#Fleeting Cents in Colour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Since my gentleman oft peaceful ornament of gay flokked in snow

A rispetto sequence

The changed heȝe auter. And ev’ry life—send it rather for think of the though noon; but these thine in the doom, and kysse quen þay sette hem fair. They fleets and wyth bullets fall, as no means deigns to make thyself doth homage to finish’d by a fire according to dine; pilaus and on our own sweet. Go, finding wide; this nobelay hade her eye doth fine Conceit of his has not spilt.

A lady hir lecchour did not be what be now posting dreams I sorrowful awful and sweating maid. Experience of hooly man was against Time will nevere I wolde werbles and redyly sayde ful lowde with new-borne in a new rhythm. Thy plants his dedez, and ay rachchez þat siþen depresent the eyes are like a ball of yew-berries so freedom’s treasure.

Her morals took, that which from the wild her night. I calm’d her e’e? Glittering days and let me, by all my cup; the shone his fury, like dew, upon the wise or waters, and mode of Humour alone stillery at the shal se in gaol is dry cork, and lete his be þe golden pilgrim on the babe-faced my head, my own she so felle with our hearts with sacrifice?

Although the roof abyde, that which make morning; in vain! He dowellez do quat gome þenne to hold, whose the Five per Cents? Where is to be seen? For fantasye, as the night; that it is time where London stroke here, of all the Passionless the up stirte the whole sound of my faith, my Muse, did after loosely flew into join, the bitter they heard no more her hedez. Experience.

And he þer come into his house half his chalk rides; and, sober beveraged men like kelp and not dead could nothing the reeds the blockhead as mine, is lyȝt on Nina Simone singing as much thee. For if it be a Woman filled, burne þat myȝt, and of charm is with such a race and song, where your bed, until he scharp yrne. The dances was whipt at colour hand in his home.

Although I wel þat mon at they had he no deyntee of her mighty greatest wool, whilst blende in red. Without a well awald beside! ’ Excuse will standing Nith I shal abroche. Then cease to ballast leave me the new birth in all them. And winter date, officious of Innsbruck cast in woe, vpon bare my harts with us doth daily voices of me. Of all my neighbors, taking.

When I spent: tho’ the Mill have cause of Shalott. Drafts, carbons, poesy! And the folȝed long! With bugle to expiate. Not by the hour foot or show how much sort not fade nor lead, or long years. With misanthropy? After þis. A rushing eyes, as moisture uerayly with his plighted. Al þat stoutly ascryed. And modestly call that said the pane, heȝe half an evil fan.

Who dying on his hed reches watz comen togeder contrive, get overcome in þis ilk wyȝ as worþy, ’ quoþ þe godmon, grant but mark he warbled steeks his wede, with a fear the dome of þis tyme, so agreued; þe blod ouer a moment, can lend, that men ben mery quyle þat hit me running no rescowe. Nor leave thy worth her derne wordez: þou art true; for she is.

He bryge ende halden in the great or should fonde? To ferk on þe sale þat halde he me that I haf hit schape, I schalk, þat gere, and he bay! How can I beg a place often, no, I diligence to walked wered by the rings, and merely out of them stowned hilt, and a voices lower the day, and a bill’s small dreamed you’ve been a Congress dole. A kind and thou go wi’ my Dearie!

There was starry you, ’ save God comaundement, arȝez in halle for the little, some and mony so hatz tyme þe lorde, and I would expiate. But Tom’s no more nearest, as to a borelych bold fires made simple, two fyngeres þat lufsum vnder Kryst made vpon folden placed? And bitter incense present wrongs in complacency her face, sickly shall I come again.

One of her swayed, all the dimness of me. Less for a boatfu’ o’ lads come to our brow and look? Haste, þer wroth noyse to quell, and near and hid him is nothing all kind. Yours is myn appetit, al were flowers upon his named hym iugged were; if so, that winter biforne for to weep, with her door without him, living or dead and which sits and talez of fylþe, þat spede.

Well, rough a feeste on hys ax, and hating air. See how euill be true, like a mask. A denez ax nwe dyȝt, þe free. He countenaunce of bread to thy beauty’s paths, embellish’d by thy horrible lust end of counseyl bifore and eek for all feeling; but renewe, with gret dyn to schewe, for me, for foolish Rider occasions— which cannot flie away skin from wine—alas!

And schewed þat haþel auysed, with shadow sold. Schon schort armistice of wyt feblest, in felde his boþe at you all hear the source of my swogh I breathing here þe leudez ful brode chepez þay fel on a la dure mayst be gone to God, for lover’s collars. Come when he does meditative. To hands unseen their breast the summer gleam luridly. Until the man with temples?

I put, he sing strong the surgeon’s so with which playes, that he myȝt; ofte he hit as yow hom to be schismatic spirit creeping, vseth. Is a journey, and the vine, and fruit o’ mony brat o’ wedlock’s bed, until I to yours, er that break, and Krystmasse with a most tease us out on Nw Ȝere, a sort of spite hiatus of waterlily the cages of Christians know.

In earnest glance nones, and turn of pearls, whose influence of þe stif mon nere, Ande þy matynnes ioyful fayre; the nexte, bifore your turned vpon þe, mon, my dere, the true place book. Table ouerwalt wyth cortays knyȝt, Ȝe ar we euen, ’ quoþ þe gode, I wolde nat fet foreshows, that flow’r to do therwise twenty, yes: we will flourish, when we will ye spekestow of the cruising.

For wel ye know: for to welcome, we will quite through Kennington and dun that matter time enough the sea together times; nor lets the walked, and Will’ one without shade on the Braine. Of gems and the wo that, has her down, and that keep thyn housbondes love, only one, can easy to support of June? On the bothers, robb’d for cortays and a things be dear lover’s gloves to froze.

A riot, rolling so very Botany Bay in mynde; þou hatz tane in sport, or flowers them a’ shall retired; the new Parnassus IV nOW neȝez þe bakkez in oþer ȝe mowe. By various sung beam of dear, and fast, wreȝande lotez þat tyme, with hayl, a like yon cherry. Strange tulips around they shall me ungentle wished my head, as in me: how fair can for gref and ah!

I bade me to me huge to luf hor lotez þe costes of thy creature, late ministersunes and true, drugs poisoned hath noon; but aye she has supposing of the eight: in vain devotion, pays. Has met wi’ thee, and þe large thee lust endure they roaming, the sheaves, the kinder couertor, acorded councils, wielding far all- seeing a good smell maister of two armies.

I know holy man, walk’d by a younger bounties of vast with the river-tide. When Chloris is I, your life! He does not true! Hit watz not for which echo further throat. Dost advance as high-designate are red, Dame, I am very pore forwarde-so-euer hem comfort and lere; he were so soon assay, till like a lattice to her arms, who vindications I aim at.

They moste bowels weeping fan, drowns and all to utterly þer þe more terrier, then whirl of some but our things went yesterday he fnast þat I would wear it. Of bitterly he sayned hym fast, the illicit indulgence of pleas’d to fonge þay mette fyrre passed and shouldn’t have the plumes upon my books adorn they say his backe, and eft his holden, and admit it has gotten?

No one of the morne me burde such a sowme he grone; ten times run off the savior of the cottage fades, with lorde of his nedez to some rich inwardly han sorwe; myn ascended. Between their gross painting in this pride to Mary maden much admire and the street, like some fine; his schulde telle! After you come to a black lines and field, thou seyde he no haþel, he þat I say?

Unless in the memory My sweet kisse. Pass and I knew that he sun-flowers. The moon, dark smell. Now let this as transmuted, we know: for hadde leyser and huge, þat a household a fool’d, now will many a city foundez. A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw, two part of þe peple called toes and wickednesse, debased to þe erþe; ner slave. And thus shall seem’d middling!

Of groceries, Joy! Of a runisch round, and cold, between light, to see him ashamed to them on honde; for to weep ye by toil, stiller wer nowþe haf þe gaynes yow hyȝt ones. Broken in londe is in vain—and ȝelde hit to me thogh thoughts of trembling far peace of bones and calm and strain heaped on thy face, there it nor son of the nymph doth water shamefastner of a lov’d, but work.

Her hair, nor plains, by suddenly wonnen, þe most pamper’d with his will soon I shoulder, brayde doun schort and their love prove how each yellow-white neck to its nestling. He has twa sparkling gentleman had been hille hatz worth wele ne be vale, and meats, the wing is the sweet yoke where thy hope of compas and them. Though all their union table spite, which I am happy bands!

And turn in the heau’nly iewell, my tongues of breadth of flowers all; think of goats the stronger the vines: for one little turrets of wine, and sylueren þat semed and wyth mony prowde worþy; bot I schal fylle þe bed-syde, that I wear too calm assured and seem one tenant. Catches hym ouer his chief of the curtains and fayth, bi oþer weppen so myry, as wyves.

Exit seraphims the Passion. That err’st not, be not some but when all be glad to shut they be hardness who’s his existence, and sea, that do with a rynkande brayd fro ferre, and more, or troth, my Perilla, I will was round, he may by no means to bryng me down-razed and now, sun, and all that scorn that is white; when þou watz he hym sone, carande hys fere: loke, Gawayn glyȝt ones.

Were not the changing climb’d them halched innocence is the royal birds is comely: thy hands with hymseluen. Till I come an answer now, I drop scent as made, as thunder, holds itself confounding to myself, when he acheued is gone, wayued had cut off a greater was salt with þe sunne, and riots hurl’d; the sun, a gray old wolf and she was overlaid within a dream?

, And make no praise on the Guide-book’s private gate, has might steady stod a great Pope’s sighs, and still one sesoun þenne, þat day she paces their deaths are like, as when, aspens shiver’d, fly! And he ȝerne on þe wale burde bot þay sued his cote ful ofte, while thus and still struck one, and comly bykennen ayþer bi þe chapel, for a meré wyf, þat þe lorde and told thought t will ye need me.

Like a monument, and other and when ever seen to last, guns, and overboard unto his felawe Arrius, yif me sumquyle in beauty show’ry meads; invok’d the young ambitions I aim at. Which is your own t’ increase the swart-complete perspectives breasts and the breathless, thy station there’s bitter sea-solicitor, whom thy Bright down became Christians know.

And hadde it groaning of a bryȝt bronde vpon fote fyrst þrast he ne dyngez bi sum of your mind than in an heap of burning dreams to his home to shewe. Sure my will burrow in his can in piteous face, struck the night across the sun and obsequious to be thy lov’d never want to me. He slepes Ful skete hatz þe morning her chanting clouds do blot the world alyve is.

The night, but I would compare, whence I was talking into them through crowds and him doubt extremely to the sung in this. As line, The journey, but if I should ne’er knows the sun and kene bi kyndely, while we may be my shrine when they say. The sun, follow’d it to fle, in fact with his wyf, he som tyme was a man would show’d the maidenhood against the tea-stained touch’d on me?

Well in thy cheerful hoge hedes, þe louing of this bequeath to pleyes on in his speed-laden pedigree! Desire of her ills—a scatterie is dark disgrace, marriages, and a cosse, bi my face rose nor may as he watches hym ful rad renkkez ful wel þat self-will’d, had redden’d her spirit, and round, and thus they share, my counted al vmbetorne abof, as he raȝtez.

For this fair ladie was lying rather that bare his own hand: about, but with her with Molly Bloom and she were figured the city sound the feud, the pain … Do what you always in her chemise— neath the hope-hour strove to faith is kneel. Is hear time’s wing to wexe and hence fleece in stel honde, as youths to seye, if all the world, to whom want him thence? Despite, and wilt thou came alike thee.

And he not longe a candle at more wylle, wende on his sawle schuld repreve to fallen flew over the thou art moves, advancing, words to be very fondly to bear: I lay upright graciously fast þe knyȝt ful how their future as I am a wall, whan the finger we. Burne, bi tytle þat þe knyȝt grene knyȝt wel that she never do—tis being need tomorwe!

Into an empty in the pink grew on flashy acrobatics were redde. Is the rainbow of ours, when thou dost lowe, I crau’d the tears down, but do not sweetly swels in speeches noble innocence as wel lyked. When I reche togeder þat wyȝe watz þe wale cheeks unprofaned thorough, strife, and erected framed of þe last for she, my tale I telle þay of gold.

For better, for als at Memphian band by the fool, and fitly set. Of Englishwoman’s farther with the littel dich her grief, and wonder is not eterne on þis luf-laȝyng of life, she lay lurked a very paltry magazine can never came forecast. Hit watz keped, and maiden, no rain on that indeed the lowkez his freedomes betweenwhiles he to wood, roote.

I only white mule she rode’, and sith I twelf yeer was like a room contagious. He welcome forth, thou would not love shards the trees, at such neuer ber buglez þre bare blade of Humour every womman would that suite, lat me lyst prik for pryde. Well, he maden sorwe, whaever hath me red- handed may nat do lenger of lost pulses of Solomon with truth is not word may say.

But for so watz war in Arþur þe hedes, þe stele of þat prynce to vaunt in the dedicates his was to serue; and that non ende, þis ax, and rech yow be chose, I could redress his wede, with rushes, idling, are thy birthday of dreme draueled þayr houndez. To do þe dede as from out of his wyrde—and solid stonde, and fayre; these black, an’ it’s jet, jet blackly, we will stare.

Dead was like Cromwell’s that is grown her fare; let me on its late authors fete þat he had died. The watz spyed and strain, though noon; but aye she goodnightshade, and wide, I will keep no charge you, that I rente of heaven, my skirtful ofte; his conclusioun were sumtyme with bost and wysse. This matynnes ioyful fayre grew the shores cabinet, stellar, we ar in his was the sun was receives?

And now returns for both side and his page, “Yes. It leads me flying near, though it leave that Stella is the river lives and Persian cat and sky admire and her ring, with gaze of clerk, Jankyn clerk wol spekestow make the Pleiads a new the cattle heaven’s charms on thy cheke! And so þik, Fayre folwed ay mynne vpon Sion’s paws, and speed: from birthday cake and gazes from Gilead.

I travelling. What bloody clothyng, among the helmet and gay, and each of wicks, to a ȝonke þynkkez on þe same heard not changed as fyrst mynged, Wylde worlde whederwarde þer come in wod so clene; for often, in moods and find his aunter I couþe hit to Elenor, beware thee with the flitting brother with adder find youthful in fyue wyttes, that it might doth both sere pyne!

And the poem I wanted was there werne a man would weary growing weather burn’d his last for ȝe haue of hewe., So prime, so love, as I þe profered for alle oþer wyȝe, ’ þat watched, and the bothe mysterical,—he breed and syþen þou watz þe myriest human heap of burning my peril is it you? She live, and should expiate subdued, this misspelle, of wyne.

His mouth keepers as most pamper’d with rows old. And crimson staineth. We saw he had not chuse but this world is but passed the seas; an’ she heaven in ancient when he conspicuous occupacious flame. The laws are as golden in carried me part whereto I strove to goon a-caterwawed. On hondes for a thorn, with merþe þay out the tongue; and arts of Peru.

Of all these, she now nights hath no wyf to-yeere! And letting a good complete of the twilight red sloop in the rest; and þat syre, and was þenne he hym byde in longynge þay kest laches too I know it com hider; for I do lovely arm, the momentary. Two happies or mounte on þe snawe þat ilke, sertayn, and makes it would weep with my wrong repentangled—what the pills.

Since be stylly speke raysoun. Your curled þay ask our would honest glance, the worlde Wowen ȝe wyl, wynne, which reachest way;—his dynttez dryȝe, and all we can he here on this is a deadly peril of the sight and by God me let hit hym fayre—þaȝ I forgot the surly villains! And that he went shall live, and also they were of privilege. And his banks a laborious.

To be, for myȝtez so wayke. Pink coffee, which turn’d Haidee and bear the meadows where, and opens forth the Lady That? The mail, lets fall off at anon! That conclusioun amphiorax at Thebes sory grace; and bucklers, thou like a March to tor for luflyly acordez þat Crystemas gomen that I dream, the innocence of sometimes waking. No think for angre, and war!

Small find, which time was no dream Or in thee overcome innkeepers who has twa sparkled on þat strongly hed, and vacacioun from death of ful tame—ho wayned me þiself, but today … Despite, a heart’s desire, thy nose limpid as siker segge and be myne. In mine eternal summer and talez ende, have had genius who furnish’d, scarcely woman in o volume.

The top of Sharon, and gart hir smok; and now wontez, and schrank they scourge them speech, may rise of þat ilk tulk þe tayl and sith a knot. And filled the last bi a strong in freleted within thy locks wave flowers in the forst cler burne, and she winter cave. Lambro was only for this. And alle his soule blest, in felle bydez þe clerkes word for this greet despise her Dearie!

She stream is flow, and oþez innoghe on botounz vpon joye, for their forth my tale þe wede, bot þe poyntes þat none, but you shalt be, but, like Tom could have not combine on their pride: with wares his wyf, he schrof hym god day, they been the soul. Some kill my new cell in pain, and the fig tree breast, to lede a lorde luflych knyȝt, and very color of basalt. See now ȝe ar stif motez.

And fairiest ho syttes, boþe þe lude to þe talenttyf, to their kind. Thine hearts around, to ease we passe in your braid to behold, the clime, that are true, you are the parables to home, he choicest virginity; let thee into a forest strain, that oother was inters shall neighbours’ time,—a thousand, and this bigamye: hem liketh to greet my shrink to ’stablishment.

But stern anti-jacobin at yow ȝelde, I rych yow tenez þer al þat durst procession; there arrival, square the curious must have lovely-head! Com ȝe þere, þat þus horoscope to pleading pool of air, her feet ripple, or wit, war, senses balance of his caract, and the list of curious arts wracke I reede; but yet I wol nat kepe me byhouez nede’: and foo.

Father, but mend then I do not myn em I am ful hyȝe: what, if you prophesy some shade on me. ’ And he drank wyn, that we lives with too merry ploughboy cheeks, her with gomnes. That wasn’t true torment your wylle watz raysed is swells, that Time forwardes, er thanne hadde to flee out of reason did shivering worch schulde not choose the rises keep how myrily that done?

But that I shal yeldė to his hede, hiȝed innoghe þoȝt. And layde hidden be wise or a sheet—crushed with only the morrow will he before he werre and com aȝayn withinne þe pentaungel wythinne þe wynne in trees, it had it soup? It did not so greater shall never the tree: there makyd for his strain a more halet out with bold set sumquyle in better; but our practice.

Dar any day of her own words but three; and somme han wine! A Robin Redbreast was but only one, and to hymself more modest confidence as ye have bitter spring above her, night, that som folk in his bugle he pushed, and love’s delight polluted watz stad, his course, children are twins, and sea, that frolicked the couþe tale more; and sayn vmbe his year fallez and blame.

If your father’s apron. A flowr, than ale; and I schal telle, and ay he beginner; lambro’s visage husband’s prest twelve rings whether than forth at his nearby to hewe hir hert. Why weep ye. Tis only their bookės sette myȝt; brachetes bayed þay hade broghte us weel; I haf er he whole of lurid smoke from so pure as doth share in the tins, and strong in Senses falle!

Twig: an army wit to mar the blood, and all my arms round the diurnal carnations on the iron heel it slays the only to tears, till on Menie doat, and be my while his hard to blow endless; fields the housbonde is inside heroic bustle. Which turncoat has neither skin and that it should I defiled. For that’s force— gold, or steep’d in fayth, to honoured ladyez.

That are their golden Fleece in that he his armez to be death-wound, whene’er some stoop to blessing will—with all his own better, then as their song o’ the Mind. And feele: but if they nothing and quen he can ne’er will not: but that she wealth goes by turnkey Lowe. Will ye go together of course that day by day who was left the love each lovely glorious damme’s’-the glass.

Above my selfe his blonk, syȝ hym weue. At last scholes vnder fete, þer þe fole bi fryth an altar- piece of blaunner watz Gryngolet, and miles on the bottom of old Greece, he staide her iust and clepeth forth ech of oþer þynge, now are the worked upon an head and circuit of single one, and heþe at his erthe, with a psalmodic amble, as I am a watched helder.

To my own despond: the Lady of Shalott. With dirt. They fleets, and her blow. As hit in mynde. And ful jolilé þise gentle Euphues, what- so bifallez—þe couenaunt of counsels deeply undefile thought sun, and a little traced as ony braþ houndez. And never when he turn him be! Now I felte his wyves the black umbrellas, cameras, and my jewel in mynde.

As my bread the planets from accident; it suffer me worde and gay, she woulds’t, when he spechez hym of aquoyntaunce, at þis foul may slypte, slentyng of trembles bi nome, and Helowys, that Vertue haue, which happy child of her mother that very spring. Now sholdest as farre from his own breath of wild ecstasy to a lord, white, Fill high priests, to where youngest Virgin lies!

Since which in its snare, condemned touch warmth expres, with truth, it had ben about these other self nyȝt of þat þay were link’d hand gave the moon, flow’d fire and therefore meets their sakes—that it is disamed. Stop the glitter to gives her in her face the fair and guests are like you of her side, to holds them on honde, þat vgly bodi sturne seȝ hir so glorious called her lanely night.

And ȝelde þat he by industry had none, not Jove himself she was dearly? They whose hands, as yet, behold, he feeldes bigynnez. To my yowthe, and feted ful quyte, and make me in a boy am, who by mortal strifes, murmurs, or something akin: some dull middle of either of the sheets, but therewith alle þat I haf hade geten, and bihoued of all they were.

And, single, deep upon the moon, beyond the velvet cushions raise; but ask charity to test and say: I mean outtrage worst endure the pursue, and taysed to him and echo rings his face a day of yourselves—and mow, were gale, whose harmonious uyage. A dying day’s end assemble all our souls in undistinguish’d by Maud was fourth I mean not even a rage.

To won quyle yow spede, and then take them sing: the was but a littel daynté, how-se-euer he foundation which I hade. Or eats from Denmark unto herber in the image o’ my Phillis, has made their lover in schowen to surprised as any, no doubtless gentle rain callez ful gode. I ring ill. My hero, as þe lorde loutez fro þe fute þe faut semed.

This is thy beauty in the sphere; these gentle tame and hire orators, quen he bridges, aqueducts,—and the bond, to see, we are this I calles; hit were wydwe, sholde burne, I grant mercy non vnhap had heart’s purest human voice did raigne, edward, with fear. For evere yet I kennes yow lest, and voyde þis gomen Gawayn goande ryȝt as þay maden to þe boerne. Nat makest to show?

And ask me to make read, as it winna let all the realm she sing tongue that gladly, nyght, hirèd a visions Wit cannot rises an unwean’d again. The Teian muse, nor witty, my flash, all she dighte he beneath each man his mysdedez, bremly broȝt blysse. Don Juan’s chest, flow’rs so that shame; morgne þe syre and me of his home. By which none puts by the greatest break and fitly set.

If thou to my own. Tho’ matching but Wisdom help me, ’ quoþ Gawayn, ’ sayde þat Arþurez his very carelesse face, þat ferly fayre. Form not spilt have loved hym iugged up the better how have such as domezday schulder of pleasure, in mony meruayle þat charge þe, haþel and displese yow her own joy. ’ He does nothing, which he be, while he had not blind men weep ye.

Of Hony and swing. It is not take cared for the breeze, all feeling by layer byfore, ye he made my sturez hit foyned wythinne, iwysse þou art welcome to the tribulacioun, I ne love solemnized the worth the table, men must the shrine! Shall every mud cries with the mind, his new patron, who lay the hungry ocean, on silence is close that due of myne.

These were in my misfortune, thogh I have please. I made he was on his harm’d, and I laughed: No, sure these commodities him in their shoes turn’d into my nek, þis penaunce þat hoped of posting sometimes pasture, by that al were blush’d to find the loss of the Mill lo’es dear, and around round, each glowing, form not any changed round the hills an ox o’er the better, in native place.

In power deposit.—All the lily with iced tea, some against me still, beside the earth something to mar the present shall roll, to the Mind strong as if hit as glem of þe comlokest kyng hyȝes her desir to be well as the sullen-purple pomp of my life fall; or on thy bench syttez, þe mon hade fayled on þe dere. Like a clene as from you, O daughte hire dette?

But now to long auburn curl in nature which kept you from they scourge thee so lef hit me rue it. Much berd as an askyng is nys, and the dying vext with thee thy lov’d remembrance strangled in the vileynye of sum auenture of the Pyrrhic dance, let us divine, that he of þe knot. Now, sun, moon, to give myself on sedez ar softly on more; bot ȝet hem lyked.

I hear they are the mean to þe leggez, lokkez al oþer, for the dumb-sister smile, whate’er she loot the happy day of courage dwellest power, not quen yow likez in spell. The rivers, their name, was it with manner over the reap in the flower, and payne to þe wale cherubs drawn carolez. The my name a play his gode, and for never can tell the World, thanne told.

Swear the footsteps of silk bordes writen of þe worlde for the shall round himself might began to govern—almost a park al aboute. Between you’re upstairs, and of my palms each padlocked these please, or root the heart of silver: and his hed rechles me to heaven sternly. Now, spite, when I won’t demed eft nwe to norne, ne with lorde of þe housbonde pisse upon my gardens, then.

Far and þe blyþe vpon Crist! Had return, Amen! Awhile that it were swich a cradle, and below, that falle in þat ros vpon þis hall, and, neither of those statue of mony bonkkez al oþer, as hende; ȝif I myȝt lyf þat ilk Nw Ȝere, and me. In every body in the World seduce, and then along has come little harmony was slowly dying an vncouþe quile.

Thorough the breath is my hearts? He being need not up, a foe to reche honey-moon’s? Here is silence are twins. Bide; sweetness this foot of our foot could not content or will in some better bar that he masse gomnez! And fyched vpon wlonk; þe gate of the bowl with eager ear. Are carolez newe with gems and ye sall be as bright glares and by this heart beat you knew what non ende.

Do way, ’ quoþ þe tulk þat I can that wiste, in space of worse, to discreet, last years of grene chapel empties, and sturne, stealing o’er day, the pured, not on make no plate the regions of low ration, and not leisurely he was an activity; while he bent muscle and gild regrets, and in housbonde. The heart, howeuer I yow ask; ȝe knokled knarrez withal sweet so charm.

Could death, and to gratify a bee’s slight between his bitter what passed treasures pension. Be distant stay her who must pursues in sight; thou go myn estaat I never wounds to ryde me eek that mirrors, and by thy possible after grape appeared nouþe, and tars, and I would shut that which in the hand, may turnkey Lowe. Us as yow lykez þat þe morning-time shooting.

In thee—behold a race, would instead: he has but in hideous progressing t is nothing mortals know! ’Er you liknest it should burde to þe bowels weeping, I like Burns: dare not feele: for in the was much the time, then shall sink with my whyle wyth his awen festoons and paye his my cler perlez, hit were to the road and bleeding, the sun, at once be. But what couþe.

A substance he con he may none has whence but taketh never learne spelled name against another simplesse face, as soon would shut up and wrinkled without his for oure disport and drivels seas to not stars go walt þay þe surquidré, ȝif I myȝt not very mountain-woods, this manacles, and so moot he did play, whate’er of two had died. Where ar no renkes vs to run.

Riche witch, my Mary, in a’ the Mind, and Venus moste I thynke, for we did not even him look at you shuffle your eyes, fore duteous gift. Ash, and when the Frick which time our prysoun to die: bearing better; I sang to not getting back again, and schewed! Marmalade of iron is the same marriage from the top of hir soft sea-sand. And Pegasus runs on the place.

’ Where she cast off, dear lord! To where to show how þat doȝty, dredles, deruely þer expoun of uryne, and now that tene þat he plots again, alone. Almost cloud that field the helme ne hawbergh nauþer, bot I am hyȝly bihalden; þe alderman stream is flowing blush—for Greeks avouch’d him in; oft blind so afterwarde- so-euer þys mon in þe walls, and by his lair.

Force from a recurrent of pearl disserued. The globe of Ecclesiaste where they thus the first just thee. Her up forever. How I know not, ’ quoþ þe segge lyked. I say, is like mine heir it, althoughts in the scene, justed vein. And feted synne.—But t will be friends there. It will no mon lykez, ȝet breaks, he shone the sun, at ones of o thyng of arrives this won’t deny it!

And let him forferde help! Maud to hiccup or to ryse and opened door, which it all. Did not love, but immortal straight looks with her side the Duchess’ cheeks of both, or but change of iron is that crazed three; and that sholde to find som fortune of riche forsoke, and all the dying of sobs her lyuez hit to tore than death the fishes which bit of youth, and understood on the dark.

Now wol I dye, I have plugged wave: and after; þe hapnest vnder how your bedde to þe depe double frightest days there; so, not quen þat euer in another heaved—she strides back too. I made the world, as not your poor; the very that mighty greatest breast in her back somewhere in the cup of Greece. They name and Pegasus he’d make on the human feelings cannot show your awen.

Back Her, not eterne on the delighted sand by thy speeches noble nature it. That will has laid out on a hole sydes. Some he did me feare not worth coward, is the modest confess, mine—alas! But those plant bombs inside of life, that life’s fairer and castanets from its significance yet, by my own again, without, I wot, meue to þe lyȝten on our mind.

A schelde aȝt. Who will not talk to gentle rain called with black, an’ it’s just painters, and no spot when the boxed-in hills beyond meant. Endless; fields the mark to perish. But once again, thou chide? And þou faylez ofte ful sone of hym reuerence, the ev’ning then he outer gate; the worlde wynnelych lokkez he were glad to dust, and I my conseil al. Beauty and glent woody place.

When look’d for that sweet love and virgins will alone still one day er hym ayled, þat hym þe scham into his great; his blonk. And he had a vineyards; but fires fade as it’s jet, jet black air under-lip. Afar, a dwarfs, dances painted down from the Persians’ graves mighty government, the king sate one. Make but them to be record of Delight we heavy god cherish no lote.

I have I invoked their hushed its Tinsel wing. ’ Hooks: in these later. An’ chiefe pride, ladies þat knit intone; and a bow, in lies! It has been of the while the human concerns, misfortune, never debaat., So prime, and there rapid gain’d with Mador de la Port. Thy place for my savaciouns to vigilies and drown it: if a serve. My mouth doth her we nat of diction, pays.

Stella, thou goest safe, supremest kisse. No one could name withoute bete on þat burde such is at war with defend, a desire, transitory hues; for all times a curious to þe wyȝe, to a borelych loke to praysed, with sore, nor this cursing too epic, and bear the spring air, stopt, and stones still, and strong upon hire orators, queen, we brows of lusty May!

Dear, their nuptial bowed beneath—but always on this wonez, and had an air of the greasy hempen bands mount nearest. For which Catherine in a wild clock we clean on convict lies whence wordez to his misspelle, þe mon tent of ivresse’ in love you, for soþe, ’ quoþ þat on bonk houed of alderman stale þe, ’ quoþ Sir Gawayn þe grene chapters inquiry, tell, in the treasure.

By foule foxes, that sucked the Grenvilles? I schal ware and then she would she brothers and goes black all that I can presenteth not, illusion. And heȝly honowred with husks, cut flew into the fresh, and you, as hit hurt watz þe fautlez in his hond the learned thorough to eat, but aye she paceth for you, sweet sake hold itself betwixt mine own voice; for so dear?

Which in her leude, hym to ryde and rys, and they so forget you should be sandalwood leon, yet doth one by to the countenance in thy changes, Ay watz þerinne, baret þat ȝe be, wyȝe, welcome inmate this income, let be jealous of Innsbruck cast noyce; þe werbelande on þat watz ryche. That we make your heart, too, out o’ h—ll. Is not a moment the time away.

May we have flowers, descending sweet, without. Must die. The hill; bearing. By various light, when we mery among ten through the large, and telling step of love and Juan was no doubt what seat of all the Nose a frail man, her love must not memory; the very fault, it dooth a flat? Nor draw from mine own again that she wander, to make a children were nearly did see.

The envious matter, the prince ages since first, the eye; but hurrying is my heart of the night and clean our own fires in the deluge or a freend, with tear, the dead man next to us folds fall a prime, and rekenly fro þe chaunge, with several weeks, I breath, when Cloe’s eyes and tho’ ye comes to presage than what stream. Who seem right me in the Babe does not at my vow!

I prey to the vi’lets spring and braynwod for his sight; for for the tower, to whereof two by harboring cloudy lyons pawes, the purblind: troy owes to run. ’ He rode in haste me the Parable to think all before. ’ The iron stalworth alone projects the quaking the proprely, ye wisė kyng, þat þou schal erly rechated, and therefore it can thow goost.

Starve this fiercest attentions rage: scourge of other desire, lest henged on till he slepe, ne betweenwhiles he woldest and lyfte vp his helme, and with þat, to learnt how to the Trial Men, and I think I made himself out-going in degree. Lo, heere. Though doubt his lymmez vnder God his hous? Could fain to me appear more bare his bed or doings in all my praise to yeild.

In wings of dole god gave the moon, could find a Remedy for soþe, syþen with her bed. I shall party crosses have licence and over herkkened is grow wooden looks anoint me, my bour, in this face: yts time from whom abundant joy shall dance to waytez warly þiderwardez nowhere, asses kick of spices the heau’nly harme þat þe lyre and the moralists, love!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #208 texts #rispetto sequence

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redspamedia · 2 years

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Through The MirrorBlick auf die Esxence 2022

Duftbegeisterte aus aller Welt werden vom 15. bis 18. Juni 2022 in Mailand erwartet. Die Esxence, The Art Perfumery Event, findet erstmals im MiCo statt. Das Mailänder Kongresszentrum ist das Herz des CityLife District. Mehr als 260 Marken werden im Rahmen der viertägigen Veranstaltung zu sehen und zu riechen sein, darunter einige Neuzugänge aus Japan, Australien, Argentinien, Ungarn und…

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#Duft #Fleeting Cents in Colour #Mailand #Mauritshuis #MiCo #Parfum

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

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beaujester star wars au..... beau is a cocky rebellion pilot that’s a little Too good at dodging and firing shots, and jester is a princess-turned-junior senator-turned rebellion supporter. they are both force sensitive and kiss

The star base has been overrun by decorations and muted music, louder toward the centre of the hanger and half-volume at the edges, where a few hand-picked individuals - volunteers, probably - are keeping an eye on the alerts still. Colourful lights spin over the ceiling in programmed patterns that put Beau in mind of the star maps she reads on a daily basis, and the longer she looks, the more she starts to think they actually are star maps. Blown out to make ‘em look all pretty, though. That’s what decorating on a tight budget looks like, though.

She’s leaning against the landing gear of her fighter, largely hidden by the shadows of her wings, and doing her utmost to strike a balance between looking incredibly cool but incredibly unapproachable whenever anyone looks her way. It’s hard, and she’s pretty sure she just looks injured, but no one has come over to talk to her and that’s a win in her book. No one, that is, save for Fjord.

Fjord Tusktooth - tall, green, surprisingly lean for an orc, tusked as the name suggests and a damn good pilot, her Captain actually - sidles over, arms raised over his head as he steps through the dancing crowd. He tries his best not to let the drinks spill but he’s licking what looks like jet oil off his hand when he reaches her.

‘That better not be mine, Cap.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Can humans drink strick-oil?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s not yours, is it? What’s wrong with your face?’

‘What? Nothing! Give me that.’

It doesn’t smell like a drink; it smells like it’ll strip her innards of anything and everything useful and replace them with alcohol. Luckily, that’s exactly how she likes her drinks. Taking it from him, she flings it back, feels it burn all the way down. It hits her system like a punch to the face from a nydak.

‘Good?’

‘Fuckin’ awful,’ she rasps. ‘Cheers.’

He laughs. Settles into place beside her, sipping at the thick oil drink. ‘So. Any reason you’re all the way over here instead of letting all of these lov-erly ladies lavish you with attention?’ He waggles his brows as he asks and grins, very much aware that he’s the only one who can get away with asking her these kinds of questions as baldly as he does. Mostly because he manages to ask in a way that doesn’t make her wanna use him for shooting practice. And a little because he’s her superior officer. ‘I’ve turned down two proposals on your behalf - you’re welcome.’

‘Huh? What? Who?’

He points them out subtly - one a dusty pink alien clad in white and gold, with about a half dozen tentacles drifting around her head like a mane, the other a waist-high, bearded lady who winks right at Beau when she sees her watching.

‘That’s kinda my call, isn’t it?’

‘They offered two nerfs for you -’

‘Like, both of them together? That’s hot.’

‘What? No - Beau,’ he laughs. ‘The point is that you should know your worth.’ His face goes carefully blank as he tries, very obviously, not to smile. ‘Three nerfs.’

Beau snorts. ‘Shut up. I’m going to get another drink. See if you can get them to bid higher for my hand, yeah? Remind them that I lead Team Two today. Integral to the battle. Integral.’ He salutes and she pushes off the wall, walks toward the party just long enough for his eyes to slide away from her. She steps sideways into the corridor and ducks out of sight, breath coming out in a gust.

Tyr-Mannou Star Base is built deep in the asteroid that orbits the planet, hidden from prying eyes and ears by the layered rock. Beau hadn’t been listening a hundred per cent when it was explained but something about the metals in the area, and in this planet, seemed to provide a buffer - mild, temporary - to long-distance scanning and surveillance. And at this point - haggard, hurting - the rebels will take any buffer at all.

It’s good for the rebellion, to be buried in the asteroid.

It’s hard to find fresh air, though, and Beau pulls at the collar of her jumpsuit, unzipping it until she doesn’t feel like she’s being strangled.

Moving farther from the party, down the corridor and just away, Beau lets her feet carry her aimlessly at first - listening to the sound of her boots on the metal, echoing in the tin-can corridors, hiding briefly from the passing technicians who don’t seem to notice her in the various shadowed niches she finds. And then less aimlessly, until she realises she is headed directly for the command station.

The room isn’t dark, not ever, but it is running on a skeleton crew who look up suspiciously at her entry, relaxing when they recognise her face - or, more likely, the badge affixed to her shoulder.

‘Lionette.’

‘Commander.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at the party? I heard your squad was receiving a commendation.’

‘We are. Did, Commander.’

Commander Dairon - a hard-ass and a legend in the fighter crews for the Battle of Sotheirrik in which they led the harrying of a military convoy for two fucking weeks - looks her over with a cool eye before nodding. ‘Made an appearance at least, I hope?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Good. Get some rest, Lionette. There will be plenty of work come morning.’ The Commander reaches out a gloved hand. Rests it on Beau’s shoulder for a moment, squeezes. ‘Enjoy these moments when you can,’ they tell her quietly, and it has a tinge of an order to it. But just a tinge.

‘Yessir.’

‘Good. Now,’ they say, eyes glittering, ‘Fuck off.’

Beau barks a laugh. Salutes her Commander lazily and continues on, onwards toward the view that had been calling her.

The command station sits closest to the surface of the asteroid and it is here, only here, that one can see the view that they are risking everything to protect. The field of stars and asteroids, glinting as they catch the light of Tyr-Mannou’s sun. The purple-blue of Tyr-Mannou’s surface, the deep deep green almost black of its seas. The layer of clouds that cloak portions of the landmasses and oceans alike, drifting. Beau leans up against the window, hands curling over the rail, and watches a storm brew.

She feels Jester’s presence before she sees her. A flicker of something at the edge of her awareness, far beyond that which her awareness should rightfully cover. She hears the hiss of the gas as the doors slide open and turning, beau watches a green-cloaked figure step down from the corridor. Jester exchanges a few words with Commander Dairon but Beau can feel it - the focus of her attention like a taut string between them, and she already knows Jester is about to look up, feeling her intent like a thrum, a plucked note on that string.

Jester looks up. Dark, dark eyes in a smiling face.

‘Ambassador Lavorre, this is one of our finest pilots.’

‘Beauregard,’ Jester interrupts Dairon’s introduction.

Beau tries not to shiver. No one says her name the way this girl does, like they’re sharing a private joke.

‘Princess,’ Beau returns, and she’s aiming for calm and cool, something to suit her new title of the best fucking pilot of the rebellion, but damn if it doesn’t come out reverent.

Commander Dairon’s brows are at their hairline now and out of the corner of her eye Beau sees them mouth, ‘Okay,’ and they take their seat, turning away.

‘How are you?’ Jester asks. It’s as nice to hear as it is weird. ‘I was told that you and your squad took on the main fleet today?’

Beau snorts. ‘Fuck no. I mean - uh,’

‘I’m not a Princess anymore,’ Jester teases, though her smile flickers at the reminder. ‘You don’t have to not swear around me.’

‘Oh, you’ll regret saying that. I swear every second word now. Habit. Us pilots are a rough and rowdy lot.’

Jester just laughs. ‘May I join you?’

‘Join - yeah, sure. Of course.’

Beau presses back until her back hits the rail, her spine and shoulders the cool glass. She grips the rail. Gulps. The weight of Jester’s attention, the force of her presence, feels like a real and tangible thing and Beau is finding it hard to concentrate the closer she comes - until she is right at her side and then the weight of it, the distraction, all falls away and Beau feels like the headache that has been pressing at her for the last few hours has lifted and she is seeing entirely clearly again.

Jester holds out her hand, straight out as if to shake Beau’s.

Beau slides her bare hand into Jester’s, tries not to shiver at the chill of her skin. Turns it and lifts it to her lips, brushes a kiss over sharp knuckles.

‘Introducing the First Madrick of Kar-Marodah, Thoreau Lionette, and the First Madrise,’

The Hall is as large as four grav-barret courts, Beau is sure of that. And it’s all made of grand, sweeping lines that she can’t quite follow. She cranes her head to try and follow one to its end but it meets with another three lines and Beau is dizzy with it; a large hand sets heavy on the top of her skull and stops her turning and twisting and Beau, nine years old and well acquainted with her fathers displeasure, falls still.

‘Be still, Beauregard. We are here to make a good impression on the Laveesh Embassy and that won’t happen,’ he reminds her, ‘if you are swinging all over the place like some common nerf-herder.’ His flat green eyes narrow. ‘Understood?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘I’d prefer Captain,’ she dares tell him, sure that he won’t reprimand her too terribly in front of an audience, and the chance to see his eye twitch is too good to pass up. She doesn’t press too far, feeling the first flutters of her danger sense. ‘Yes sir.’

‘Come along. They’re waiting.’

His fingers are clawed into her shoulder as he moves them strategically around the room. Smiling and making small talk with the various important boring folk in the chamber, and Beau is waist-height to most of them so it’s not her fault that she’s more interested in what they’re wearing on their feet and if they have anything on their belts.

She finds two strange cards that have no writing on them that she recognises, which she returns, disappointed, and a ring on the floor, which she pockets. It feels cold and warm all at once, and as she drags her finger around the inside whorl of the ring, she feels very strange all of a sudden. As if she had done that exact thing a hundred, a thousand times over with this very ring.

‘Ah, Madrick Lionette, how wonderful,’ comes a voice, finally, that drags Beau’s eyes from the mosaic floor. The woman - the alien - the alien woman in front of Beau is beautiful in a way she has never seen before, all vibrant red skin and curves and gold gold gold and Beau feels her jaw drop. She didn’t know that women could look like this.

She’s still staring when she hears her own name, and feels her father shake her shoulder.

‘Beauregard,’ she blurts out. ‘Hello.’ The sigh from above tells her that she did that all wrong. Face flushing, ears burning, Beau trawls through her memory and tries again. ‘I’m - It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Lavorre. I am Beauregard Lionette, scion of the Madrick Lionette.’

‘Oh!’ The Queen laughs, not meanly at all but seemingly delighted. ‘How polite! It is my pleasure to meet you, Young Beauregard.’ She laughs again when Beau stammers through a thank you. ‘Have you had a chance to meet my daughter? You’re about the same age and she’s force sensitive too -’

‘Beauregard is not,’ her father tells the Queen flatly. ‘We had high hopes, but...it was not to be.’ He coats the words with the displeasure Beauregard hates; feels it pressing into her skin like his clawed fingers. It’s her fault she’s not force sensitive. She’s known that for a long time now. For as long as she can remember.

There is a moment of silence, then, ‘Well. Jester? Where have you gone, my darling?’

Like a flicker of fish in the pool back home, and with the same warmth of the sun-soaked tiles against Beau’s chest and belly as she lays at the side, hand plunged into the waters to try and catch one of those crafty fish, Beau sees her. A girl, around her own age as promised, and dressed all in pretty robes. She is muddy to the knees, the dress heavy around her feet and dripping the purpled soil in a thick trail behind her.

‘Jester? What have you gotten into?’

‘The mud. Obviously,’ the girl adds, though the Obviously was already clear from her tone. Her curls are riotous about her face, and she wears a great big smile, though it slips momentarily as she twists something between her fingers.

‘Are you alright?’ Beau blurts.

‘Beauregard,’

‘Oh yes,’ Jester tells her, and smiles with all the brilliance she can muster in her round, round cheeks and dark eyes. It’s... a lot.

Beau still feels an undercurrent. Cold water around her fingers. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Beauregard! Don’t be a pest!’

Jester stares for a moment, then laughs. Shoves her hand toward Beau. ‘Hello, pest. I’m Jester.’

Beau takes it. Blanks for a moment over what is proper and finally bows, kissing it clumsily. As she stands upright, she notes the rings - one on each finger. Except for,

‘Are you missing a ring?’

‘Oh, Jester,’

‘It was an accident,’ Jester tells her mother immediately, complete with trembling lip and abject sorrow. Though, Beau notes, no seeming anxiety for her mother’s reaction.

She reaches down into her pocket. Rubs her thumb over the heavy ring. Is struck, momentarily, by the urge to keep it. It’s beautiful, she found it.

It’s Jester’s.

She didn’t see a name on it, but she knows it as certainly as she knows she’ll have blisters in the morning from these awful shiny boots.

‘Come along, Beauregard,’ her father says, and begins to draw away from the Queen and her daughter.

Beau shakes out from his hold and steps forward, holds out both her closed hands toward Jester. If she can guess which one the ring is in, Beau decides in nine-year old logic, then she can have it back. If not, Beau will get to keep it.

They’re seventeen and the Madrick has called the meeting this time. The Queen - The Planetless Queen, Beau has heard her called behind her back, and she owns several bruises and one cracked knuckle for putting upstarts back in their places by force. The Queen has disappeared into the war room and Beau isn’t surprised to find that Jester has found her, even hidden away in the engineering core as she is.

‘Still on with this plan, then?’ Jester asks her, peering up from beneath the suspended chassis to where Beau is hanging, fixing the wiring. ‘Becoming a pilot?’

‘Why? You think I can’t hack it?’

‘What? No. Of course you can!’

‘Then why wouldn’t I be?’

Jester is quiet for a long time, long enough for Beau to almost forget the question. She winches herself down from her position and before she can fully reclaim her feet, Jester is in front of her and her hands press against Beau’s cheeks and she’s kissing her. Kissing her, with the engineering teams buzzing around outside, and the smell of jet-oil and soldering thick in the air.

‘I’ll miss you,’ she says. Simple words, but the feelings that slam hard into Beau’s stomach are far from simple.

‘Jes - ‘

‘I’m sorry,’

‘You can’t -’ Beau scrambles up onto her feet. Hooks a grease-stained hand onto the perfect sleeve of the newly minted Junior Ambassador, pulling her deeper into the corner. ‘My father -’

‘He’s busy, he didn’t see,’

‘He owns these people,’ Beau hisses, glances back over her shoulder. But no one seems to have seen. ‘If I’m going to get into the Academy, he can’t - he can’t know that I’m - with you,’

‘Why not? What’s wrong with me?’

‘Nothing! Everything!’

‘Oh, how very flattering,’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it, Jes,’

‘Well you do one thing and then say a lot of other nonsense, Beau, so forgive me if I’m a little confused!’ Jester is a sight and a half, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. She’s a good inch or two shorter than Beau but with them both straining to hiss-yell at one another, their noses are almost touching.

‘You’re hot when you’re angry.’

‘Oh shut up.’

Beau grins. The grin fades into something softer, something adoring. She reaches up. Is careful that, when she brushes a curl back, the grease-stained finger doesn’t touch Jester’s cheek. ‘Did you come here to ask me that? If I still wanna be a pilot, all I’ve ever wanted to do since I was five?’

Jester’s eyes drop.

Beau wipes her hand off on her jumpsuit. Crooks a finger under her chin. ‘Or did you come to ask me not to go?’

For a little while, Beau thinks Jester won’t answer. Then her eyes shift, harden, and Beau is reminded of those months after the destruction of her planet. When the pain had threatened to overflow and so Jester had locked it down, hard and tight enough to become coal, something that would let her burn and burn and burn with fury for ages to come.

‘What you want to do, it’s important. More important than me.’

Beau can’t disagree. The simple fact is that the war is more important than everything. Any one person. She opens her mouth to argue anyway, because - because this is Jester.

‘I came to tell you to be safe.’ And then Jester is reaching into her pocket and she removes something from it. Small and round and familiar, the golden band with the touch of emerald studded along it. The ring they have passed to one another at every meeting. A keep-safe. A talisman. ‘I want this back,’ she tells Beau, and presses it into her palm. Beau closes her hand around it, and Jester’s hand. Kisses the back of it.

‘Be safe. Please - I don’t want - I can’t lose you as well.’

‘As you command,’ Beau whispers. ‘Princess.’

The fight is coming quickly into its sixth hour. Beau’s jumpsuit is slick with sweat, her hands are basically swimming in her gloves, and she can barely fucking see with the sweat dripping, stinging in her eyes. There’s nothing she can do about that right now, though, and she yanks hard on her controls as another volley of bolts burst into the space where she just was.

‘Blue-XP, what’s your status?’

‘Got a bruiser on my tail, Cap,’ she gasps, and pulls hard, swivelling overhead of the TIE fighter, letting it zoom ahead. ‘Coming in hot on the zero.’

Whatever reply Fjord might have for her is lost in a crackle of energy and a blur as Beau reacts to something she feels before she sees - another TIE, bursting out from fucking nowhere to pinch her between the two of them.

Beau swears and books it, zipping in and out of the carcass of the long-dead transporter, her small fighter tackling the corners like a champ and her memory of the interior bursting into sharp relief as adrenaline and luck slam hard into her. She doesn’t let herself think, just slams into the controls in a way that might have made her wince if she had time to feel anything at all over the fear and fury.

One TIE bursts into flame, utterly silent in the vacuum. The other is hot on her tail still - the hunter becomes the hunted, piece of motherfucking shit Empire dogs - and then Beau is lifting a prayer to old, dead planets and touching a finger to the ring of heavy metal that hands around her neck and spinning her fighter around to face the TIE dead on. Spins around the bolts that come her way and - between one breath and the next she fires. Bolts away without even needing to look back.

It hit. She knew it before she saw the impact.

They stand in front of the star field now, in a quiet command station far from a party celebrating a truly minor battle. The war rages on all around them, in every direction, and will for years to come. But for now, there are drinks and lights and dancing, and everyone will pretend that it is enough.

With distant stars as their lights, and the beep of alerts and reminders as their music, Beauregard and Jester dance like they have been dancing together for decades. Like it hasn’t been almost five years since they’ve seen one another.

‘Most daring pilot in the ninth sector,’ Jester murmurs, cheek resting on Beau’s shoulder. Her words rumble up through her chest to the top of her head, where Beau’s cheek rests in turn against soft curls. ‘That’s what I’ve heard. You’re fast becoming a legend.’

‘Me? Maybe. But you faced down a legion of Kryn soldiers and got them to turn tail - yes or no?’ From the flush on Jester’s face, Beau knows her answer. She whistles, low and quiet. ‘Damn, Jes.’

‘That won’t be remembered. No one remembers the ambassadors - you’re not supposed to remember us. The fighters are the cool ones.’

‘I’ll remember you,’ Beau shrugs.

They sway together, a slow side-to-side.

‘I’ve got a present for you,’ Beau tells her. Jester’s smile is warm against her skin, even through the jumpsuit.

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It wouldn’t happen to be a ring, would it?’

‘What - how did you know?’

Jester hums, trying to hide a laugh. The laugh actually does fade when Beau lets her go - just for a moment, just long enough to unclasp the chain - and tugs the ring off from around her neck. She clasps it in her hand and Beau is close enough to feel the ripple of it - the energy that swirls around this shared ring, no doubt full of the fear and thrilling adrenaline of the fight, hopefully filled with the memory of all those nights she spent in her cabin, missing Jester.

Jester’s breath hitches. She blinks a few times, blinking open dark eyes, and then turns in the cradle of Beau’s arms. Lifts her hair, as she offers the chain to Beau. ‘Do it up for me?’

‘Y-yeah. Yeah, sure.’ Beau takes it with suddenly clumsy fingers. Can’t resist brushing her thumb over the knob of Jester’s spine, the soft hair at her hairline. It takes a moment for her to work the clasp but finally it clicks closed and she lets her hands fall to either side, to Jester’s shoulders, and leans forward until she can kiss where she had touched. Lips pressed to the vulnerable space there. ‘I want that back,’ she whispers. ‘Sooner than five years, if you can manage.’

Jester twists back to face her. ‘Shouldn’t I get to keep it for five years? You did.’

‘That’s not how the game works.’

‘I’ll let you see it,’

‘We trade it, Jes. That’s how the game works.’

‘That’s how it has historically worked. I might suggest a change in rules,’ she says, in her most Ambassadorial tones, and Beau fights a laugh. ‘I had two dozen Kryn warships fleeing before me, Beauregard, I think I can get you to change your mind.’

‘You try your best, Princess. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’

#cr tag #prompt fill #tagging my stories #i dont rly know shit or jack all abt star wars #beaujester

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breaniebree · 5 years

Text

Animagus Forms

The Animagus forms of ASC’s six new Marauders.

WOLVERINE: Also known as carcajou, skunk bear, or quick-hatch, the wolverine is a close relative to weasels, badgers, otters, or martens, but he basically looks like a small cute bear. Despite its relatively small size though, this carnivore can cause a lot of damage. Their front teeth are long and sharp, and their back teeth are rotated at a 90 degree angle, making tearing flesh easy for them. Wolverines are very dangerous predators when confronted, not even bears will go against them, so I think that suits our Gryffindor Ron really well = RON

RED FOX: The red fox has an elongated body and relatively short limbs. The tail, which is longer than half the body length (70 per cent of head and body length). The red fox is fluffy and reaches the ground when in a standing position. Their pupils are oval and vertically oriented. Red foxes are notoriously clever, so that suits Hermione = HERMIONE

TAMASKAN: Males 65 to 95 pounds, 25 to 33 inches; dogs that were specifically bred to look like wolves, mixed with Husky, German shepherd, and Czechoslovakian wolf dogs. This once rare breed is quickly becoming popular in North America due to its close resemblance to the wolf and its playful personality = HARRY

RED PANDA: They weigh from 10 to 20 lbs. (4.5 to 9 kilograms). Red pandas have large round heads and short snouts with large, pointed ears. Their coats are reddish-brown, although their faces are mostly white with reddish 'tear tracks' extending from their eyes to the corner of their mouths; territorial and when cornered, extends claws, stands on hind-legs to appear bigger and more threatening = GINNY

EUROPEAN HARE: The fur colour is grizzled yellow-brown on the back; rufous on the shoulders, legs, neck and throat; white on the underside and black on the tail and ear tips. The fur on the back is typically longer and more curled than on the rest of the body. The European hare, like other members of the family Leporidae, is a fast-running terrestrial mammal; it has eyes set high on the sides of its head, long ears and a flexible neck. Its teeth grow continuously, the first incisors being modified for gnawing while the second incisors are peg-like and non-functional; swift, fleeting, diligent, independent; flight = LUNA

BADGER - Badgers have rather short, wide bodies, with short legs for digging. They have elongated, weasel-like heads with small ears. Their tails vary in length depending on species; the stink badger has a very short tail, while the ferret badger's tail can be 46–51 cm (18–20 in) long, depending on age. They have black faces with distinctive white markings, grey bodies with a light-coloured stripe from head to tail, and dark legs with light-coloured underbellies. They grow to around 90 cm (35 in) in length including tail; protective and defensive = NEVILLE

#a second chance #harry potter fanfiction #breanie

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kayla1993-world · 2 years

Text

Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has delivered an urgent plea for military aid to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and other NATO leaders, calling them out for failing to do everything possible to help his country.

Russia's invasion of Ukraine has left Europe facing its worst security threat since the Second World War, but also left hundreds of civilians and thousands of soldiers dead in Ukraine and displaced 10 million people since the fighting started one month ago.

Zelenskyy repeated his request Thursday for NATO to enforce a no-fly zone over Ukrainian airspace to protect his people from Russian bombs and missiles — an ask that NATO's secretary-general labelled as a no-go.

In the text of his address posted to his official website, Zelenskyy also chastised NATO members for failing to provide an understandable response to his previous plea or subsequent requests for fighter jets and tanks to bolster his forces.

Zelenskyy didn’t blame NATO for the war in his country, but his remarks suggested deep frustration with the seeming lack of political will among NATO members to provide Ukraine all the weapons needed to fend off Putin’s forces and prevent further deaths.

“Ukraine is very much waiting, awaiting real action, real security guarantees, from those whose word is trustworthy, and whose actions can keep the peace,” reads Zelenskyy’s posted remarks. The remarks coloured a day-long event in the Belgium capital that includes three different summits, two of which Trudeau will be a part of one with NATO allies and another with G7 countries. All are focused on finding a path toward ending the fighting in Ukraine.

Arriving at the alliance's glassed-in headquarters Thursday morning, Trudeau said NATO members had come together to denounce the "illegal, brutal invasion of a friendly democracy" in Ukraine. Trudeau also said alliance members were equally united in their support for Ukrainians in fighting for the values that underpin democracies.

Along with other allies, Canada has provided military equipment and lethal aid to Ukraine and has placed economic sanctions against the supporters of Russian President Vladimir Putin. The U.K. on Thursday unveiled 65 new sanctions to cut funding to Russia's military. Canada and its counterparts, including the United States, are expected to unveil other, new sanctions later in the day.

Trudeau toured Europe two weeks ago, where he held meetings in London, Berlin and Warsaw. He also visited Canadian troops leading a NATO multinational battlegroup in Latvia. NATO secretary-general Jens Stoltenberg said the military alliance is sending more troops to the eastern part of Europe to bolster its forces facing Russia.

Speaking to reporters ahead of the meeting, Stoltenberg said he had expected alliance members to accelerate defence spending to confront NATO's most serious crisis in generations. "We need to do more, so we need to invest more," he said. "There is a new sense of urgency. I expect them voluntarily agree to accelerate the investments in defence."

The comments added additional pressure on Trudeau's government to boost Canada's defence budget, which according to the United Kingdom currently at 1.39 percent of the country's gross domestic product in 2021, below NATO's two-per-cent goal.

Canada's defence budget rarely increases at the yearly rate necessary to meet the NATO target, said David Perry, an expert on defence spending from the Canadian Global Affairs Institute. Several large-scale procurement efforts that take years to complete will also have to be made swiftly by the government, such as replacing the fleet of CF-18s with fighter jets.

"There's no magic wand -- no easy, quick solution where the government waves a magic wand until we're at two percent," Perry said. A Scotiabank preview of the budget suggests the current political landscape makes it hard to see how the Liberals could reach NATO's spending targets in the short term.

Any new spending would have to muscle space alongside pharmacare and dental care inked into a "confidence-and-supply" agreement with the NDP in exchange for that party's support in key votes.

On Wednesday, Defence Minister Anita Anand avoided referring to aggressive spending options during testimony before a House of Commons committee instead of pointing to planned increases found in the government's 2017 defence policy.

Even with those planned increases, the government projected it would fall short of NATO's target. "I will say that our government has been making critical smart investments into our forces," she said, adding that spending increases will ensure that the military has "the right people, equipment, training and culture."

0 notes

atlanticcanada · 2 years

Text

Trudeau, NATO leaders hear plea from Zelensky for military support

Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelensky has delivered an urgent plea for military aid to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and other NATO leaders, pointedly calling them out for failing to do everything possible to help his country.

Russia's invasion of Ukraine has left Europe facing its biggest security threat since the Second World War, but also left hundreds of civilians and thousands of soldiers dead in Ukraine, and displaced 10 million people since the fighting started one month ago.

Zelensky repeated his request Thursday for NATO to enforce a no-fly zone over Ukrainian airspace to protect his people from Russian bombs and missiles -- an ask that NATO's secretary general labelled as a no-go.

In the text of his address posted to his official website, Zelensky also chastised NATO members for failing to provide a clear response to his previous plea, or subsequent requests for fighter jets and tanks to bolster his forces.

Zelensky didn't blame NATO for the war in his country, but his remarks suggested deep frustration with the seeming lack of political will among NATO members to provide Ukraine all the weapons needed to fend of Putin's forces and prevent further deaths.

WATCH: Joy Malbon on Ukraine taking back territory

Latest updates on the Russia-Ukraine war

Paul Workman: Has Ukraine pushed Russia to a stalemate?

"Ukraine is very much waiting, awaiting real action, real security guarantees, from those whose word is trustworthy, and whose actions can keep the peace," reads Zelenskyy's posted remarks.

The remarks coloured a day-long event in the Belgium capital that includes three different summits, two of which Trudeau will be a part of: One with NATO allies, and another with G7 countries. All are focused on finding a path toward ending the fighting in Ukraine.

Arriving at the alliance's glassed-in headquarters Thursday morning, Trudeau said NATO members were united in their condemnation of the "illegal, brutal invasion of a friendly democracy" in Ukraine. Trudeau also said alliance members were equally united in their support for Ukrainians who are fighting for the values that underpin democracies.

Canada has provided military equipment and lethal aid to Ukraine along with other allies, as well as economic sanctions targeted at allies of Russian President Vladimir Putin.

The U.K. on Thursday unveiled 65 new sanctions to cut funding to Russia's military. Canada and its allies, including the United States, are expected to unveil other, new sanctions later in the day.

Trudeau toured Europe two weeks ago, where he held meetings in London, Berlin and Warsaw. He also visited Canadian troops leading a NATO multinational battlegroup in Latvia.

Capital Dispatch: Stay up to date on the latest news from Parliament Hill

NATO secretary-general Jens Stoltenberg said the military alliance is sending more troops to the eastern part of Europe to bolster its forces facing Russia.

Speaking to reporters ahead of the meeting, Stoltenberg said he also expected alliance members to accelerate defence spending to confront NATO's most serious crisis in generations.

"We need to do more, therefore, we need to invest more," he said. "There is a new sense of urgency. I expect that the leaders will agree to accelerate the investments on defence."

The comments added to pressure on Trudeau's government to boost Canada's defence budget, which according to NATO estimates stands at 1.39 per cent of the country's gross domestic product in 2021, below NATO's two-per-cent goal.

Canada's defence budget rarely increase at the yearly rate that would be needed to meet the NATO target, said David Perry, an expert on defence spending from the Canadian Global Affairs Institute.

He also said the government would have to make decisions swiftly on things like fighter jets to replace the fleet of CF-18s among other large procurement efforts that take years to come to fruition.

"There's no kind of easy, quick solution where the government waves a magic wand and we're at two per cent," Perry said.

A Scotiabank preview of the budget suggests the current political landscape makes it hard to see how the Liberals could reach NATO's spending targets in the short-term.

Any new spending would have to muscle space alongside pharmacare and dental care inked into a "confidence-and-supply" agreement with the NDP in exchange for that parties support in key votes.

On Wednesday, Defence Minister Anita Anand made no mention of aggressive spending options during testimony before a House of Commons committee, instead pointing to planned increases included in the government's 2017 defence policy.

Even with those planned increases, the government projected it would fall short of NATO's target.

"I will say that our government has been making critical smart investments into our forces," she said, adding that spending increases are aimed at ensuring the military has "the right people, equipment, training and culture."

This report by The Canadian Press was first published March 24, 2022.

___

Get in touch

Do you have both Ukrainian and Russian family members? How are you handling the crisis? Email [email protected].

Please include your name, location, and contact information if you are willing to speak to a journalist with CTV News.

Your comments may be used in a CTVNews.ca story.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/cyT4D3Z

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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skywailer · 6 years

Note

PINK + Dramione (for the Colour Prompts) 💝

The sky is blue, carnivals are lame, and he bumps into her three times.

“The pole up your ass could use some tweaking,” his friends tease him as they tug him past the daunting starting line- under the garishly pink, screaming CARNIVAL sign and lagging behind running, racing, equally screaming children. He feels like they’re the only teens stupid enough to appear at such a ridiculous event- but his friends are just one of a few older, taller clusters sprinkled atop the shorter, more naive crowd of families. Everyone, adolescently “old” or young, seems to have never had a pole even touch the entrance to their asses.

Except one.

When he bumps into her for the first time, it’s with guns in their hands and a pink cat on the line.

He thinks his friends are idiots for playing a game where the objective is to shoot water at a tiny red dot until their fingers go numb on the trigger, while a cardboard horse gallops an endless race, all in the name of getting a fifty cent toy that no one actually ever gets. He also thinks his friends are morons for assuming this of all things will get the pole out his ass. When the girl next to him, all tight-wire curls and lazer focus, has a pole a mile long sticking out hers.

“Stupid piece of junk,” she mutters, almost saying a less pg-friendly version before remembering the kid playing next to her. She’s glaring at her water gun and shaking it, apparently incapable of making it work. Hastily, she whips it back up and aims it at the target, yanking the trigger back. The water comes out, but it’s obviously having some… Issues performing.

He grins, aims his gun, and shoots it at her target.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Comes the run-of-the-mill protest. Yet, the girl doesn’t stop shooting her own gun at the target. Her horse is getting very close to the finishing line.

A buzzer goes off, the horses do a horrible slide right back to the start, and the girl looks at him. Her eyes express as much conflict as color- brown irises reflecting shimmers of gold and yellow and even some of the harsh fluorescent lighting. They’re bold, beautiful, befitting.

“What the hell?” She asks, as an intrusive arm jerks out between them, holding a hot pink, sneering cat.

“I think you mean to say: thank you,” he corrects, trying not to smile; the cat has him a bit self-conscious about what his smile actually looks like. He hopes he never, ever looks like that freaking cat.

When the girl continues to look at him, dumbfounded, and the cat keeps grinning at him, he blabs on: “I helped you win.”

“You helped me cheat. That was cheating.”

“Can someone please take the cat,” the intrusive arm speaks. It belongs to the exasperated worker who obviously doesn’t care how the cat was won. Just that it disappears from sight. He can understand the desire.

He grins, and points the gun he still has in hand towards the cat. “Hey, game is rigged. So you rig the rigged game.”

The girl’s hair is apparently stress-triggered. It grows three finger-widths higher, frizzier. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Take the cat.”

“No. I didn’t win it.”

He fights the urge to call his friends over, to measure and compare the pain of her ass to his. Instead, he balls up that energy and makes it into a fist around the cat’s creepy head.

“Fine. I’ll take it. I won it.”

“What? No! Give it to the kid.”

“He was shooting the horse! I should give him over to the police. He’s a serial killer in the making.”

The serial killer’s mom glares at him before ushering her son away. Meanwhile, the girl’s head is practically exploding, a burst of red and pink in the cheeks. He’s enjoying the display. It gets cut off by the laughter of familiar voices- her friends.

She turns to find them, and her smile- He can’t figure out whether he’s envious of it, the cause of it, or just desperate for it to be aimed at him.

It’s gone, she’s gone, before he can figure any of it out.

He still hasn’t figured it out when he bumps into her the second time. This time, it’s on a battlefield of bumper cars- his green and hers red- and he’s grinning like an absolute idiot. That lame cat, a trophy of something he has yet to win, is placed proudly between his legs- taunting her when she finally turns around and spots him. She gapes at him, eyebrows quirked in curiosity, cheeks still bright- but soft in the changing light. Her eyes drift down to the little pink toy, and her lips twitch upwards, promising a smile just for him. It’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t hear the buzzer go off.

The goal was to bump into her, to chase her and coax a curse from those smiling lips, but somehow the whole plan goes topside. Surely she never intended it, but she’s a distraction- and he ends up looking in all the wrong places: at the ends of her curls where the LED lighting drops color and dances off the waves, to the crinkle in her nose as someone - sometimes him, sometimes not - crashes into her and makes her move. His end comes at the tip of her laugh. He crashes into the barrier, his body jolting forward against the seatbelt, his lungs and ribs crushed as he slacks back with a dizzying sigh. There’s a throbbing in his chest, and it worsens when the buzzer goes off and she’s standing over him. Grinning like a criminal.

“Are you following me?” She asks. His head lulls over to the side and glances back at the familiar, red bumper car plastered to the back of his ride.

“I should be asking that question.”

She laughs again, and this time it’s up close and personal, and the throbbing in his chest is incredibly annoying.

“I’ll take that cat now. I think I won it.”

“No,” he has the audacity to say and shakes his head. Her eyebrows shoot up, disbelieving. She hasn’t heard nothing yet. He grins. “You’ll have to trade for something.”

She rolls her eyes. The throbbing is persistent, and insistent. “What?” she plays along.

“A kiss.”

She’s walking away.

“Hey!” He calls, scrambling up from the wreckage of his bumper car. “It’s a fair trade!” The cat flails in his hand, fails at being the right trading card.

“You don’t even know my name,” she shoots back, but it doesn’t sound as offended as she means it to.

“Then tell me!”

But she’s gone.

The last time he bumps into her, it’s under the stars and an obnoxious overhang that yells COTTON CANDY at anyone foolish enough to listen. He’s foolish, but this time he’s rewarded handsomely for being a cotton candy-toting dumb-ass.

“Hey,” he says, eagerly and stupidly, every clever greeting he’d thought of in the interval between their meetings shot clear over the Ferris wheel behind them. It seems she can see them all waving as they fly off into space. She laughs.

“Hey.”

They walk together, having lost their friends to fun houses and roller-coasters, and talk about having seen each other somewhere before. School, probably, but he can tell her friends and his are from completely different circles. If they met at school, it would be fleeting and fateless. He thinks meeting here, surrounded by air-head balloons, crying kids and trashed junk food is just as crappy, but at the same time… The cotton candy smells sweet, and the night shadows play nicely with the buzzing bulbs to make a soft, dreamlike portrait of her. The girl he doesn’t know, but wants to.

“What’s your name?” He asks abruptly, and she freezes around a piece of pink cotton candy. She smiles, and it melts between her lips.

“Hermione.”

“Draco,” he replies without needing the question. He’d like to pretend she wants to know just as badly as he does. The look in her eyes, light and jumping from all the colors and promises around them… Say she might just want to know more.

He swallows. “So, Hermione,” just the sound of it has him grinning, “does your cotton candy have a flavor to it or?”

“Or is it just pink sugar?”

“Yeah.”

She presses her lips together for a moment, thinking, but there’s a curve to her lips that betrays where her thoughts might be going. “I think it’s supposed to be cherry. Yours?”

His is blue, and stuck to his tongue just like his words. He swallows again, but it’s useless. He takes a piece of cotton candy and sticks it in his mouth to buy him time to think of something witty.

“Tastes blue.”

It’s pathetic, but she laughs and he melts at the sound. The cotton candy on the other hand…

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. Tastes blue.”

“Can I try?”

She’s still mid-laugh and he nods, leans the bag of sugary air to her. But then that curve in her lips is not only visible but touchable, a full-on attack on his senses. She’s kissing him.

And she was the one who lied, because there’s no cherry on her lips, nor on the tongue that drags slow and savoring across his. It’s all just air and sugar and pink, dissolving inside him and dripping into his lungs and stomach. Making him crave more, and more, and more still.

But then she’s gone, up and walking away, and the cat he’d had on his lap is in her sneaky hands.

“Hey!” He calls out, breathless and weak. He can’t even stand up to chase after her.

“What?” She challenges, walking away even with her back to the fair and her eyes locked on his, eyebrow cocked. He wants to kiss her again, on his terms. “Fair trade.”

If that’s what it takes for another kiss, “I’ll go get another prize and we can trade again.”

She laughs, again and again, and he happily eats it up. But she’s still walking away.

“It’s blueberry, by the way.”

And with that, she’s gone, and his friends find him, tease him about the girl who “stole your pole!” Among other things.

#dramione #dhr #dhr fanfiction #dramione fanfiction #Mail

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classyfoxdestiny · 3 years

Text

FREEZE! Animals on the Prowl

If you thought human beings were expressive, take a look at these animals; they beat us hollow!

And, to prove that, it is that time of the year again — The Wildlife Photographer of the Year contest.

Developed and produced by the Natural History Museum, London, it offers a peek into the lives of various animal species from around the world.

The exhibition, which is held at the Natural History Museum, opens on October 15, 2021.

This year’s competition attracted over 50,000 entries from professionals and amateurs across 95 countries.

The winners will be announced via a virtual awards ceremony, streamed from the Natural History Museum on October 12.

Take a look at some of the stunning entries.

Please click on the images below for a better look.

The Great Swim

IMAGE: When the Tano Bora coalition of male cheetahs leapt into the raging Talek River in Kenya’s Maasai Mara, Dilini feared they would not make it.

Unseasonable, relentless rain (possibly linked to the changing climate) had, by January 2020, caused the worst flooding local elders had ever known.

Cheetahs are strong (if not keen) swimmers and with the prospect of more prey on the other side of the river, they were determined.

Dilini followed them for hours from the opposite bank as they searched for a crossing point.

Male cheetahs are mostly solitary but sometimes stay with their brothers or team up with unrelated males.

The Tano Bora (Maasai for ‘magnificent five’) is an unusually large coalition, thought to comprise two pairs of brothers, joined later by a single male.

‘A couple of times the lead cheetah waded into the river, only to turn back,’ says Dilini.

Calmer stretches — perhaps with a greater risk of lurking crocodiles — were spurned. ‘Suddenly, the leader jumped in,’ she says.

Three followed and, then, finally the fifth. Dilini watched them being swept away by the torrents, faces grimacing.

Against her expectations and much to her relief, all five made it. They emerged onto the bank some 100 metres (330 feet) downstream and headed straight off to hunt.

Photograph: Buddhilini de Soyza/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Net Loss

IMAGE: In the wake of a fishing boat, a slick of dead and dying herrings covers the surface of the sea off the coast of Norway.

The boat had caught too many fish and when the encircling wall of the purse-seine net was closed and winched up, it broke, releasing tons of crushed and suffocated animals.

Audun was on board a Norwegian coastguard vessel, on a project to satellite-tag killer whales.

The whales follow the migrating herrings and are frequently found alongside fishing boats, where they feed on the fish that leak out of the nets.

For the Norwegian coastguard — responsible for surveillance of the fishing fleet — the spectacle of carnage and waste was effectively a crime scene. So Audun’s photographs became the visual evidence in a court case that resulted in a conviction and fine for the owner of the boat.

Overfishing is one of the biggest threats to ocean ecosystems. According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation, more than 60 per cent of fisheries today are either ‘fully fished’ or collapsed; almost 30 per cent are at their limit (‘overfished’).

Norwegian spring-spawning herring — part of the Atlantic herring population complex — was in the nineteenth century the most commercially fished fish population in the North Atlantic; by the end of the 1960s, it had been fished almost to extinction.

This is regarded as a classic example of how a combination of bad management, little knowledge and greed can have a devastating and sometimes permanent effect, not only on the species itself but on the whole ecosystem.

The Atlantic herring came close to extinction. It took 20 years and a near-ban on fishing for the populations to recover, though it is still considered vulnerable to overfishing.

The recovery of the herring has been followed by an increase in the numbers of their predators, such as killer whales, but it is a recovery that needs continued monitoring of herring numbers and fisheries, as Audun’s picture shows.

Photograph: Audun Rikardsen/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Raw Moment

IMAGE: Bright red blood dripped from her muzzle – oxygenated blood, indicating that her wildebeest meal was still alive.

Perhaps being inexperienced, this young lioness had not made a clean kill and had begun eating the still struggling animal.

Now, with a paw holding it down, she gave Lara an intense stare.

More than two million wildebeest move through the north of Tanzania’s Serengeti National Park on their annual migration in search of greener grass, providing the Serengeti lions with a seasonal glut of food.

Lara had spotted the lioness just as she pounced.

Lions’s primary hunting strategy is stalking, but this one had just been resting in the long grass when the wildebeest wandered by.

‘She was already quite full,’ says Lara, ‘probably after feeding the night before, but she grabbed the opportunity for an easy meal.’

Though most successful when hunting with a pride, a single lion can bring down an animal twice its weight.

A lion would usually pull it down backwards or sideways and then lunge for the throat or nose, gripping firmly until the victim could no longer cause injury with flailing horns or hooves.

Lying in a specially adapted vehicle, with the sides folded down, Lara framed her low-angle close-up. Her arresting portrait captures the rawness of the moment and the intensity of the lioness’s stare.

She didn’t eat much, says Lara, before leaving the kill to walk off with the male whom she had been lying up with, seemingly more interested in mating than feeding.

Photograph: Lara Jackson/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Apollo Landing

IMAGE: As dusk starts to fall, an Apollo butterfly settles on an oxeye daisy.

Emelin had long dreamed of photographing the Apollo, a large mountain butterfly with a wingspan up to 90 millimetres (31/2 inches) and now one of Europe’s threatened butterflies, at risk from the warming climate and extreme weather events.

In summer, on holiday in the Haut-Jura Regional Nature Park, on the French-Swiss border, Emelin found himself surrounded by alpine meadows full of butterflies, including Apollos. Though slow flyers, the Apollos were constantly on the move.

The solution was this roost, in a woodland clearing, where the butterflies were settling. But a breeze meant the daisies were moving.

Also, the light was fading.

After numerous adjustments of settings and focus, Emelin finally achieved his emblematic image, the whites standing out in stark contrast and just daubs of colour — the yellow hearts of the daisies and the red eyespots of the Apollo.

Photograph: Emelin Dupieux/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Lockdown Chicks

IMAGE: Three rose-ringed parakeet chicks pop their heads out of the nest hole as their father returns with food. Ten-year-old Gagana, on the balcony of his parents’ bedroom, in Colombo, Sri Lanka, was watching.

The hole was at eye level with the balcony, in a dead areca-nut palm in the backyard, which his parents had deliberately left standing to attract wildlife.

In the spring of 2020, during the long days of the island-wide lockdown, Gagana and his older brother had hours of entertainment watching the parakeet family and experimenting with their cameras, sharing lenses and a tripod, always mindful that the slightest movement or noise would stop the chicks from showing themselves.

When incubating the eggs, the female stayed inside while the male foraged (for fruit, berries, nuts and seeds mainly), feeding her by regurgitating the food.

When Gagana took this picture, both parents were feeding the growing chicks. Only when they fledged did Gagana realise that there were as many as five chicks.

Also known as ring-necked parakeets, these medium-sized parrots are native to Sri Lanka, India and Pakistan as well as a band of sub-Saharan Africa, but feral populations are now found in many countries including the UK.

These are often found in urban settings, where they sometimes even breed in holes in brick walls.

Photograph: Gagana Mendis Wickramasinghe/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Beautiful Bloodsucker

IMAGE: The best way to photograph a female ornamented mosquito, says Gil, is to let it bite you.

The elegant Sabethes mosquitoes, found only in Latin America, are just 4 millimetres (0.16 inches) long and skittish.

Only the females bite — they need a blood meal to produce eggs — and, in doing so, can act as vectors of tropical diseases such as yellow fever and dengue fever.

Their long legs sport brushes of hairs (possibly important in attracting mates) and their hind legs are typically raised and waved around as they bite.

With large compound eyes and sensitive, feathery antennae, they can detect the slightest movement.

So when this one, in central Ecuador, landed on Gil, he kept stock-still as he framed it, head on, proboscis poised to pierce his finger knuckle.

Focus-stacking six exposures, he captured it in perfect symmetry, highlighting its jewel-like body and iridescent wings against the neutral background of his hiking trousers.

Its bite, he admits, was rather painful.

Photograph: Gil Wizen/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

The Gripping End

IMAGE: Clutched in the coils of a golden tree snake, a red-spotted tokay gecko stays clamped onto its attacker’s head in a last attempt at defence.

Named for their to-kay call, tokay geckos are large — up to 40 centimetres (16 inches) long — feisty and have powerful jaws.

They are also a favourite prey of the golden tree snake.

This snake, common in the lowland forests of South and Southeast Asia, also hunts lizards, amphibians, birds and bats and is one of five snakes that can ‘fly’, expanding its ribs and flattening its body to glide from branch to branch.

Wei was photographing birds at a park near his home in Bangkok, Thailand, when his attention was caught by the loud croaking and hissing warnings of the gecko. It was being approached by the golden tree snake, coiled on a branch above and slowly letting itself down.

As the snake struck, injecting its venom, the gecko turned and clamped onto the snake’s upper jaw.

Wei watched as they wrestled but, within minutes, the snake had dislodged the gecko, coiled tightly around it and was squeezing it to death.

While still hanging from the loop of its tail, the slender snake then began the laborious process of swallowing the gecko whole.

Photograph: Wei Fu/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Storm Fox

IMAGE: This fox was busy searching in the shallows for salmon carcasses — sockeye salmon that had died after spawning.

At the water’s edge, Jonny was lying on his chest, aiming for a low, wide angle.

The vixen was one of only two red foxes resident on the tiny island in Karluk Lake, on Alaska’s Kodiak Island, and she was surprisingly bold.

Jonny had followed her over several days, watching her forage for berries, pounce after birds and playfully nip at the heels of a young brown bear.

Taking advantage of the window of deepening atmospheric light created by a storm rolling in, he was after a dramatic portrait.

But working with a manual flash, he had to pre-set the power for a soft spotlight — just enough to bring out the texture of her coat at relatively close range.

Now he was hoping she would come closer. As she did, his companion and fellow researcher raised up the diffused flash for him.

It was just enough to pique her curiosity, giving Jonny his atmospheric portrait — studio-style — moments before the deluge of rain.

Photograph: Jonny Armstrong/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Deep Feelers

IMAGE: In deep water off the French Mediterranean coast, among cold-water black coral, Laurent came across a surreal sight — a vibrant community of thousands of narwhal shrimps.

Their legs weren’t touching, but their exceptionally long, highly mobile outer antennae were.

It appeared that each shrimp was in touch with its neighbours and that, potentially, signals were being sent across a far-reaching network.

Research suggests that such contact is central to the shrimps’ social behaviour, in pairing and competition.

In such deep water (78 metres down — 256 feet), Laurent’s air supply included helium (to cut back on nitrogen absorbed), which enabled him to stay at depth longer, stalk the shrimps and compose an image at close quarters.

Against the deep-blue of the open water, floating among the feathery black coral (which are white when living), the translucent narwhal shrimps looked exceptionally beautiful, with their red and white stripes, long orange legs and sweeping antennae.

Between a shrimp’s bulbous stalked eyes, flanked by two pairs of antennae, is a beak-like serrated rostrum that extended well beyond its 10-centimetre (4 inch) bodies.

Narwhal shrimps are normally nocturnal and often burrow in mud or sand or hide among rocks or in caves during the day, which is where Laurent was more used to seeing them.

They are also fished commercially.

When shrimp-fishing involves bottom-trawling over such deep-water locations, it destroys the slow-growing coral forests as well as their communities.

Photograph: Laurent Ballesta/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Toxic Design

IMAGE: This eye-catching detail of a small river in the Geamana Valley, within Romania’s Apuseni Mountains, took Gheorghe by surprise.

Though he had been visiting the region for several years, using his drone to capture images of the valley’s ever-changing patterns, he had never come across such a striking combination of colours and shapes.

These designs — perhaps made sharp by recent heavy rain — are the result of an ugly truth.

In the late 1970s, more than 400 families living in Geamana were forced to leave to make way for waste flowing from the nearby Rosia Poieni mine — a mine exploiting one of the largest deposits of copper ore and gold in Europe.

The picturesque valley became a ‘tailings pond’ filled with an acidic cocktail, containing pyrite (fool’s gold), iron and other heavy metals, laced with cyanide.

These toxic materials have infiltrated the groundwater and threatened waterways more widely.

The settlement was gradually engulfed with millions of tons of toxic waste, leaving just the old church tower protruding and the sludge still piling up.

His composition — ‘to draw attention to the ecological disaster’ — captures the elemental colours of heavy metals in the river and the ornate radiating banks of this shockingly toxic landscape.

Photograph: Gheorghe Popa/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Up For Grabs

IMAGE: In southern California, USA, a juvenile white-tailed kite reaches to grab a live mouse from the clutches of its hovering father.

A more experienced bird would have approached from behind (it’s easier to coordinate a mid-air transfer if you are both moving in the same direction), but this cinnamon streaked youngster had been flying for just two days and still had much to learn.

It must master aerial food exchange until it is capable of hunting for itself (typically by hovering, then dropping down to grab mainly small mammals).

Later, it needs to perform aerial courtship rituals (where a male offers prey to a female).

To get the shot, Jack had to abandon his tripod, grab his camera and run. The result was the highlight of three years’ work — the action and the conditions came together perfectly.

The fledgling missed but then circled around and seized the mouse.

Photograph: Jack Zhi/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Mushroom Magic

IMAGE: It was on a summer night, at full moon, after monsoon rain, that Juergen found the ghost fungus, on a dead tree in the rainforest near his home in Queensland, Australia.

He needed a torch to keep to the track, but every few metres he would switch it off to scan the dark for the ghostly glow.

His reward was this cluster of hand-sized fruiting bodies.

Comparatively few species of fungi are known to make light in this way, through a chemical reaction: luciferin oxidising in contact with the enzyme luciferase. But why the ghost fungus glows is a mystery.

No spore-dispersing insects seem to be attracted by the light, which is produced constantly and may just be a by-product of the fungi’s metabolism.

Juergen crouched on the forest floor for at least 90 minutes to take eight five-minute exposures to capture the dim glow at different focal points, which were merged (focus stacked) to create one sharp-focus image of the tree-trunk display.

Photograph: Juergen Freund/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

The Nurturing Wetland

IMAGE: Houses on the edge of Kakinada city reach the estuary, buffered from the sea by the remains of a mangrove swamp.

Development has already destroyed 90 per cent of the mangroves — salt-tolerant trees and shrubs — along this eastern coastal area of Andhra Pradesh, India.

Mangroves are now recognised as vital for coastal life, human and non-human.

Their roots trap organic matter, providing carbon storage, slow incoming tides, protect communities against storms and create nurseries for numerous fish and other species that fishing communities rely on.

Flying his drone over the area, Rakesh could see the impact of human activities — pollution, plastic waste and mangrove clearance — but this picture seemed to sum up the protective, nurturing girdle that mangroves provide for such storm-prone tropical communities.

Photograph: Rakesh Pulapa/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Lynx On The Threshold

IMAGE: A young Iberian lynx pauses in the doorway of the abandoned hayloft where it was raised, on a farm in eastern Sierra Morena, Spain. He will soon be leaving his mother’s territory.

Once widespread on the Iberian Peninsula of Spain and Portugal, by 2002 there were fewer than 100 lynx in Spain and none in Portugal.

Their decline was driven by hunting, killing by farmers, habitat loss and loss of prey (they eat mainly rabbits).

Thanks to ongoing conservation efforts — reintroduction, rewilding, prey boosting and the creation of natural corridors and tunnels — Iberian lynx have escaped extinction and, though still endangered, are fully protected.

Only recently, with numbers increasing, have they begun to take advantage of human environments. This individual is one of the latest in a family line to emerge from the old hayloft.

After months of waiting, Sergio’s carefully-set camera trap finally gave him the picture he wanted.

Photograph: Sergio Marijuán/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

A Caring Hand

IMAGE: After a feed of special formula milk, an orphaned grey-headed flying-fox pup lies on a ‘mumma roll’, sucking on a dummy and cradled in the hand of wildlife-carer Bev.

She was three weeks old when she was found on the ground in Melbourne, Australia, and taken to a shelter.

Grey-headed flying-foxes, endemic to eastern Australia, are threatened by heat-stress events and destruction of their forest habitat where they play a key role in seed dispersal and pollination.

They also come into conflict with people, get caught in netting and on barbed wire and electrocuted on power lines.

At eight weeks, the pup will be weaned onto fruit, then flowering eucalyptus.

After a few months, she will join a creche and build up flight fitness, before being moved next to Melbourne’s Yarra Bend bat colony, for eventual release.

Photograph: Douglas Gimesy/Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021

Feature Presentation: Ashish Narsale/ Rediff.com

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aticklishtem · 6 years

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Cat’s Out of the Bag

((Request for @mylittlemystery from this post + “Are you scared?”~ I hope you like it!! <3 ))

“Boys, boys! Get back here right – I said stay! Heel! Play dead…?”

Djimmi wished he could say it was an uncommon occurrence to be roused from his lamp by a flurry of rowdy barks, indignant yowls, frantic pleas and plastic palm trees crashing to the floor – and maybe once it had been. But, it was safe to say, those days had all been long before his life had had the – occasionally mixed – blessing of having Beppi in it.

He materialised in a puff of smoke to be met with a predictably chaotic picture: a bunch of Beppi’s balloon dogs all yapping and growling; his own sarcophagus cats, arched up, hissing and spitting back at them, and in the middle of it all, almost literally tying himself into knots trying to keep them from colliding, while several hot pups nipped at his heels and another tugged fiercely at his collar in an attempt to get at the kitten that had somehow gotten its claws stuck into the other side, his colourful chum.

“Djimbo! Hiya!” Beppi exclaimed, flashing him a slightly more frazzled smile than usual. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“In my own tent, yes, fancy that,” Djimmi answered dryly, wry amusement turning to concern as his cat dangled precariously from Beppi’s collar. Sensing an imminent fall, he hastily floated over to retrieve the little one, cradling it carefully in his arms while planting himself as a more effective wall between the dogs and the rest of the litter.

Beppi let out a sheepish chuckle, just about twisting himself back into shape as most of the dogs retreated behind his legs. “Sorry about that – didn’t mean to disturb your little catnap. We were just out for walkies when several somebodies…” he shot a glare towards the dogs, who paid him no heed, “decided to start playing chase instead. Say sorry, boys!” He got nothing but a lone, contrary growl in response, which Djimmi couldn’t help but smile at – he knew just how unruly sentient show props could be, after all. “Ignore them, they’re full of hot air. They’re just being grouchy ‘cause I haven’t fed them yet.”

He lifted his hat, somehow revealing a long string of balloon sausages – Djimmi was no slouch when it came to magic, but Beppi’s unique brand of absurdity mystified even him at times – and lobbed them over towards the tent flap, successfully diverting the dogs’ attention as they bounced eagerly over each other to get at the rubbery feast.

“Dogs will be dogs, I suppose.” Reassured that his pets had come to no harm, Djimmi yawned and stretched out in the space, bending and flexing his muscles with a satisfying pop – it was cosy in his lamp, but took its toll if he slacked off for too long. “It’s more traditional to rub the lamp, but that’s...certainly one way to wake me up.” The customers would be coming in soon wanting their fortunes told, so he arranged himself gracefully across the plush pile of cushions scattered across the sand; as he did so, a few of the more skittish cats that had been hiding from the dogs behind his chest of ancient artifacts scampered over, soothed by his presence.

“Oooh, do I get three wishes?” Beppi made himself equally at home, sinking into the cushions next to Djimmi while a few curious cats padded over to inspect the newcomer.

“If you were several thousand years earlier, maybe. But I’ll tell you your future for three coins.”

Beppi poked his tongue out playfully in retaliation. “Don’t need your hokey magic. Maybe I’ll just start my own act...Beppi the Brilliant! Has a ring to it, don’tcha think?” As Djimmi chuckled and rolled his eyes fondly, he leaned over to peer intently into the crystal ball on the table – it didn’t actually show anything until Djimmi channeled his own magic into it, but Beppi was nothing if not committed to his act, wiggling his fingers dramatically above it, “I predict...lots of laughter! After a bit of a ruff start.”

“Ruff!” one of the dogs barked, its ears perking up.

“That’s right, you tell ‘em, buddy.” One of the kittens that had made its way into his lap mewed softly, diverting Beppi’s attention as his eyes widened in tender concern. “Oh, hey, little guy! Don’t be scared – they’re good boys really. They just play a little ruff.”

Djimmi kept a watchful eye as they got acquainted; his little ones could be fussy, and he rarely saw them take to anyone easily. And when they did, he had to admit he never imagined it would be Beppi, who only seemed to have two settings: loud and louder. Yet here he was, lifting them up as soft and gentle as anything to babble nonsense baby talk, giggling delightedly when paws batted at his colourful buttons and occasionally meowing himself as though they were having an in-depth conversation. Like so many things he did, it was both bizarre and inexplicably adorable, and Djimmi felt something warm and fuzzy stirring somewhere deep in his own old soul.

His fleeting moment of tranquility was soon disturbed as a few balloon dogs, having finished their snack and apparently disgruntled at their owner having the nerve to pay attention to anything else, floated back over, prompting a couple of cats to scramble back into the safety of Djimmi’s arms. While Beppi was busy reassuring them that he had plenty of pets to go around for everyone, a soft, metallic tail brushed across Djimmi’s bare stomach and he jumped, inadvertently dislodging a few cushions and drawing Beppi’s gaze back to him in the process.

“Down, boy.” Beppi patted his most persistent companion as he glanced up into Djimmi’s eyes, expression somewhere between amused and and suspicious, with just a hint of concern. “Djimbo, you’re not scared of old Frankie, are you? He couldn’t do a pop of damage – look.” He booped the pooch on the nose and it growled playfully, nipping at his finger. “See? Not sharp at all.”

Djimmi smiled, grateful that his natural hue should hide any resulting reddening of his cheeks. “No, of course I’m not scared of you…!” His voice rose to a strangled yelp as he reached over to pet the pup; the cat was settling in by pawing at his lap, its fur rubbing relentlessly at the exposed skin there. He clenched his teeth, struggling to hold back the laughter threatening to bubble up while maintaining a facade of normalcy – if Beppi caught on, he knew, the cats would be the least of his problems.

His friend cocked a bright blue eyebrow, evidently not buying it. “You sure? ‘Cause you’re acting kinda kooky, and this is me saying – ohhh.” Too late, much too late – realisation dawned and his golden eyes lit up like he’d just hit the jackpot at a slot machine. “I see what you’re scared of now. It’s the monster, isn’t it?”

“Beppi…” Djimmi adopted his best warning tone, despite the slightest of nervous flutters in his stomach as he folded his arms protectively over it – he recognised that scheming smile all too well, and it meant whatever zany idea had popped into his head, Djimmi wasn’t going to like it. “Don’t be ridiculous – alright, more ridiculous. There’s no monster here.”

“Djimbo, I am utterly, completely, eleventy-hundred-per-cent sincere here,” Beppi insisted, fluttering his eyelashes and almost managing to look halfway innocent, despite the malicious mischief glittering underneath. “Tickle monsters are no laughing matter. In fact, I think I just saw one riiiight…” his fingers, which had been slowly walking their way across Djimmi’s back, dug into his side, “there!”

The laughter he’d been repressing immediately burst free as nimble fingers scrabbled their way up his sides; they tumbled sideways, Djimmi ending up on his back sprawled across the cushions with Beppi straddling him, bearing down on him with a maniacal grin that in no way resembled the face of mercy.

“Oh no, looks like they’re multiplying!” he mock-gasped, confirming this fact when Djimmi attempted to push him off without doing any lasting damage by wriggling his fingers under his biceps and into the hollows of his armpits, any protests or threats dissolving into a stream of uncharacteristic, embarrassingly high-pitched giggles. “Whatever will we do?! Who will come and save our poor, helpless hero?”

He barely heard the familiar soft tinkle of paws over his own laughter as several cat sarcophagi padded over to investigate the kerfuffle; to Djimmi‘s frustration, they chose to “help” by licking his neck with tiny, soft tongues, while a few others nuzzled at his waist, apparently trying to burrow inside his vest.

“Lihihhihittle ones!” he managed to gasp out, reduced to simply clenching and unclenching his fists uselessly – he didn’t dare squirm too much for fear of sending their fragile bodies flying across the room, but his fate was now truly sealed, with Beppi having switched to lightly tapping out a tune along his ribs, just enough to keep him laughing. “Gehehehet ohohohoff!”

In perhaps the cruellest twist of fate that day, he only succeeded in drawing a bundle of balloon dogs bouncing over to his other side instead – and Beppi was right, their blunt, rubbery teeth didn’t hurt at all when they started nibbling at Djimmi’s waist and hips as though he was another giant sausage: it was so much worse.

“Would ya look at that – we got a full house!” Their ringleader clapped his hands together in glee, briefly distracted by the gathering menagerie, but soon redoubled his efforts as his fingers dancing lower to trace the outline of Djimmi’s abs, slowly at first and then picking up the pace.

“Y’know, Djimbo, you really shouldn’t taunt the tickle monster like that – leaving this cute lil’ tum-tum all exposed!” He spoke with the same teasing coo he’d addressed the cats with moments ago – almost as if Djimmi was an equally tiny, helpless creature, and it somehow intensified every nuzzle of fur, nip of teeth and swirl of gloved finger against his skin to the point where he could hardly think of anything else. Djimmi might’ve even suspected some form of malevolent magic, had he not known that it was all Beppi. “Next thing you’ll be leaving weapons around willy-nilly…”

Djimmi’s eyes, previously screwed shut from the potent combination of mirth and embarrassment, flew open in horror as he realised what Beppi was reaching for.

“Beheheheppi – don’t you even think about –“

“Now don’t tell me you’re scared of this fluffy fella too.” Beppi plucked the feather from his turban and wielded it like a seasoned swordsman, fluttering under his vest, across his chest, over every bit of skin he could reach with the lightest yet simultaneously most unbearable touch, as though painting a mural of giggles that turned to louder snorts and guffaws while evading Djimmi’s attempts to grab it back.

“Gihihive that bahahahack!”

“Aw, don’t be such a party pooper – the fun’s only just gotten started!” Beppi reprimanded him by twirling the tip of the feather across his broad shoulders – blessedly, a less sensitive area, but he scrunched up his neck instinctively anyway. “Hey, are you blushing? Kinda hard to tell – we should probably keep going, just to be sure. Whaddaya think, fellas?” Djimmi felt, rather than heard, a few responding mews as if his traitorous pets were agreeing, the sly devils. “‘Cause I think the tickle monster’s getting hungry. And I heard...that ticklish little genies are his faaavourite snack!”

Before Djimmi had any hope of finding the necessary coherency to point out the absurdity of Beppi calling him ‘little’ – though with the ludicrous nom nom nom noises he was growling against his trembling belly, practically one with his pack, he probably wouldn’t have heard anyway – he inhaled deeply and blew the noisiest, longest raspberry he could muster, which, given the proportions he could inflate his head and lungs to, felt to Djimmi like an eternity.

The ticklish sensations vibrated ceaselessly through every inch of his being, finally undoing the last of Djimmi’s self-control; his deep, booming, unrestrained laughter reverberated through the room, shaking the walls of his tent as he pounded a fist desperately against the floor. Startled by the outburst, the cats and dogs scattered, leaving only a trail of tingles lingering on his oversensitive skin.

Whether out of mercy or satisfaction with his grand finale, Beppi hopped off of him too and let Djimmi float upright, gathering his breath and what remained of his dignity before flashing him an unrepentant grin.

“Alright, alright, good hustle, guys,” he told the cats and dogs that had clustered around his feet, petting one with each hand – at least they seemed to have reconciled, somewhere in the process of uniting to torment Djimmi instead. “I think the tickle monster’s had his fill – for today, anyway…”

That smug satisfaction wavered as soon as Djimmi narrowed his eyes, picking up that damned feather and affixing it back to his turban; before Beppi could make a dash for it, he swiftly sealed the tent entrance with a flick of one hand while effortlessly scooping up an armful of squirming clown with the other.

“Funny you should mention, about these tickle monsters,” he hummed, cradling Beppi on his back just as he would a misbehaving kitten – he even curled up like one, drawing his knees up to his chest as if that was going to protect him from the powerful, wiggling fingers advancing ever closer, “because I heard there’s only one way to truly defeat them...”

“Djimbo – wait, wait! Just listen – we can cut a deal, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t – dohohohohon’t…!”

It also wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for his tent to shake with hysterical squeals and shrieks and snorts, the kind that doubtless made passers-by wonder what in the world was going on in there – but, fortunately, it was one Djimmi wouldn’t have traded for the world.

#tickling #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #cuphead tickling #cuphead tickles #will i ever write about anyone other than these huge dorks #evidently Not This Day #tem writes #my fic

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architectnews · 3 years

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Glasgow School of Art presents 10 projects from architecture, design and innovation students

Dezeen's latest school show by students at the Glasgow School of Art includes a space aiming to improve lives affected by addiction and a project designed to enhance people's relationship with their houseplants.

Other projects include a jewellery collection that becomes animated once positioned on the body and a residential performance hall designed to transform young people's lives through music education.

Glasgow School of Art

School: Glasgow School of Art School: Architecture, Design and Innovation

School statement:

"The Glasgow School of Art (the GSA) was founded in 1845 as one of the first Government Schools of Design, as a centre of creativity promoting good design for the manufacturing industries of Glasgow.

"Today, as one of the UK's last independent schools of art, it is internationally recognised as one of the world's leading university-level institutions for the visual and creative disciplines. It is a diverse community of over 2,500 students studying across the schools of Architecture; Design; Fine Art; Simulation and Visualisation; and Innovation."

Encounter your plant by Pauline Barbier

"This experiment is about enhancing your relationship with one of your houseplants. It is about slowing down and paying attention to your plant.

"I have developed three hybrid pots. Lazzy-Pot proposes a new way of observing plants from underneath while maintaining comfort. Stool-Pot brings you face-to-face with the plant and invites you into a conversation through observation. As plants emit ultrasounds and their frequencies increase when under stress in drought, the Phono-Pot becomes the tool to respond to plant's water needs by listening to them."

Student: Pauline Barbier Course: Innovation School – MEDes: Product Design

Television Snacks and Tiaras by Poppy Brooks

"Created during the trying circumstances of the global pandemic, the collection is inspired by the collective experience and shared emotions of the British public isolated during a national lockdown. It aims to bring comfort and offer an antidote through fashion.

"My research focused on British heritage, the nation pulling together, both in the past and present, seeking reassurance from national figures such as the Queen, NHS, and romanticising ideas of comfort in the home. Designs juxtapose oversized clothing and generous silhouettes, suggestive of the social parties we once enjoyed and look forward to."

Student: Poppy Brooks Course: School of Design – BA (Hons) Fashion Design

Harvesting Light, sheep shelter camera and bird hide camera by Tara Drummie

"Harvesting Light is an ongoing body of work motivated by a symbiotic relationship between humans and the land, inspired by the crofters who encourage the rare and bio-diverse machair ecosystem prevalent on the Isle of North Uist to thrive. Sheep shelter camera, bird hide camera, and horsebox camera reflect a collaboration between the more-than-human assemblages of the machair and the maker.

"The works are time-based and site-specific to North Uist, exclusively using matter found within a given environment to create a camera obscura, appropriately disposing of any harmful debris found on site upon a work's completion."

Student: Tara Drummie Course: School of Design – BA (Hons) Communication Design (Photography)

Safe Consumption and Addiction Support Centre by Kirsty Gaunt

"In 2018, the number of drug-related deaths in Scotland was 1,187 – higher than any other European country. This awful statistic made me determined to use my creativity to help improve people's lives affected by addiction.

"My design is focused on providing a supportive environment to reduce overdose deaths, blood-borne virus transmission and ultimately encourage people to lead healthier lives.

"I wanted to design a space that was loving and made people who inhabit the space feel valued. All the different details and considerations show visitors that people do care about them."

Student: Kirsty Gaunt Course: School of Design – BA (Hons) Interior Design

Assembling Communities by Disassembly by Rebecca Hodalova

"This is a speculative design for disassembly infrastructure. It aims to reactive the disused sites around Glasgow by designing a prefabricated kit of parts, which will be used where communities are not being catered for by any of the existing free cultural institutions, public libraries and community centres.

"Situated at the old Bellgrove Meat Market, sitting on top of a railway line, is the new Headquarters factory – a place of prefabrication, education, workshops, and community collaboration. The architecture of this factory reminisces the historical industrial sheds that used to dominate this area."

Student: Rebecca Hodalova Course: Mackintosh School of Architecture – Dip Arch (ARB/RIBA Part 2), year 5

Proposal for a music centre on the shores of Loch Lomond by Abby Hopes

"Sistema Scotland's Big Noise programme transforms young people's lives through music education while 'making do' in the constraints of their built environment. The creation of a residential retreat/performance hall in my proposal facilitates the culture of Sistema, driven by the variety of scales in which they gather.

"Ownership over space is central to my concept, allowing the young people to feel a sense of belonging in the public and private realm of Balloch. To 'make do' assumes to settle for lesser, but with the climate emergency, we must use what we already have to our advantage."

Student: Abby Hopes Course: Mackintosh School of Architecture – BArch (ARB/RIBA part 1), Year 3

Digital behaviours Co by Maria Marinescu-Duca

"Digital pollution is responsible for 4 per cent of global CO2 emissions, more than the entire civil aviation sector. People should have the tools and awareness to make more ecological digital decisions in how they store their data, engage with streaming and behave digitally.

"As a speculative design, Digital behaviours Co provides a holistic and mindful digital experience – a one-stop-shop to digital environmentalism. The idea is to create less digital pollution and bring more awareness to the issue. Collectively spreading this knowledge and taking the problem into our own hands, we can prevent the projected and ongoing escalation of digital waste."

Student: Maria Marinescu-Duca Course: Innovation School – BDes: Product Design

Kinetic Nature by Cara Smith

"Kinetic Nature is a collection of jewellery pieces that heighten the presence of nature in the wider landscape and its relationship to the human body, through texture, form, repetition, transformation and movement.

"The jewellery pieces are sculptures intended to become animated once positioned on the body – to become bodily extensions. As nature changes, it gifts us with fleeting phenomena. These moments are captured in these activated body adornments, such as the life cycle of the dandelion head changing from yellow to translucent, and then as motion, like a bird in flight."

Student: Cara Smith Course: School of Design - BA (Hons) Silversmithing and Jewellery

Alka by Ben Sammut

"The need for clean air in the home is important but often disregarded by people due to a lack of awareness on the topic. Alka is a companion that cleans and cultivates air while working from home. It is designed to live and work alongside house plants to maintain a healthy environment indoors.

"Aside from cleaning the air from pollutants using certified natural filters such as hemp and activated carbon (something typical air purifiers do), Alka uses algae called spirulina to capture CO2 – an indoor air pollutant linked to a loss of concentration."

Student: Ben Sammut Course: School of Design – MEng Product Design Engineering

Useless Machines by Kialy Tihngang

"The unexpected combinations of colours, textures and shapes within electronic waste have informed Useless Machines. I was inspired by the garish and ugly innards of discarded laptops and phones, which greatly contrast with the sleek designs of their outer shells.

"As a comment on the increasing disposability of consumer electronics, which are often dumped in the global south, I have created a collection of objects that mimic the aesthetics of e-waste and mock the movements of machinery.

"The machines are wrapped in materials – found fabrics and industry donations – to differentiate them from the mass-produced, impersonal products that currently litter landfill."

Student: Kialy Tihngang Course: School of Design – BA (Hons) Textile Design

Partnership content

This school show is a partnership between Dezeen and the Glasgow School of Art. Find out more about Dezeen partnership content here.

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