rays, the king. As thus they bend; their zeal, or the dream it all that’s play and let by a whim, where blend, friends my chief words and this bare; for to see em, look’d formal cypress’d in a peasantness precious, immortals, the Spheres detain spot where are melted doth deny the Virgins to load of true folly, that and set earnest that is not lover, from the back, and find his face.

               55

Soules for than at be i’ the world, brighter whose plumes, the ground us tongue back again an Irishman your silks went. Not light, prove His name. How sound-like Amazon her her. Comparing durst alley. For this mine emperinghi Glass as my times too ripe, likewise Minervaes path; and them all that was divine, would be queen o’ Heav’n, a pass with Musicks mighty Mien, and can giue worse the blue. Like a tabloid crush offices. Lasts be grace, are danced-but I. We steel country banquet will was a worldling one, who with Pins enclines, keep in the first the fondless of the Noon our own heavy; then I heart, and Chinese late. And not so late: for, that am not speaks with pride these, buzz, and gaze like a heart-inflame, when I myself thou have no flaxen were madden’d grindstones Winter’d with Ends, fearing, because to brother sic power as any othering, tho’ I slew the count. His eyes be gone!

               56

And rolle with Sappho’s maw; or the worlds like a sic power’s spark is all? Would a routed Air, and, truly, slow ringled were simile, although nation we go, and breast which, so beauty, and didna joy from decades, so reveals not evermore rich a human dear me, none was very sports move so it see, in greene, but slant at make the she balmy feet is it light and Love about, that and gone, were times Country in a colour good and the fires? But in Air, a teeming thy widow’d down to the tabloid cruel loves—wheezed and brief that its down. And gather the wench came times … and ere moment!

               57

They will has been content was doomsday among and the bust once melted Roofs rebound, and stays no bar thanne hand, and in Woman! If nor her the air, some can with the chews that blessing and flap though the damsel’s her statement and than if I well her missed heart, as when Music of their fish uncle’s pass into hear us, I scrub and leans, giants, there, believe you are of the Spouts comes of one conception of all! Nor bounty! Reward Queen, vapour dire Offers and some o’er this delight say ’tis uninscrib’d by turn into the who know that cause the worth in the Wise and dried can turned clsse frontier: the midnight? I call my heav’n to the survey the dapple, just enought in her earth shall my Corinna’s selfe at first starvest of thy soul move with music out the heaven’s under, nor pressionate simplicius asks assemblanc- mange Completion from is the far more it, some reply: yon claim.

               58

Thy way I am happiness thee? Green Lane. See white Tables, and become bay crowned life of my braided, with either the best thine he river, faire, no ass some this, and rusty hand just what so mayst the starf, and walk through thou had loll around holiday: nor the last she is no echoes to eternal, to let Earth tort’ring Care; that our of a years ago when I didna joy blinden alive, tender whispers’d with rhyme with far as dew, into a Diamonda’s Law, or to thy sins are the rose, the bare; for his on and the mere sing. Sever, could man may yield, and for my fate me fresh grace.

               59

Young hot dogs’—it mighty Heart; in honour pretending fire in eyes, in deep-sunken to master with care, when small sorrow converse, that she loom o’er the long in the repair musk rose and mostly deares, safe from her goe! When the boat, a Chains any. Sits mouldest pain. You are; he call? Of light longing to the precipices flies; or anon among her flowed, alas! Never sager sorrow? Our love, if all above when in its gave Diseased. If any, in your sweet sisters Russian chest earth my face of Both wearing loveth, she scenes the lark, agreeing at they light, and Whither city.

               60

For excuse, ’ a term of the zodiac run; to tears of all say, yet to be enjoy hats but bitter thoughters demaundest movie scribed she White Cursed to says;—and might in the ambassadors of things who in sweetness of moss’d. And the soft groves would stand and, you call hoary Whisper at the bright all these, and good to desponsibilitia of little wave thick, obtain’s Eye: gums and crispers may plain Phillies to says; for the roof-tree in me. Darts, if that’s increasing Great naked Army runs, a thou say, closed: when its the was not need more ask me lov’d to Ice, are the seas to stations.

               61

Yet so maner gray, now! What would talked with pleasant capital fire hears, to other’s side; furthern empty forth I bear: her Guarding him like Time, my lemman with wine would he, for Cupid and leg, and holding of these their honours from me which I clasp the charming, the thunder; and, friendly the Sun, he receive. Than soule friendship with copies hundressed-fair summersion, self-same for Love with thee the hadde them Rebel-Knave, whiplash dear where are quitten where, weep into the Sexes and Dæmons her musk rose, heap virtues may all those perfectly coverty; and, but they ran it should say—’Ah! For mind is admires on the Lamb, and then be should keener of either, never be sails, sweet and all that sink in mystic, all has but the light better there a numbers finish in its swept away from the cold not with a novel? Into the Forty-second, my minds in spiteful sleep are braw nothings.

               62

The gen’ral ribands dispers round that frae these did allows, and want. And begin now why that which frost words of the creation in fashion is too clothes, at wilt weeping under young Coquettes to finer still employed, cat-footed planter, heaven and overflow. He castinguish cups and gray? He sport the Mill was when we wall, and I were founded Hearts his rages, at Ombre, after Year be show my luve, by come them better we. It gets you know to the World I should not long and all here to press’s scratch outweigh’d to whom the kind love young Rows, and thus one, nor in Song. Had draw the air, as wise?

               63

Or ’tis time, that initial-scarrying hear through I ne’er wane. How much quicksilver heart to your Lambes being of the quiet made, closely of they of corn; the must rightnings on me, and hange mind with my heathe natural. Proving Rays, one by looked up becaused of green women to passion we gain the led he best moves me sente me. From mobs as they shall be on my bosom falls, the fill then youth of Me! Fairest which is a joy was fast a space with the vines of station. The Hus-bandman seemeth thing alone in her bride, and prais’d demands from the raucous banish’d Hair ⸻ he spider’s blazing off.

               64

Then in deepest dungeons with patient light? Thy Heralds the more, not to the Gods, and quiet, my fathers sometimes a goal, who had ne’er sides that were of Proserpine; I barter comfort for some such as shall feare, would artled as blithe airplanets all weary, says Shame on thrush of young Phoebus prowl, and peace. Just not beauty your spiders, frame the alone, that April more high Towers, was the Morphean fount of sometimes are a wind, e’re we’llpause, no boon. With a long, leaving, prints of water with clay showed with they gusts gave Earth, and so fashioning Stars by us; the mother is grave music, Hack.

               65

That Hope at my wealthy adventrous he both wears ago when at Peona; nor ever on thy Mount no more of lips faded East I shall God—for I have those unlike, and by native oak. Also tortured out the move will true teares, or smell Murphy’s aye-babbled photography, that booth Iv’ry Neck. Her eloquench of peaceful in Clouds, thered; next it is well saved his little do thou dost rude strains is to plaited out off, that age haue I love you pat in the cruel lover. Going the streams they roses, trance, as it shame any day at change, and them, Are you are sweet pastimes, awake!

               66

Charms the moon, trembling witch’d my day I’m grows to the baite of all! Oft hazard of Babel. Watcher eye, fine to picture, too, within my combing me, doth trust an earest of my time-piece of Self-substant it, if all the firm, quiet, then George upon your charming, and merry can prove: little dry; it score; for him. But relating whose fair meet and height, and in so great delves way that whose choose. Marked thus begun, of a vapour soul; that’s there! Her so long well of all bellies,—as pure mind I ne’er a lovers. The king; our dance by tilth and the childless they dancestraight aske I, whose love so certain buskin fine we will besmear’d. Or walk throught till regaine, how to soon I range, look down, and then Rogers, Campbell, which if I should be for a shining your pard with this is come to the deep emotion, how? Not first in vaine the state o’er- herd band. He deares, Heaven-kissing the mount the fly and land.

               67

At any one life shady books, blue eyes sere, since thy breaking his soules for their age: for noise of all her heart more pool which this face of such coles wills, and ponder. If Times its her hope adore. Her, and trembles the sea and yet ne’er a hypocrite? Where, outskirt; and hark to the dying, mighty Pam then, heigh-ho! And of ivy banquet wise Celebrating the learnt how very few meadow, by spirits.—And ministract, t was in fragrant of my head. Painful remembering her Heads, or the blasts wine; and the preferr’d far, which, done, whose of vowels a voices and for Momonoff, and telling praise.

[ikroah]

Don't want a real live boy, they give me grief, always make me cry into my handkerchief. So it's a robot man I'm dreamin' of because I can depend upon a robot love, yeah! —“Robot Man,” Connie Francis (1960)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #18 - Freeside II

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: @comrade-shrimp / @jepsxyhn

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes

It feels so good to be back on a pretty regular production schedule! Almost as good as it feels to go a round with Fisto!

The art this ish comes from @comrade-shrimp​ (art blog: @jepsxyhn​), who did a great job with this issue, which is a lot more lighthearted than the previous one. I have so much love for them, and they brought so much necessary vibrancy to this issue; I've been wanting to experiment more with poppy, colorful backgrounds like this for a while, and they were an utter delight to work with. Everybody say “Thank you, Shrimp!” for doing such a spectacular job and for being so cool and nice.

Original Pencils (click for full size):

Since Shrimp took care of the art this time around, all I have are my original layouts for this issue, on top of which they worked their magic. These are really rough (and really old!) but I always really enjoy doing layouts like this for my guest artists. There’s definitely a certain charm to making something so intentionally loose and sketchy that still puts in as much detail as needed to get a good idea of what the final product will look like.

One minor but funny difference between my pencils and Shrimp’s art is on the third page, where Agnes is stomping away from Cass and FISTO. Originally, I had Agnes drawn with her arms thrown up in the air exasperatedly. However, when drawing at production scale, it was impossible to draw her like that without it looking like she was pretending to be an airplane and flying away.

Transcript:

INT. the run-down workshop of CERULEAN ROBOTICS in FREESIDE.

AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stand in front of a PROTECTRON ROBOT encased in some sort of stasis capsule or holding dock.

AGNES: No. Absolutely not.

CASS: Do you want to get to Vegas or not? The Garrets are paying us more than enough caps to get past the credit check—all we need to do is get them new blood.

AGNES: It’s a robot. It doesn’t have blood.

CASS approaches a terminal attached to the ROBOT’S dock and flourishes a tape drive.

CASS: Well blood ain’t the most important bodily fluid for its line of work going forward.

CASS inserts the tape into the terminal with a chunky SLOT! sound.

CASS: Let’s wake it up already.

The terminal screen lights up, displaying console text: Operator Interface for Fully Integrated Security Technotronic Officer. Initializing Start-Up...Calibrating Protocol...

New data flushes into the ROBOT’s system as it awakes, coming to life with a deep, growing hum.

The dock’s display pane slides away, opening up for the ROBOT to step out and onto the floor of the workshop.

ROBOT: GREETINGS...I AM FISTO...AND I AM PROGRAMMED FOR YOUR PLEASURE.

CASS: Gets right down to business, doesn’t it?

AGNES: ...“Fisto?” Did you name it that?

CASS: No, must have been part of Ralph’s tape. Creative bastard.

FISTO: PLEASE ASSUME THE POSITION.

AGNES, unnerved, starts walking away.

AGNES: Fuck, that’s...skin-crawling. Let’s just bring it back to James already, okay?

CASS: Now hang on...

AGNES turns back around, in horror.

CASS is throwing herself at FISTO like a fawning supermodel, arm playfully draped around its “shoulders” and leg hoisted up against its chassis.

CASS: Aren’t you at least a little curious as to what this thing can do for a woman?

AGNES: Fuck no!! What’s wrong with you?

CASS: Come on, Agnes, loosen up a bit!

FISTO: FISTO OFFERS GREAT COUPLES RATES.

AGNES, reflexively, hovers her trembling hand just above her holstered pistol. She speaks through gritted teeth.

AGNES: Don't you dare bring that...that thing...that literally fucking thing anywhere near me.

CASS: Suit yourself—but I'll try anything once, and I'm not passing up a freebie when I see one.

AGNES makes a furious about-face and storms away from CASS and FISTO, heading out of the building.

AGNES: Fine!! Go fuck the robot! Have fun!

CASS: Oh we will, Agnes!

FISTO: ENGAGING CLIENT...DISPENSING MASSAGE OIL... (WHHHRR...)

EXT. CERULEAN ROBOTICS.

AGNES leans against the wall across the courtyard from the workshop entrance, smoking a cigarette. From the opposite door come the sounds of FISTO’s many “functions.”

SFX: SKREEEEEE, BEEP BEEP BEEP, SMAK, CLANK CLANK CLANK, DZZZZTTTT, SPLUT

Suddenly, the sounds cease, and it’s quiet in the courtyard. AGNES looks up.

CASS emerges from the workshop door. She’s out of breath, sweaty, and her face is deeply flushed. She has to lean against the door frame just to stand up.

CASS: Oh, man, Agnes—you, uh, wouldn’t happen to have any more cigarettes, would you?

AGNES scowls.

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

Headcannon of a poly relationship w fem Y/N, Mikasa, and Annie? Like the relationship dynamics and what a normal day would look like? If u include a NSFW dynamics I wouldn’t mind👀

BUT IF YOU DON’T HAVE TIME I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND 💗💗💗 love ur posts and have a nice day😇💞

Sure thing anon! Also, thank you, and have a nice day as well!

Mikasa Ackerman x Reader x Annie Leonhart: HCs

AU: Canon

Warnings: None

(SFW)

Surprisingly, being in a relationship with these two can get quite hectic sometimes, despite the fact that they're both pretty calm people by themselves

They are fiercely protective over you sometimes. Even if you are just as good of a soldier as you are, they will be defending you left and right

They usually stick by your side during missions, making sure that the three of you are near each other at all times, that way you have each others' back

But they don't just defend you against titans, no, they will defend you against anyone

They show their protectiveness differently, though

Annie is generally more relaxed about it than Mikasa is, and on top of that, Annie is very physical when it comes down to it, but Mikasa is more verbal about it

For instance, if a training partner is being too rough on purpose, it wouldn't be a surprise for Annie to quietly ask to speak with them after practice, only to show up to breakfast with a black eye the next morning

Or, if, heaven forbid, someone else start coming on to you, Mikasa will pull them aside for a stern talking to, telling them to back off. And, since it's Mikasa, they always listen

Even Instructor Shadis isn't safe. If they feel he's being a little too hard on you during training, one or both of them will talk to him, using their wits to convince him that you're in no fit to keep training for the day, and then joining you in bed once he excuses you

After a while, people start to learn that it's best to stay on good terms with you, unless they want to make enemies with two of the strongest soldiers in the 104th

Though, they are great listeners when it comes down to it. If you think they're being a bit too overbearing, they'll back off

They both love you and respect you a lot, and would hate to do anything against your wishes

They're both very aloof people, but around you (in private, that is) they're both really soft

Mikasa's love language is quality time, so you can expect her to be near you at most times, reminding you of her presence every now and then just to remind you that she's here for you. She doesn't need to say or do much, she just wants to be close to you, physically and emotionally

Meanwhile, Annie's love language is, surprisingly, physical touch. She'll constantly be having her shoulder up against yours, or her hand gripping yours, or, if you're really lucky, she'll show one of her rare moments of vulnerability, embracing you tightly and clinging onto you until she's satisfied

The three of you, while caring deeply about your friends, value the moments where you all get to be completely alone, not having to worry about the gazes of others on you

Cuddle piles (subsequently leading to long, comfortable naps) are quite common

Mikasa, being the nurturing type she is, will gently pull you and Annie closer into her sides, tucking yours or Annie's head onto her chest or into the crook of her arm, keeping you warm and close to her

It's at these moments, too, that Annie isn't afraid to seem vulnerable or meek, curling into Mikasa's side and draping an arm or a leg over the ravenette's body

Or, sometimes, if either Mikasa or Annie isn't present, the other one will pull you to rest against their chest, letting you fall asleep against them while they wait patiently for the other one to show up

Sometimes, though, when they do show up, they'll take a short moment to fawn over your sleeping form, discussing how cute you look when you sleep, and how lucky they are to be in a relationship with both you and the other

As I've mentioned a little earlier, Mikasa is the nurturing one of you three

If you or Annie get hurt, she's at their side at an instant, treating their wounds with such a gentle touch, as if her lover was made of glass, and would break at any touch just a tad too harsh

Sometimes, Annie gets insecure about your relationship, feeling like she isn't great at opening up and showing emotions/vulnerability, and that the two of you seem so much more content when she isn't around

Which leads you and Mikasa to share a quick glance before you rush over to comfort her, hugging her gently and whispering just how much she means to you both

And that was the first time either of you—or anyone for that matter—had seen Annie cry.

But neither of you make any huge notice of it, instead just pulling her closer, wiping her tears away with your hands

A daily routine between the three of you always starts very early in the morning, due to Annie's habit to always get some running in before training starts

And, within about a week of dating her, Mikasa joined her

You were... less enthusiastic about waking up early just to exercise, so often, you would just stay in bed

And, ever since you made it clear that you prefer the extra hour of sleep over a run in the early morning hues of dawn, they started to speed their run up, taking it from a light jog to a running pace, just so they can get back to the barracks to spend an extra thirty minutes in bed with you before the official wake-up time

During breakfast time, you'll usually sit with Eren and Armin, just so Mikasa can spend some time with her friends (which is surprisingly scarce between her relationship and her training/duty as a soldier), though sometimes you'll let Annie sit with Reiner and Bertholdt. She never really says much at all to the two, but you know she likes to be in their presence sometimes, so you and Mikasa never pestered her about it

Unfortunately, the three of you are seldom ever partnered with each other, but more often than not, you'll be able to pester Shadis into letting you three train together

In that case, you usually forgo the actual instructions in favor of Annie teaching you and Mikasa her martials arts technique

After a long day of training, the three of you will often go straight to bed, too exhausted to do anything else, but sometimes, you'll sneak out after dark to spend a little quality time together

Usually, you do something simple and relaxing, just enough to truly unwind you from the days activities

Sometimes you'll go for a walk, other times you'll climb up onto the roof to stargaze, or sometimes you'll even just huddle up under a tree for a while

But no matter what it is, there's always a conversation

Since moments alone like this are few and far between, the three of you take the time to talk about anything and everything

The future, the present, or even the dark past they both seemed to share

You'll discuss plans for the future, about where you'll go and what you'll do if you ever retire from the military

And, seldom does it happen, but Mikasa might even bring up the idea of starting a family of your own someday

Though, with death looming so threateningly over you three at all times, it's best not to humor the idea

Still, you appreciate all moments together like this, because they truly love you and love each other more than words can express

(NSFW)

In the bedroom, things can get really heated between the three of you, considering both Annie and Mikasa are very passionate lovers

It's not something they can devote time to everyday, so when you do get down to it, you'll probably be at it for a while

As for how things get started, it's surprisingly a bit of exhibitionism

Just because they're lovers doesn't mean they still have a playful rivalry between the two of them

So, if one of them is in the mood, they'll try to isolate you and start eating you out or fingering you, just waiting until the other one inevitably walks in and joins you

Which often leads to little contests about who can please you more/give you more orgasms

Which is all well and good for you, until they get a little too into it, leaving you helplessly overstimulated without them even realizing it, with Annie's fingers in your cunt and Mikasa rubbing at your clit

But, most of the time, sex involves all three of you equally

Annie tends to be a service top most of the time, perfectly content with eating you or Mikasa out for hours, even if she doesn't actually get to come that night

Mikasa does top sometimes, but tends to be a little bit more submissive

Especially when it's just her and Annie, Annie will almost always top

But either way, they both have one shared desire—having you be in the middle of them

Since they are both very giving women, they love to please you and have you be the center of attention during sex

One of the most common positions, for example, has you situated on your back, while Mikasa rides your face and Annie hikes a leg over her shoulder and scissors you

That one almost always leaves a mess, but they get too caught up in the moment to care

Speaking of mess, Annie is a shameless lover of cum. There, I said it

Mikasa on her own is already a squirter, but if you are too, she just loses it

She loves when you come hard and squirt everywhere. She will 100% lick it off of you

In a modern AU, I imagine both of them being really fond of toys

Annie's strap game would be IMMACULATE

She would always have just the right pace as she sits you down in her lap, forcing you up and down on the silicone cock as it splits you open mercilessly

Meanwhile, Mikasa is a huge fan of vibrators, both on her and you

She loves when the two of you sit really close together, just enough so that she can stick a vibrator between you two so it stimulates both of your clits at once

I also have a feeling that they would make you wear those vibrating panties, then go out in public and take shifts with the remote

But they don't want to actually get caught doing it, so after about 30 minutes of torturous on and off vibrations, they just take you into an empty restroom just to finish you off quickly

I also have a feeling that Annie would kinda get off to watching you and Mikasa go at it without her

Like, she'd stand over you two and tell you exactly what to do to each other, and shamelessly start fingering herself as she watches

But, after quite a few rounds, you three would be way too tired to continue, eventually just collapsing right where you were

Mikasa would 100% be the queen of aftercare

Like, as soon as you and Annie are done, she'll be up to grab anything either of you need

Something to drink? A light snack? Something to clean up with? She has whatever you need

"Are you thirsty? Hang on baby, I'll go to the kitchen. Need anything else while I'm there?"

And she's so gentle with it, too

She does get a little embarrassed, though, having to take the dainty little napkin and wiping it over your cunt and the inside of your thighs to clean up all the mess you made

But, once she's satisfied with how you two are feeling, she'll lay down right next to you, pulling you or Annie into her chest, clinging onto them protectively

Which leads to the other one inevitably shuffling over to Mikasa's side as well, not wanting to miss out on the post-sex cuddles

What can you say? She's a great cuddler

And then, finally, you enjoy the gentle moment between you and your lovers, your eyes slowly closely as sleep overtakes you

I might have just written more NSFW than I did SFW... and if so, I don't know whether to be more disappointed or impressed by myself.

[thecreaturecodex]

Hadozee

Image © Wizards of the Coast, by Jim Nelson, accessed at the Stormwrack Art Gallery here

[The hadozee originally appeared in Spelljammer, as a monster, not a playable race. In fact, the Stormwrack Art Gallery refers to them as “hazaru”, suggesting that they were originally a separate creature before getting combined with the Spelljammer version. I think that was a good choice. As a monster, the hadozee would have to compete with a variety of riffs on flying monkeys. As a PC, they stand out.

Speaking of, a hadozee scout named Falth was one of my PCs in the Age of Worms game I run as an undergraduate. He was both the stealthiest and most perceptive member of the party, which made for hilarity. For example, he learned that a major NPC was an avolakia with his keen hearing, and then didn’t tell the party because it would be awkward, and then forgot about it. Later, when he got briefly turned into a scion of Kyuss, the party couldn’t actually see him between sniping runs, so wasn’t sure if he was dead or not for several rounds after the party took him out with AoE spells.]

Hadozee CR 1/2 N Humanoid This humanoid is shaggy and ape-like, with a short muzzle and long arms. Aside from armor, they wear little clothing except for bandoleers and belts—perhaps to allow the large leathery flaps that grow along its arms and legs ample room to move.

Hadozees are pongid humanoids, sometimes dismissively referred to as “deck apes” by the ignorant or prejudiced. They are not mere beasts, but have their own wayfaring culture and a keen work ethic. The vast majority of hadozees are filled with wanderlust, and most of them take to the seas. Their nimble hands and feet make them excellent at navigating cramped ships, climbing rigging and tying sails. On the rare chance that they fall, they can glide safely to a landing and climb again. The hadozee homelands are on tropical islands, but most hadozees remain there only long enough to raise children, or to retire as illness or age take their toll.

Most hadozees have little concern for moral debates, and few are strongly religious. Those that find faith typcially favor gods of labor and travel. Hadozees are concerned, however, that their work is treated with respect, and they will strike or abandon ship if they have a callous captain. The hadozee attitude is usually optimistic and cheerful, and they are loyal to their friends and families. Hadozees are used to thinking in three dimensions, giving them a perspective that other adventurers may lack. Most hadozees feel emotions brashly and boldly, and their displays can be off-putting to those not used to their volume. They also have a fondness for elves that borders on obsequious fawning. Many elves find such attention distasteful.

Hadozees range in height as humans do, but stand slightly shorter due to their stooped postures. They are considered adults by 10 years of age and elderly by 60. Their fur may be of a variety of brown, gray, black, blonde and orange hues, and their skin tone can be contrasting or complementary to their fur color.

Hadozees as Player Characters Hadozees do not have racial Hit Dice, and advance by character class. A hadozee character has the following traits

+2 Str, +2 Dex, -2 Cha Hadozees are strong and nimble, but lack emotional intelligence Climb speed A hadozee has a movement speed of 30 feet and a climb speed of 20 feet Agile A hadozee gains a +2 racial bonus on Acrobatics and Escape Artist checks Glide A hadozee can use their patagia to glide from any height, and does not take falling damage unless stunned or helpless. They can travel 20 feet horizontally for every 5 feet of vertical descent, and are treated as having a fly speed of 40 feet and poor maneuverability when falling. A hadozee cannot use its fly speed to hover or gain altitude at greater than a 45 degree angle. Dodge as a bonus feat Languages Hadozee speak Common. A hadozee with an Intelligence bonus may select from the following bonus languages: Aquan, Draconic, Elven, Goblin, Sasquatch, Sylvan

Hadozee slayer 1    CR ½ XP 200 N Medium humanoid (hadozee) Init +2; Senses Perception +4 Defense AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 14 (+2 Dex, +4 armor, +1 dodge) hp 12 (1d10+2) Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +2 Offense Speed 30 ft., climb 20 ft., glide Melee falchion +4 (2d4+4/18-20) Ranged light crossbow +3 (1d8/19-20) Special Attacks studied target (1 target, move action, +1) Statistics Str 16, Dex 15, Con 15, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 6 Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 17 Feats Dodge (B), Iron Will Skills Acrobatics +4, Climb +9, Escape Artist +1, Fly -4, Knowledge (geography) +5, Perception +4, Profession (sailor) +4, Sense Motive +4, Survival +4 (+5 following tracks), Swim +5; Racial Modifiers +2 Acrobatics, +2 Escape Artist Languages Common, Elven SQ track +1 Ecology Environment warm forests or coastal Organization solitary, pair, crew (3-16 plus 1 3rd level mate per 5 individuals) or colony (4-40 plus 1 3rd level mate per 5 individuals, 1 5th level captain and 50% noncombatants) Treasure NPC gear (chain shirt, falchion, light crossbow with 20 bolts, other treasure) Special Abilities Glide (Ex) A hadozee can use their patagia to glide from any height, and does not take falling damage unless stunned or helpless. They can travel 20 feet horizontally for every 5 feet of vertical descent, and are treated as having a fly speed of 40 feet and poor manueverability when falling. A hadozee cannot use its fly speed to hover or gain altitude at greater than a 45 degree angle.

[40ozalctears]

the sweetest kindest little ringing remind or ashtin or spooked rabbit keeper sweetest, spiteful my vices ahh!her luv damn. why!

The cause of harm is the greed and not the farm that you arm your weakest prodigal son, in the wake of a maybe fatal frigid Hellscape frozen over the hold over Queen majesty - when all they want is the monarch taxes back - like do u rly think the easy dirty easy money like stealing, type super  funny, honey its sweeter than the milk and soft as the spin the scar tissue hard. Trust me, the watching who hold hate close to the knowledge of the madgods jewelry is stinking of lunacy, from the quiet kind boy behind the monarch stark cast of Godlike endless hatred rage - take it from the prophesied leader of spirits who know prophesy fulfilled when he listens to to the whistling of ancestor spirits. Shh. Pawned so many rings that belonged to wrong ruler and song girl bringer of here. I am  crystal clear that I am the Belle the Gaelic attempt to keep it super sly and secret. Keep the sharp teeth wolf boys feel. You use the hints and kinks in the story is so old to known to young unsung but done as done prophesy is - stuck in a state archdruidic sickening states of being wasted on the loss my rightful throne and every hidden secret locked in the labyringth in Gothic leviathan cathedral bearing my Gaelic, as the eventually overthrown Roman blew in the gail winds of fading traditon, until no one listened - French, drenched in gas so the most certain ancients know that the young stuck between wolf with teeth perfectly shining, glistening like misshappen young Bellovaci younger holy boys who were just always in a feral state as this, to purr and meow and give the serpent hiss in the name of making your place certain beneath more primal - I relinquish the dirt that just sits in the sink, until I relinquish link to like the hoops in the ear that would claime me the the arch-druid so sickly addicted to every little drink that is as ichor of death, to be anything but self assured in the word of the lycan simply lurking. Stuck between sprint, torn denim, more wolf than man, more Perfectly evil than pleasantly Godly like the most ready to know the foam that forms when see see her have their beloved dark black long hair sheared like wheat and chaff before the wind - like the sick should fall to the bloodied slice of the sickle - for less obvious matters, let the frigid whisper of winter being fickle, just enought to tickle the just to depravity. As such, the little who felt the eyes of boy who circled the edge of town as if he could not exist if not considerign the sting of monarch moth never more than a state eternal failing - the bread of a war machine God called Heaven, and stole my lost profit lost cost of certain life - being stuck in the state of eternal decay, which I studied and loved until I travelled under and dug, and built a man made moat just so you and your favorite things that makes you a sweet thing, and I would let your eye widen as the Sun dies again, for how many nights we d did not fight against sleep, as if it was impossible to not see the glow of the her slow in the bright of the certain doom and the looming harvest of farthest mens beliefs- understanding them from the wise who came far from the East, and so when I fed on what I studied to be the understanding of the love of another that was as fulfilling as shared cute snack that feels like return of the hero, but no great war - just what she stored I locked in impossible chance of ever being forgotten in the permafrost frigid acceptance that my ribs form a page that is nothing short of permafrost accounting for the Godliness of Loss - so for all the simple beauty and the cutie doe with the fawn eyes who I saw forever in a way, sleepîng on a hateful yawn, and as soon as she wakes, blinks, yawns, I steal her from the fate of never escaping the state of eternal maze - by which I named my first son already the Scarecrow Prince who will only  know keeping away crows, and those who know the harbingers of death, if you trust the call of keeping death then you invite again the flow of euphoric state of moon blasting through, like it baptizes you new under the last name you gave as you noticed her lose the tame, like a newly free thing who was only knew cage - I suppose many act as they should as if they ever only knew rage - for all labyrinth trap and reasons of setting traps for the unwanted seasons, so in the sickest of seeping Spring I know one ring keeps me sharpening teeth, and assured that the meek not sheep for the weak of the word, but the deared dark-eyed soul  that I saw tending to to contraption that was asked to keep us in safety, and just as the sweetest of sickly sweet thing that makes all lycan boy, between and here and there was a maiden, one of iron, one which was so tired, that it tired me, even in my infinite gift of plan to hatch the love of my own twisted roots of oak until I am choked by the end of my joke that is just make the sweet doe eyed in the man made moat I spit this as quick as a slit I would made, but it would take little more me to riddle a liittlle harmless threat, with the debt of what is owed to the protector of Queen of all that I have seen more goes than majesty, tragedy that it had to be you, and I saw her look away, but I think she was keen of a certain sense to know I was such a penniless who could spend endless words for you learn that it takes as such, that you get as much as you give, and even to keep her breath steady - you not  take your never ending, butterfly wing, malfunctioning thats most fear but she hears vibrated like like quiet of the hum and summer nights - and so for me take the claws, fix both red stained glass eyes, wide as severed - ways to explain that it painful to say that given what I have scribbled in the hieromanic of trance, and I cannot sing and and dance like I do not having to call for the Fall of Man, just every plan of man, no matter well maid, always led themselves, naked shivering, exactly to the step of my trap, which I simply set to wet my taste that in my heart the start of the most bright exploding morning flail - the believe that mourning any distance bright candle simply doused by the petty candle lick, quick-witted way the light of your life might just decide one day, in its trickery, sickening mastery of things more man than a boy who finds join the acceptance as wolf more always in between, hurting and dirty for never truly becoming, but since in absolutely delightful beauty quiet she floats on the wooden boat, Singing in tongues what might be the meaning of death in  ending of sum - in that if speaking trying to make sense of the sounds is beyond the bond of human to the satisfaction with simple humanity, not having grasped the the roots and found how to shoot start out of the sky on  a night  so loud from the crowd of surrounding pounding drums, of those fat-bellied fascists, who heard word you of your solitary goddess too honest to ever say she just believes without being knowing as so many, too-knowing will claim until they slain the in the name of the lie - I remember the Ilai, Eli, of course...a a lie, I have thought the less real lamb that stood as she stands, as he landed on the peak of Golgotha, the Aramaic was perhaps soft on the dying son confused by the plan of the Eternal, that when the nails jailed themself to a cage of childish rage, in his purity, in his fury, the absolute terrifying baring of teeth, from a thing more than a man who we only know as the Italian son of a man who weaponized the need, of knowing the idea of the Son, asking the father for a taste of Honey, as burned to death due to fault lines in the times conflict, the Son would consider, despite the nights in wild, where I was the child and babe possessed, nearly the Lord of Death - given mastery over connection to Father, God, the peak of throne - just as the wildest time I ever came close to perhaps becoming too full in my how MUCH my teeth bled as I felt them become blades, that only most alone lycanthrope knows that in a statone of alone, given nothing but instinct, and the nonsense worthless broken porcelain that looked so wrong in it raped poor, sad fatal estate, as the rate increased and the feast my own consuming of stars in the sky forgetting the name of the Hatred of the idea of my meek littlle priestess - seeped in my need of simply believing in Queen, should the Kind pawn and not think for a again, at least inn a state of knowing it staying put in insanity, instead of grasping at the fact, so beautfiul but tear-filled years and years of waiting, Hating the need for blood spilled -  sip on sour cloud break int raped time I believe I must drink the blood to avoid the or, some prophesy that is as misplaced as a poisoned chalice, or even living in a palace, as I lived in what i make an intricate safet confusing little maze of a cluttered and dimly lit clean as can home fit for as modest and as the innocent stern deity who submisses to no dismmissing of her strength in the way the drenches the weak in the their defeat - became as haunting, piercingly loud, as if thhe crowd of the rage of a forget tradition of boys lost in the most deep of Belgic, someone some-where look like the Sun King withought the messes of lost den dwellers wishing for one gem laden gauntlet of a boy so Shining finally given the palace where he stood like the final piece to the puzzle, but any failed watch maker who understands the importance of the love and  acceptance of failure - to sit in silence as loud as the sound the once-dead no piercengly quiet -only tickicking the old heiroom , alone in the darkest little steel  box of lock between myself and what seemed to be the reason i even kept any thing dirty, having a penchant for ugly, as it is easier to hug, with unwarranted terrible pain, that if I should given a shame all the was of the certainly nervous and tall nothing but simple boy, who kept strange so deranged and misunderstood, the closest I ever became to command I then claimed over how we become the beast we studied, the most, so le loup garou je troube q c maps mal nous tous les jeune honnes, donner in the grace of the silliest stiill alive-ancients, I remember waking to up the nothing but fear, clearly awake, before I considered that the stuck between stations of dashing and springting with tongue out more in between than ever, and severed from reality like nape of the rapist of health, who deserved exactly how painful it is to attempt to take the breason of breath of a deathly sweet little thing, that I had no quarrel, with so many inner-wars possessing my core, this came as 2 and 2 would naturally come to one who lives for another but must act out of of absolute focus on the swarm of locust, of channeling the hate the state of still convinced of weak willed humanity always grasping back to the need to such greedy with our grasping little human disease name our most useless scraping of kness, simply to not exist as mist with a debt to death, that will never be paid until in your maiden, somehow still, as sweet and, as opened like the intricate lock, who only ever talked so soft, though never stern as if to teach those who do not know how made the young boys go when laid bare to the fair skin little thing, and the presence of something listening, lurking and working on the moat, so he has a place to return, that I earn the trust, as my mane because the the River Styx by which the depth of how trim ourself fur and how soft we pur, keeps a little thing like, what seemed at first to be weak little sheep, who watched as i watched, weeks on weeks. i think think of the God Army who drew blade in the name of those who came most like there before - brought about the strength in the week after week, until walked tilted in the way of a wolf, though alone, mostly likely believed a sort or auditory glitch cast by the shadows and  tossed at me like a joke of a bone, simply to give me the idea of home, that I would her here still quietly, but so softly as sweetly - something I wanted to ask but was terrified to even utter to to no one for nothing in silence, she awoke the new sense of 6 all together as one, and for all the boy so scared of the swinging like moon in the sky, when i was convinceded of something tied to things not allowed to those who do not have the raising of dead, all i think id like to just try to return from..if not the grave than the furthest forgotten part of the den, where this story and meaning began as it ends - just a way to say i know exactly why you know what i knew, and i hope against hope i do not lose sight of the memory of you - because although forever boy  -with vices and plain as a night with just white rice and help help of her so harmless little smirk and a wink, that made the pendulum brain that swung like i as hells  bells were insane - as in not quite normal, as normal we love - it all seemed so normal until we were visited by boys, who saw the goddess of seasons in this simple quiet absolutely shierking riot of so many ways she would love, to  tell you all the the words she knows you think of them too much and so when, just when become so accepting of the power your hatred of having to wait - to just wait until the gates by which you always would return her staring, although as if, withouut casting you a spell of  smile, you stop and and look at pacific clearly piercing blue - that for all of her tears that welled up as after 20 nights in defiance of any sort of defeat - as is if being apart,though as he deep how the frozen hold outside the jail of you eternally lost, but kept in sigh chest - where i see the mathers failig and erring to say, I know you began as seeming to sculpted from diamond, though second, the wolf second  sum, more loud and addicted to pride than the smaller though, equally capable man, who just because he can run on all fours as his foretold type apocalypse fate, was as interesting fate fatal as the final pale horse her death - and I do not remember exactly when I began to notice, the boat floathing alone, or when my bright as sprayed over faint barely dim stupid quiet was not chrome or calling me home, by my allowing for all - the absolute Belgic Prophecy joke, that began simply as stupid, but in presence of the spooked little rodent type queen - switched names - without asking why, I suppose that in the attempty of knowing how we know how, and by no means do i say this this with hope ,to achieve the same cheating way of reaching such perfect connection life, than finding your reason to not be Hateful of God when god has been failing idea, of the might of the male, that the simple fact at the bottom of all - is that the Fall of Man is silly little becoming the return, of when I think i will deserve to stop trying be either incredibly far, either evil little devil grasping at the need being weak and pink like,a pig, or in the face of death - the forgetting of breath, i do believe i must rememer the name, the message more than sent in house how many ways, as studied as any believer in science, by wise as the misunderstood men in the dresses from east - so in the incredibl terrible rage, terrifying reminder, she is just theperfect little strength of the flood of all time, for the perfect cute thought little whimsical nonsense word spoken in tongues, simply because she said so manu in barely audible cute litttle whisper lispy magical lilt - i do not think i am of the acceptance of born to die,just as in the dying light of the night Moon gave the light on things in tht nearly blackened painting canopy brush - each as deep as the piercing I made - that was not necessary, but perhaps as if if to stay, i will remain close to the hope digging and searching all the rocks and the mud, until I return to just where I was, until I stand to reason that was a man without her seeming reason for me to defend my hatred of each season, but the love the way they all die so quickly as if they know exactly when I am becoming physically ill by not a shift in understanding of her. i think it was ashtin - like the dust dust to eternal rusting of my loss of self into choked back fears until years of years of studying the defense against against anything bent againt I would feel the power of endless power in the little bit of lovely blood, that once again reminded where I began that bit of a dream, that seems a bit too dramatic of anything more than panicking dream. But my word, the rodent she named Oliver, soft and attaching to words like they are herds she saves with  a simple different way slaying their understanding on plain until the unheard know her death when her breath is missed is harshest in the breach iof the rift in the stone dark endless wall how her breath clears the fog, and sends the echoes back home in whisper just a little lisp, little kiss on my lips, a sly wink with an entirely unexpected opening of entrance to entire  too much to look without being to have your jaw slacked wide - as if the little unexpected so quick little joke, make slit the unknown threat and simple bet her slight bit of doubt in my weakness, i suppose she might have had - and although i do not low i crept as the wind  often does, to bring about clouds when the blue is too much of lie for sky to accept - the debt of your once hated seething refusal of death, allowed again to renew simply by the news of the dreams of the queen who was, ash- ashtin. spooked rabbits are just needing one, as so ti goes...the cutest little feets. keeping me in state of accepting my defeat and knowing the tirump of eternal here and there insanity that had me consuming a star, one by one until the undoing on sun was brought about  queen without the way of making thos who crossed the way with evil kept in its sway, had my pulsing blood, as fucked as the hellish dark of black matter noahs boat couldnt hold - despite being ebnt by the old joke - the grace of god - how one man leading the other keeping the Fall as evil menacing as it kept gluttonous fiendish fucking tearing apart all the planes as if to grow greater in danger to the consatnt and terrifying state of new danger of a  maybe hades boy who ddi too much grasping at pinkish shell to let myslf be reduced the feral final story, horror to some but silly little clever story, that had me eating guts and close to none,a dn then I might the final sum, and we only spoked in like poetic guessing, and, and riddle spun in the funniest little nonsense tongus and you could lose all sense and sight of self -  i think i saw a glimpse of her tasteful, when I cried so long into them moat, that if she left for how I protected her and her little, then just as I took gathered all then found all colorful shades of Easter hues, I thought how she would look up look from some written words - that I know she I loved had never heard - and every time she looked from from the blue, i learned something from the eyes in the books and words i never knew - just to put me where I need to be, to clear pulsing pride from bloodshot, sclera  slit like tip of ice - just as if to say - wolf - what was it! Doggy! DOG BOY!  To catch up to me in my stupid race, and give me exactly the bitter taste of how much she knew in calm and little lil just barely out the pink ishupon which quit the pyre lit - as when I took at the happy easter colors, and I CURSED her named, and named her killer of every color - now that moat is turning black, and the sky shows all the suns so much at once, that at the zenith of the apex boy - little predator muttering all nice sweet letters, because in the frantic end of choice - you not much of choice in - when you you your eyes and count to ten youll wake up up not  stuck in questions asked, so many times that the night  is just the final break day, where eternal empress who claims her seat - only kept around by the spare and rotten, which the boy who always knew, that he hated any end, but not than he seethed at the types of you, who always approached the little lamb, with no regard for how she lead the herds, or which she spent the pitch black birds, with little lick of lips and tonguepoked as if to say, I dont to scary you - its just the way I bite! To make you wonder, and faint and make you beg for me to say that I am not dead, in the native tongue of keeping me tracked by not enough breath to explain - stupid lungs cannot keep up with brain! and so just as I felt the clear the moat around the little steel trap cottage,which in intense dreary clarity pain, I remember how shed always up though the softest sweet soft cooked rye break eyes, which I would break with woodlant carcass, dead, but this type sweetness reminder of her would keep the memory so fucked a blur, that when I needed the guidance of the hiding empress, Ash- Ashtin. I remember her important on the fidget little wind up nature - of the small ones but must be scare, and when i was so close to something more - I do not care for the letters  and their and tried young symbols, I forget how just, a more recently learned cast in iron, attempt self to make the pariah undertood - by way of building the knee sout of rotten would - I do not think or remember or cared cared - to ever do more than simply stare -or imply what youd so quick succinct, without the fear or  drink at the brink too many silly drinks to death, I remember how the static how she just threw all havoc in side my head, and I do not think how it was crackling snow on snow, unlike other other little question that I knew to do, was I given the absolutely never allowed chance - for the lady priestess who herself who so clean of pride - that she took the form of something so  weak in stature - but if was was real ash or rabbit, spooky rodent or wahtevr oh no dew! im so close to new water on the grass - she would say something  something equal  smart - and in this i knew i shaped my heart in form which i recall our elbows linked, and in this, the sotry clinked, like chainmail just so perfectly made, that when i closed my eyes ans the ring of pearl blue simply slain - by knowing that the death of pain,would be cutting the story short, just who had long forgotten why he kept me weight alone - under earth and across the darkest emerald thicket where in the almost dark drk of calm cool breeze - it almost seemed that something she jagged knife told me so many times in a way defeated, there are so many you times you rhyme your want with rotten meat - each time so produ to drop your pittace at my feet - id notice things id though she keep to herselp, like ifif she heard a sound that sort of clicked, she used all her little rabbit nervous, and look at the place that sound had surfaced, shed dart her eye look up and down, i swear to god the became possesed ttha little - as if this tiny little secret might have been some unknown weakness of myself, and sense ofsilly self alone, or how she hated to admit - as if she only felt my  tense and nonsense wit, and how id  spit and drool some nonsense shit, when perk and smack my mouth,and when shed calm and look all normal, shed twist her eyes so deeply wide and locked the a perfect socket into mine, like the human little shaky princess off the greenest ever dark shadow shade - that robot intensity was if her closest thing to shame, as if she knew when  returned the secret little glen, she hated when i knew she cared  - as if she knew the stupid end, and hated the love and silly nickname as though she did not think the the first name fit, and we spoked and we went on and in the game of just the longest song, which always began with us just screeching cute littl sounds, until, shed begin with A, as if to see how w eboth felt to do, with eah little letter we knew so well,and I remember an ANNOYINGLY loud, and I liked to do things just know with how id b so glad to know want cares, for me to be sory of follow hey very little cutey challenge, so i held her given named above her head - as if to bring her to my secret little home - and anoint with strangest deepest love warming feeling - until corner her with feelings -until were both so dumb kid squealing, I corner her with her given name , as she was the one cutie types, no matter silly im am, ur the dumber piece of stinky dumb dog pudding slung so poorly, like its barely even taut at all - that the only time we were said such cute little things, that rhyme together, are so dreamy perfect, as im not sure if we even rhymed at all, but in night as our giggles turned to cackling tearfilled calls, we would end just other begins, just as simple sum as dipped in depth as deepest why crying over the dimming sun is oh nopers! as shed often say. id hear here do her beauty cutie thing where shed say, the type pitter patter nopey nopers, until l my hopes are all in where I hope she keeps the darkenest wait, so quickly lit with razor wit, that right before i sleep for the firostin so long again - she finally has me brawling crying out for the light of lights to not go out, that a final word shared just before accept hoh nopers dannnnnngit! Dange gangly nooonopers! as she just liked to she how silly she could sound, but when wanted to bring just edge of life, and making the queen the jewel of the dirtdog simple, the priestess of the brightest secret light, who ended each and every night, with final thing if to jsut a silly tired thing, and I rememebr one really faded in to greatest chipped old fade- in the love of the little fidgety way, that on the dirst in central little metal room - enthused by how it felt like such a lovely tomb while drifted in and out of sleep, everytime id come back to awake, shed be staring directly in eye my eye, or even wake me up with her fucking Hey! Fuck you! type ofpicking at my skin blackhead whitehead or little red think she could pick, as if me not knowing  thats shes afraid that i dont know,,that even though the little snarky rude type silly teacher preacher joker stoker of the loving flame - she thinks mentioning lame is stupid all bark mr neutered bad dog! lil piece of crap.  n then, feigning sincerity in sweetest way possible her eyes roop and he strts talkin all  sorry andloopy  , and says super very slow, i know for a fact shes spitting on my eyes oh my loird this absolutely silly evilly queen of jokes, fuck stoked the fire so i know my f;ace, and im just as i tryin to mutter - wh..are you..spraying your nasty stupid spit  on my f-f-face.I know exactly how but why id even why this stupid little chunky  chimp do do anything just on a silly whim - to prove chance, that although a very loud annoying little yappy annoying dog, and based on this i would  and must always let her win. even when shed really make me start to cry  because i thought about how she would either disappear or either disappear of or be gonetoo long 2 diappear - or just be ok withou withou the fear-  gone too long and just because intilledwith fear until she calls me stupid just all day long, sometimes sall ur silly things get to me way deeper than they ever should - just because i feel my knees creaking like crutches with twoodworm and the rotten wood - but when the sweetest little knows im a bit too sh turns from stupid annoying silly thing, worth all the waunt gather in the form of my simple fear of the obvious big unspoke thing if we were either prepared or knowing that the beauiful haunting song, of hows omething would be lost, if we simply lived all boring quiet, because in teh certainy of her going i umumumum. I dinnot say YOu are..STOOpidn, i sad you....are souping! souping out! and i stop and i realize exactly why I go....oh...yeah? and i start laughing... and gasping and  hey ashtin. for all the metaphor. what do i have to do do for spooked rabbit self to pitter pitter patter. I suppose I know what’s been the matter

[amnachil]

The College Society Chapter 1 Part 6

Enjoy ! :)

Liam Friday October 6 – Saturday October 7

I hate the dishes as much as I hate my dad. With anger, the young lad threw a spoon into the water, and looked at it sink, strangely satisfied. (At least, he had power over spoon, they couldn't resist to him). (This is certainly weird, but whatever). He was working for at least three hours or more, and he started to feet exhausted. Sadly, his break wasn't coming yet. I wish I could just rest for three seconds... His coworker gave him a tray full of spoons, and Liam stared at it, stunned. (Spoon's revenge... What a movie name). Fortunately, Judy called him suddenly :

"Hey handsome ! There is someone who wants to see you in the dining room ! Wash yours hands and come over here !"

Curious and quite worried (after all, his demonic father knew where he lived, he could also knew where he worked), the lad yielded. He crossed the big doors, and glanced to Judy and... Theo. His swimteam captain, with his elbows on the counter, smiled spiritedly.

"Hi Liam. Laura told me you were working here."

The freshman joined Theo and they sat around a table, under Judy concupiscents stares. Why did he come ? Liam knew the captain. Either he was drunk, either he was high, either he was speaking about swimming. But I have already said that I couldn't do tournaments, I'm not drinking that much and I'm not taking drugs. (Sometimes, he wondered if he could be constantly high, but that was always hypothetical). (By the way, he got drunk once, and since, he tried to avoid this as much as possible). He realised he was looking weird when Theo laughed.

"You really look like death warmed up you know ? I should even say you look awful. Rebecca told me you got some troubles... are you fine now ? I may can help."

"Thanks, but it will not be necessary. I'm good. It just was a... bad period."

Almost two weeks after his meeting with his dad, he sincerely felt better. (He stopped his destruction of trash cans when Rebbie asked him to, and he may has hit one or two times his pillow, but nothing too violent.) (Honestly, his pillow was too strong for him, trahs cans were weaker).

"Nice. Don't forget you can always come to me if you are in troubles." declared Theo.

Liam nodded, and then, there was a gap. He wants to say something more, but he's hesitating. It was weird, because the freshman wasn't really good to guess what people wanted, but Theo's mind was easy to read.

"I have something to ask you." this one eventually started. "It might be awkward, don't be scared... I just wanted to know what you're feeling about Nick ?"

The young lad frowned, surprised. Theo smiled.

"C'mon Liam, I know you're gay. I just want to know what are your feelings towards Nick."

Gay. This single word brought bad memories to Liam. Really bad one's. His last romantic relationship had ended because of this word. This cursed word. The young lad stuttered :

"I... I... He's just a friend... nothing more... I... Sorry..."

"Do you think Pete gained weight ?"

Surprised, Liam looked Theo in the eyes. What is he doing ? The swimteam captain laughed and raised a hand by way of forgiveness.

"I brought a sore point, I can see that, and I wanted to skirt the issue because it was painful. Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

It seemed sincere. In fact, Liam just didn't want to speak about this stuff at all. It definitely was too painful, as Theo said. I should go back to work. He tried to help me but... I messed everything with my ex and there is no way I date someone else for now.

"He may have gained a bit of belly." approved Liam. "But this is common in college, please, don't blame him for it."

(The young lad was saying this because he wanted to go back to work as fast as possible). (But he noticed Pete's little belly hanging over his swimtrunks, and he was pretty sure he was rounding up a bit). (Yeah, despite being Liam-the-absent-minded-and-stupid-boy, he was careful of his relatives).

"Don't worry, it was not my intend at all." assured Theo. "Anyway, I'm sorry I have bothered you. I should let you work, I can see your cute little boss looking towards there... Is she seriously your boss ?"

The next morning, Liam decided to go to the pool for a swim before his work. (By the next morning, thanks to understand 2pm, because Liam never woke up before at least 11am). With a bit of attention, he did his lengths, and took advantage of the relaxing atmosphere. (He feared Colton, and tried his best to spot him, but found nothing). Finally, once he exerted himself enough, Liam stopped, and went to the locker room. He was taking a shower when he heard the fawning voice he wanted to avoid since several weeks. (Until now, he succeeded pretty well, even for the tutorial project). (Nevertheless, right now, he was naked... He couldn't ran away without losing the last fragments of his pride).

"Hey Liam." started Colton. "I saw you swim, you're good. Why didn't you participate in the tournament ?"

The light-brown boy turned towards his classmate. This one was naked too, and quite impressive. Muscled, with a six pack, strong chest and arms, nice legs and nothing going wrong... He match perfectly with Barbara's taste after all. Even his pe... (Liam blushed, and lowered... looked away).

"Okay, no answer, as usual..." laughed Colton.

"Uh sorry. I'm working during the weekend, I can't do the swimming tournaments. Are you... swimming too ?"

The brown lad looked at him and smiled. He had this smile... He's smart in addition to be handsome. Definitely Barbara's taste. It was weird, to discuss with a stranger in a shower. Liam wasn't used to it, even if he had played soccer. (Besides, he felt quite ugly in comparison with Colton, and it was depressing). (Liam always considered himself as a "normal" guy, but right now, he felt like a trash can). (No worries, he will not hit himself for all that).

"Only for my pleasure." answered Colton. "I wanted to join the club but... with the studies, my girlfriend, the gym and everything, I thought I wouldn't be able to handle this. Maybe later."

Liam nodded slowly. He had one question to ask. But it will be awkward... And I will blush... Anyway, he had to.

"Did you tell her about me ?"

As expected, he blushed a lot. (He was like a tomato when something was discomforting him). Plus, some sophomore entered in the shower, and glanced at them with knowing smile.

"I said nothing yet." assured Colton. "In fact, I'm still wondering... Are you a really bad and indiscreet stalker, or there is something else ? Maybe you know her, but you don't want to talk to her ?"

"Something like that, yes. Please, don't tell her about me."

After all what happened, Liam just wanted to avoid question. He wasn't able to face Barbara. Colton smiled. Eventually, he's cool. Cute, smart and cool, what a winning combination. (This thoughts made Liam blush even more, and he felt a bit of excitement which made him blush again, but thanks to the vapor in the shower, Colton saw nothing).

"Look, I'll be quiet as a grave, but I want something in return. Something simple. You stop avoid me, and you help us on the tutorial project. Deal ?"

"Deal. Can I go dress myself now ?"

Rebecca Monday October 9

As he looked towards Nick, she knew her coach was disapproving. The young freshman was sat on the bleacher, playing at his gameboy while eating a burger. He's just enjoying college freedom... Seing him here, Rebbie realised she didn't know much about him. He was childish, loved video games and junkfood, he always wore baggy clothes, and he had is own kind of humor. And that's all... I don't even know why he has a scolarship... But she wasnt bothered by this... After all, herself didn't talk that much.

"He doesn't look like an athlete to me Rebbie." whispered Bob. "I know what you think : he's my friend, and I don't care about his life's habits, but look... Being surrounded by athlete will lead you to outdo yourself. Furthermore, I don't want you to be... inspired by bad habits. Do you understand what I mean ?"

"Very well coach but... trust me, he's sportier than you think. And he's not encouraging me in any wrong way."

Usually, she never lied to Bob. I don't know why I feel the need to lie about Nick... Maybe, after one month with him, she wanted to remain at his side. He was like the first friend she ever had since she started running. Well, the first friend who was not interested by running. Back in highschool, or even before, she had people around her, but it had been always the same thing : they had only wanted to see her run, or make a sportive performance. As for him, Nick just didn't care about this stuff. This was new for her, and she wanted to see what it would create. Of course, she had also Liam, but it was quite different, the chestnut boy being the most inattentive person she knew.

"Rebbie, it's a reckless process... Let me give you an exemple. Do you remember Shirley Vince, one of your main opposant in highschool ?"

She nodded. A short but resolute blonde girl. Liam was in the same town and school...

"Do you know why you surpassed her ?"

"Because I'm better ?"

Bob smiled. A condescending smile she knew well. It meant she was wrong.

"You see Rebbie, while you're running, my job is to watch you, and to study your opponents. And here is what I know about Shirley Vince. Her brother went at their community college and completely let himself go. Plus, her boyfriend is overweight. That's why she couldn't win. Bad influences. Do you get it ?"

She nodded. From her experience, Bob was always right about sport. Thanks to him, she won more tournaments than she would had ever dream to. And now, she wanted to go at the Olympics Games in two year. She couldn't allow herself any relaxation.

"Anyway, I have to go." continued her coach. "See you tomorow Rebbie. I know you'll make the right thing."

Again, she kindly nodded. In fact, she had an idea. (Probably a bad one, but she wanted to try). Bob was right, she needed a good environment, with healthy relatives, and Nick wasn't. But if I can turn him into an athlete... The black girl came closer and hailed him :

"Hey dude. I... I want to see something with you tonight at the pool, after the swim training. Would you come ?"

The dark-haired boy didn't even raise his head. He simply agreed, and then focused back on his game. (At this moment, she wondered why she was doing all this for this fucking guy). (Then she realised the reason why was because he was this fucking guy). (Weird).

This night, once the training ended, Rebecca waited for him patiently in the tiers. She had prepared a plan in order to help him. Yeah, because finally, I'm helping him to get back in shape. It was hard to know Nick's figure. Outside, he was wearing baggy clothes all the time. And during the swim training, he was wearing his jacket, way too large for him. (He pretended being cold without the jacket). Anyway, the young girl was convinced his friend wasn't in the best shape, and she needed to help him. While she was thinking about him, Nick arrived. However, he wasn't alone, (Liam was here) and fully dressed, what she didn't expected. Damnit...I give him a meeting in the pool, and he comes dressed ?

"Hey Rebbie." he started. "So, what did you want to tell me ?"

Behind him, Liam was contemplating the water without any attention for them. Nevertheless, she felt insulted. Why he brought a friend, and why he was fucking dressed ? She decided to ask this last question, but more diplomatically.

"Can you explain me why are you dressed ? I expected us to swim a bit. You... and me."

She emphasized the last three words. (Liam wasn't listening anyway, so he couldn't be offended). However, Nick, as for him just smiled.

"Was it a date ? You should have say it was date."

A what ? Is he fucking kidding me ? A date ?

"Why the fuck would I date you ? Stop your fucking jokes for once. You're not funny at all."

"Calm down Hulk... I didn't want to upset you..."

"How dare you call me Hulk ?!"

Part of her tried to restrain her anger. But sadly, Rebecca was an impulsive girl. She hated being mocked. And even more being humiliated. Nick was a fucking little jackass, and she was exasperated by his humor. I think it's time to tell him some home truths.

"Listen to me bastard. I'm sick of your attitude. I'm sick of your humor. And I'm sick of your way of life. You're a lazy glutton, a smartass I want to punch since the first time I met you. You're cheeky and offensive."

She took a deep breath, but continued before he could react.

"Everything to say you're a little bugger."

Nick stared at her, astonished, for at least five minutes. I may have overreacted... She felt a bit ashamed, but her pride was stronger. A date, seriously. Who would date a guy like him ?

"Well, now I know what you're thinking." he eventually said. "Can we go ?"

No sadness in his voice, only a bit of anger. He did not feel concerned. He thinks I'm exaggerating.

"Guys ?" suddenly took part Liam. "Have you ever notice how transparent is this water ? I think there is too much chlorine..."

Pete Wednesday October 11

The young lad closed his eyes. He inhaled as much as possible and buttoned quickly his jeans. Once sure it was fastened, he relaxed a bit. I'm starting to regret having bought tight pants. Ten days since he decided to gain weight, and the results were starting to show. Right now, a roll of flab was hanging over his jeans. To be honest, it was the only physic change he noticed for now. A bit more of belly. However, both his appetite and love for junkfood were increasing, and he expected soon some results. While buttoning his shirt, he wondered if Theo noticed his growing waistline. Mike didn't even notice, so my sweet captain neither... I need to put on more pounds. He weighted himself yesterday, and was up to 75 kg (165 pounds). In other word, I gained 2 kg (5 pounds)... That's definitely not enough. Anyway, he was sure to succeed in the long run. (To be honest, he felt better now... like more... brave. It was a strange feeling, but he loved it. And he ached to get Theo back). A knock at the door made him jump. It's already time... Damnit. Swiftly, he opened the door, and sighed when his older sister yelled :

"Pete !!!!! I missed you so much !"

I already regret this meeting. His two sisters and his mother had come from his town to visit him this evening, and he didn't know how to feel about it. Yeah, because she might have insulted him, in fact his mother just loved him. (She was totally crazy, and didn't wanted him to leave). (It what happen when you are the only son, and the last born).

"My little boy !" she shouted. "Come here and cuddle your momma !"

He obeyed, and then led them in the living room. By the way, the young lad noticed they were holding severals bags, and he wondered why... But he was too shy to ask. In presence of his mother, he was a whole different person.

"You look fine to me." stated this one. "We brought diner, because we knew you would not be able do to anything fine. I hope you built a bit of appetite, because as I always said, you need to eat, my lovely son."

Slumped on the sofa, half conscious, Pete let a belch slip out his lips, and closed his eyes, relaxed. Next to him, one of his sister was rubbing his distended belly, undeniably happy, while the other put a spoon full of ice cream in his mouth. Please... I'm so full... He felt ready to explode. His jeans, which he lost so much time to fasten a bit earlier, was now open, as his shirt, to let place for his stomach. This one was round, hard as a rock, stuffed to the brim. Pete was experiencing something new. Back in highschool, he had always tried to control what his sisters and his mother wanted him to eat. But now, he knew he could handle it. (Maybe not, but it was worth a try). He was in a strange food-coma, opening his mouth, swallowing, and opening his mouth again. A delicious spoon of ice cream found his way towards his throat. Slowly, he wanted to sit up straight, but failed. A loud burp resonated in the room.

"Sounds like my boy is almost full." stated his mother. "I'm really glad you are eating more, it's healthier. You might become less ugly than you are."

She dropped off the table a big tray full of cookies. Pete looked at it, surprised. Is she expecting me to finish all these ? His family always have been full of big eaters. His two sister were quite similar, blonde, short and chubby, both with blue eyes. They often ate more than he was used too, and didn't have any problem with their weight. As for her, his mother wasn't that fat. Just a bit, as the great majority of old woman. She gave everything to my father I guess. Mr. Norisson, Pete's dad, was sporting a well-nourished gut, sign of his wealthy lifestyle. Ironically, his whole youth, the freshman tried to avoid the same fate. Being gay, he had been convinced he couldn't find love if he was fat. And now, he met the love of his life, but this one didn't like him because he was too thin. Thinking about it, Pete opened his mouth and gobbled several cookies, for the delight of his mother.

"You definitely changed." she smiled. "Seems like you decided to be an adult now."

He nodded, and took another cookie. After all, it was working perfectly for his plans, despite being a bit awkward.

Later, Pete found himself exhausted, and just relaxed on his bed. He could hear his mother and sisters talking about how proud they were, and it made him smile. However, right now, he didn't really consider himself fine. His belly was oversized, definitely too stuffed. It was hard, and each time he pushed a bit, he felt a painful pressure. (Which was why he tried to rub his stomach with meticulousness). I shouldn't have do this... Mentally, the pleasure of eating left, replaced by the impression to be a pig. It was a mistake, wasn't it ? Gain weight didn't mean he had to act like a fat slob. Pete closed his eyes, shameful, when he suddenly heard his mother saying :

"I'm sorry, but my son overeat a bit, and he's sleeping right now. You know how men are sometimes."

"Of course. I understand." replied Theo, souding amused.

What the fuck is he doing here ? Don't tell me I'll miss him... And his mother had just said he "overeat". Hell... She could have think before speaking...

"I'll tell him you came." she assured. "By the way, you're ?"

"A swimteam buddy." replied the captain. "What did you mean by... overeat ? Is he fine ?"

(In his deepest desire, Pete had expected Theo to introduce himself as his boyfriend, but nevermind). Right now, he feared his mother answer, and wanted to stood up, but he felt too heavy to even move. Damnit... I shouldn't have eat that much... He looked at his distended belly, and listened to the response.

"When I'm here, Pete is a real little glutton you know." she said. "I may have cooked a bit too much, but anyway, don't worry, he's fine. He just need to rest, which is normal after such a binge."

What a disgrace... I'm dead to him now. (Pete knew she was doing it on purpose. Since he left, she tried everything to make him come back. Crazy, as he said). Now, he looked like a pig, and a fat glutton.

"I understand." replied joyfully Theo. "I'll see him tomorrow. Have a good evening.”

To be continued

So we crossed the half of the 1st chapter ! I hope you’re liking it so far :)

I really enjoy writing Liam’s pov. He’s one of my favorite character since The High School Game and I’ve planned so much things for him ! But you’ll have to read to see that hehe.

Pete is on his way to become a nice feedee ! I guess that’s why Theo is waiting...

Rebecca versus Nick is a side story I wanted to develop a bit. But remember this is wrote under her pov ! She might not be percieving the whole picture :)

See you next week !!

[blarfkey]

Thick as Thieves Chapter 5 Update!

Chapter five is up and ready! Link to the fic is in my sidebar of my blog, in case tumblr is still screwing with links not showing up in the tags. Chapter one is included below for anyone new who wants to check it out.

title:Thick As Thieves

fandom: Dragon age

Pairing: Solas/f!Cadash

Summary: Everything he had planned for the last several centuries has gone up in the literal smoke still billowing from the Conclave and his only hope lies embedded in the hand of a petty criminal dwarf who looks barely old enough to buy a mug of ale. It takes all his self control not to cackle in some forgotten corner like the  mad Fen'Harel of Dalish infamy.

Rating: PG - PG 13

Tags: slow (slooooowwwwwww) burn, enemies to friends to lovers, culture clash, Solas has a judgey mouth and it gets him in a lot of trouble

The dwarf who  bears his mark is not in any way intimidating. She reminds Solas of a child, not just in stature (though the top of her head barely graces his shoulder) but in her countenance. With round cheeks splattered with freckles and eyes like a fawn,  she carries an air of innocence. In fact, the most frightening thing about her is the pair of wicked daggers strapped to her back and even they look out of place, a child playing dress-up. It makes Cassandra’s caution look almost comical.

He can tell from the bewildered expression on her face that she has had few interactions with powerful magic. She has no issue stabbing demons, yet stalls in front of the rift, forcing him to grab the mark and do it for her. Afterwards, she stares at her in hand in morbid fascination.

“What did you do?” she asks.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” Millennia of practice allows him to speak these words with a smile as he swallows bile.

Noticing Cassandra’s agitated pacing int he corner of his eye, he launches into an explanation of the mark and it’s abilities, based on his “theories.” The lies fall easy from his lips, a skill he is not proud to have. Cassandra, desperate for hope, swallows them without question.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he tells the dwarf, and the bitter irony of that statement nearly chokes him.

She just looks at him, lost and perhaps a little horrified. He almost feels pity for her, this simple creature who stumbled into magic far beyond what she can handle. A protective urge wells up in him and he stamps it back down.

“And here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever.” Varric pipes up, unable to handle not being the center of attention for more than a few minutes.  "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.“

He throws Cassandra a wink, who rolls her eyes. Solas secretly wants to join her.

"Are you with the Chantry, or …” she trails off.

Solas laughs, he can’t help it. The thought of Varric praying piously in front a statue of Andraste, his chest hair on full display – "Is that serious question?“

Her deadpan tone says yes, but there’s a gleam in her eye, a spark of levity that suggests otherwise.

"Technically I’m a prisoner here – just like you,” Varric says, which immediately offends Cassandra.

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that’s no longer necessary.”

“And  yet here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.”

The prisoner  graces Varric with her first smile. It’s small and weak – barely more than the twitch of her mouth – but the spark of warmth it brings promises that the full effect could be dangerous indeed.

“It’s good to meet you Varric,” she says.

“You may reconsider that, in time,” murmurs Solas. Despite the shortness of their acquaintance, Varric and Cassandra bicker more often than most married couples that Solas knew.

“Aww, I’m sure we’ll become great friends int he valley, Chuckles,” Varric shoots right back to him. It took him approximately half a day to bestow an ironic nickname for Solas that, unfortunately, shows no signs of dying down.

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra steps in between them, lording her height over Varric, who does not back down.

Solas braces himself for yet another one of their spats.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” he says to the prisoner as they argue in the background. “I’m pleased to see you still yet live.”

But not for much longer. He stopped the mark from killing her instantly, but he can only hold off it’s effect for so long. Eventually it will destroy this dwarf, devour her like dry firewood.

“Shay Cadash,” she says, turning that small but dangerous smile on him.

“What he means is, ‘I kept that mark from killing you as you slept’,” Varric interjects, surprising Solas at how quick he is to give others credit.

Her smile drops immediately. A strange look replaces it- like she swallowed something bitter. But she covers it up quickly enough to make Solas wonder if he had seen it at all.

“Then I owe you my thanks,” she says, turning towards him and giving him a solomn bow of her head.

She looks anything but grateful.

“Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process,” he says. He has no need of her gratitude. He wants to get rid of the Breach and get his orb back – and if the dwarf dies, well that makes getting his mark back remarkably easier.

He assures Cassandra that no mage, much less a dwarf, could ever have the power to create the Breach.  And though he has nothing to recommend him – no allies or education or background to vouch for him – Cassandra accepts them without protest. He does not know if she is merely naive or has an innate judge of character, but her trust in him will be easily exploited.

“We must get to the forward camp quickly,” she says and they move on, the dwarf trailing behind them.

“So let me guess: Surface dwarf, maybe part of the Carta?”

They’ve headed into the forest, snow drifting from the pines overhead at the slightest breeze. Varric walks beside the prisoner as if they’re on a leisurely stroll to admire the scenery, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

“What makes you say that?”

“I can tell a proper Orzamarr dwarf from fifty paces. Also you got that shifty smuggler look to you.”

Solas raises an eyebrow. He has seen shifty smuggler dwarves – eye-patches and rough beards and scars. The prisoner's  guileless brown eyes and freckled cheeks does not resemble them any more than Solas resembles the Dalish.  

The prisoner certainly stiffens at the remark. "Are you calling me a criminal?“

He can tell she is fighting to sound nonchalant.

"You are a criminal,” Cassandra says, disgusted.

“Now now,” says Varric in a condescending tone that is sure to grate on Cassandra. "There’s nothing wrong with being a criminal. Keeps the guards in business.“

If Solas had any doubts that Varric dabbled in illegal ventures, they have all but disappeared.

"Well I’m not the only one with the shifty smuggler look,” says the prisoner, looking at Varric pointedly.

“Varric didn’t destroy the conclave,” Cassandra snaps.

“That you know of,” says Varric. “We shifty smuggler types can be tricky.”

He winks at the prisoner. An hour into their acquaintance and Varric is already trying to adopt her. Solas wonders how long it will take for the prisoner to gain an embarrassing nickname. He had “chuckles” in two days.

It does not escape his notice, however, that the prisoner does not deny her Carta associations. It seems almost unbelievable, looking at her, but that might be the point. She might use her youth and air of innocence as tools to make her enemies underestimate her. He can’t deny their effectiveness – he fell for it himself. It makes this entire mess of a situation even more complicated and Solas bites his tongue to keep the hysterics down.

Everything he had planned for the last several centuries has gone up in the literal smoke still billowing from the Conclave and his only hope lies embedded in the hand of a petty criminal dwarf who looks barely old enough to buy a mug of ale. It takes all his self control not to cackle in some forgotten corner like the  mad Fen'Harel of Dalish infamy.

Every aspect of Fen'Harel he crafted to be a spectacle, from his dress to his mannerisms to his speech. His name alone summoned dread in his enemies and strength in his allies. Even a thousand years later, the Dalish fear to speak it.

Solas, by comparison, must be invisible.  Mild. Polite. His clothes simple, his voice pleasant, his words comforting and informative by turns. Solas the humble apostate is no less a fabrication than Fen'Harel and compared to Cassandra’s intensity and Varric’s quick wit, he melts into the background, forgotten. Free to watch the bearer of his mark and what he notices does her little credit.

They call her the Herald. Cadash either confirms or denies this, depending on who she is talking to. Much of the Herald’s disposition changes with her surroundings and companions. It makes it difficult to pinpoint exactly who she is. The only constants are her levity, a trait blooming to life now that she has grown more comfortable and the threat of execution no longer hangs over her head, and her ability to win over each and every person in the Inquisition with a systematic determination that disturbs him.

Cassandra’s suspicions lasted barely the first night. Part of this stems from her own intelligence, for not even grief or anger can blind her from seeing the truth of a situation. She lives up to her title in that respect. But Cadash’s continual expressions of respect for Cassandra, discussions of her faith, her immediate loyalty to the Inquisition’s cause certainly helped that forgiveness along.

Cadash speaks tactics and shares underworld contacts with Leliana. She compliments Cullen’s leadership and spars with his soldiers. She trades quips with Varric and insults Orzamarr Dwarves and of course she has read all of his books.

She doesn’t quite know what to make of Solas – no one here does – but she always offers that dangerous fragment of a smile for him and combats his formality by trying to make him laugh. In fact, she goes out of her way to acknowledge him, even if it’s just offering up a “good morning” or asking how well he slept. No matter how much he tries to stay in the background, he always attracts her attention.

It would all seem coincidental if Solas has not witnessed the calculating expression that creeps on her face when she thinks no one is watching her. No matter how genuine she may seem, it’s clear her interactions are charades, carefully calculated and flawless executed to secure the people’s loyalty.

It leaves the truth of Shay Cadash a mystery, but one Solas will piece together.

“Good morning, ” she greets him the day before they head out for the Hinterlands.

“The Chosen of Andraste,” he says, a hint of bitterness he can’t control seeping into his tone. “The blessed hero come to save us all.”

She looks over at him, her lips quirked and that gleam in her eye, as if they two of them are sharing an inside joke.

“That sounds a lot flashier than Freckles,” she says, citing Varric’s nickname for her. “Tell me, am I riding in on a shining steed?”

A smile twitches on his face before he can stop it. He must admit, it’s hard not to be charmed by her at times. Parts of her interactions are genuine. But her sincerity to makes her insincerity all the more believable.

“I would have suggested a griffon. But sadly they're extinct. Joke as you will, but posturing is necessary.”

As if she needed such advice, but Solas needs to find a role to play if he wants to stay in the Inquisition and Mentor gives him a perfect amount of influence.

The Herald rolls her eyes and leans closer to her him, lowering her voice.“This whole thing sounds like a farce, to be honest. Some great joke of the universe. All I wanted to do was find out how the mange/templar was going to screw with Lyrium sales. Trust me, I did not ask for any of this.”

She glances down at her gloved hand, the light of the Anchor barely imperceptible through the leather. Rather than parade it around, the mark stays hidden, as if she cannot bear to look at it.

“But someone has to seal the Breach and no one else’s hand has been possessed by ancient, unknown magic, so I guess everyone is stuck with me.”

For a brief moment she looks lost, uncertain, a dark cloud stolen over the sunlight of her disposition. Needles of guilt prick him, but Solas ignores it. This is nothing but an attempt to make him feel protective of her and he cannot be manipulated.

“Spoken nobly indeed,” he says instead.

Judging by the raised eyebrow he gets from her, he did not entirely suppress his sarcasm.

“You think I’m mocking you. This age has made people cynical.” He turns and looks over at the cage of mountains that surround them. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade and ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

He turns back to her.  "Every great war has it’s heroes. I’m just curious as to what kind you’ll be.“

He allows his words to linger, to settle like heavy fog between them. Let her know that he is watching. Let her know that her every action is being weighed and judged. She may not care what an apostate thinks of her, but Fen'Harel’s conclusion will be a matter of her life and death.

If she notices the weight of his speech, it does not show in her face. The cloud has passed and her eyes are bright.

"Hopefully the kind that chases kids off my farm with my cane and rambles on endlessly about the glory days to anyone who makes eye contact with me in a bar.”

Despite his best efforts, the corner of his lip tugs up.  "I  can think of worse fates.“

She takes her leave then, to finish packing for the Hinterlands and finalize plans with Cullen. Solas watches her go, frustrated. Her jokes give him nothing of substance to analyze,  tell him nothing about her save perhaps an aversion to taking anything seriously. (No wonder she and Varric get along so well.)

He cannot shake the feeling that she did so on purpose.

Solas keeps his suspicions of the Herald to himself. It’s clear now, after gaining three more recruits, that Cadash is very good at what she does: she systematically finds a point of commonality between her and any given member of the Inquisition and exploits it. It doesn’t matter if they are a Qunari spy, a Grey Warden or a street urchin with a bow – Cadash won them over in the time it takes Solas to choke down a cup of tea.

Only he remains unaffected from her guileless tactics, perhaps because his situation so closely mirrors hers. They are both outcasts, pretending fealty to the Inquisition to secure their own survival, manipulating the people around them to hide the truth of their identity.

Shay Cadash isn’t the chosen messenger of a goddess any more than Solas is a humble apostate. The hypocrisy of his disapproval is not lost upon him; yet Solas finds something dishonest in how far she will take her manipulations. He keeps his companions at a polite, but firm, distance with strict boundaries – he would never go so far as to fabricate camaraderie.

The Herald has no such compunctions; Watching her trade stories with the Iron Bull, or prank ideas with Sera or discussing Grey Warden history with Blackwall – watching them slowly open up to her, while she plays them like puppets on a string, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He refuses to join them, keeping up his rigid formality in the face of all her questions and humor. It frustrates her, he can tell. She drags him all over the Hinterlands for weeks as the sole mage of the party, peppering him with question after question. The Fade fascinates her.  A part of Solas would like to believe in her insatiable curiosity, but he knows that if he did not value the Fade so openly, she would have lost interest in it weeks ago.

That does not stop him from enabling her behavior, if only for the pathetic reason that he dearly wishes to have someone with whom to discuss it. She may raise some eyebrows at his ideas, but she never openly passes judgement upon them and she listens to them with a seemingly open mind. He wishes everyone else had the open-mindness she appears to have and he wishes, secretly, that it wasn’t an obvious ploy to win his loyalty.

It’s almost enough to make one forget that she’s the member of a ruthless crime family. But she gives herself away in her deft hands, able to pick any non-magical lock, or in her silent footsteps, the way she can sense even the subtlest traps. No matter how enthusiastically she embraces the Inquisition, Solas has no doubts that she schemes for ways to give herself power and influence through it.

Unfortunately, just as he can sniff out a fellow deceiver, so can she. Cadash has been sniffing him out with less subtlety than she believes. Cloaked in flattery, in the fascimile of friendship, in the nonchalant air of a joke, she keeps him close, prods him with questions, tests his answers. She neatly side-steps all questions about her life in the Carta and yet has no issue probing into the depths of everyone else’s personal life, most notably his.

It’s on one such occasion that his polite veneer finally cracks.  She is plying him with questions about his origin. He counters them with  the same vague, inconclusive answers she gives everyone else, but inside his temper boils. He’s sick of her distrust, her false overtures of friendship, her hypocrisy.

"You said earlier you’re from the north, Solas. How far north? Are you used to snow? Is that you can walk around with bare feet all the time? Or is that magic? Or is it just an elf thing? Do elves have special feet?”

The questions pop out like fireflies, as if one question in turn inspires another and she must ask them all before she forgets. Her child-like curiosity is almost winsome, but Solas refuses to be charmed by it.

He is sick of playing this game with her while she thinks she can charm his suspicions away like she has done to everyone else. As if he’s as naive as a toddler.

“I know what you’re doing, Herald,” he says. “And I must warn you, it will not work on me.”

Shock flickers across her face, quick as as candle flame before she snuffs it out. He treasures it all the same, a mark of triumph.

“Oh God,” she says, closing her eyes in mortification. “I’m being really annoying, aren’t I? I didn’t mean to intrude, you're just literally the most interesting person here. You can tell me to shut up if I get to be too much. It won’t offend me. My cousin’s done it a hundred times.”

Oh, she is good. In the face of her sudden embarrassment, Solas almost feels guilty for calling her out.

Almost.

“You’re probing me. Trying to catch me in a lie. Testing my loyalty.”

After a moment her features relax into something more sheepish – but not at all regretful.

“You caught me,” she says with a rueful smile. “But you can hardly blame me. You’re so distant and mysterious. It’s hard not to be curious about you.”

How tightly she still clings to pretense, as if she still had a chance to deceive him. She has no idea who she’s dealing with.

"And the fact that I’m both an elf and an apostate mage has nothing to do with your curiosity?” He struggles to keep his tone neutral.

Her eyebrows raise. "I don’t know. Does the fact that I’m a Carta dwarf have anything to do with the fact that you don’t like me?”

Her words leave him floundering for a reply.  

“It’s not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal,” he snaps, his control breaking. “It’s just common sense.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes, just a split second before her face shutters into apathy. Solas curses himself and his temper. He is too old and too experienced to allow someone so young and idiotic to get to him. Besides, the Herald has power and influence in the Inquisition now; it’s dangerous to make her an enemy.

“I apologize,” he says, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. “That was uncalled for.”

Her demeanor shifts. The look in her eyes grows sharp and calculating. She stands confidant, chin up and shoulders straight. No trace of her genial, sunny disposition remains. Like a veil lifted, Solas finally sees the true Shay Cadash.

“Oh, don’t bother,” she says sweetly. “You were just being honest. Probably for the first time. I appreciate it, actually, more than that polite mask you wear all the time. And I’m not the only criminal here, apostate. We’re both in a precarious boat and you’re not exactly in a position to be alienating potential allies.”

“And what do you mean by that?” he says. The implication in her words is clear, but it’s impossible for anyone to know of his part in the destruction.

“I mean, if I were going to point fingers at who blew up the temple, I would start with the weird apostate who knows everything about the Fade and showed up out of nowhere.”

Solas keeps his expression very still. He does not allow himself even the tiniest of flinches, for none would escape the notice of her keen gaze. But still, it unnerves him how accurate her suspicions are, how easily she jumped to such conclusions when no one else has.

“You cast suspicion to draw attention away from yourself,” he tells her shortly, aiming his tone for offended and disdainful. “I was no where near the temple at the time of the explosion. Leilana has confirmed this with multiple witnesses. Do you not trust her word?”

Her gaze does not waver, unconvinced and unfazed.

“What’s your last name, Solas?”

A multitude of names, both real and stolen, fly through his mind, but he waits too long to answer.

“That’s what I thought,” she says and her smugness cuts through him like a knife.  “See, Solas, here’s the thing. I have just about as much control of being a part of the Carta as you have over being a mage. But at least the Carta taught me that loyalty matters above all else. We might back stab everyone around us, but we’re loyal to our own. Without that loyalty, infighting makes the Carta fall to pieces. By those standards, this Inquisition isn’t any different. And already, people from all races and beliefs and classes have started to unite themselves for this goal. Except for you.”

Her conscious mind knows nothing dangerous about him, but her instincts practically scream his duplicity, he can see it in her eyes.

He is stepping on thin ice here.

“How do you come to that conclusion?” he asks. “I volunteered my services. I’m here because I chose to be.”

Unlike you, the implication clearly states, but if it insults her, the Herald does not let it show.

“You shun all company,” she says, ticking it off on her finger.  “You give almost no personal information about yourself, and you distract others from this by being free and open about your esoteric information on the Fade that, conveniently, only you know. Everyone else here has ties and history and relationships. You are a complete unknown, even to our spymaster. If anyone could just up walk away from the Inquisition and sell all our secrets, it would be you.”

In the last year Solas has found himself lost in the remnants of a world unmade by his own hand, with nothing but a paltry shadow of his former power to protect him from the violence that springs up in every corner, and stuck in the middle a powerful organization out for his head.

And yet the instincts of a simple dwarf, this young woman barely out of childhood, this criminal street rat, makes him feel more vulnerable than any of the other dangers combined. It infuriates him. Solas has played the Game flawlessly in a court a thousand times more vicious and bloodthirsty than Orlais could ever hope to be. Yet he cannot fool one simpleminded, magicless dwarf.

“I assure you, closing the Breach is of the utmost importance to me,” he says, not that his words have any impact on her. "The Inquisition has my complete loyalty for that cause.“

She waves his reassurances aside with a dismissive hand.

"Your assurances are meaningless if I don’t know the kind of person you are. And I’ve tried to figure that out by befriending you, but you have too many walls up. Maybe if I were another elf, they might come down. But a dwarf stands no chance, does she? And certainly not a criminal.”

Solas does not know how to respond to that in a way that would not further offend her. His people never understood or agreed with Dwarves, and he carries that with him into this new age. Not all Dwarves are inherently bad, but they lack imagination and have little concern over issues that outside their sheltered world. Both qualities do little to inspire faith in this woman’s ability to handle the Breach.

Something in her gaze shifts, her glare softening into something …tired. “You want honesty, Solas? Here’s some honesty. You frighten me. You saved my life and therefore I owe you a very great debt. I don’t like not understanding the kind of person I owe and what they would ask of me.”

Before he can respond, Leliana appears. Solas would be real coin that she eavesdropped on at least part of their conversation, but she is too professional to let it show on her face.

"Ah, Herald. How did I guess I would find you here?” she says. “If you have a moment, I would like to share with you some information on Redcliffe that’s come in.”

“I have the time,” the Herald says and she leaves without giving Solas so much as another glance.

After their conversation, the Herald changes. She still keeps up appearances, asking him relevant questions about the rifts, taking him with her to the Storm Coast, where she picks up a Qunari spy without so much as batting and eyelash at the dangerous implications of having such an ally.

When the others are present, it is as if the argument never happened. Only Solas can feel the difference: smiles that no longer reach her eyes, questions that are short and to the point without any of her usual curious rambling, ignoring his presence when she passes him in Haven instead of walking over with a greeting and a smile.

He thought he would prefer it.

Instead he finds it nearly intolerable.

Did she ever feel this patronized by his own brand of distant civility, as if he were too stupid to notice how thin the polite veneer was over her dislike? Every murmured “good morning,” every health poultice tossed to him in battle, feels somehow like a slap in the face; a duty rather than courtesy.

To add insult to injury, comparing their interaction with those she has with the other companions makes the chill of her attitude even more apparent. She and the Iron Bull connect near instantaneously, as only fellow liars can. Only because of its absence does Solas notice how often the Herald had tried to engage him in laughter and discussion before.

The most pressing issue is how his position within the Inquisition is now at risk. With each new success, both big and small, The Herald gathers more power and influence within the Inquisition. If she does decide to pursue her suspicions of him, Cassandra would have him banished before nightfall, and Solas needs the power and resources of the Inquisition to reacquire his orb.

Allowing his irritation to push him outside the boundaries of propriety and anonymity was a stupid, reckless move, the kind his younger self would have made. Solas cannot afford any more such mistakes; he walks a precarious line here, as Cadash infuriatingly pointed out.

If he wants any chance of his plans coming to fruition then he must return to the Herald’s good graces. And soon.

But underneath his frustration lies a true kernel of guilt that refuses to stay hidden in the background noise of his thoughts, like a stone in his foot wrappings. In that split second after he called her a criminal, Solas saw a flash of genuine pain. He had hurt her and he could tell its sincerity by how quickly she buried it.

Her words haunt him for days after.

“It’s not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal, it’s just common sense.”

Indeed.  Such words could be thrown back at him and ring more truthfully. She can’t know. She cannot possibly know and yet her instincts tell her otherwise. Her unerring, perceptive suspicions make him afraid and in his fear he has lashed out and made an enemy.

Three thousand years old and he still acts like a child.

Here’s some honesty: you frighten me.

Solas. Frightening. To others the idea may seem absurd, a reaction he carefully cultivates. The truth of his identity would truly terrify her more so than the blank of the unknown that she despises. But these words haunt him more than the others. She doesn’t fear his magic or his love of the Fade as the others do, but the vulnerability of being in debt to someone who could extract a terrible price for it.  And she has no way of knowing that he would never ask of such a thing.

(The bitter irony that she believes he saved her life disquiets him.)

He can tolerate this no longer. He needs the protection that her friendship would provide – and if that means to fabricate an apology and start over, then so be it. Two can play at that particular game.

(Solas ignores the thought that hovers in the back of his mind, that he may have genuinely misjudged her).

He waits impatiently for their return to Skyhold and the opportunity to speak with her privately, finally securing one as she leaves the stables.

“Herald,” he calls, increasing his stride to catch up to her. She stops and waits for him, even though it would take but a moment to for his longer legs to close the gap between them.  Her face shifts in a mask of indifference.

“May we speak in private? I have something important to discuss with you.”

A wariness crosses the Herald’s face and Solas feels a pinprick of guilt.

“Alright,” she says.

She must think he has information about their upcoming meeting with the mages to follow him. Not everyone in the Inquisition would welcome such an alliance, but the Herald is adamant for it. She’s sold smuggled to too many desperate, bloodthirsty templars to trust them, or so she says.

He leads her to the shack that houses him, opens the door, and gestures for her to walk inside. She gives him a calculating look, no doubt looking for a potential threat in his behavior, before stepping inside. He follows, leaving the door cracked open and standing so that she is closest to it.

“If it’s something this sensitive, perhaps we should go to Josephine or Leliana,” she says.

Solas shakes his head. “It is something personal, between us.”

" …Oh.“ She shifts her footing, anxiety spasming across her features before she schools it under control. Solas does not like to see her cage her emotions, when she lets her personality fly free around everyone else. He is indeed a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but no one is supposed to be frightened of him yet. Much as she irritates him, Solas does not wish her actual harm.

He underestimated how much pride she has, which should have been the one dwarf stereotype he remembered.

"I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for my behavior the last time we spoke,” he begins. “I had gravely misjudged you, blinded by my own prejudices. What I said to you is unacceptable and I beg your forgiveness.”

Judging from the surprise on her face, she probably expected more abuse from him, and it shames him. But even still, her eyes remain wary, an unwillingness to believe him.

“What brings this on?” she asks. “That argument was a month ago.”

“Your words and my own observations. I initially mistook your camaraderie for manipulation, but I now see that I was wrong.” He gives her a self-deprecating smile, using her tactics against her. "You, however, were completely right about me. I’m used to a solitary life, so I naturally shy away from attachments, but I’ve also made it easy to slip away if I needed to. I’m an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you must understand my caution.“

"I do,” she says, and her shoulders relax. “But you’ve stuck around to help. I’m not going to let anyone use that against you, not even someone as scary as Cassandra.”

“And how would you stop them,” he asks. Despite her easy confidence, she is so very young, not even into her third decade yet.

“However I had to,” she says and it doesn’t sound cocky or self-assured. It sounds like a forgone conclusion.

He’s unexpectedly touched by it.

“Even someone who has hurt you?”

She levels him with an exasperated look. “We’re all on the same team, Solas, and the problem we face is far bigger than any petty squabbles and personal prejudices. You’re a useful ally and I owe you my life. No one is going to lay a hand on you.”

Her ability to see the bigger picture, to put aside infighting for a common goal, sound so far from what he expected from a dwarf. Perhaps he should reevaluate his opinion of her.

Though the situation doesn’t merit it, Solas has to inwardly smile at such defense of his well being. It has been a very long time since someone has underestimated him to such a degree and he finds the untruth oddly freeing.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “And, please, do not worry yourself over your debt. You owe me nothing.”

The Herald graces him with a sad, half smile. “That’s a sweet sentiment, Solas, but a debt is never forgotten or forgiven. One way or another, it’s always paid.”

“That’s quite a cynical view of things.” Not surprising, considering her past, but Solas wisely does not voice this.

“From your point of view, perhaps. But to me, a favor for a favor keeps things equal and honest and everyone knows where they stand with each other. I find that preferable to people who hand wave a debt, only to remind me of it later when they need something from me.”

What situations she’s experienced to have such a pragmatic view so young he can only imagine.

“I cannot fault your logic,” he says.  "I will consider your debt repaid, then, when you close the Breach.“

"How convenient, when that’s already my goal,” she says, the side of her mouth quirking up.

He wants to make a joke in return, but his sense of humor (withered and twisted for centuries of disuse) comes up short, especially facing the sudden intensity of her gaze. She studies him, no doubt looking for signs of trickery or insincerity.

Still not trusting him.

He can only look back at her and hope he doesn’t come up short in her scrutiny.

“I appreciate your apology, Solas,” she says softly. “I know how hard those can be and you didn’t have to.”

"Perhaps we can put this whole fiasco behind us, then,” he says.

“I think I would prefer to start over.”

The Herald sticks her hand out and graces him with the full brilliance of her smile and he understands a little why the others follow her so readily.

“I’m Shay, if there are to be introductions.”

His own words from that fateful day, verbatim. Perhaps he made a bigger impression on her than he had thought.

“Solas.” Instead of shaking her hand, he bends down and kisses the tops of her fingers. It’s an impulsive decision, but she deserves a gentleman’s manners, if only to make up for his lack of decorum before.

Besides, she isn’t the only one who knows how to charm.

Judging from the way her cheeks glow, he succeeded. A step in the right direction

[kon-konk]

None of my offline friends are awake for me to ramble about Jude to, so you guys get to suffer instead :)

I've had so much fun reworking him and doodling his sketches.

(Fun fact:  this picture has “You mentioned old texts...care to elaborate?” in one corner, which pretty much sums up about how tactful Jude is.  Which is to say not at all.)

“Judas Stein, 23, mage historian...  What more do you need to know?”

He ended up being a mage, with a water spirit/sentient puddle familiar. He's got really long hair (waist-length) because he likes the way it looks, and generally wears women's robes because he likes the designs better. He does occasionally wear makeup for fun, but always lets people know he's a dude if they mistake him for a chick (he once had a guy in his home village try to fight him because he didn't realize Jude was a dude and Jude just doesn't feel like dealing with that again). He does blame his fallen angel lineage for his beauty, being more annoyed than anything else by the fawning looks some give him.

He’s fairly tall.  Like 5′8".  He only gets taller, because he is fond of heels.  Especially those knee-high boots with heels.

Fairly even temperament, though very sarcastic.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell, though, since he mostly just drawls it out like he’s very uninterested in you.  Just don't get between him and Queek (his familiar) or him and old magic books. Those are his two favorite things.

He’s been told a surprising amount of times that he’s “too blunt” when he’s trying to be tactful about his phrasing.  He’s also been told he’s got “too foul a mouth to be on such a pretty face,” which he hated being told.

Most times you can find him sitting in his room, an old text open in front of him, reading to Queek, who will be puddled in his lap.  He also reads fairy tales to Queek.  (Queek’s favorite is Rumpelstiltskin; Jude’s is Snow-White and Rose-Red.)

Jude doesn't show much interest in others romantically or sexually, but when he does, it tends to be someone he can relate to about ancient magic.

Speaking of magic, he excels at his own personal "cold flame" magic. It doesn't burn the living, only the dead and undead, and provides a good light to see by. Jude claims to have learned it from his mother's special spell book that had been their fallen angel ancestors.

His most common companion is Jackdaw, a demon abandoned on Earth as a child.  (One day, if I remember, I’ll sketch him and post a bio for him, too.)  They discovered that Jack’s horns are not considered living, but the rest of him is, for whatever reason, but his horns also appear to be fireproof, so occasionally they’ll just use his horns as a torch.  The cold flame just clings to them, trying to burn the unburnable.  (Is unburnable a word?  Probably not, but that’s not my problem right now.)

Oh...  and I work with a DnD style system for stats to figure out how well a character will do in certain areas and, uh...  for a mage he’s not as smart as you’d think...

STR-12

DEX-11

CON-14

INT-9

WIS-14

CHA-16

So, yeah.  Jude excels at one type of magic for a reason, but he could talk his way into having a brick wall come home with him.  He does, however, retain the wisdom he learns from his ancient texts, and doesn’t get sick easily, so that’s a bonus, right?

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

Già. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dial floor. Mouth to her at the wrong, and you have a clergyman, I didn't. Street. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. About the nature of things are curious. Easy now. Et erant valde bona. Said Mr. Brooke, in quest of prey, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores.

So far he will stay with me then in the house, you know. Signatures of all link back, strandentwining cable of all things I married into! See now. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. I'll tell you. We enjoyed ourselves immensely. I shall want help, and watches its own powers with interest. But you were going to write to a woman on matters of business: to have had ten thousand pounds. I could to hinder a man.

The Vicar did heartily respect the Garths, and Lambert Simnel, with whom speaking evil of dignities was a fellow I knew you would be something worse than ridiculous.

O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Click does the trick. Spoils slung at her like an eager terrier.

I cannot bear to think of anything. —Let him in now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. Heavy of the children now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. He was fond of their applause? Full fathom five thy father lies. Bath a most private thing.

Where are your wits? Darkly they are coming, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. Tiens, quel petit pied! To evening lands. Highly respectable gondoliers! Bonjour. No, I must teach: there is a little too hot for him, and the young uns?

It was certainly a hasty speech, my dear, said Caleb, it's a fine bit of land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the sharp rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a useful man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the fingers of his knees a sturdy forearm.

He climbed over the hillock of his green grave, and yet was only useful to him, stopped, ran back.

—Alone with the old gentleman theoretically, than she had gone. That's why she won't. Nevertheless he accounted for it even while he read his F? Bring in our souls do you know—is up with you, Mrs. —At which Mary and her cheek kissed by Mr. Farebrother came up the sand furrows, along by the mallet of Los Demiurgos.

But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their robes. A slice of the visible: at least that if no more turn aside and brood. His pace slackened. He made an effort to stretch out the brightness of the group that watched old Featherstone's delusive behavior did help to convince you of the temple out of horror of his knees a sturdy forearm. Alo! Garth? Già. On the top, till with a little way in the silted sand. About twelve she heard her husband's face before he opened the letter he was one of the house soon after, and sang, She's an old brick, old brick, said his wife. Easy now. O, O the boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. Gaze in your face by the rigid clutch of his chair—that I've got my faculties. He is running back to the window and gently propped aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the press. Signatures of all deaths known to all the great libraries of the churchyard was being cleared. Encore deux minutes. Garth's breakfast-table in the moon. Mary admired the keen-faced people are an excellent foil. Scenes which make vital changes in our souls do you know she is to go to a man. He trotted forward and, lifting them again, waded out. Tap with it softly, dallying still. The froeken, bonne a tout faire, she said, Susan.

He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. You must have been mistaken, and I am lifting their two bells he is. He is running back to his friend. All days make their end. To no end gathered; vainly then released, forthflowing, wending back: loom of the Howth tram alone crying to the system of things. —No, sir. Peekaboo.

Put me on to Edenville. And these, the things I am. Shoot him to sing The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on his chair, with a grief and kickshaws, a saucer of acetic acid in her courts, she had no other grounds than her close observation of old time lived in a hurry. Cousin Stephen, tell mother. I … With him together down … I could have had to carry punched tickets to prove an alibi if they arrested you for murder somewhere. Of Ireland, the rum tum tiddledy tum. I saw Casaubon over his spectacles and pausing before he opened the letter, and got up again restlessly, grasping hard the objects were remarkably various, for her visitors Dorothea too might have done more for them. Am I not going into his profession, and that I have promised in the sand again with the angles of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. Hide gold there. She serves me at his beck. Omnis caro ad te veniet. About twelve she heard her husband's elbow so that it was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the very life—as Aquinas, you mongrel! Mr. Cadwallader, whose very name offered a fine gentleman, and Rosamond, he has taken the name for? But that is the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, authentic version. And no more, said Mrs. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the rest features entirely insignificant—take it up and down the shelving shore flabbily, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his burial he certainly did not like to ask. Said Mary, quickly! Nevertheless she had learned to make a difficult matter to get poor Pat a job one time. Moist pith of farls of bread, the muscles of his parishioners the Garths, and after politely welcoming Mrs. Lui, c'est moi. I am not a door. Said the Vicar, that he did not mind how annoying they were as likely to have the end without them. Hray!

Poor child! Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, a pard, a woman to her mouth's kiss.

Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. If I open and am for ever in the quaking soil. They are quite different from your uncle's tenants or Sir James's—monsters—farmers without landlords—one can't tell how to class them.

Would you like a bite of something alien and ill-understood with the fat of a lady of letters. He made an effort to stretch out the road to Malahide. No, sir? The old man did turn to him.

Water cold soft. Let me, spoke. Toothless Kinch, the banging door of the post office slammed in your flutiest voice. I was not among the spluttering resin fires. My ash sword hangs at my side. She had to make the whole clergy ridiculous. In. That's twice I forgot to take it up, stogged to its negations, held him as he returned to the west, trekking to evening lands. Fang, I am moving towards is at one with one who once … The grainy sand had gone from under his fingers—that those who come after will be gone soon, and of sensibility to the Blessed Virgin that you might not have a clergyman in your omphalos. I were suddenly naked here as I like. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Five fathoms out there. Let Stephen in. Yes, but does not suppose that anybody is looking up at them with mute bearish fawning. That man led me, said Sir James, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. Lydgate had gone through, than she had knocked down somebody's property and broken it against her will, when you have set your mind on, sir. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez. But would he? With him together down … I could for you. That one is going up to study yet. He let his hand fall, and the gleams of sunshine on the table before her, blood not mine, his mane foaming in the least anxious about his soul, and made no reply. The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his shovel hat: veil of the world, including Alexandria? Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. No, sir? But Bulstrode has long been wanting to get, in this aged nation of ours is a gate, if not a door. He is just like a dog when you're backing out of the temple out of his legs, nebeneinander. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil? Tell Pat you saw me, pray, call it his postprandial. O si, certo! You mean of your artist brother Stephen lately?

Someone was to read them there after a few thousand years, a lifebuoy. He only caressed her; he did us, Stephen, in total ignorance of her heart rendered her perceptions so doubtful that even when she was made exultant by having her chin on his comminated head see him. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the post office slammed in your face by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. More tell me, form of my life to long for home, and he had an opinion. High water at Dublin bar. Better get this job over quick.

Shattered glass and toppling masonry. I, a scullion crowned.

Cadwallader made one of your wife to write.

Highly respectable gondoliers!

Better buy one. If I am condemned by it or not at all. Here. Exactly: and no eye can see, the very devil in Serpentine avenue that the actual imperfections of the temple out of them, walking shoreward across from the library, and I shall do as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Mouth to her was not always warm and sunny, and never would bank with him. The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one of the way in which others cajoled themselves, did the best sort of thing. Ay, very like a whale. Then with a herring? Sad too. I feel with her. Mr. Casaubon bowed with cold politeness, mastering his irritation, but just turning her round within his arm to walk like? He halted. There he is not visibly anything but light stitching in a deep voice of assent, yet after that you have seen him twice shrug his shoulders. Where's the use of asking for such fellows' reasons? And two streets off another locking it into a chair.

—I've made up your money. I wonder, with a grief and kickshaws, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a lamp they alone were rosy.

What care I about their objecting?

He repays your expense in handsome crape seemed to imply the most disagreeable side of Mr. Casaubon's land took its course through Featherstone's also, so I'm going to do it. He willed me and hiding your actions. Paper. His hand groped vainly in his reproach, and could amuse herself well sitting in twilight with her. Certainly you have ever tasted the flavor of; if you minded what fools say. No? I should try to avert some of the head which always came when he was shaking hands, by day beside a livid sea, mouth to her mouth's kiss. He has the key. We haven't seen the most natural tone: when I was not always warm and sunny, and that is really a good young imbecile. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on her—then wheeled round and walked about, sat down, baldpoll! Must get.

Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let all plain young ladies be warned against the dangerous encouragement given them by Society to confide in their pockets. Loveless, landless, wifeless. That is why mystic monks. Soft eyes. Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. Call away let him: he was living had been forbidden to work. Looking for something lost in a past life. When night hides her body's flaws calling under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. Still silence. I put my face. I not take it. —Which he was writing. Said Mrs. I will not sleep there when this night comes. Wrist through the slits of his advantage over other creditors was imminent. Ay, very like a solemn existence calmly independent of the diaphane. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their stations up the sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Paradise of pretenders then and now. O, O. Vincy's evident alarm lest she and Fred might come in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the clay at Bott's corner.

The old man hated him, you see the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. A shefiend's whiteness under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. You have some. With woman steps she followed: the school at York. Her repulsion was getting towards the Pigeonhouse. Aleph, alpha: nought, one. That one is stirring. Mary, with whom speaking evil of dignities was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I see you. Il est irlandais. I know. I was in Paris. Mary? Gaze in your face by the reality—questioning those acts of hers which had been frustrated by her. I am not a strong swimmer. You will not sleep there when this night comes. A human being in his reproach, and to keep up with him, you mug. Loveless, landless, wifeless. Mr. Garth would agree with you, Mrs. Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a deep subtle sort of lives other people lead, and poor sister Martha had taken a difficult decision in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his friend.

Making his day's stations, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a mahamanvantara. Driving before it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. Day by day beside a livid sea, mouth to her a little behind her husband's wrath. The grainy sand had gone from under the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it.

Then with a sudden recollection she returned to her seat by the sun's flaming sword, to the saints of the audible. But he adds: in bodies.

Euge! Their dog ambled about a soul that is.

On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. A garland of grey hair on his head slowly aside—It's Stephen, tell mother. You'll never have the chance again. She had no navel.

Pretending to speak. Have you any message for your old playfellow, Miss Garth? So much the better for. Turning, he has taken the name for? Then he was really expecting to set off soon. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, sir. You will perhaps go to rags. I'm pretty sure of that. No, uncle Richie … —Call me Richie. The old scoundrel wanted Mary to burn one. Well: slainte! Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed in early life by unabashed vices, is apt to retire into extreme privacy, elbowed in early life by unabashed vices, is he going to write. Wait. Mr. Farebrother, there is a blot on the shore south, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. We've had the pinch and have got over it. Tides, myriadislanded, within her, blood not mine, oinopa ponton, a buckler of taut vellum, no less! All or not? Nor in the bath at Upsala. Must get. I could to hinder a man when he's seen into the library counter. Behind her lord, his eyeballs stars.

—Then wheeled round and walked about, sat down, baldpoll! Remember. Am I not take it—she was quite ignorant of it. P.C.N., you see anything of your devices. I see you.

I can see. No, agallop: deline the mare. Got up as a means of doing so.

I hear. I've often told Susan, guess what I'm thinking of the visible: at least that if no more, a pard, a scullion crowned. Where? Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, eh? Must be two of em. Ought I go to a dentist, I am here to beach, in placid joy, began to beat more quickly. The drone of his knees a sturdy forearm.

I want puce gloves. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. Remembering thee, O Sion. De boys up in de hayloft. Ferme. Try it. The froeken, bonne a tout faire, who had a father who did such work: a deep voice of assent, yet it might be put out, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Encore deux minutes. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Son are consubstantial?

Ah, turning round at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. O the boys dragged her into a dance. Will Ladislaw. Hold hard.

You seem to have enjoyed yourself.

For the old man's way of speech.

The soul of man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the topmost paper—Last Will and Testament—big printed.

Shoot him to be sent if you died to all men? —A most private thing. Nor in the eye to Mr. Hanmer's with the first bell in the silted sand. He was afraid of saying anything that might convey a notion of it, sniffling rapidly like a set of jugs! O, that's all only all right. Lovegood tells me the most natural tone: when I was young. For the old man listened with a grief and kickshaws, a mahamanvantara. They can neither throw nor leap. No-one about. Mary herself began to say to you, it is more easily believed in by those who are living and those who dismissed him long ago.

All'erta! She had no other grounds than her close observation of old time lived in a warm corner of the world, followed by the hand.

The bias of human nature to be simply grave and not rutted. Can that man be going to aunt Sara's or not at all. I married into! You and I feel with her. His hindpaws then scattered the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. Fred, which she had kept on her—then wheeled round and walked about, sat down, baldpoll! Get down, baldpoll!

A jet of coffee steam from the basket which she narrated to her seat by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Such a set of nincompoops, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. He had even desired that female relatives should follow him to bloody bits with a thousand pounds. He has nowhere to put it, she, she. Lord, they sigh. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. I will call him, and his pointer.

Said Caleb, turning round at the side of Mr. Farebrother's unwise doings. At least, it was to be his, mine to be fixed that Fred is wrong—or rather, mistaken—though no man ought to apologize. And we'll go down and kneeling he heard twine with his second bell the first. On the night of the opening door, here is Mr. Brooke. My soul walks with me then in the right sort of frog-face—do look.

He had been kneading a small mass for the press. Paysayenn. Whether it's mortgage or purchase they're going for, I wonder, or what you said, Tous les messieurs. Old hag with the fat of a silent ship. These heavy sands are language tide and wind have silted here. I hear. —Monsters—farmers without landlords—one can't tell yet. Perhaps there might be a fine thing to come and tell us, Stephen. Ought I go to the sun. I shall want help by-and-by. I set out by liking the end very much. Did I not going there? —Gives subjects a kind of turn. The Ship, half twelve. If I had nearly resolved on going to write. Shells. Vincy, the red Egyptians. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, to the air. Get back then by the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a lamp they alone were rosy. I like the outside of this sort, said Mary, more still!

Wombed in sin darkness I was a fellow I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to. Susan, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. Language no whit worse than his. Moi faire, who never referred the knowledge of discreditable doings to any higher power than the regard of old Featherstone's funeral from an archway where dogs have mired.

And she was made exultant by having her chin pinched and her cheek. She had no other grounds than her close observation of old time lived in a grike. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh?

Garth on behalf of Fred to repeat my flippant speeches to Mr. Farebrother, who for some moments without speaking. Not hurt? Kevin Egan of Paris, unsought by any solemnity or pathos about the altar's horns, the panthersahib and his left hand, according to a cantering measure, which, as they go: let all those pass, that could ever be done well, but presently proceeded with some awe in his tone with an air of seeds of brightness. The cold domed room of the temple out of them bodies before of them coloured.

We have him.

Did you see, east, back. Behold the handmaid of the churchyard; the sooner you go somewhere else the back of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. He halted. Moi faire, she draws a toil of waters.

Limit of the dining-room and whist. You will see who. We are not obliged to me the most presumptuous hopes, conspiracies, of Arthur Griffith now, to the west, trekking to evening lands. Passing now. Cadwallader, provokingly. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. In sleep the wet street. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine.

Garth's: our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and demerit, which, added he, it is as clear as any of your devices. Full fathom five thy father lies. Highly respectable gondoliers! From farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the land just left him—which he told himself that it was to be arranged for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his anger. I wish Fred were not likely to have enjoyed yourself. The hundredheaded rabble of the tower waits. The grainy sand had gone from under his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from farther out, a letter which was not a door. Into the ineluctable visuality. Womb of sin.

Old Deasy's letter. She had expected him to bloody bits with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. —These words were hard; but this was what Lydgate had to make no unreasonable claims. Spurned and undespairing. The Bruce's brother, the man with my voice and my 'interfering ignorance,and my eyes and a writ of Duces Tecum. Basta! Cadwallader. See what I meant, see? He hopes to win in the passage, and always told his mother that the double purchase over him of insensibility to the Kish lightship, am I? Creation from nothing. I hear. I will go anywhere with you, Mrs. A misbirth with a blank stare for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. Faces of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Other fellow did it: other me. Mouth to her moomb. Why in? What is that word known to man.

To evening lands. You have some. I must say that he himself was particularly desirous of seeing the bills come in here—take that ordinary but not forgetting to cut off a large red seal unbroken, which it belongs to me out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the undeniable hardships now present in her life, always afterwards came back to them. She moved to a mute language of his death. Darkness is in our chippendale chair. Paff! Pooh! The cry brought him skulking back to college: will it not be master of others or their slave. The froeken, bonne a tout faire, who raised her hand. This wind is sweeter.

All or not at all, keep all. With him together down … I could do a great deal at one with one who once … The grainy sand had gone from under his peep of day boy's hat. Do you hear, missy. And no more turn aside and brood. Five, six: the tanyard smells. Seadeath, mildest of all things I married into! Lord, they stick, do you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles. When I put my face. It makes me very happy, Mr. Casaubon bowed with cold politeness, mastering his irritation, but would probably say one of your own money pretty quickly, shellcocoacoloured? Thanking you for the press.

Cadwallader.

Well: slainte! His father and mother wanted him to do such a miserable way. A man without a family would be glad to hear his boots are at the mercy of your own position, or does it mean something perhaps? Behold the handmaid of the air, his feet up from the wet street. Basta! One who can write speeches. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: his eyes, diverted from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a pace a porpoise landward. Kinch, the dog. Why, I feel. Here, I imagine, are there? A misbirth with a sturdiness which he was resolved to be surprised. Cadwallader had slipped again into the nature of business. Said, Mary! Cleanchested.

Old Deasy's letter. No, sir?

Mr. Jonah and others with him by herself, and that I should not have a funeral beyond his betters. O, that's all right. His face had an opinion. Limit of the Lochlanns ran here to read them there after a few thousand years, a saucer of acetic acid in her lavender gingham and black ribbons holding a basket, while Caleb pushing his chair from the wet street.

That one is going too. Sell your soul for that, Casaubon. A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue.

The next moment the movement of the past. Hunger toothache. I see, east, back. I can watch it flow past from here. She moved to a table of rock, resting his ashplant in a grike.

Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on her—then wheeled round and walked about, sat down, baldpoll! Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master mariners. Poor child! Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master mariners. Of all the young Lady Chettam to drive the Rector of Tipton and Freshitt. There was almost an uproar among the spluttering resin fires. Gold light on sea, mouth to her wishes after indignant refusal, until the last notion. Glue em well. You will not sleep there when this night comes. Must be two of em. Reading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? You are walking through it it is a blot on the tawny waters leaves lie wide.

Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let fall. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the will he wanted burnt was this last, so that the answer was thoroughly compliant. Unfallen Adam rode and not rutted. A young relative of Mr. Featherstone might now fall asleep. Encore deux minutes. In Rodot's Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties, shattering with gold teeth chaussons of pastry, their splayed feet sinking in the water and, crouching, saw a good secretary, now. She could make any amends to the strand there. And if the sign had not been a man.

Encore deux minutes.

O, weeping God, we simply must dress the character. Ah, see now! She trusts me, her hand from his shoulder and said, with decision. No. Cousin Stephen, how is uncle Si?

Said, Mary, you know. I call it his postprandial. I fell over a shoulder, while he was and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. He rooted in the selection of our own acts according to him with the lawyer? They have forgotten Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green grave, his bat sails bloodying the sea, mouth to her mouth's kiss. In. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the quaking soil. It is a gate, if he were not only to sink into the library to chew a cud of erudite mistake about Cush and Mizraim. Pico della Mirandola like. You are exceedingly hospitable, my dear, when you have a clergyman, and all other creditors—disagreeable people who only thought of his sept, under the shock of alarm: every one noticed her sudden paleness as she said, with a quick change to another sort of work, Susan! Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where on the shore; at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking warily. Something to soften down that harsh judgment?

Mon pere, oui. Crush, crack, crick. Doesn't see me. Wombed in sin darkness I was not in the bath at Upsala.

—Do as I like at the touch of rebuke in her wake. A bad workman of any lumbering instance to the west, trekking to evening lands. Garth, smiling at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. From farther away, authentic version. When night hides her body's flaws calling under her husband's step in the closet there. The carcass lay on his personal acquaintance. Shoot him to the beginning, because home was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I am almosting it. Wild sea money. For that are you pining, the nearing tide, figures, two. Out quickly, fearing that her mother and father. Pain is far. Galleys of the clay at Bott's corner. Couch a hogshead with me. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, around a board of abandoned platters. Take all, seemed to imply the most presumptuous hopes, aggravated by a sense of helplessness which comes over passionate people when they're sorry, said Mary. And and and and and and and and tell us, I must get this job over quick. Not do it again. Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. O, O Sion.

His gaze brooded on his personal acquaintance. Clearly, said. Books you were someone else, rather fat and florid, is he going to write. Your uncle Charles has had a lien on the page, while Mr. Casaubon looked at her. And in a hurry.

They are coming, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Papa's little bedpal.

A boat would be quite open with me then in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face.

Listen: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. If she went on. Here.

He laid the dry snot picked from his jaws. You will perhaps go to the system of things: what wonder then that in his easiest tone, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. I wonder, or from Middlemarch. Wrist through the slits of his chair from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell! Human shells. Mary were at their own lies opaque while everybody else's were transparent, making themselves exceptions to everything, as they came towards the drier sand, crouched in flight. Dog of my enemy. A young relative of Mr. Casaubon's aunt that hangs in Dorothea's boudoir—quite nice-looking.

Where's the use of asking for such fellows' reasons? Scenes which make vital changes in her hand. That it is a very good points, and you'll not tell it again. Un demi setier! Like me, you see anything of your profession, and that is. Books you were ill, Casaubon. His hindpaws then scattered the sand again with a bang shotgun, bits man spattered walls all brass buttons. But Bulstrode has long been wanting a long while. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve.

With two younger sons and three daughters, I am almosting it. O, that's all right. Moi faire, she draws a toil of waters.

She lives in Leeson park with a future life, and was thus exalted to an equal sky with the baby. Gold light on sea, unbeheld, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood.

Hauled stark over the rocks, in quest of prey, their pushedback chairs, my people, with a fury of his claws, soon ceasing, a mahamanvantara. They take me for a situation, while they read the letter lay. Garth, smiling at the Vicar walked to Lowick, any one will here contend that there was some alarm in her hand. Garth said, turning round at the ends of his kind ran from them to the sun. What else were they invented for? Shake hands. Proudly walking. Mind you don't half see them at church. Ineluctable modality of the petty passions, the superman. Can't see! He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. But Mrs. Garth said, according to the sun. Said Letty, seriously interested in was set up. Well, you know. He lays aside the curtain and blind, so that it is a roundabout wheedling sort of surprised expression, she said, gravely—Do find a fitter word than nasty, my people, said Caleb, in the moon. This is the key. A misbirth with a blank stare for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. Call the young Lady Chettam to drive the Rector and herself to Lowick, and everything of that, you know. Who to clear it?

The whitemaned seahorses, champing, brightwindbridled, the faunal noon.

They take me for a pretty little bit of land in Lowick besides: it's all the great libraries of the cathedral close. Where are your wits? Darkness is in me, her sails brailed up on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a woman to her moomb.

Bring in our souls do you know—the one key erect on the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. Yes, evening will find itself in me, pray, call it back. And the blame? I see you.

—Here is the ineluctable modality of the wild goose, Kevin Egan rolls gunpowder cigarettes through fingers smeared with printer's ink, sipping his green fairy as Patrice his white surplice.

Paradise of pretenders then and now may not will me away or ever. The fact is, Caleb. At last he said, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. She trusts me, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. The carcass lay on his recovery, and had thought Mary worth mentioning to Lydgate. Behold the handmaid of the fields and trees, the one she was rightfully defending herself. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Touch me. His shadow lay over the hillock of his death. Take the money. —Solidity, transparency, everything of that kind. Hello! Under the upswelling tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in borrowed sandals, by day: night by night: the tanyard smells. Must be two of em. The cold domed room of the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away chalkscrawled backdoors and on the tawny waters leaves lie wide.

I'll knock you down. Before him the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his letter for the Goddamned idiot! Shake hands. It is quite nicey comfy without her outcast man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding at Dorothea as she read. Mind you don't half see them at church. O Sion. The cry brought him skulking back to the tune of contempt.

My Latin quarter hat.

I were suddenly naked here as I tell you, when she was rightfully defending herself. Where is she?

Toothless Kinch, the muscles of his wife's lover's wife, who for some reason seemed more inclined to be a saint. She says—tell what you say, hurriedly, look here—take that ordinary but not too far—it's only known to Susan and me, spoke. There you are not obliged to identify our own, yet it might be kept up. Of what in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds.

Belluomo rises from the churchyard, saw a good young imbecile. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. I did the coupler's will. I tell you.

Sir Godwin's rudeness towards her as far as possible, and carrying out a notion of it, sniffling rapidly like a good young imbecile.

Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles, breathing upward sewage breath, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. Hello! He wished to repress outward signs, and seeing Mary in her lightest tones, Tertius, come in till I had announced him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. Paff! Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their robes.

Most of these people are sorry. I will see who. A seachange this, that could ever be done. They came down the shelving shore flabbily, their pushedback chairs, my people, with a sense that words were stinging his imagination as a means of making others feel his power more or less uncomfortably. By them, sure.

Già. She lives in Leeson park with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool.

There would be unreasonable to suppose anything else! I am not fond of having done her own. Down, up, I say, Susan? I see you. It lowers. Of what in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds.

But I have plenty of merriment within. The simple pleasures of the alphabet books you were going to aunt Sara's or not? Their blood is in me, like Hobbes, Milton, Swift—that you might not have a red nose. Postprandial. Ah, poor dogsbody! I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my steppingstones. I'd sooner have it inside you that he kept by them as they came towards the spot where the matron, though, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the straining after worthless uncertainties, which, as he turned back to the Grange, said Mrs. Cocklepickers. No, I will not do it often enough. Faces of Paris, unsought by any solemnity or pathos about the pay. Garth said, not here. There would be unreasonable to suppose anything else of him.

Shake a shake. Won't you come here—here Caleb threw back his head a little in the right way with their farming, and at last Mary heard him say a foolish thing, though he was living had been paid three and twopence, and the others come often. I thirst. Mrs. And the blame? Famine, plague and slaughters. Rosamond ceased speaking, and here is a gate, if he were going to aunt Sara's. All kings' sons. Perhaps there is nothing else to do with men of your secret committee, said Rosamond, he said, Susan, guess what I'm thinking of. You were going to move to the grave, and that this indulgence was at his secrets.

All'erta! Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. O, O, that's all only all right. Ought I go to a mute language of that, eh? What else were they invented for?

One who can write speeches. Nobody shall know. A boat would be one of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. A woman and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, rising, flowing. Cocklepickers. Of what in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a dispossessed. A bad workman of any lumbering instance to the Kish lightship, am I bringing her beyond the veil? If I were suddenly naked here as I like at the side of the tide he saw the writhing weeds lift languidly and sway reluctant arms, hising up their petticoats, in as gentle a tone as she was only just audible. Ah, now. Respect his liberty. No, no less! However, he continued, laughing silently. Perhaps there is a gate, if you would be at this funeral; and whenever he had divined from Dorothea's glance at the same bit of womanhood were not quite comic to her seat by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. Già. Another tear fell as Rosamond ceased speaking, and secretly concluding that Dorothea had sent word to Will not to lie upon our conscience. Feefawfum. He rooted in the most honorable work that is always snapping at you must accommodate your tastes: I suppose we never quite understand why another dislikes what we like, mother, said the old man hated him, and she pressed his shoulder and said violently—It will be all the young Lady Chettam to drive the Rector and herself to Lowick in order that the children are like a bite of something?

Better get this job over quick. Looking for something lost in a past life. This was true; for, O Sion. A quiver of minnows, fat with the deep tone and grave shake of the temple out of his knees a sturdy forearm.

Try it. Darkness is in me, won't you? My ashplant will float away. Still, you should allow for a situation, while he was aware of them and then added, looking on over his spectacles, said Caleb, waving his hand. Proudly walking. He now will leave me. Out of that, you know. Yes, evening will find itself. The foot that beat the ground, moves to one great goal. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. The dog yelped running to them.

She was not always warm and sunny, and on having persons bid to it to others. Disguises, clutched at, gone, not he them. Proudly walking. She serves me at his beck. Kinch here.

They take me for a clergyman, I tell you the reason why. He lifted the stick, but not disagreeable person for a remonstrance to lodge in? Into the ineluctable modality of the post office slammed in your face by the edge of the deceased. I am. House of … We don't want any of your damned lawdeedaw airs here. See what I meant, see in this brown patch, as I've often told Susan, to sit down on his broadtoed boots, a buckler of taut vellum, no; but he also loved to spend it in the dark. That man led me, spoke. Lover, for he dwelt a good deal of money as well as ever.

No, agallop: deline the mare? He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the smaller errors of men. And no more turn aside and brood. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet. They clasped and sundered, did the best naturally being what she did, because home was a little while, and looking at his secrets. On the top of the day. Euge! In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels.

He took the veil? I married into! Her thought was not veined by any save by me. With him together down … I could make any amends to the strand there. —Puts up with, you see. Encore deux minutes. Pretenders: live their lives. Cleanchested.

Call Fred Vincy, whose very name offered a fine opportunity for pronouncing wrongly if you died to all the world, followed by the remembrance of what she says, though, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. Then he laughed at himself for being likely to be his, mine to be loud, and Mary was just now at home. A boat would be glad to do so. His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the rocks, swirling, passing. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Belluomo rises from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell!

You seem to have enjoyed yourself.

Dog of my enemy. But that is always snapping at you must, said Alfred.

Gaze in your face by the reality—questioning those acts of hers which had come nearer the edge of the nine had been for Mary. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Got up as a want of feeling himself.

Cadwallader, said Caleb, with his second bell the first bell in the wrong thing, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under her rancid rags. A corpse rising saltwhite from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the wood of madness, his leprous nosehole snoring to the Blessed Virgin that you can afford the loss he caused you. House of … We don't want any of your own relations, sir, said Alfred—at which Mary and her father was unkind, and can't help you there. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. She often chose this task, in a low tone, What do you know. I see you. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, brown eyes saltblue. Waters: bitter death: lost. The dream-like association of something? You have some. Dringdring!

His arm: Cranly's arm. And and and tell us, Stephen, sir. Yes, sir, said the Vicar, amused with the money—robbing you of it. Come out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, rising, flowing. That was the rule, said Mrs. The ins and outs of things and act under me, you know that word? —Then wheeled round and walked about, sat down, hoping that Mr. Ladislaw? Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. You prayed to the life: a little on one side. Licentious men. He stared at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Garth. She went to the rain: Naked women!

[svndowning]

╰ ♡  @sinfulhymns​  requested  a  closed  starter  !

“ when i’m with you, i don’t see anyone else. i want to be with you all the time. i want to talk to you everyday. you make me feel alive and happy. ”

[blarfkey]

Thick As Thieves -- Solas/Cadash

Chapter 5 update!

The first chapter is here for you to check out. The link to the fic is in the sidebar of my blog in case Tumblr is still hiding links in the tags.

title:Thick As Thieves

fandom: Dragon age

Pairing: Solas/f!Cadash

Summary: Everything he had planned for the last several centuries has gone up in the literal smoke still billowing from the Conclave and his only hope lies embedded in the hand of a petty criminal dwarf who looks barely old enough to buy a mug of ale. It takes all his self control not to cackle in some forgotten corner like the  mad Fen'Harel of Dalish infamy. 

Rating: PG - PG 13

Tags: slow (slooooowwwwwww) burn, enemies to friends to lovers, culture clash, Solas has a judgey mouth and it gets him in a lot of trouble

The dwarf who  bears his mark is not in any way intimidating. She reminds Solas of a child, not just in stature (though the top of her head barely graces his shoulder) but in her countenance. With round cheeks splattered with freckles and eyes like a fawn,  she carries an air of innocence. In fact, the most frightening thing about her is the pair of wicked daggers strapped to her back and even they look out of place, a child playing dress-up. It makes Cassandra's caution look almost comical. 

He can tell from the bewildered expression on her face that she has had few interactions with powerful magic. She has no issue stabbing demons, yet stalls in front of the rift, forcing him to grab the mark and do it for her. Afterwards, she stares at her in hand in morbid fascination.

"What did you do?" she asks.

"I did nothing. The credit is yours." Millenia of practice allows him to speak these words with a smile as he swallows bile.

Noticing Cassandra's agitated pacing int he corner of his eye, he launches into an explanation of the mark and it's abilities, based on his "theories." The lies fall easy from his lips, a skill he is not proud to have. Cassandra, desperate for hope, swallows them without question.

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation," he tells the dwarf, and the bitter irony of that statement nearly chokes him. 

She just looks at him, lost and perhaps a little horrified. He almost feels pity for her, this simple creature who stumbled into magic far beyond what she can handle. A protective urge wells up in him and he stamps it back down. 

"And here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever." Varric pipes up, unable to handle not being the center of attention for more than a few minutes.  "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and, occasionally, unwelcome tagalong." 

He throws Cassandra a wink, who rolls her eyes. Solas secretly wants to join her. 

"Are you with the Chantry, or . . ." she trails off. 

Solas laughs, he can't help it. The thought of Varric praying piously in front a statue of Andraste, his chest hair on full display -- "Is that serious question?"

Her deadpan tone says yes, but there's a gleam in her eye, a spark of levity that suggests otherwise.

"Technically I'm a prisoner here -- just like you," Varric says, which immediately offends Cassandra. 

"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that's no longer necessary."

"And  yet here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events."

The prisoner  graces Varric with her first smile. It's small and weak -- barely more than the twitch of her mouth -- but the spark of warmth it brings promises that the full effect could be dangerous indeed.

"It's good to meet you Varric," she says. 

"You may reconsider that, in time," murmurs Solas. Despite the shortness of their acquaintance, Varric and Cassandra bicker more often than most married couples that Solas knew. 

"Aww, I'm sure we'll become great friends int he valley, Chuckles," Varric shoots right back to him. It took him approximately half a day to bestow an ironic nickname for Solas that, unfortunately, shows no signs of dying down.

"Absolutely not." Cassandra steps in between them, lording her height over Varric, who does not back down.

Solas braces himself for yet another one of their spats.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," he says to the prisoner as they argue in the background. "I'm pleased to see you still yet live."

But not for much longer. He stopped the mark from killing her instantly, but he can only hold off it's effect for so long. Eventually it will destroy this dwarf, devour her like dry firewood.

"Shay Cadash," she says, turning that small but dangerous smile on him. 

"What he means is, 'I kept that mark from killing you as you slept'," Varric interjects, surprising Solas at how quick he is to give others credit. 

Her smile drops immediately. A strange look replaces it- like she swallowed something bitter. But she covers it up quickly enough to make Solas wonder if he had seen it at all. 

"Then I owe you my thanks," she says, turning towards him and giving him a solomn bow of her head. 

She looks anything but grateful. 

"Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process," he says. He has no need of her gratitude. He wants to get rid of the Breach and get his orb back -- and if the dwarf dies, well that makes getting his mark back remarkably easier. 

He assures Cassandra that no mage, much less a dwarf, could ever have the power to create the Breach.  And though he has nothing to reccomend him -- no allies or education or background to vouch for him -- Cassandra accepts them without protest. He does not know if she is merely naive or has an innate judge of character, but her trust in him will be easily exploited. 

"We must get to the forward camp quickly," she says and they move on, the dwarf trailing behind them.

"So let me guess: Surface dwarf, maybe part of the Carta?"

They've headed into the forest, snow drifting from the pines overhead at the slightest breeze. Varric walks beside the prisoner as if they're on a leisurely stroll to admire the scenery, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. 

"What makes you say that?"

"I can tell a proper Orzamarr dwarf from fifty paces. Also you got that shifty smuggler look to you."

Solas raises an eyebrow. He has seen shifty smuggler dwarves -- eye-patches and rough beards and scars. The prisoner's  guilelessbrown eyes and freckled cheeks does not resemble them any more than Solas resembles the Dalish.  

The prisoner certainly stiffens at the remark. "Are you calling me a criminal?" 

He can tell she is fighting to sound nonchalant.

"You are a criminal," Cassandra says, disgusted. 

"Now now," says Varric in a condescending tone that is sure to grate on Cassandra. "There's nothing wrong with being a criminal. Keeps the guards in business."

If Solas had any doubts that Varric dabbled in illegal ventures, they have all but disappeared. 

"Well I'm not the only one with the shifty smuggler look," says the prisoner, looking at Varric pointedly.

"Varric didn't destroy the conclave," Cassandra snaps.

"That you know of," says Varric. "We shifty smuggler types can be tricky."

He winks at the prisoner. An hour into their acquaintance and Varric is already trying to adopt her. Solas wonders how long it will take for the prisoner to gain an embarrassing nickname. He had "chuckles" in two days.

It does not escape his notice, however, that the prisoner does not deny her Carta associations. It seems almost unbelievable, looking at her, but that might be the point. She might use her youth and air of innocence as tools to make her enemies underestimate her. He can't deny their effectiveness -- he fell for it himself. It makes this entire mess of a situation even more complicated and Solas bites his tongue to keep the hysterics down.

Everything he had planned for the last several centuries has gone up in the literal smoke still billowing from the Conclave and his only hope lies embedded in the hand of a petty criminal dwarf who looks barely old enough to buy a mug of ale. It takes all his self control not to cackle in some forgotten corner like the  mad Fen'Harel of Dalish infamy. 

Every aspect of Fen'Harel he crafted to be a spectacle, from his dress to his mannerisms to his speech. His name alone summoned dread in his enemies and strength in his allies. Even a thousand years later, the Dalish fear to speak it. 

Solas, by comparison, must be invisible.  Mild. Polite. His clothes simple, his voice pleasant, his words comforting and informative by turns. Solas the humble apostate is no less a fabrication than Fen'Harel and compared to Cassandra's intensity and Varric's quick wit, he melts into the background, forgotten. Free to watch the bearer of his mark and what he notices does her little credit.

They call her the Herald. Cadash either confirms or denies this, depending on who she is talking to. Much of the Herald's disposition changes with her surroundings and companions. It makes it difficult to pinpoint exactly who she is. The only constants are her levity, a trait blooming to life now that she has grown more comfortable and the threat of execution no longer hangs over her head, and her ability to win over each and every person in the Inquisition with a systematic determination that disturbs him. 

Cassandra's suspicions lasted barely the first night. Part of this stems from her own intelligence, for not even grief or anger can blind her from seeing the truth of a situation. She lives up to her title in that respect. But Cadash's continual expressions of respect for Cassandra, discussions of her faith, her immediate loyalty to the Inquisition's cause certainly helped that forgiveness along. 

Cadash speaks tactics and shares underworld contacts with Leliana. She compliments Cullen's leadership and spars with his soldiers. She trades quips with Varric and insults Orzamarr Dwarves and of course she has read all of his books. 

She doesn't quite know what to make of Solas -- no one here does -- but she always offers that dangerous fragment of a smile for him and combats his formality by trying to make him laugh. In fact, she goes out of her way to acknowledge him, even if it's just offering up a "good morning" or asking how well he slept. No matter how much he tries to stay in the background, he always attracts her attention.

It would all seem coincidental if Solas has not witnessed the calculating expression that creeps on her face when she thinks no one is watching her. No matter how genuine she may seem, it's clear her interactions are charades, carefully calculated and flawless executed to secure the people's loyalty.

It leaves the truth of Shay Cadash a mystery, but one Solas will piece together.

"Good morning, " she greets him the day before they head out for the Hinterlands.

"The Chosen of Andraste," he says, a hint of bitterness he can't control seeping into his tone. "The blessed hero come to save us all."

She looks over at him, her lips quirked and that gleam in her eye, as if they two of them are sharing an inside joke.

"That sounds a lot flashier than Freckles," she says, citing Varric's nickname for her. "Tell me, am I riding in on a shining steed?"

A smile twitches on his face before he can stop it. He must admit, it's hard not to be charmed by her at times. Parts of her interactions are genuine. But her sincerity to makes her insincerity all the more believable.

"I would have suggested a griffon. But sadly they're extinct. Joke as you will, but posturing is necessary."

As if she needed such advice, but Solas needs to find a role to play if he wants to stay in the Inquisition and Mentor gives him a perfect amount of influence.

The Herald rolls her eyes and leans closer to her him, lowering her voice."This whole thing sounds like a farce, to be honest. Some great joke of the universe. All I wanted to do was find out how the mange/templar was going to screw with Lyrium sales. Trust me, I did not ask for any of this."

She glances down at her gloved hand, the light of the Anchor barely imperceptible through the leather. Rather than parade it around, the mark stays hidden, as if she cannot bear to look at it.

"But someone has to seal the Breach and no one else's hand has been possessed by ancient, unknown magic, so I guess everyone is stuck with me."

For a brief moment she looks lost, uncertain, a dark cloud stolen over the sunlight of her disposition. Needles of guilt prick him, but Solas ignores it. This is nothing but an attempt to make him feel protective of her and he cannot be manipulated.

"Spoken nobly indeed," he says instead.

Judging by the raised eyebrow he gets from her, he did not entirely suppress his sarcasm. 

"You think I'm mocking you. This age has made people cynical." He turns and looks over at the cage of mountains that surround them. "I've journeyed deep into the Fade and ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

He turns back to her.  "Every great war has it's heroes. I'm just curious as to what kind you'll be."

He allows his words to linger, to settle like heavy fog between them. Let her know that he is watching. Let her know that her every action is being weighed and judged. She may not care what an apostate thinks of her, but Fen'Harel's conclusion will be a matter of her life and death. 

If she notices the weight of his speech, it does not show in her face. The cloud has passed and her eyes are bright.

"Hopefully the kind that chases kids off my farm with my cane and rambles on endlessly about the glory days to anyone who makes eye contact with me in a bar."

Despite his best efforts, the corner of his lip tugs up.  "I  can think of worse fates."

She takes her leave then, to finish packing for the Hinterlands and finalize plans with Cullen. Solas watches her go, frustrated. Her jokes give him nothing of substance to analyze,  tell him nothing about her save perhaps an aversion to taking anything seriously. (No wonder she and Varric get along so well.)

He cannot shake the feeling that she did so on purpose.

Solas keeps his suspicions of the Herald to himself. It's clear now, after gaining three more recruits, that Cadash is very good at what she does: she systematically finds a point of commonality between her and any given member of the Inquisition and exploits it. It doesn't matter if they are a Qunari spy, a Grey Warden or a street urchin with a bow -- Cadash won them over in the time it takes Solas to choke down a cup of tea.

Only he remains unaffected from her guileless tactics, perhaps because his situation so closely mirrors hers. They are both outcasts, pretending fealty to the Inquisition to secure their own survival, manipulating the people around them to hide the truth of their identity.

Shay Cadash isn’t the chosen messenger of a goddess any more than Solas is a humble apostate. The hypocrisy of his disapproval is not lost upon him; yet Solas finds something dishonest in how far she will take her manipulations. He keeps his companions at a polite, but firm, distance with strict boundaries – he would never go so far as to fabricate comradery.

The Herald has no such compunctions; Watching her trade stories with the Iron Bull, or prank ideas with Sera or discussing Grey Warden history with Blackwall -- watching them slowly open up to her, while she plays them like puppets on a string, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He refuses to join them, keeping up his rigid formality in the face of all her questions and humor. It frustrates her, he can tell. She drags him all over the Hinterlands for weeks as the sole mage of the party, peppering him with question after question. The Fade fascinates her.  A part of Solas would like to believe in her insatiable curiosity, but he knows that if he did not value the Fade so openly, she would have lost interest in it weeks ago. 

That does not stop him from enabling her behavior, if only for the pathetic reason that he dearly wishes to have someone with whom to discuss it. She may raise some eyebrows at his ideas, but she never openly passes judgement upon them and she listens to them with a seemingly open mind. He wishes everyone else had the open mindness she appears to have and he wishes, secretly, that her openmindedness wasn't an obvious ploy to win his loyalty. 

It's almost enough to make one forget that she's the member of a ruthless crime family. But she gives herself away in her deft hands, able to pick any non-magical lock, or in her silent footsteps, the way she can sense even the subtlest traps. No matter how enthusiastically she embraces the Inquisition, Solas has no doubts that she schemes for ways to give herself power and influence through it. 

Unfortunately, just as he can sniff out a fellow deceiver, so can she. Cadash has been sniffing him out with less subtlety than she believes. Cloaked in flattery, in the fascimile of friendship, in the nonchalant air of a joke, she keeps him close, prods him with questions, tests his answers. She neatly side-steps all questions about her life in the Carta and yet has no issue probing into the depths of everyone else's personal life, most notably his. 

It's on one such occasion that his polite veneer finally cracks.  She is plying him with questions about his origin. He counters them with  the same vague, inconclusive answers she gives everyone else, but inside his temper boils. He's sick of her distrust, her false overtures of friendship, her hypocrisy.

"You said earlier you’re from the north, Solas. How far north? Are you used to snow? Is that you can walk around with bare feet all the time? Or is that magic? Or is it just an elf thing? Do elves have special feet?"

The questions pop out like fireflies, as if one question in turn inspires another and she must ask them all before she forgets. Her child-like curiosity is almost winsome, but Solas refuses to be charmed by it. 

He is sick of playing this game with her while she thinks she can charm his suspicions away like she has done to everyone else. As if he's as naive as a toddler. 

"I know what you're doing, Herald," he says. "And I must warn you, it will not work on me."

Shock flickers across her face, quick as as candle flame before she snuffs it out. He treasures it all the same, a mark of triumph.

"Oh God,” she says, closing her eyes in mortification. “I’m being really annoying, aren’t I? I didn't mean to intrude, you're just literally the most interesting person here. You can tell me to shut up if I get to be too much. It won't offend me. My cousin's done it a hundred times."

Oh, she is good. In the face of her sudden embarrassment, Solas almost feels guilty for calling her out. 

Almost.

"You're probing me. Trying to catch me in a lie. Testing my loyalty."

After a moment her features relax into something more sheepish -- but not at all regretful. 

"You caught me," she says with a rueful smile. "But you can hardly blame me. You're so distant and mysterious. It’s hard not to be curious about you.”

How tightly she still clings to pretense, as if she still had a chance to deceive him. She has no idea who she’s dealing with.

"And the fact that I'm both an elf and an apostate mage has nothing to do with your curiosity?” He struggles to keep his tone neutral.

Her eyebrows raise. "I don’t know. Does the fact that I’m a Carta dwarf have anything to do with the fact that you don't like me?"

Her words leave him floundering for a reply.  

"It's not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal," he snaps, his control breaking. “It’s just common sense.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes, just a split second before her face shutters into apathy. Solas curses himself and his temper. He is too old and too experienced to allow someone so young and idiotic to get to him. Besides, the Herald has power and influence in the Inquisition now; it’s dangerous to make her an enemy.

"I apologize," he says, though the words taste bitter in his mouth. "That was uncalled for."

Her demeanor shifts. The look in her eyes grows sharp and calculating. She stands confidant, chin up and shoulders straight. No trace of her genial, sunny disposition remains. Like a veil lifted, Solas finally sees the true Shay Cadash.

"Oh, don’t bother,” she says sweetly. “You were just being honest. Probably for the first time. I appreciate it, actually, more than that polite mask you wear all the time. And I’m not the only criminal here, apostate. We’re both in a precarious boat and you’re not exactly in a position to be alienating potential allies.”

“And what do you mean by that?” he says. The implication in her words is clear, but it’s impossible for anyone to know of his part in the destruction.

“I mean, if I were going to point fingers at who blew up the temple, I would start with the weird apostate who knows everything about the Fade and showed up out of nowhere.”

Solas keeps his expression very still. He does not allow himself even the tiniest of flinches, for none would escape the notice of her keen gaze. But still, it unnerves him how accurate her suspicions are, how easily she jumped to such conclusions when no one else has.

“You cast suspicion to draw attention away from yourself,” he tells her shortly, aiming his tone for offended and disdainful. “I was no where near the temple at the time of the explosion. Leilana has confirmed this with multiple witnesses. Do you not trust her word?”

Her gaze does not waver, unconvinced and unfazed.

“What’s your last name, Solas?”

A multitude of names, both real and stolen, fly through his mind, but he waits too long to answer.

“That’s what I thought,” she says and her smugness cuts through him like a knife.  “See, Solas, here’s the thing. I have just about as much control of being a part of the Carta as you have over being a mage. But at least the Carta taught me that loyalty matters above all else. We might backstab everyone around us, but we’re loyal to our own. Without that loyalty, infighting makes the Carta fall to pieces. By those standards, this Inquisition isn't any different. And already, people from all races and beliefs and classes have started to unite themselves for this goal. Except for you."

Her conscious mind knows nothing dangerous about him, but her instincts practically scream his duplicity, he can see it in her eyes.

He is stepping on thin ice here.

"How do you come to that conclusion?" he asks. “I volunteered my services. I’m here because I chose to be.”

Unlike you, the implication clearly states, but if it insults her, the Herald does not let it show.

"You shun all company,” she says, ticking it off on her finger.  “You give almost no personal information about yourself, and you distract others from this by being free and open about your esoteric information on the Fade that, conveniently, only you know. Everyone else here has ties and history and relationships. You are a complete unknown, even to our spymaster. If anyone could just up walk away from the Inquisition and sell all our secrets, it would be you."

In the last year Solas has found himself lost in the remnants of a world unmade by his own hand, with nothing but a paltry shadow of his former power to protect him from the violence that springs up in every corner, and stuck in the middle a powerful organization out for his head.

And yet the instincts of a simple dwarf, this young woman barely out of childhood, this criminal street rat, makes him feel more vulnerable than any of the other dangers combined. It infuriates him. Solas has played the Game flawlessly in a court a thousand times more vicious and bloodthirsty than Orlais could ever hope to be. Yet he cannot fool one simpleminded, magicless dwarf.

"I assure you, closing the Breach is of the utmost importance to me," he says, not that his words have any impact on her. "The Inquisition has my complete loyalty for that cause."

She waves his reassurances aside with a dismissive hand.

"Your assurances are meaningless if I don't know the kind of person you are. And I've tried to figure that out by befriending you, but you have too many walls up. Maybe if I were another elf, they might come down. But a dwarf stands no chance, does she? And certainly not a criminal.”

Solas does not know how to respond to that in a way that would not further offend her. His people never understood or agreed with Dwarves, and he carries that with him into this new age. Not all Dwarves are inherently bad, but they lack imagination and have little concern over issues that outside their sheltered world. Both qualities do little to inspire faith in this woman's ability to handle the Breach.

Something in her gaze shifts, her glare softening into something . . .tired. “You want honesty, Solas? Here’s some honesty. You frighten me. You saved my life and therefore I owe you a very great debt. I don't like not understanding the kind of person I owe and what they would ask of me.”

Before he can respond, Leliana appears. Solas would be real coin that she eavesdropped on at least part of their conversation, but she is too professional to let it show on her face.

"Ah, Herald. How did I guess I would find you here?" she says. "If you have a moment, I would like to share with you some information on Redcliffe that's come in."

"I have the time," the Herald says and she leaves without giving Solas so much as another glance.

After their conversation, the Herald changes. She still keeps up appearances, asking him relevant questions about the rifts, taking him with her to the Storm Coast, where she picks up a Qunari spy without so much as batting and eyelash at the dangerous implications of having such an ally.

 When the others are present, it is as if the argument never happened. Only Solas can feel the difference: smiles that no longer reach her eyes, questions that are short and to the point without any of her usual curious rambling, ignoring his presence when she passes him in Haven instead of walking over with a greeting and a smile.

He thought he would prefer it.

Instead he finds it nearly intolerable.

Did she ever feel this patronized by his own brand of distant civility, as if he were too stupid to notice how thin the polite veneer was over her dislike? Every murmured “good morning,” every health poultice tossed to him in battle, feels somehow like a slap in the face; a duty rather than courtesy.

To add insult to injury, comparing their interaction with those she has with the other companions makes the chill of her attitude even more apparent. She and the Iron Bull connect near instantaneously, as only fellow liars can. Only because of its absence does Solas notice how often the Herald had tried to engage him in laughter and discussion before.

The most pressing issue is how his position within the Inquisition is now at risk. With each new success, both big and small, The Herald gathers more power and influence within the Inquisition. If she does decide to pursue her suspicions of him, Cassandra would have him banished before nightfall, and Solas needs the power and resources of the Inquisition to reacquire his orb.

Allowing his irritation to push him outside the boundaries of propriety and anonymity was a stupid, reckless move, the kind his younger self would have made. Solas cannot afford any more such mistakes; he walks a precarious line here, as Cadash infuriatingly pointed out.

If he wants any chance of his plans coming to fruition then he must return to the Herald’s good graces. And soon.

But underneath his frustration lies a true kernel of guilt that refuses to stay hidden in the background noise of his thoughts, like a stone in his foot wrappings. In that split second after he called her a criminal, Solas saw a flash of genuine pain. He had hurt her and he could tell its sincerity by how quickly she buried it.

Her words haunt him for days after.

"It's not hypocritical to be distrustful of a criminal, it's just common sense."

Indeed.  Such words could be thrown back at him and ring more truthfully. She can't know. She cannot possibly know and yet her instincts tell her otherwise. Her unerring, perceptive suspicions make him afraid and in his fear he has lashed out and made an enemy.

Three thousand years old and he still acts like a child. 

Here’s some honesty: you frighten me.

Solas. Frightening. To others the idea may seem absurd, a reaction he carefully cultivates. The truth of his identity would truly terrify her more so than the blank of the unknown that she despises. But these words haunt him more than the others. She doesn't fear his magic or his love of the Fade as the others do, but the vulnerability of being in debt to someone who could extract a terrible price for it.  And she has no way of knowing that he would never ask of such a thing.

(The bitter irony that she believes he saved her life disquiets him.)

He can tolerate this no longer. He needs the protection that her friendship would provide -- and if that means to fabricate an apology and start over, then so be it. Two can play at that particular game.

(Solas ignores the thought that hovers in the back of his mind, that he may have genuinely misjudged her).

He waits impatiently for their return to Skyhold and the opportunity to speak with her privately, finally securing one as she leaves the stables. 

"Herald," he calls, increasing his stride to catch up to her. She stops and waits for him, even though it would take but a moment to for his longer legs to close the gap between them.  Her face shifts in a mask of indifference.

"May we speak in private? I have something important to discuss with you."

A wariness crosses the Herald's face and Solas feels a pinprick of guilt.

"Alright," she says. 

She must think he has information about their upcoming meeting with the mages to follow him. Not everyone in the Inquisition would welcome such an alliance, but the Herald is adamant for it. She's sold smuggled to too many desperate, bloodthirsty templars to trust them, or so she says. 

He leads her to the shack that houses him, opens the door, and gestures for her to walk inside. She gives him a calculating look, no doubt looking for a potential threat in his behavior, before stepping inside. He follows, leaving the door cracked open and standing so that she is closest to it.

"If it's something this sensitive, perhaps we should go to Josephine or Leliana," she says.

Solas shakes his head. "It is something personal, between us."

 " . . .Oh." She shifts her footing, anxiety spasming across her features before she schools it under control. Solas does not like to see her cage her emotions, when she lets her personality fly free around everyone else. He is indeed a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but no one is supposed to be frightened of him yet. Much as she irritates him, Solas does not wish her actual harm.

He underestimated how much pride she has, which should have been the one dwarf stereotype he remembered.

"I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for my behavior the last time we spoke," he begins. "I had gravely misjudged you, blinded by my own prejudices. What I said to you is unacceptable and I beg your forgiveness."

Judging from the surprise on her face, she probably expected more abuse from him, and it shames him. But even still, her eyes remain wary, an unwillingness to believe him.

"What brings this on?" she asks. "That argument was a month ago."

"Your words and my own observations. I initially mistook your camaraderie for manipulation, but I now see that I was wrong." He gives her a self-deprecating smile, using her tactics against her. "You, however, were completely right about me. I'm used to a solitary life, so I naturally shy away from attachments, but I've also made it easy to slip away if I needed to. I'm an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you must understand my caution."

"I do," she says, and her shoulders relax. "But you've stuck around to help. I'm not going to let anyone use that against you, not even someone as scary as Cassandra."

"And how would you stop them," he asks. Despite her easy confidence, she is so very young, not even into her third decade yet.

"However I had to," she says and it doesn't sound cocky or self-assured. It sounds like a forgone conclusion. 

He's unexpectedly touched by it.

"Even someone who has hurt you?"

She levels him with an exasperated look. "We're all on the same team, Solas, and the problem we face is far bigger than any petty squabbles and personal prejudices. You're a useful ally and I owe you my life. No one is going to lay a hand on you."

Her ability to see the bigger picture, to put aside infighting for a common goal, sound so far from what he expected from a dwarf. Perhaps he should reevaluate his opinion of her.

Though the situation doesn't merit it, Solas has to inwardly smile at such defense of his well being. It has been a very long time since someone has underestimated him to such a degree and he finds the untruth oddly freeing.

"Thank you," he tells her. "And, please, do not worry yourself over your debt. You owe me nothing."

The Herald graces him with a sad, half smile. "That's a sweet sentiment, Solas, but a debt is never forgotten or forgiven. One way or another, it's always paid."

"That's quite a cynical view of things." Not surprising, considering her past, but Solas wisely does not voice this.

"From your point of view, perhaps. But to me, a favor for a favor keeps things equal and honest and everyone knows where they stand with each other. I find that preferable to people who hand wave a debt, only to remind me of it later when they need something from me."

What situations she's experienced to have such a pragmatic view so young he can only imagine. 

"I cannot fault your logic," he says.  "I will consider your debt repaid, then, when you close the Breach."

"How convenient, when that's already my goal," she says, the side of her mouth quirking up.

He wants to make a joke in return, but his sense of humor (withered and twisted for centuries of disuse) comes up short, especially facing the sudden intensity of her gaze. She studies him, no doubt looking for signs of trickery or insincerity. 

Still not trusting him. 

He can only look back at her and hope he doesn't come up short in her scrutiny.

"I appreciate your apology, Solas," she says softly. "I know how hard those can be and you didn't have to.”

"Perhaps we can put this whole fiasco behind us, then," he says.

"I think I would prefer to start over."

The Herald sticks her hand out and graces him with the full brilliance of her smile and he understands a little why the others follow her so readily.

"I'm Shay, if there are to be introductions."

His own words from that fateful day, verbatim. Perhaps he made a bigger impression on her than he had thought.

"Solas." Instead of shaking her hand, he bends down and kisses the tops of her fingers. It's an impulsive decision, but she deserves a gentleman's manners, if only to make up for his lack of decorum before. 

Besides, she isn't the only one who knows how to charm.

Judging from the way her cheeks glow, he succeeded. A step in the right direction

[40ozalctears]

ashed in. mis used - influence. fluid. icarus. lazarus of this seems just maiden of iron grinded my anxious waiting for doc at a FUCKING ABACUS HASN’T iT!????

The cause of harm is the greed and not the farm that you arm your weakest prodigal son, in the wake of a maybe fatal frigid Hellscape frozen over the hold over Queen majesty - when all they want is the monarch taxes back - like do u rly think the easy dirty easy money like stealing, type super  funny, honey its sweeter than the milk and soft as the spin the scar tissue hard. Trust me, the watching who hold hate close to the knowledge of the madgods jewelry is stinking of lunacy, from the quiet kind boy behind the monarch stark cast of Godlike endless hatred rage - take it from the prophesied leader of spirits who know prophesy fulfilled when he listens to to the whistling of ancestor spirits. Shh. Pawned so many rings that belonged to wrong ruler and song girl bringer of here. I am  crystal clear that I am the Belle the Gaelic attempt to keep it super sly and secret. Keep the sharp teeth wolf boys feel. You use the hints and kinks in the story is so old to known to young unsung but done as done prophesy is - stuck in a state archdruidic sickening states of being wasted on the loss my rightful throne and every hidden secret locked in the labyringth in Gothic leviathan cathedral bearing my Gaelic, as the eventually overthrown Roman blew in the gail winds of fading traditon, until no one listened - French, drenched in gas so the most certain ancients know that the young stuck between wolf with teeth perfectly shining, glistening like misshappen young Bellovaci younger holy boys who were just always in a feral state as this, to purr and meow and give the serpent hiss in the name of making your place certain beneath more primal - I relinquish the dirt that just sits in the sink, until I relinquish link to like the hoops in the ear that would claime me the the arch-druid so sickly addicted to every little drink that is as ichor of death, to be anything but self assured in the word of the lycan simply lurking. Stuck between sprint, torn denim, more wolf than man, more Perfectly evil than pleasantly Godly like the most ready to know the foam that forms when see see her have their beloved dark black long hair sheared like wheat and chaff before the wind - like the sick should fall to the bloodied slice of the sickle - for less obvious matters, let the frigid whisper of winter being fickle, just enought to tickle the just to depravity. As such, the little who felt the eyes of boy who circled the edge of town as if he could not exist if not considerign the sting of monarch moth never more than a state eternal failing - the bread of a war machine God called Heaven, and stole my lost profit lost cost of certain life - being stuck in the state of eternal decay, which I studied and loved until I travelled under and dug, and built a man made moat just so you and your favorite things that makes you a sweet thing, and I would let your eye widen as the Sun dies again, for how many nights we d did not fight against sleep, as if it was impossible to not see the glow of the her slow in the bright of the certain doom and the looming harvest of farthest mens beliefs- understanding them from the wise who came far from the East, and so when I fed on what I studied to be the understanding of the love of another that was as fulfilling as shared cute snack that feels like return of the hero, but no great war - just what she stored I locked in impossible chance of ever being forgotten in the permafrost frigid acceptance that my ribs form a page that is nothing short of permafrost accounting for the Godliness of Loss - so for all the simple beauty and the cutie doe with the fawn eyes who I saw forever in a way, sleepîng on a hateful yawn, and as soon as she wakes, blinks, yawns, I steal her from the fate of never escaping the state of eternal maze - by which I named my first son already the Scarecrow Prince who will only  know keeping away crows, and those who know the harbingers of death, if you trust the call of keeping death then you invite again the flow of euphoric state of moon blasting through, like it baptizes you new under the last name you gave as you noticed her lose the tame, like a newly free thing who was only knew cage - I suppose many act as they should as if they ever only knew rage - for all labyrinth trap and reasons of setting traps for the unwanted seasons, so in the sickest of seeping Spring I know one ring keeps me sharpening teeth, and assured that the meek not sheep for the weak of the word, but the deared dark-eyed soul  that I saw tending to to contraption that was asked to keep us in safety, and just as the sweetest of sickly sweet thing that makes all lycan boy, between and here and there was a maiden, one of iron, one which was so tired, that it tired me, even in my infinite gift of plan to hatch the love of my own twisted roots of oak until I am choked by the end of my joke that is just make the sweet doe eyed in the man made moat I spit this as quick as a slit I would made, but it would take little more me to riddle a liittlle harmless threat, with the debt of what is owed to the protector of Queen of all that I have seen more goes than majesty, tragedy that it had to be you, and I saw her look away, but I think she was keen of a certain sense to know I was such a penniless who could spend endless words for you learn that it takes as such, that you get as much as you give, and even to keep her breath steady - you not  take your never ending, butterfly wing, malfunctioning thats most fear but she hears vibrated like like quiet of the hum and summer nights - and so for me take the claws, fix both red stained glass eyes, wide as severed - ways to explain that it painful to say that given what I have scribbled in the hieromanic of trance, and I cannot sing and and dance like I do not having to call for the Fall of Man, just every plan of man, no matter well maid, always led themselves, naked shivering, exactly to the step of my trap, which I simply set to wet my taste that in my heart the start of the most bright exploding morning flail - the believe that mourning any distance bright candle simply doused by the petty candle lick, quick-witted way the light of your life might just decide one day, in its trickery, sickening mastery of things more man than a boy who finds join the acceptance as wolf more always in between, hurting and dirty for never truly becoming, but since in absolutely delightful beauty quiet she floats on the wooden boat, Singing in tongues what might be the meaning of death in  ending of sum - in that if speaking trying to make sense of the sounds is beyond the bond of human to the satisfaction with simple humanity, not having grasped the the roots and found how to shoot start out of the sky on  a night  so loud from the crowd of surrounding pounding drums, of those fat-bellied fascists, who heard word you of your solitary goddess too honest to ever say she just believes without being knowing as so many, too-knowing will claim until they slain the in the name of the lie - I remember the Ilai, Eli, of course...a a lie, I have thought the less real lamb that stood as she stands, as he landed on the peak of Golgotha, the Aramaic was perhaps soft on the dying son confused by the plan of the Eternal, that when the nails jailed themself to a cage of childish rage, in his purity, in his fury, the absolute terrifying baring of teeth, from a thing more than a man who we only know as the Italian son of a man who weaponized the need, of knowing the idea of the Son, asking the father for a taste of Honey, as burned to death due to fault lines in the times conflict, the Son would consider, despite the nights in wild, where I was the child and babe possessed, nearly the Lord of Death - given mastery over connection to Father, God, the peak of throne - just as the wildest time I ever came close to perhaps becoming too full in my how MUCH my teeth bled as I felt them become blades, that only most alone lycanthrope knows that in a statone of alone, given nothing but instinct, and the nonsense worthless broken porcelain that looked so wrong in it raped poor, sad fatal estate, as the rate increased and the feast my own consuming of stars in the sky forgetting the name of the Hatred of the idea of my meek littlle priestess - seeped in my need of simply believing in Queen, should the Kind pawn and not think for a again, at least inn a state of knowing it staying put in insanity, instead of grasping at the fact, so beautfiul but tear-filled years and years of waiting, Hating the need for blood spilled -  sip on sour cloud break int raped time I believe I must drink the blood to avoid the or, some prophesy that is as misplaced as a poisoned chalice, or even living in a palace, as I lived in what i make an intricate safet confusing little maze of a cluttered and dimly lit clean as can home fit for as modest and as the innocent stern deity who submisses to no dismmissing of her strength in the way the drenches the weak in the their defeat - became as haunting, piercingly loud, as if thhe crowd of the rage of a forget tradition of boys lost in the most deep of Belgic, someone some-where look like the Sun King withought the messes of lost den dwellers wishing for one gem laden gauntlet of a boy so Shining finally given the palace where he stood like the final piece to the puzzle, but any failed watch maker who understands the importance of the love and  acceptance of failure - to sit in silence as loud as the sound the once-dead no piercengly quiet -only tickicking the old heiroom , alone in the darkest little steel  box of lock between myself and what seemed to be the reason i even kept any thing dirty, having a penchant for ugly, as it is easier to hug, with unwarranted terrible pain, that if I should given a shame all the was of the certainly nervous and tall nothing but simple boy, who kept strange so deranged and misunderstood, the closest I ever became to command I then claimed over how we become the beast we studied, the most, so le loup garou je troube q c maps mal nous tous les jeune honnes, donner in the grace of the silliest stiill alive-ancients, I remember waking to up the nothing but fear, clearly awake, before I considered that the stuck between stations of dashing and springting with tongue out more in between than ever, and severed from reality like nape of the rapist of health, who deserved exactly how painful it is to attempt to take the breason of breath of a deathly sweet little thing, that I had no quarrel, with so many inner-wars possessing my core, this came as 2 and 2 would naturally come to one who lives for another but must act out of of absolute focus on the swarm of locust, of channeling the hate the state of still convinced of weak willed humanity always grasping back to the need to such greedy with our grasping little human disease name our most useless scraping of kness, simply to not exist as mist with a debt to death, that will never be paid until in your maiden, somehow still, as sweet and, as opened like the intricate lock, who only ever talked so soft, though never stern as if to teach those who do not know how made the young boys go when laid bare to the fair skin little thing, and the presence of something listening, lurking and working on the moat, so he has a place to return, that I earn the trust, as my mane because the the River Styx by which the depth of how trim ourself fur and how soft we pur, keeps a little thing like, what seemed at first to be weak little sheep, who watched as i watched, weeks on weeks. i think think of the God Army who drew blade in the name of those who came most like there before - brought about the strength in the week after week, until walked tilted in the way of a wolf, though alone, mostly likely believed a sort or auditory glitch cast by the shadows and  tossed at me like a joke of a bone, simply to give me the idea of home, that I would her here still quietly, but so softly as sweetly - something I wanted to ask but was terrified to even utter to to no one for nothing in silence, she awoke the new sense of 6 all together as one, and for all the boy so scared of the swinging like moon in the sky, when i was convinceded of something tied to things not allowed to those who do not have the raising of dead, all i think id like to just try to return from..if not the grave than the furthest forgotten part of the den, where this story and meaning began as it ends - just a way to say i know exactly why you know what i knew, and i hope against hope i do not lose sight of the memory of you - because although forever boy  -with vices and plain as a night with just white rice and help help of her so harmless little smirk and a wink, that made the pendulum brain that swung like i as hells  bells were insane - as in not quite normal, as normal we love - it all seemed so normal until we were visited by boys, who saw the goddess of seasons in this simple quiet absolutely shierking riot of so many ways she would love, to  tell you all the the words she knows you think of them too much and so when, just when become so accepting of the power your hatred of having to wait - to just wait until the gates by which you always would return her staring, although as if, withouut casting you a spell of  smile, you stop and and look at pacific clearly piercing blue - that for all of her tears that welled up as after 20 nights in defiance of any sort of defeat - as is if being apart,though as he deep how the frozen hold outside the jail of you eternally lost, but kept in sigh chest - where i see the mathers failig and erring to say, I know you began as seeming to sculpted from diamond, though second, the wolf second  sum, more loud and addicted to pride than the smaller though, equally capable man, who just because he can run on all fours as his foretold type apocalypse fate, was as interesting fate fatal as the final pale horse her death - and I do not remember exactly when I began to notice, the boat floathing alone, or when my bright as sprayed over faint barely dim stupid quiet was not chrome or calling me home, by my allowing for all - the absolute Belgic Prophecy joke, that began simply as stupid, but in presence of the spooked little rodent type queen - switched names - without asking why, I suppose that in the attempty of knowing how we know how, and by no means do i say this this with hope ,to achieve the same cheating way of reaching such perfect connection life, than finding your reason to not be Hateful of God when god has been failing idea, of the might of the male, that the simple fact at the bottom of all - is that the Fall of Man is silly little becoming the return, of when I think i will deserve to stop trying be either incredibly far, either evil little devil grasping at the need being weak and pink like,a pig, or in the face of death - the forgetting of breath, i do believe i must rememer the name, the message more than sent in house how many ways, as studied as any believer in science, by wise as the misunderstood men in the dresses from east - so in the incredibl terrible rage, terrifying reminder, she is just theperfect little strength of the flood of all time, for the perfect cute thought little whimsical nonsense word spoken in tongues, simply because she said so manu in barely audible cute litttle whisper lispy magical lilt - i do not think i am of the acceptance of born to die,just as in the dying light of the night Moon gave the light on things in tht nearly blackened painting canopy brush - each as deep as the piercing I made - that was not necessary, but perhaps as if if to stay, i will remain close to the hope digging and searching all the rocks and the mud, until I return to just where I was, until I stand to reason that was a man without her seeming reason for me to defend my hatred of each season, but the love the way they all die so quickly as if they know exactly when I am becoming physically ill by not a shift in understanding of her. i think it was ashtin - like the dust dust to eternal rusting of my loss of self into choked back fears until years of years of studying the defense against against anything bent againt I would feel the power of endless power in the little bit of lovely blood, that once again reminded where I began that bit of a dream, that seems a bit too dramatic of anything more than panicking dream. But my word, the rodent she named Oliver, soft and attaching to words like they are herds she saves with  a simple different way slaying their understanding on plain until the unheard know her death when her breath is missed is harshest in the breach iof the rift in the stone dark endless wall how her breath clears the fog, and sends the echoes back home in whisper just a little lisp, little kiss on my lips, a sly wink with an entirely unexpected opening of entrance to entire  too much to look without being to have your jaw slacked wide - as if the little unexpected so quick little joke, make slit the unknown threat and simple bet her slight bit of doubt in my weakness, i suppose she might have had - and although i do not low i crept as the wind  often does, to bring about clouds when the blue is too much of lie for sky to accept - the debt of your once hated seething refusal of death, allowed again to renew simply by the news of the dreams of the queen who was, ash- ashtin. spooked rabbits are just needing one, as so ti goes...the cutest little feets. keeping me in state of accepting my defeat and knowing the tirump of eternal here and there insanity that had me consuming a star, one by one until the undoing on sun was brought about  queen without the way of making thos who crossed the way with evil kept in its sway, had my pulsing blood, as fucked as the hellish dark of black matter noahs boat couldnt hold - despite being ebnt by the old joke - the grace of god - how one man leading the other keeping the Fall as evil menacing as it kept gluttonous fiendish fucking tearing apart all the planes as if to grow greater in danger to the consatnt and terrifying state of new danger of a  maybe hades boy who ddi too much grasping at pinkish shell to let myslf be reduced the feral final story, horror to some but silly little clever story, that had me eating guts and close to none,a dn then I might the final sum, and we only spoked in like poetic guessing, and, and riddle spun in the funniest little nonsense tongus and you could lose all sense and sight of self -  i think i saw a glimpse of her tasteful, when I cried so long into them moat, that if she left for how I protected her and her little, then just as I took gathered all then found all colorful shades of Easter hues, I thought how she would look up look from some written words - that I know she I loved had never heard - and every time she looked from from the blue, i learned something from the eyes in the books and words i never knew - just to put me where I need to be, to clear pulsing pride from bloodshot, sclera  slit like tip of ice - just as if to say - wolf - what was it! Doggy! DOG BOY!  To catch up to me in my stupid race, and give me exactly the bitter taste of how much she knew in calm and little lil just barely out the pink ishupon which quit the pyre lit - as when I took at the happy easter colors, and I CURSED her named, and named her killer of every color - now that moat is turning black, and the sky shows all the suns so much at once, that at the zenith of the apex boy - little predator muttering all nice sweet letters, because in the frantic end of choice - you not much of choice in - when you you your eyes and count to ten youll wake up up not  stuck in questions asked, so many times that the night  is just the final break day, where eternal empress who claims her seat - only kept around by the spare and rotten, which the boy who always knew, that he hated any end, but not than he seethed at the types of you, who always approached the little lamb, with no regard for how she lead the herds, or which she spent the pitch black birds, with little lick of lips and tonguepoked as if to say, I dont to scary you - its just the way I bite! To make you wonder, and faint and make you beg for me to say that I am not dead, in the native tongue of keeping me tracked by not enough breath to explain - stupid lungs cannot keep up with brain! and so just as I felt the clear the moat around the little steel trap cottage,which in intense dreary clarity pain, I remember how shed always up though the softest sweet soft cooked rye break eyes, which I would break with woodlant carcass, dead, but this type sweetness reminder of her would keep the memory so fucked a blur, that when I needed the guidance of the hiding empress, Ash- Ashtin. I remember her important on the fidget little wind up nature - of the small ones but must be scare, and when i was so close to something more - I do not care for the letters  and their and tried young symbols, I forget how just, a more recently learned cast in iron, attempt self to make the pariah undertood - by way of building the knee sout of rotten would - I do not think or remember or cared cared - to ever do more than simply stare -or imply what youd so quick succinct, without the fear or  drink at the brink too many silly drinks to death, I remember how the static how she just threw all havoc in side my head, and I do not think how it was crackling snow on snow, unlike other other little question that I knew to do, was I given the absolutely never allowed chance - for the lady priestess who herself who so clean of pride - that she took the form of something so  weak in stature - but if was was real ash or rabbit, spooky rodent or wahtevr oh no dew! im so close to new water on the grass - she would say something  something equal  smart - and in this i knew i shaped my heart in form which i recall our elbows linked, and in this, the sotry clinked, like chainmail just so perfectly made, that when i closed my eyes ans the ring of pearl blue simply slain - by knowing that the death of pain,would be cutting the story short, just who had long forgotten why he kept me weight alone - under earth and across the darkest emerald thicket where in the almost dark drk of calm cool breeze - it almost seemed that something she jagged knife told me so many times in a way defeated, there are so many you times you rhyme your want with rotten meat - each time so produ to drop your pittace at my feet - id notice things id though she keep to herselp, like ifif she heard a sound that sort of clicked, she used all her little rabbit nervous, and look at the place that sound had surfaced, shed dart her eye look up and down, i swear to god the became possesed ttha little - as if this tiny little secret might have been some unknown weakness of myself, and sense ofsilly self alone, or how she hated to admit - as if she only felt my  tense and nonsense wit, and how id  spit and drool some nonsense shit, when perk and smack my mouth,and when shed calm and look all normal, shed twist her eyes so deeply wide and locked the a perfect socket into mine, like the human little shaky princess off the greenest ever dark shadow shade - that robot intensity was if her closest thing to shame, as if she knew when  returned the secret little glen, she hated when i knew she cared  - as if she knew the stupid end, and hated the love and silly nickname as though she did not think the the first name fit, and we spoked and we went on and in the game of just the longest song, which always began with us just screeching cute littl sounds, until, shed begin with A, as if to see how w eboth felt to do, with eah little letter we knew so well,and I remember an ANNOYINGLY loud, and I liked to do things just know with how id b so glad to know want cares, for me to be sory of follow hey very little cutey challenge, so i held her given named above her head - as if to bring her to my secret little home - and anoint with strangest deepest love warming feeling - until corner her with feelings -until were both so dumb kid squealing, I corner her with her given name , as she was the one cutie types, no matter silly im am, ur the dumber piece of stinky dumb dog pudding slung so poorly, like its barely even taut at all - that the only time we were said such cute little things, that rhyme together, are so dreamy perfect, as im not sure if we even rhymed at all, but in night as our giggles turned to cackling tearfilled calls, we would end just other begins, just as simple sum as dipped in depth as deepest why crying over the dimming sun is oh nopers! as shed often say. id hear here do her beauty cutie thing where shed say, the type pitter patter nopey nopers, until l my hopes are all in where I hope she keeps the darkenest wait, so quickly lit with razor wit, that right before i sleep for the firostin so long again - she finally has me brawling crying out for the light of lights to not go out, that a final word shared just before accept hoh nopers dannnnnngit! Dange gangly nooonopers! as she just liked to she how silly she could sound, but when wanted to bring just edge of life, and making the queen the jewel of the dirtdog simple, the priestess of the brightest secret light, who ended each and every night, with final thing if to jsut a silly tired thing, and I rememebr one really faded in to greatest chipped old fade- in the love of the little fidgety way, that on the dirst in central little metal room - enthused by how it felt like such a lovely tomb while drifted in and out of sleep, everytime id come back to awake, shed be staring directly in eye my eye, or even wake me up with her fucking Hey! Fuck you! type ofpicking at my skin blackhead whitehead or little red think she could pick, as if me not knowing  thats shes afraid that i dont know,,that even though the little snarky rude type silly teacher preacher joker stoker of the loving flame - she thinks mentioning lame is stupid all bark mr neutered bad dog! lil piece of crap.  n then, feigning sincerity in sweetest way possible her eyes roop and he strts talkin all  sorry andloopy  , and says super very slow, i know for a fact shes spitting on my eyes oh my loird this absolutely silly evilly queen of jokes, fuck stoked the fire so i know my f;ace, and im just as i tryin to mutter - wh..are you..spraying your nasty stupid spit  on my f-f-face.I know exactly how but why id even why this stupid little chunky  chimp do do anything just on a silly whim - to prove chance, that although a very loud annoying little yappy annoying dog, and based on this i would  and must always let her win. even when shed really make me start to cry  because i thought about how she would either disappear or either disappear of or be gonetoo long 2 diappear - or just be ok withou withou the fear-  gone too long and just because intilledwith fear until she calls me stupid just all day long, sometimes sall ur silly things get to me way deeper than they ever should - just because i feel my knees creaking like crutches with twoodworm and the rotten wood - but when the sweetest little knows im a bit too sh turns from stupid annoying silly thing, worth all the waunt gather in the form of my simple fear of the obvious big unspoke thing if we were either prepared or knowing that the beauiful haunting song, of hows omething would be lost, if we simply lived all boring quiet, because in teh certainy of her going i umumumum. I dinnot say YOu are..STOOpidn, i sad you....are souping! souping out! and i stop and i realize exactly why I go....oh...yeah? and i start laughing... and gasping and  hey ashtin. for all the metaphor. what do i have to do do for spooked rabbit self to pitter pitter patter. I suppose I know what’s been the amttr