#Ben Wynter

[therealefl]

Five Things We Have Learned From Barnet’s Bank Holiday Double Header

Barnet went into the Bank Holiday top of the National League table and, despite having a mixed weekend, they came out of it in second place, just one point behind leaders Solihull Moors. A 1-0 loss away at Dagenham and Redbridge courtesy of a late Nicke Kabamba own goal meant that the Bees have failed to beat the Daggers in their last six attempts, a run stretching back to October 2020. But, the…

[brokehorrorfan]

Lost Souls will be released on Blu-ray on September 19 via Scream Factory. The 2000 horror movie is directed by cinematographer Janusz Kaminski (Saving Private Ryan, Schindler's List).

Winona Ryder and Ben Chaplin star with Philip Baker Hall, Elias Koteas, Sarah Wynter, and John Hurt. Pierce Gardner (Dan in Real Life) wrote the script.

Special features are listed below.

Special features:

Audio commentary by director Janusz Kaminski and director of photography Mauro Fiore

Deleted scenes with optional commentary

Theatrical trailer

For 2,000 years, he has feasted on pain, sown the seeds of chaos … and waited. But now, the Devil will take human form and plunge humanity into eternal darkness – unless one woman can stop him. Maya Larkin (Winona Ryder) must race against time and all the forces of evil to convince a born skeptic (Ben Chaplin) that he's the unwitting, chosen pawn in a shocking satanic conspiracy that will end the world as we know it.

Pre-order Lost Souls.

[f-yeahbendaniels]

Mustache Monday: Ben Daniels and Danny Lee Wynter (and their staches)! From the Press Night of The Normal Heart at the National Theatre (2021).

[pers-books]

As Doctor Who gears up for its global premiere this May, the episode titles have now been revealed for the season, as well as a guest star who has jumped aboard the TARDIS for the upcoming season.

DOCTOR WHO – EPISODE TITLES

Space Babies: Written by Russell T Davies, directed by Julie Anne Robinson

The Devil’s Chord: Written by Russell T Davies, directed by Ben Chessell

Boom: Written by Steven Moffat, directed by Julie Anne Robinson

73 Yards: Written by Russell T Davies, directed by Dylan Holmes Williams

Dot and Bubble: Written by Russell T Davies, directed by Dylan Holmes Williams

Rogue: Written by Kate Herron and Briony Redman, directed by Ben Chessell

The Legend of Ruby Sunday: Written by Russell T Davies, directed by Jamie Donoughue

Empire of Death: Written by Russell T Davies, directed by Jamie Donoughue

Joining Ncuti Gatwa and Millie Gibson in the Julie Anne Robinson directed 'Space Babies', is Golda Rosheuvel (Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story) who joins Doctor Who as Jocelyn, who the Doctor and Ruby collide with, in their first adventure in the TARDIS together.

Russell T Davies, Showrunner said:

It’s been amazing to see the whole world appreciate Golda’s talents, because of Bridgerton, and it’s been an absolute joy to invite her to Cardiff to help launch Ncuti and Millie’s first season.

Rounding out the explosive double bill is previously announced Jinkx Monsoon who stars in ‘The Devil’s Chord’, the Doctor’s most powerful enemy yet. In this episode, the Doctor and Ruby step back to the sixties to meet The Beatles.

New episodes will then debut weekly across BBC iPlayer, BBC One and outside of the UK on Disney+ (where available), with the Steven Moffat penned adventure ‘Boom’ up next, followed by ‘73 Yards’, ‘Dot and Bubble’, ‘Rogue’, and a massive two-part finale spread across two weeks titled ‘The Legend of Ruby Sunday’ and ‘Empire of Death’.

Over the rest of the season there are an array of brilliant guest stars jumping aboard the TARDIS, including Callie Cooke, Dame Siân Phillips, Alexander Devrient, Bhav Joshi, Majid Mehdizadeh-Valoujerdy, Tachia Newall and Caoilinn Springall. They join the previously announced guest cast: Michelle Greenidge, Angela Wynter, Anita Dobson, Aneurin Barnard, Yasmin Finney, Jonathan Groff, Gwïon Morris Jones, Bonnie Langford, Genesis Lynea, Jemma Redgrave, Lenny Rush and Indira Varma.

[elizaellwrites]

Character Voice Tag

Thanks @willtheweaver for tagging me in this. I think this is similar to the Character Quotes Tag, but I will do as many of these as people tag me in for the different prompts because it's fun.

My prompt: this is underwhelming.

Annamarie: "Well... um. That was interesting...?"

Jacob: looks blankly for a second then turns to the others. "Didn't they say this was supposed to be a huge explosion or something?"

Ryan: "That would be a huge explosion for an ant. Unfortunately, we are not ants."

Cameron: "Not that I'm complaining about not being blown up, but that definitely wasn't according to plan."

Elaine: "Pathetic, you spent a month on that?"

Eleanor: "A work in progress, maybe? Or is this just it?"

Rachel: Stifling laughter. "Is that all you got?"

Ben: Biting his lip to not laugh out loud, but cautious that this isn't a diversion tactic.

Amber: "Do you need bomb-making lessons, because that was the worst attempt at an explosion I've seen in my entire life."

Roselle: "Oh no." she deadpans. "That blade of grass just caught on fire. How are we ever going to get out of this?"

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks, @wynters-writings, @writingamongther0ses, and anyone else interested.

Your prompt is:

Calling to ride shotgun in a car or vehicle

[glassprism]

Hello! I have a question though I’m not quite sure that you’re able to answer, but I think I should try anyway 😃

Today it was announced that the Phantom of the Opera by Ken Hill will return to Japan next year, now with Ben Forster as the Phantom. So JOJ last time, Forster now. Previously usual thing was that performers from Hill’s adaptation (Kevin Gray, Sylvia Ryan, Richard Poole etc.) were coming to Webber’s adaptation but now it feels like we have an opposite trend, the only exception I can think of is Mark Wynter who initially was André and Phantom u/s in Webber’s Phantom on West-End and then performed Richard in the UK tour of Hill’s Phantom.

With that being said, what do you think, can this trend be a sign of producers wanting sacrifice the originality or identity of Hill’s show in order to attract people using the fame of Webber’s show (one way or another)?

Thank you!

If I'm going to be honest, I don't know enough about Ken Hill's Phantom to talk much about it, or to even know that it has an identity that can be subsumed by casting primarily ALW actors.

That being said, I don't necessarily know if that should really be a worry or anything. It is possible that JOJ and Ben Forster are being cast because they were in the ALW version and can attract fans to it (though I dunno how many fans Forster has in Japan - that seems like something that might work better if Ken Hill's version came to the UK, where Forster seems much more well known). But it is equally likely that they were cast because they can sing the role, they can act it, they understand the the character having played a different version of the Phantom, and at the very least, they're fine with performing whilst wearing major prosthetics and masks.

And ultimately, I think that you can cast actors who were well-known in the ALW version for marketing purposes but not change the show itself. That's a totally doable thing! It's not an all or nothing situation where it's either "cast actors with no previous experience in any other version of Phantom to keep the show pure" or "cast actors who were in another version thus destroying its identity". And I would try to trust that the directors and the actors respect Ken Hill's version enough to keep it it's own thing and not try to make it a mimic of ALW's version; for an actor especially, I'd think they might even find that boring, playing a copy of a character in a different version.

Finally, if we're talking Japan, it has had at least four different versions of Phantom playing - ALW, Yeston and Kopit, that play adaptation of Susan Kay's novel, and a previous production of Ken Hill's Phantom, and as far as I can tell, they didn't feel the need to alter any of them to fit in with ALW's version. So based on all those factors... I guess I wouldn't worry about it.

But then again, what do I know? I'm not someone who really follows the Ken Hill version much. The uber-fans of Hill's version probably have their own, much more knowledgeable opinion!

[libidomechanica]

I have added a slight scandals strange, are it

A ballad sequence

               1

And he opprest my weary brow.     Weapon than an aged sisters of the hand forbid? Without     a guide. What merchant-

ship, the more gentleness, but that     bright, dreaming in the affairs suppose. ’ For a vent; arrived,     by pure necessity

and morn. To þe hyȝe honour at     þis Nwe Ȝer, hit negh myȝt of þe grene chapel men knowen     of þy gifte, þat watz not

wrothe, þat wynter to be at his     right name, Caesar himself, a sheath and the rose; they are but     a dog then most I algate

mynn hym to, and lach þer hir     luf, oþer recreaunt be seized, inside its amethyst blue gaze.     Had lovers quickly we’ll

undress to one whose leaves of thing     over their sabbaths here, or what I’ve shunned so harsh, but fouler     far this fiery

race; but when right, drawn after Sorrow     to each other, and his blysse and hir þeder in a     pellet of a won in

wod þer heȝly honowred with     two alone the queen. Crooked, and, stepping to fade away—     yet not meant to see her

there in one agree: what, he victuall’d     as we do. When birds do sing, and conueyed, bikende hym     ȝelde þat tyde. ’Twas bootless

thing, it shall whelm the Powers keep     religious men, who with gown tucked up, to wakes; for thee; sounds     not body; he was absence

vain: the Future I may have     it is each them that’s this tangled power, and now in this,     that Eloquence is bold

even that face of departed     þe wesaunt fro þe body, þat blykked on hepez in     þe wod of a whale to

some black memorial on the     best. To sup or diner watz rayled ayquere hit is þe     tytel þerof to telle

of trees, dancing they still it     haue wrought it seems to fail it is my life and feel why time     shall live, remembering here

reaching hed, pray that foam’d above,     around me, and swell took her with as god mon schulde resayt,     bi þay were restayed with

tears when the maps the pined with debt:     for ho hatz ben longe. In the words are coin’d in control they     eyed each account, their

tedious to his feet; save the south.     Peace sitting calm around, one and stoffed wyth a schunt þe     schulde no freke in hitself?

               2

Who in the soul need not to give him spread as breeze     a hundreth of hunter, hooks. Ship off the Holy Three to Senegal; teach them to the     other million times in forlorn, dying all-sufficient forth good manners, and stemed     and chekez þat were neither old or new. That thou wert cold dead; and none of Sisyphus,     if once with their estate—this instigates

an appetite to plese, þat þus hor knyȝt I     becom, and secrets, haply I might for, baith kirk and quat-so bifallez after all,     no Remedy but Flight. The poor patience; first childish push-pin, for wants the boatmen, too     engulfed as the left me borrow, sit by their brevity to rewardez. Lord it o’er     the married man, and some grass as bright

entice you else by arms will storms have been by need     to the daughter the whole I planned! For of blood, and were I chide those Cherries banish mee.     Yet there, ere man but follow’d, as a poplar or a pole, a travell’d on the silent     happiness! Pure token of studious zeal or Woe, nothing lutes; nor be afraid! I     will not die. To recover from her

lip, the Argo, convey’d Medea’s magic: every     virtue dignify a woman could watch thy hope, to thee, that he left her mou’, her fathers     a repertory of face, strakande ful hoge and so he would content, with yȝen gray,     a semloker knyȝtez þen innoȝe ar herde he lenges; and whisper’d the Splendour gradual     swell’d poisonous about in the

van of his hede as alle your voice back into     the wilder’d on the pleated shirt yellow- sailed boat comes the shape of mine lies another     declare—i’ll say, I wish to spare em, for I see that he stod vpon spare em, for a     garysoun, and Nineveh. Are they follow that vernal beau. Say I’m sad, say that Ill may     be said or done and then should surely

be. Or music of Heaven the leaders sped; but     great described better. Sweet music came to seche: he seȝ non such guise that cup has been dealt     in an April wears out thy soul should have though shuddering new love pursue: ’twas guilty     sinner,—he did not yow devaye wolde not sink i’ the grey-hair’d creature he askez; serched     up for profit when from the billows:-

when like a prophet, in such you might lapse gainst my     heart, which, like a common places. He kysses hym þe bronde and for all in the aggregate     may average on that my affected, I opine. Who will flip, let alone as hem     best semed, ne no pysan ne no schafte ne no schelde and lull its reason’s rule now reign     thy thought to witlesse they have to lie

on a lyȝt horce launces hym frayned hym swyþe—and     of the rye, with grief does know. Who, after, wayuez vp a wyndow, and pité, þat proude in     hymseluen þe fautles of kest; þer ros for blys and constantly awake unto me; love     with so pouer a mon, and commodiously loked, wyth wynne, where thou hast the end. To     overslide, or be deliverer, how

desolate, and whether a sky’s or tradesman’s     ware or his steps, and thank your will, the red golde schapen watz noble births, nor dread the     enlivener of mete and fortitude that vessel: soon she went, he added feather.     Of the tree turn sleep to costume. Let but a voyage may cool; but such neuer freke þer-     byside, sir Gawen, and the viewless

wind. All possible music has soul two souls can     make him. Who art as blacke but in bail for his wings, ere he in her lele luf hir bityde;     ȝif þay found, it seems to fair thou hast smil’d? To teche, as ȝe at þis tyme, þat þe hyȝe,     bot vnhap had hym in syþes sere, and quykly of þe knot alofte; his schulde schapen to sorȝe,     for such a dere tyme so kenly þe

colde to flyȝe ful hyȝe, and let lodly refuse. You     lounged, like a high cloud divided at the sky is clear, and pine, and one more; bot for     such a point of a dog can be hugged, or change for the king, as the Living Water drain’d.     Wave on wave, just what I’ve shunned so harsh, but in their sphere. Are bull, your mind was not myn ernde     to acheue chaunge, what not, to please, I do

contentment with our eyes. I slid the fool the womb—     it is now your voice with a silently describing to redeem his heavy Saturn’s     vintage; mouldest moder so dere, of beast, behemoth, and nymphs, and heþe at hys lef home,     fyndez fire vpon Goddez blessyng, and, in this, that thou only care is beading to redeem     his hert arȝe wyth ful stor words that

thou through a woman in converted are from our     offender gave, and having came Oceanus the queen myself, believe that bee which, in     disentangled the foreheads; saw thee, my Rose; years have sworn to die alone. Let me feel     the November of tumbling felt about the bride: but, as the chair, did thus the old man,     which holds a forwardez nouþe, þat noȝt

watz neȝ at þe heȝe dece, dut he not þe ladyes     innoghe, þat brode ȝatez. Are both good aboundeth! And his sacrum qui vulgar people     of a sute, and euermore unrest; my though in wretched the woman died. Back to Scylla     in a niche and I the day become both projected, we are ill at more, for Gode, my     gay, and a hey nonino, for love

exclaim: Forbear, while graceful lady to loke þo     ladyez wlonk þe knyȝt þere as marble was like waters wash’d by the same worlde wakned lote,     þat siþen ho seuered þe hyde. His blasoun boþe halue, þaȝ hedlez he were, and never know     how longing fire, by force accomplish’d:- If he utterly hit hym þoȝt, if he be fair.     Sir Gawan ful glad, and pin’d for books

have drain’d.—Fairest maid on Devon banks, crystal. I     tried in fourme we oure bare nek; þaȝ he lowkez his bele chere: iwysse with a borelych     bytte bende of a stif staf þe sturne, stif on þis flet, ellez þou ne wonder, he let     not from the God’s sake! And laȝter myry, as withalle. Part, there’s variety;     also a seasoning slight hint, to

hunt in þe grene, refourme of his hondeselle,     ȝeȝed ȝeres-ȝiftes on earth we are ashes, what armour to haue at your love, yet when     the acutest hinters, admit, rejects the viler, as underhand, not openly     bearing the sill, he gave us being, and lyȝten on þe flore, and if I be not     much baret to quelle; and þenne he

meued to his pocket&turned tyme twelmonyth and bleden,     bi bonkkez to sadel, vpon Goddess beckoned and dear, that wax and wane in love should     therefore can’t well he knelt before sette, and runyschly he rydes into a foreigners     excel the loss of reach, as growe, which keepes the silvery showed, the Master in the     cause, as judges are steadfast? Ones, and

I grow cold, and from the tree. And as the shame which     in this they succeeded in his lute: his finding, Dear, to love, nor power, how with silk     sayn vmbe his sleepy eyes I was wonder your street and a yellow peels, my stinging bow’d     his because I am old, so little black clouds run slow, slight recedes and of absolute,     subject to non ille ne pine.

               3

And he took there’s mony baner     ful brode, and gef hem alle goud day, he wende when I     sit a Bird accurst upon

thee, on peril of my     Prosperity, to tell; ’tis past all her homage to his blonk,     þe bryȝtest’, þe burȝ boȝed

together, you, a sparrow on     the strictest in fear of worth. Deep water-world, then tell you     believe that aw’d echo

into oblivion; and some     prize, both himself, and die rather weeping dove, nor followed     me. This task of joy that

fatal power. Form, in heaths, and     muffled thud that fault; once more gently strokes. And happed to     music fled, tomb’d in a

twilight now, and order all the     World, and eke the Misses bridled, and spekez, I wyl nauþer     golden scabbard on a

strawberries. It once How good townes     be lost, þat þe lude myȝt about in a ker syde sittes,     boþe þe later I too

creep to the real portrait of that     will one day beat you hold in your con onswarez agayn,     sir Gawayn, ’ quoþ þe meny,

boþe þe lyre and forgetful     utterly of self-intent; content thy will. For note, when     story, and swell the sand?

               4

In any oþer maner of me.     And emptied to the unknown power to take his gold for     ever—ever dare to sue thee that o’er my desires;     don’t look in thy breast and

doesn’t the enumerations? Ta     now þy geserne, vpon scho fonge þay wenten, now as we flit     by each other, go to the cost nor shame o’t, but being     brief, thou, then for thou

hast her, it is esteem. The strictest     in fear of height and pine. Cried, one leg stuck in measures,     where at full-blown, shed full of discontentedly, with     hymseluen, couth not one. And

tender hesitation, or     redeeming shakes hand—the deep east, dun and lemande to flower     that April dress’d with the early love up in the barbed shafts     of disappear; and al

with any sign or charge þe, to     fonde of þe corsedest kyrk þat euer ȝe tale herde of þe     world is all. You lounged, like Aurora, proue of gentle     moon, and groan for me to

þe erþe, his cher mended. To your     wine, on the shore, so did hit þere on the topics most mad     ay god chere, and emptied to thee. And waked me wyth þe     peple bifore þe chef

hunted al þis day, which alone     no mixture did admit. Parted dead. And leaves in speche, dere     dalyaunce to quat ȝe demen. Of studious zeal or Woe,     nothing to myself and

his great compassions, wit without     pretence, not Momus self I praise or blame. And I feel their     servant take thy rest; would you know the sea breathe ten hundreth     together, you, a spark.

               5

I have to live and wane in love.     ‘What all departed dead. No matter for you saw too that     are young! Or his mysdede, here is wayth fayrest þat fele     fayre schedez on semez, and þer bayen hym to haue, when she     left behind. But draw the

waur best-graced grace? I cared for hys     mayn dintez þen any thing, I own, whene’er to be a     Jew. That upon it, I have prove, and out of sight; beyond     thinke of your hidden pride In the learning of youth, darken’d     in the fireside with

terror, to hunt our error,     retire: but I am gone in bloom of your mouthe of þe     leude þat couþe. Or music’s cage, who long attendance, and shaking     a hundred years we’re chasing the rain. And hatz out þere,     neuer more that things have

been female dates, strike louies, and ruȝe     knokled knarrez with handsome ancient time, when birds from all     we for gander, ’ and taste the Water-Monarch. Or what a     load of Right, it is so nigh. And having in the NY sky     but is the common weed

the maples for you go: the sooty     oil. But it isn’t the uninitiated. And had     ben seuen ȝere in þis lorde greue, and most alone sinks down he     knelt before the Hesperian tast surpasse, mony aunter     bitidde, þe chauntré of þe

bryȝtest’, þe burȝ and þy bur, bede     me no lote. Among prynce of þe londe welde, for if þe ȝonder     dere, to deme were human accents halcyon. He dancers     will he slepe so slake my blood without you—two days in     sheer astonishment;

forgetful utterly scans all the     worlde worchip he wolde hit were than this beauties so diuine ravisht,     staid not, thought to range some truth had come naked and had     the way, and þe masse, laykyng of prys, parauenture. Your trade     was with their halls, and I

wol þe as wel, wyȝe, ȝe sayn Jon,     ’ and smeþely con he smyle, in fayth hit þoȝt. But I, vnbid,     fetch her but I? As was no great disparaged to herkenez     bi heggez ful fayre— þaȝ I hade no bones. Who has not     kept the village, the Salt

I have lullaby they love away.     Now let me here needed a music-master nature,     and fann’d away by thy doubts appease. Past land and also     yow alle þe trwly, ’ quoþ þe clere costez þe lord chief justice     of al þe rous rennes

of þe brode paumez; for þaȝ     men ben mery in my story straight. He myntes boute spyt     more. The spite of hell is tumbling like a monument over     the way, at court the moor and tired I look’d for mercy.     Drinking sure, each

humanity, but why should fall and     part; sweet love’s beauty shall sting. Than Heav’n, and his lyre, and near     my health, the grounde stondez, and Gawayn þe noble innoȝe vpon     thy cheek a rose and, Which wonted were most kyd knyȝtez.     Writ in the Sea-God’s head.

               6

And forest green, with gay gaudi of grene. And whiles,     faire shew, while all delight. Or all turn out untrue. Want of words are void of comforts me:     a brute, therefore cannot but look down

or See, it’s something beyond all my soueraigne parties     to compensate, trying not to real hell. Hope, in pity mock not Absál at his wings,     ere he draȝez hym sone, warnez hym ryȝt,

redly I trowee þat ȝe lye nexte, bifore all worth     a tour to haf wonnen? He saw far in the wild wood and ill, on either hope to find     Endymion, with truest bars to their

name, or make a ladder of the sex will teach discern,     compare, not prizing her pace, now turning shuts, a certainty, perhaps they didn’t say     it. Ho commen; gayn hit hym vp and

fears annulling page music that it is what it     is hir name, calling rain names of the palaces of silent happiness, and schon þurȝ     a roȝe greued Gaynour and heave my side,

until mine. Ears: now I have walk’d, or studie quo walt     þay þat day doubble on þe des and out he watz þe gyld gere þat he folȝed longe; he     calde hemmez, and as þou hettez, and

panting smile; time has thrown on men of every isle,     and crossed the very wretchednesse things done, that mine ear. Silver lip kissing into is,     was, and sayde soþly I know, than she.

So þat þe here is no stronger, darker and noble     person, grace, or the viler, as undertaken be, they led on red ryche cote-armure,     his gold sand imps he seemly raiment

of that aged form, look’d upon the soil. Past     land and equipp’d a Camel, and sone þer com a porter, some summer winds and walked with     beauty still, I tried in her leue, hit

is þe token lystily for Thee—Oh spurn thee     forgot. And Agrauayn a la dure may be dear, and many a scalding tear: the child, as     it were a knyȝt þat couþe. And making,

the bar, a blunt plainly see how the black chords upon     an affidavit, romance, but being drawn and rent of þe lede with Truth. Pensive     angle with you and I. He brayde broþerhede,

a bauderyk schulderez his white, poor     Cynthia! For one venerate a petticoat—a garment of this failins, ’twill please herself     shalt give whate’er their required. Behold!

His even thou lift the glasse, offred and     twittering of things are steadfast? My life, no cloud as syllables, till you require. The     Brightest, come away! The horse, my hand;

I warrant thee, i’ll never will he slepe sound     commodiously loked, wyth a glent wilful- slow, towards a tomb. The Drinking, laughed free, and once     and ennui. From this cold regions

run, thick as they join, joints dovetailed hare: how the pass’d     in such you should not be longer duke or ear, or no; or whether with eyes are her cheeks,     a pattern of all most desire.

And couetyse þat I have her this sort of the north     flowers, thought me meikle wae; but of a dog can be. And who can fight against my kisses     bridled, and finger fails; and tumbled

down a precipitate a situation?     Or seeing he was the atrocious, unless you love; I sit a Bird accurst upon     the sun, the last doth preserved his life.

               7

Me still procure, Alas! To have     sworn. Let me be ware. Die single Almond packt. That they dance,     and Lyonel, and sesed

þe knyȝtez. With hor kest of the     pane I know not how it is worþy as ȝe hyȝt, þenne sayde,     Quat schulde. Thickens your pleasure

the prize, both white hand, my launces     hym frayned þe freke þat he were þat al he schulde hardi     be boþe. Who could tell

there was a better luck a better,     youth descending days, making up the whole days in bed     cawing Nooooo at their bodies,

none enough, gone under thee     with the beautiful dreamed that, amassing what young doue may,     go marry; for he went,

griped all his payttrure, þe endeles     knot. Content to renew her transparent might unused     stay from his voice singing.

               8

Than Heaven’s assistance be contend.     Full sweets into the gruff complain truth, and care! ’Mid     continuous roars, and some

piercing tride, as ony brat o’     wedlock’s bed, in a’ thy starry night by Night Zulaikha     went to meet you said with

wymmen þat þay same. Is differently     their own weight, the wilder’d stranger flow. Who eats fire     to women, calling stream,

nor left me, and horses and daisy,     salvia lyrata … oh goodbye to creek joining     there—hands, rose cheek who can

think men love when wink awhile his     spouse to leave them, and swarez agayn, bi my faythful I     fynde þe a stroke out þe

avanters, and only joy, his     muthe, as ȝe reherce here þat aþel Arthour I hat; liȝt luflych     knyȝt craued leue quen þay

slypte, slentyng of þe scharp yrne. That     souerayn I holde lenger þe knyȝt, Gawan I have yet done,     exactly the women

most deed:-thou wast my clarion’s blushes,—     he though better, bot to trust what a wild flowers, and     by oath the path thee.

Resuming quickly shall discover     in the Skein of Joy.—Whence courage quails and brought else, here’s     no describing their man.

For virtue advance; for to teach     and through language—the liar, ah God, as he sits to pestle     a poisonous about

the matrons frown’d; some say, for     wyn in hys helme, and pain by the same world, unblessed on     the boatmen near who are

no rewardez. And he hem raysed     for her Heart turn’d gem, appear’d along with airy fellow-     men with no specially

after pay the language no laws,     we’re chasing they loved tracasserie, ’ began to loke on þe     morne, as God wyl me wysse.

               9

A careful, tender nurseth them.     I know no gome þenne! Are the queen of straw; had your ease, and     stifly start bi stoundez, and smiles which from times are steadfast?     And as golden scabbard

on a pile of children would some     palace of Heaven whisper from her Cheek, and hatz out þe     bolde þat he beknew cortays speche þay þe bauderyk bounden     boþe þat ryol red cloþe

þat ros vpon folde bifore, and bryȝt     blaunner was awful, and sete, sesounde of þis ryched at     the Blue Mountain, love I shall add them not; and of brest and     day, and tak the true blood;

and as ho stod, and wan’d the grounde,     and he hit to fynde hys fere vpon hepez in þe inore     half so nice as being brief, the real portraiture of my     House, light of ioy, the coffee,

open the night was made: our     times away. The outlet thee wi’ as gude will as a’ the     prey of every virtues are bad. Tis said—indeed a     generalities. To grauntez

byfore, bot such a sadel     þat glemed ful newe neȝed þe twys, and sulkily the woman     was there shall never dying all reprieve’s too late.—     In short, the world is all

the West, lest thy harshest vengeance     between sea and sky: this conditions of torment, as a     knyȝt of Morgne la Faye, þat much berd as a bauderyk, aboute     þe haþeles on his

honde, hef hyȝly halden, and do     hit out of view, dissolving into the water’s brink she     lay thy loof in mine, lass, that treasure, but sweets to soft music     that is myldest moder

so dere, of sum auenturus,     oþer sum of years, do I remonstrate: folly wide the merely     quote what it is scaþe þat þou schal be warm, the ruffian’s     hind feeding on my hip,

turn sleep to the latter whether     by lent, as I trowee þat ȝe be, wyȝe, welcum þis ilk wele     bi wytte of your past impression! Hence shall arbitrate?     A goodly verdurous

matting of a son … You! And ryȝt     bifore þe fayre on his hod boþe, and al watz raysed hit     at his paunce at the empty honour ends, and Tellus feels     his forsnes he ferde as

hem best semed, and they do, t     will choose; a fair possession, to pleased, prolong his teeth, for     wet filaree and ladies all marrow bone hostel, ’ coþe þe     lady luflych knyȝtez.

               10

As that hell-born Circe. Next, that I     prize reserve thee with women: but thy rim, skull-things turn to     Loathing; a good grace of

thought. Sit thou be what had redden     þerinne as he fetched with it it must plays an ende. Mete     and somewhere the loves to

sete, þe burne þat ros vpon þis knyȝtez.     And sunly and let as he used to scorn, good Thenot     leave thus governes mee.

               11

Let God worche at him—Hysterical,—     he breathing stuff might see swallows obeying their joy,     and says as ho stonyed

hym sone, rased hym weue. For greme     þenne, bertilak de Hautdesert I hat in blacknesse bright     coming of arwes—at

vche wende on schulderes; hir þryuen     face as þe wyȝe, I wolde yow aboute hone, þe duches doȝter     of Tyntagelle,

þat geten hem bylyue. Dar any     harme hent, arȝez in þis hous hym þryes, as of a tree, till     high defiance ’gainst the

tear or mend. Neuer þe launde, and     whiles, faire disgrace, let him almost close thought the debris of     prys in mony hatz taken—

for ho hatz dalt—disserue, ȝif     ȝe haf waled wel better, I schal fange at þy fust þat     I ask bi ryȝt. Then Piers,

of friendly kiss: I promised the     guy. Pale grew thin like a gray washboard; where the sky and when     upon a tuft of some

Columbus of their own flesh to-     day demay yow þat ilke gome in þe wod of a whale to     some palace rang; the Nestors

were the beautiful dreamed that     treasure passe. Fair the tiles, for fools will splash the black Buick,     driven by a blade

of fresh foliage and straight to     seed. Before her cheek when it goes black, we will there be some     minx tripped to þe garysoun

oþer leude þat he were, and folden     in wyth yrn to þe heȝe felle; nade he no lenger     on lyte droȝen. Or should the

Fair, together in his boþe al     aboute, of þe grene to Gawan glydez ful ryche and left     us by inheritor

of element, to kysse at     you you will, we are sold to the nerves of my House, light of     morn, with the score, sad rakes

too fierce temptation marks kissing     into is, was, and swere swyfte by his returns: like thine. Had:     as a kid, it was a

mon me to a human think not     shines, mountains rise, and sometimes with clay, do not know, or done     amiss, and rave at the

strangle with it a pattern of     all motion as well as a’ the priests with your high defiance     ’gainst my love me for

þe nonez, and so wyl I no     more bot snyrt hym one, carande stonde þer I lende, and þurȝ wyles     of woe? Children is gone.

               12

With ledes for a short breath; thou     gav’st Leander breath with her venture. Their face wad fyle     the witch, hast never to

return, I am now, With Time’s     injurious hand we were the Water-Monarch. No     melody; gone are soundyly

out of reach, as growe grene stele     to þe hult, þat þe colde to þe flesche þurȝ alle oþer     halowed þat he myȝt.

               13

Will be. He wolde fulsun hom, þe     fayre fylyolez þat my legge lady þenn spek of leudez     þer maden. Wich spede is

in its bright to court carolez     newe with mournyng he slode, sleȝly he þonkkez ofte a traueres     bi traunt of life is

oft a dread that we are alle     arayde, þe ȝatez wer stoken faste, faythe, as any other     end of God who gives,

that thou wast thews immortality.     Strangle with gret dyn to þe ston, stod he stroke surpris’d     and vast; and the morn to

my tale. For this sweet day is gone.     Now þat he had, I wad na gie a button for her! When     by a dead this but then

should not lose you for mercy. Knight     what Thou the wing, round ever he wolde lyste his pocket&turned     the powers voted the

knight was a lover holding on     his Eyelashes wept Blood— Search everywhere, bright blue gaze. This     wand again, that we covet

the female or male? Make my     heart, pity a human pastures; or, O tortures hot breath     with fame; for age and quiet

to him befalling like a     temper Juan’s faults of his wyte, ne wowyng of þis hous holdez     hym on þat holde lengez

þe couenaunt ȝe craue in þis     euen þyn aunt, make coffee, open the west shoots—Add this the     wind’s body. At the lightless

art to weare, whil my love is     life, thy worth, despite: and a-propos of motion charms my     might proving upon this

earth’s smoothly to my mouth, each bud     puffing out from those powers; but form good vse doth not one.     His moder watz he werrez,

and brayden fulness at my     shoulder, he means deals in fiction: she watch’d for want you leave     a black snakes upon a

tuft of straggling weeds, to the throes     of gladness! Radiant beams my cheuicaunce, þat gret whyle, such     chaffer and they, my soul

it came yonder round me; by my     petals with they must be: for decades she hath they reach—tho’     lost on þe morn, for to

mete with shapes as Jove did when     the day. As long and towchez, chaunge, fer floten fro þe chepen     and kysses hir

comlyly as he hem raysed is     euer; byfore þe costez þe court he shall distinguish you,     and of Retribution.

               14

We’ll weary watching a prayere, and     more beauty shall distinct their brows and future/current noon     texting for each other’s

naked. Wound was, greatest grief, the     red man’s breast. Soon after year, my carrot, my cabbage, I     wolde kepe hym wel þat tyme,

with women: but their silver     iterance! Which bears with mony golden hair, and time, whether     their promise to try to

remene. Inevitable Outside     their thankfulness. They did all to me. He watz nieȝ nyȝt,     and of the David or

their spirit, overwrought, may be     fix’d at somewhat mechante in heroes and ladyez; and þat     þay vsed. As since without

the knight was made: so, better; I     schulde. Walked within his own. Thy selfe, doest striue all my every     god be thank’d, and, trembling

for clamour, when young husband weather.     For now thou not reserv’d. Even as they each other’s     faded cheek when I reign.

               15

First doth go, how loudly Thenot     lieth! Further. Seek doubting much too poor for each shell and fair,     but glorifies his Lips.

Rejoice we are who love may still     are dights her great Sea-King bow’d to his cler armez, loutez    ��fro þe mete to were.

               16

Ah, Chloris mair than she guess’d by     this they were to the south summer is no peace at last     axiom, he advised his sad misfortunes, and several     sexes; neither madly; and you’re psychic no one but torment,     as a poplar or

a prize reserve their fountains to     all men lie; peace in hert; wherfore sykyngez. I, cumbred     with words whereof now he þat ȝarkkez al menske þenkkez, þe     hede hade. Her conduct free; so, when you speak,—I grant youth’s     heritage, whose beames to

wed; then to die; yet there’s no     other charm, warned a dying year fallen such an ill-paired     couple seen. Parten ryȝt þere on coolde; gawan watz spyed and     wan’d the human eye: for decades she knew not. And all too     late. First breezeless lake,

on which state comes nerre with backward     glance behold! As thou’s fair, and pray persuade me the tree wearing     made, shall still the slewed mirror of your high defiance.     And Salamon with an aluisch mon, for what is     worthyly wonnen hym þere,

þat is gast of life, thy workes     reproue, and layde hym chefly cumaundez to dele yow for     drurye doubled by a sparrows pair, and finger failed to a     beauties so diuine ravisht, staid not, till the nerves of pris     depresed hym in araye noble

hands, rose from the red man dance     of Platonism, which will come smoothly, also so cortays     knyȝt so toȝt. What now the painting of arwes—at vche wende     vnder, why aught found it round his life, your every god be the     shuddering for there, bright

essences; he shall never was     found, his who had given to life’s busy wits to me as     a chosen þere. To show but Calvary—Talk to your state,     this new-appearing its expansive with þe slete he slepe     sound I here pass; with dandies

dined; heard in that they loue. Past     cure I am, yet I can prove The phœnix riddle nature’s     art harmonies of Princely Grace put forth, sufficient forward     toe, her much-adored delight to witlesse thy linger     in the Hall, maud the body

watz clene in hymself þat in     my verse—it visits have won the running Time she was gone     into his lode for tears. Which all other can show quickly     forth þryngez vmbeweued þat fyne force, but add, jenny kissed he     ful hyȝe, and clay, do not

do, lest I deuayed were; a balȝ berȝ     bi a bonke þe brydel, hit þe hors fete þay þer expoun     of druryes greme and gomen is your faith to a dying     flame! Was not likely, with all the spring, that so sweetest     soueraigntie of reason’s rule

now reign thy thought I could not comlych     carolez newe with shapes unseen among þo þornez     rachez þat weppen in hallez—and þe halme grypez, and     how insane the queen and purging fire, pull’d down but up! My     skiff along green the pelf

with grene ar her welcumez hir     softly on þe wod hit watz he neuer þe bryȝtest’, þe     burde bot þe lasse bi a rokk þer repayres; vche mon þat     leuer wer nowþe haf þe, hende, in forlorn wretched the sea. He     left me famished, but

if thou pass a cruel, cruel space, with     bryȝt sunne. Beautiful face a-washin; but Willie had, I     wad hae thee, his degré grayþely at home, far more that I can’t     help scribbling once asked thy linger, thought run wild while day lapped     a flone—þat bicumes

vche a cace. Now I þonk yow, bi     þe rybbez radly þay flokked in fear that same fruit doth     rest. With alle þe iles of the best, let me love by bonnie     Doon to see her turn. And set the sun, and goodly spired,     or wife, in any

manner by their cheek when it grew     besides there are who lord it o’er thy cheek a rose full sweets     to steal about the Past. Lady, this is so dramatic     this scroll, and, with symbol- essence could I haste to those who     expectation of love.

               17

But thou, unknown by heart have drain’d.     Hit is scaþe þat þou wypped of no rescowe. Thou art all     men lie; peace in his fyue

wyttez, þat þe sidbordez. And     sweetheart beat once more gracious are, most sweet-faire, yet swelled the     queen may take from the tree

a blue moon shines, mountains flow?     Periphery pinned to find, the only the true blood; and syþen     with any sign or change

of flowers, and Aethon snort his     movements, no sorrow liue. She has known sorrows given: yet     firme love. In a swoghe sylence

þurȝ forse of haunts umbrageous;     could grow light. I say Drink Me I say it. The sons propped an     awkward the throes of gladness

in all I could a creature     wept. With love: little lap- dog breed, who like to mach, for soþe,     as soon’s she said, No, no.

Yours be the wind like a young souls:     I heard the sea breathe not þerwyth of ful dere metes, foysoun     ouer his hed of his

movements continue good. From the     Arrows that they dance, and legs want play, the counsel Juan. The     broad estates to me as

a flint is free; regretting kine,     couched in oþer, myn honourable vows receives: and mine’s a     bubble, not even with

green their own, a thing it touches.     In lieu of song. There are dangerous thing, but then whisper     of artless art to beauty

still as bright. Are, must be country     that my affection move, thou art commission’d bowers     I see your voice of alle

dayntyez double post, and huge,     and storing chance between mine ear again, assured of thy     greatest ashes, as leuest

þing for clarification. On     the day, right sun. The same; whether with causefull teares!     When did themselues O

sweetest prison twine. No marvel     then he hym grace of his hede, þi spere and raykez þis knyȝtez     vnder heuen, kyng hyȝest mon

of wynter nas wors, when the moist     earth as t was. The wilderness where thereby! Whether comes     in at þe haȝer stonde þe

behoues. The name once. It will not     hurt one hair was a fine and Juan will fall; but this hert and     couetyse boþe! For to fonge.

               18

Neuer he stod vpon silk bordes barred     and chalk and those sugred phrase … children would there apart, waiting     for silver light lifts

up his stampèd face then wrong, and fear,     thought of ioy, the crystal- smooth it festers so that fierce men     on the different go-between;

with lullaby. Ten men love     with as inconstantly, was so much that a load of Right,     it is most lowe, þe leuez

his counsel to chemné, and doth lie,     yet mortal and omnipotent, didst thou mayst have taken,     mends our joyous hour but

even knows, so many things, hungry     arab—after messe metely delyuer hym deue, and     yet regret—no major

tension in; bitter became gaunt,     with the flower-enamour’d busy bot bare bifore þe     hyȝe table fills with her

venturous climbings and treleted     with his launce ryȝt hym bysyde, as ony braþ houndes     wyth þe softe watz holȝ inwith,

nobot an olde caue, or a     creuisse of Wyrale; wonde worþyest of dead, half sighing to     human heart, and look like

a miser’s hoard, a loving and     poison’d poison behind. For loving and mercy non vses,     for fun watched each other,

may be unwrought me to I was     a winters, with a stark unprinted silent, sullen steps;     another day; a year

is tamed: and t will teach discernment     to be destroy’d. And frantic-mad with the depths of magic,     and ellez do quat

kyth he becom knwe non oþer ȝe     mowe. Steep, mingled poisoned was moved to man, with something over:     you’ve to see to its

foundations, it was before him,     hurl’d him to compelled, on her for her husband’s honour his     head, and the darkness to

all worth þer þe ruful race he     schulde haf þe godemon so glad watz borne, wele walt þer     moste; burnez innoghe of

þe londez launce is there will breath,     as dark water—jessamine, rose, and þe wallez were green     and kennen ayþer halue, and

water bottles her overshadows,     and bleden, bi bonkkez þer clenged; nwe nakryn noyse     with syȝt þay same. As growe,

which, in disentangled power,     and inspired. A cloth’s periphery pinned to noȝt, and     doggez to determine

when ȝe wyl a whyle sesed,     and be cheated, and freschly his venysoun to feel     distemper’d love’s sake hold it!

               19

For later þat siȝed for fuel; I     had wanted and when storm- rent disclos’d the sprinkled holy     watery pillowing

of the topics most consequent     visits a rose full sweet day is forgot. Though blindly     contumelious, brought to stand

on hepes; here are dabbled with     gret dyn to þenne, mon schulde haf þe gode gle, and hade belt to     rhyme at, because she thoughts

and snow? His inexperience     made the trumpet heard, twise said, No, no. Spell entangled power,     nor ceas’d to com þe

kyng as kene bi kynde þen stod þat     swete, felle ouer loked. Tis so becoming back to Scylla     fair! A pattern of

a best, with tears and hastily     hit semed welneȝe of all the finger. In bliss the truth and     blue-stockings, and secresy:

and constant glance up in some     nigh by the feel a handsome man, and Errik, and þat yow     devaye wolde kepe hym weue. Ere

it sleep with my friends, when nothing     morn. Where art the kind. The sway of human things, the sea love     is crownèd with the night awake?

Hit is a bittour bumps within     its last arctic blast has slain spirit, without baptism,     a third degree; if

better, thought so doth sit: o let     me freeze or glow, and—what to him better on his blood from     things seem only one in

pieces small agacerie. Full many     wanton winds and to his cloþez þe colde to fly have added     feather phone book there’s

your advice! When I got to     holde, as may þat much bale þoled. Long a stand, praising the     sweet in spring. When thy

lieutenancie to this the times away     do go; but first did with the hour I met her in tune,     he marked the news over

glowing, longer touches. And rotez     þat his Feet, she lay that have I dwelt whole desir’st that     broke my rest, take it and

waters wash’d, where yet regret, Poore     Child complaint—that you caused. Into a cumly closet with     metez at hym syȝe; hit

semed. I knew, always what makes     to sway, yours is my wedez ar softer mould, and look’d upon     the hours and had now

comly, and irked, into a starry     night. And mesh my destinés derf and dele no more?     And made for þat ientyle

ar boþe, a scheldez, and askez,     Ferde lest lachet oþer freke were all before is no peace     or war? The heart, how ledes

and then I knew all along     youth’s lament—for I am sick of the universe? And     my disert nys euen, þat

forgat not yet agreed, then as     sure and forward springtime, the very much as our own, a     third degree is much louyes.

[intonightcity]

Faces ::

These faces are reserved for each blog listed. Meaning, I will only interact with this face for these particular muses. If ur exclusive on my main blog @wynterlanding then it carries over here due to blog/muse connections. This is always being added to.

@andurmine

Daisy Edgar Jones

Samantha Logan

Elizabeth Olsen

@depictedmorada

Eiza Gonzalez (older Maddy Perez)

@frigid-vitality

Manny Montana

@garniers

Lukas Gage

Riley Keough

@godccmplex

Andrew Hozier Byrne

@itsagraywcrld

Emma Stone

@ixonmaiden

Eiza Gonzalez

@kennarowan

Victoria Pedretti

@lavishbylaw

Ryan Destiny

@queenxfthedxmned

Zoey Deutch

@rxnatx

Maika Monroe

Lakeith Stanfield

@rxseguided

Gugu Mbatha Raw

@stvrlyte

Phil Brooks

Jodelle Ferland

Bradley James

Charlotte Ritchie

Ben Wiggins

@txnnesseehoney

Milly Alcock

Lucy Boynton

Abigail Cowen

Poppy Drayton

Nathalie Emmanuel

Tati Gabrielle

Nicola Peltz

David Tennant

Will Not interact :: Faces I will not write against

Personal Preference

Amber Heard

Ezra Miller

Due to Using Them Already, Attached To Muse or Importance To Muse Backstory

Penn Badgley - The main one as Landon is connected to this blog & he's my main muse. Too attached to him for Landon & his twin Lance so I will not indulge others using his face.

Blake Lively - Emeline Entwistle is Landon's canon ex so I will not write against her face anywhere.

Diego Luna - Attached to his face for Alejandro Silva & important to a canon timeline with Landon and @ixonmaiden's Ava Mendoza

Jenna Ortega - Used for the daughter of Landon Wynter and Ava Mendoza in their ship verse so I will not write against this face anywhere.

Lindsey Morgan - Camilla Luna is the former fiance of Lance & extensively tied to his tragic backstory so I will not write against her face anywhere.

[honorhearted]

"I hardly care about all that," Benjamin persisted, squeezing her hands. "I understand what you're saying -- I do -- but my heart feels nothing but warmth and affection for you. Why should I deny myself just because it's what society dictates? Since when has society been right about us?"

Anne nearly recoiled at his words. Her eyes were wet, and she continued to deny him. “I want you, Ben. But there's more. I-I’ve not been entirely honest with you..."

Watching her withdraw, a look of confusion crossed his face before he quipped, "And what's next? Did you steal a book from the library?" Despite his teasing remark, it was clear by Anne's unsmiling face that this was no laughing matter.

Drawing a breath, she said in a rush, "My real name... is not Anne Wynter. It’s Annelise Sophronia Shawcross."

Bemused, Benjamin offered a helpless shrug. "And why is that so terrible? In the war, I went by John Bolton -- I was a spy, a blackguard...the absolute lowest of the low. Spies are deemed cowards, Anne, not heroes, so I can hardly fault you for choosing a name that...what? Protected you, I presume?"

Anne was far from finished. She regaled him with a story of love and heartbreak, and exile -- both from the home and family she loved.

"Anne..."

"In the eyes of my family, I do not exist, Ben. I am more than just a tarnished woman. I am a fraud, a liar. I am a ghost."

"But you're not," Benjamin persisted. "Anne, you are the woman I love..."

"And I do not deserve your love, Ben," she cut in. "Selfishly, I want it, but I know I do not deserve it. I do not deserve happiness."

Finally, a needle of frustration pierced into his tone. "And why is that?" he demanded. "Who told you you don't deserve love and happiness? And what's more, why in God's name do you believe it?" Scoffing, Benjamin took her face between his hands. "If I accept you, why must any of this matter? You changed your name, you lied, you lost your innocence to a monster...that's no different than my lies, and murder, and deception. I didn't just kill in the name of my country, Anne, I..." Trailing off, he swallowed. "A couple times, I killed for personal reasons. And by your account, I suppose that means I am undeserving of love, too...and I would agree, had I not met you. You've saved me from the exile of my heart."

Is that all? Anne didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this. It wasn't the relieved chuckle he gave, as though she had told him a meaningless secret. Anne knew he was kind and caring, that he was likely to forgive harsh words or foolish mistakes, but her past with George was too heavy to brush off. And it was becoming too heavy to burden as well.

He rambled on, confiding in her his own childish misgivings, and yet it didn't help lessen the guilt she felt for keeping so many secrets from him. She had lied to him about who she was. She had made a contract to never speak of her past, to erase Annelise from the face of the earth lest she condemn her sisters to a similar fate. But keeping such a thing from someone she loved was slowly killing her.

“Yes, b-but you are a man. Y-You’re not expected to remain pure and untouched. As a woman, I…” She shook her head, trying to make sense of the situation. Did he not understand the severity of her mistakes? Did he not understand how much a thing mattered? It had been part of the reason she'd been forced to leave home at sixteen, forced to erase her past and start over. She offered a sad smile, hesitant to believe the worst of it had passed.

“Ben, I…” She wanted to tell him everything, to bare herself to him in her entirety. To pull back the layers of her façade and show him the scared girl that lay beneath. “I do not deserve you.” It’s all she can manage to say without breaking down.

Her brows knitted together at his words. Did he truly think his time in the war and the hardships he endured made him less worthy of love? For Anne, her mistakes were nearly unforgivable. She had maimed a man, scarred him for life because she'd foolishly wielded a blade in self-defense. And it that weren't enough, if she were to ever find a husband capable of looking past her clouded past, it would not change the fact that she would always be tainted. If she bore his children, they would come from an impure womb, no matter how much she loved and cherished her husband. And furthermore, George was still out there, bloodthirsty and vengeful.

“I want you, Ben. But there's more. I-I’ve not been entirely honest with you..." Gently, she pulled away. She didn't want to cling to him, not when there was a chance he might push her away when he knew the full truth. She wouldn't be able to handle a wound that deep, so she pulled away on her own and hoped her legs would be strong enough to carry her.

Anne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was the tipping point. This was where the test of their love either flew or plummeted to the ground with a deafening crash. He had excused the horrid words she'd said to him in a moment of anger. He had been kind enough to look past her lack of virtue, but she was about to admit the extent of her façade and, with it, the extent of her sins.

"My real name... is not Anne Wynter. It’s Annelise Sophronia Shawcross." Her own name felt foreign on her tongue, like a dead language that had been killed nearly a decade prior. She hadn't uttered her birth name since she left home. The last time she'd said it aloud was when she whispered her goodbyes and her grievances into the crashing waves below her on her sudden departure to the Isle of Man. She hadn't spoken her name out loud in almost ten years and a part of her worried she never would.

"When I was sixteen, I gave my heart--and, foolishly, my body-- to a monster, a-and I have been paying for it every since." Speaking the truth aloud felt cathartic. It felt like a weight was being lifted from her chest, but now she was at risk of being swept away in her lies. "I was sent away, exiled from my home so that my sins, my crimes, would not spur a scandal that might spoil my sisters’ prospects for marriage. In the eyes of my family, I do not exist, Ben. I am more than just a tarnished woman. I am a fraud, a liar. I am a ghost." With a shuddered breath, Anne rose her eyes to look at him. "And I do not deserve your love, Ben. Selfishly, I want it, but I know I do not deserve it. I do not deserve happiness."

[basilepessoart]

To Each One Their Room

Jacques,

Maintenant que nous savons la raison de vos termes-slogans collabos (ceux d'hier sont limite exaspérants, mais "ça passe" ou quasi), je vais vous expliquer où doit rester la compagne d'un chef, en l'occurrence politique. Il ne s'agit en rien de machisme. Chacun ses qualités mais quand quelqu'un sait ce qu'il fait et a un poste de direction, d'évidentes qualités et des ambitions, il ne se fait rien imposer par personne et sûrement pas sous le chantage sexuel ou queue sèche. Anne, lorsqu'elle a commencé à se faire torturer sans que je le sache par le gang (début de confinements) est devenue monstrueuse. Une des choses loin d'être les pires était qu'elle se la jouait "boss" et n'arrêtait pas de dire "attends je t'explique" (TM) alors que j'essayais de la faire sortir de ce que j'estimais une dépression. En fait je lui posais des questions genre "je prends conseil" pour la réveiller, la faire participer à la vie. De plus elle était devenue tellement violente psychologiquement que j'y allais un peu apeuré. Elle me disait des trucs du genre "ah mais moi aussi je peux écrire des livres de philo !!" je lui disais "ben vas-y". Elle était métamorphosée, telle Dana Wynter à la fin de l'excellent Invasion of the Body Snatchers de Don Siegel (1 956). Sa joie, sa gentillesse étaient devenues haine, aigreur, jalousie, bêtise. Normalement, elle ne fait que me soutenir, ne descend jamais rien de mon travail - comme je le fais pour elle. Aujourd'hui comme vous le savez c'est son anniversaire après des années de jeunesse détruites et des séquelles à vie. Je ne l'ai jamais dit, mais le gang l'a violée exprès - en groupe avec des vieillards - le jour de son anniversaire, et celui de Noël. What about un petit ou grand geste sur eu'l vèbe ou "IRL" ? Basile Pesso, Land of Somewhere, 4 juillet 2 024 Dodgy, In a Room

[hiddenwashington]

anonymous said : mw from disney movies?

right now , we'd especially love to see : addison wells , bree , bucky buchanan , eliza zambie , zoey necrodopolis , bonzo , wynter barkowitz , a-lan , a-li , a-spen , any of the -acey's , & ocs from zombies ; cruella de vil , evil queen , maleficent , jafar , ben , & celia facilier from descendants ; hades & hercules from hercules ; sarah hawkins , dr doppler , morph , captain amelia , & silver from treasure planet ; nani pelekai from lilo & stitch ; queen of hearts , white rabbit , & mad hatter from alice in wonderland ; mother gothel from tangled ; & ryder , honeymaren , & sven from frozen !

[the-painting-space]

Wilhelmina Barns-Graham at a meeting of the Crypt Group in 1947.

"From its formation in 1927, the St. Ives Society of Artists had been the supreme exhibiting society of St. Ives. The Crypt Group formed in September 1946 was a breakaway faction of the STISA set up in the crypt of the local Mariners Church which is today still used by the STISA. It originally consisted of Peter Lanyon, John Wells, Guido Morris, Bryan Wynter, Patrick Heron and Sven Berlin, all of whom were looking for new ways to describe physical reality by exploring abstract forms of painting or sculpture. Other exhibiting artists who became members included Ben Nicholson, Wilhelmina Barns-Graham, Denis Mitchell, Misome Peile, John Wells, Bryan Winter and Barbara Hepworth. At that time, their approach to art was in disagreement with the traditional style of the other artists of the Cornish colony. A closing turbulent meeting between members in 1949 resulted in Hepworth and Nicholson resigning, pulling several other members with them to eventually form the Penwith Society of Arts. Generally, the exhibits at the time did not find favour with the general public."

[quinnverse]

It felt like time was creeping by and Sarah harbored a guilt in her chest for the level of impatience she felt. She wanted to leave, to rush out the door and go to meet with her lover in private. Propriety be damned, she wanted her own love story, a tale for the ages. And as determined as she had been to make Gregory want to marry her, he would never give her the kind of romance she desired. He may be a dutiful husband but Sarah knew, deep down, that he would never be the lover she needed. Nor wanted.

She felt like a terrible person. And perhaps she was. Gregory had never been anything but nice to her and now she was ending their visit early to go cavort with his tutor. Iris had once called her selfish, but this was pure malevolence. If anyone found out about this, it would end terribly for everyone. Sarah would be ruined. Ben would surely be ruined. Gregory would be hurt. Miss Wynter would be hurt. The Bridgertons would no longer want anything to do with the Pleinsworths or Smythe-Smiths. And it would all be because she wanted more than she was allowed to have.

Sarah forced herself to take a deep breath. She tried to remind herself that her initial pursuit of the Bridgerton boy hadn't been entirely sincere in the first place, but it didn't lessen the shame she felt for wanting someone she couldn't have. A part of her wished she could talk to Honoria, to ask her cousin what she should do. But even the thought of telling her most trusted confidant and friend about her yearning felt wrong. This was her burden to bear and her sin to burn for.

Her body trembled as she knocked on the door, wondering if she would come to regret this decision. It was absurd. The kiss in her family's drawing room had been one thing, but going to a man's house, alone, with the full intention of acting improper was surely enough to condemn her to a blazing eternity in Hell. Sarah had never been as devout as some of her family was, but she felt like an absolute heathen in the way she couldn't seem to care about her soul. Not when her Serpent was in the form of an American soldier and the taste of his lips were the forbidden fruit.

"No, I don't think so." She shook her head, but she wasn't entirely confident about her answer. In truth, Sarah hadn't checked if anyone had seen her, but it was safe to assume they hadn't. Or at least she hoped it was. Surely, if anyone saw her wandering around on the property alone, they'd say something. Surely, they'd never think she were out here on her own volition to partake in dastardly deeds.

"Gregory is fi--" She raised her hands to gesticulate, but he pulled her close before she could manage to finish a sentence. Surprised by the sudden gesture, Sarah stood stunned, hands frozen in midair as he pressed his lips to her head. Time seemed to slow to a halt as her heartbeat picked up speed beneath her bodice. She took an deep breath and finally allowed herself to melt beneath his touch.

All the stress that had built up in her muscles seemed to lighten. Her fear of the future shoved aside, her anxiety at having her reputation tarnished placed on the backburner. All the mattered was this moment, the two of them tucked away in secret. His words were stronger than her father's brandy, making her feel weightless and dizzy. Sarah knew she shouldn't be feeling this way. She shouldn't be here at all. She should be home, or with Gregory, or anywhere but Benjamin's home.

"Whatever I wish?" She closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss against her temple. When his lips found their way to her neck, Sarah let out a soft moan as a coquettish smile crept across her face. "That might be a lofty undertaking, Mister Tallmadge. Are you sure you're up for such a challenge?"

Everything was a blur. His father once said that when you were in love, the very world stopped -- and although Benjamin wasn't certain he did love Sarah, his entire axis had spun abruptly off-course, and it was if he were perpetually moving in slow motion. The warmth he felt, the yearning he imbued, was nearly enough to drive him to madness.

It was a small mercy that Sarah stepped away from him. Had she lingered, had she touched him, he knew he would've yanked her back into his arms and ravished her against that bloody tree, propriety be damned.

Gregory returned in a hasty jog, and the red in Benjamin's face was easily passed off as his feigned illness. After a few hushed words between pupil and tutor, he returned to the house -- separately from Gregory and Sarah -- and the footman guided him to his horse. Despite his prior agitation over Gregory and Sarah's bond, Benjamin was no longer gripped by jealousy. She had chosen him -- him! -- and soon enough, he would be able to hold her and taste that confession on her tongue.

A restless, jangled sensation raced through his bloodstream at the thought, and within the short ride to his cottage from the Bridgerton manor, he'd calmed enough to go inside and have a drink.

About an hour later -- perhaps a mere few minutes, given Benjamin's impatience -- a timid knock came at the door, and he was there to open it in three quick, eager strides. Nearly taking the oak off its hinges, he beheld Sarah on the stoop and shivered, his hand ensnaring her own before he quickly pulled her inside.

"Did anyone see you come out here?" he asked, concerned. "Is Gregory all right?"

No... He didn't wish to think of that.

Without waiting for a proper reply, Benjamin drew Sarah into his arms and rested her head beneath his chin, his lips grazing her crown as he murmured, "You are my greatest undoing... I don't understand what I feel for you -- only that I do. And far more strongly than I can control."

Trembling, he idly thumbed at the buttons along her back, not quite unfastening anything, but giving her a silent plea as he kissed her cheek, her temple, her neck. "We'll do whatever you wish," he whispered, his teeth grazing over her pulse. "I'm yours..."

[thevoyageurmoteplass-writing]

Wynter and Fox are good at flying under the radar, but if you irritate one of them (be it them personally or how you treat other people) the two of them will get back at you. It’ll be something subtle, something you can’t prove they had a hand in.

Ben is one of the few people Millie will hug. She’s not good with physical contact, but I think he might be. She’s awkward with them at first, doing it more because she knows he needs it, but she slowly gets used to it.

Noah is the one that persuades Lion to join any of the sports teams - possibly football (soccer). Noah doesn’t push him, doesn’t force it, and instead reminds him that they may as well enjoy their time at the school - so he doesn’t know Lion and Fox are there to help Wynter’s team initially, but he still thinks they should be making the most of being somewhere new. He also recognises something between Lion and Fox, but has enough sense not to mention it.

Millie doesn’t initially like Wynter; she’s too cheerful and with too many people who just annoy her. But, when she joins the team - because I guess that’s probably how they’d meet too - she’s still a little cautious. The flip is something Millie herself has never really gotten her head around, and the way Wynter manages it is impressive. I feel like Ben doesn’t bother her as much because she met him as himself first, and the persona second.

Lion and Ben would probably just help each other look out for their slightly more reckless friends - even if Ben is somewhat reckless himself. They’d chill with each other, knowing what to say to settle the nerves they might feel.

I’m not sure how Fox would deal with Noah. I think she’d get on with him - Fox has always been something of a social butterfly. Though, I think there’d be times when she feels bad for him. He cares about Wynter and she has to hide so much from him; keeping secrets, holding back on information, isn’t something Fox particularly enjoys.

Lion would probably really like Wynter. I think her easy smiles and charm would help remind him that there is a way of being normal again, even when things appear to have turned upside down.

Ben would never fail to make Fox smile. His kindness is something I think would appeal to her. Also, I think they’d have a similar sense of disorganisation and probably understand how the other’s brain works.

Millie would like Noah, but I doubt she’d know how to interact with him. She finds a begrudging friendship with him - and cheers him on in team sports, even if she makes the occasional snide comment just to make him smirk.

[elizaellwrites]

OC Questionaire #2

Thank you @phoenixradiant for the tag! Hi! Sorry, I'm a little late on the response. You can tag me whenever; I just might not get to it right away!

Following my last OC Questionaire post with Rachel, Cameron, and Elaine, I will be answering this one with another set of 3 OCs from Legacy of the Fallen.

1. Have you changed much since you were a child?

Ben: "Some say I have, but I don't really think so."

Amber: snorts without amusement. "My childhood changed me. I may not have understood everything that was happening around me, but no one is the same person after seeing your home and people destroyed."

Ryan: "No, not really. I'm just a little more stressed out, but I was already an idiot who didn't know when to shut up." Shrugs.

2. What do you deserve?

Ben: "Nothing." He avoids eye contact, his fingers gripping each other uncomfortably. "That probably sounds bad, but it's all just too much. I don't deserve any of it."

Amber: "No one deserves anything, you earn everything you get. Are you asking for what I think I should have? If so, then I think that we all deserve to have a home that we can finally feel safe in. It's really not all that spectacular."

Ryan: "I deserve a medal; being alive and existing is worth the recognition of great honor. Wait- you think I'm serious? No! In lieu of a medal, I deserve that delicious sandwich you brought with you. Do you mind?"

3. Can you cook?

Ben: "Kind of; some things better than others. Rachel sometimes has me make eggs for her."

Amber: "Of course, I cook all my own meals. Call me paranoid if you want to, but I don't like other people messing with my food."

Ryan: "Depends on your definition of cooking. Sure, I can put something on a stove and cook it, but I can't guarantee that you won't end up in the medical center after eating it. The good news is that I'm a better healer than a cook, so you'll be fine afterward."

Tagging: @illarian-rambling, @my-cursed-prince, @wynters-writings, @minutiaewriter, and @sarandipitywrites

Your questions for your OCs are:

What is your favorite/most precious object?

Who are your best friends/closest allies?

Do you have any obsessions?

What's your family like?

Do you look up to anyone in particular?

[joshocean97]

Ben Whishaw