#chairly

[samerpal]

@aria-ashryver

Thank you a lot ♥️

For support and help my family 🙏🌹

This family needs your help! Please DONATE to help them evacuate Gaza safely!

verified as #196 on el-shab-hussein's list vetted by nabulsi here vetted by ibtisams here

This is a signal boost for Samer and Shoroa and their family! They are currently trying to evacuate Gaza with their three children. They are still extremely low on funds, and need help to evacuate safely!

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Can you help by making a donation?

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[desktopkisser]

things that make my objectum heart melt

[kindheartedgummybears]

I put them in cat ears🤭🤭

@lazylesbianbear 😻🙏

[rubitheracoon]

Charlie Chairlie

[flunkett]

love is discord watchpartys so everyone can watch that show they all said they would watch but never did

[ofgravitation-moved]

@resolutepath said: [ WALTZ ] our muses dance together in their living room. [ from kiri to ochako ]

uraraka ochako is not a dancer, and she never has been. the most ochako has ever danced is maybe swaying side to side when she thought no one was looking. so, when kiri holds out a hand to the gravity hero, she blinks hazel eyes unexpectedly while pointing at herself, " ... me? kiri! i-- " before she can finish his hand has taken hers and his arm had found her waist.

pink tinged ochakos's cheeks when kirishima pulled her into his arms. flustered, she tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a bashful giggle. she's quick to remember to lift a pinky off his shoulder, after all, they didn't need to be waltzing on the ceiling. " if i step on your foot, it's nobody's fault but your own, " she teases with a grin, trying to get her footing as they sway.

looking up-- gods, when did kirishima get so tall? ochako blinks skeptically, but still smiles regardless. as they spin around the room, ochako can't help but feel.. lighter. it's.. kirishima's bright smile, and the strong way he holds her, that somehow, magically, removes all her stresses of the day leaving the two of them just here in this happy moment.

which is all any one could ever ask for: happiness. kirishima goes in for the spin, and somehow ochako doesn't fall! in fact she laughs excitedly! loving the way her skirt twirls around her small frame. " you're pretty good at this, kiri! " she smiles again, attempting to twirl him this time! but.. he was a little tall, huh? ah, no matter, it still leaves the gravity hero in a fit of smiles and laughs.

finally, as the song ends, ochako leans forward to pull kirishima into her arms this time for a hug. close to his ear on his shoulder, ochako relaxes fully in his arms with a light hum, whispering, " thanks for this, kiri. i needed it, " she pulls back to meet red with hazel. " you're the best friend a girl can ask for. "

[wowiezowiebaby]

Just played Smile For Me and immediately fell in love .. So i made a fun little character ! Chairlie Poppet !! Yay !!

And some smaller doodles featuring my friend @asexual-idiot 's flower kid !!! Yay !!!

[mikiemcsmitty]

Fictober Day 4

prompt: "No, we're not doing that"

Fandom: Supernatural

Character: Charlie Bradbury, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel

Rating: General

Summary:

Charlie’s POV: Charlie is staying over and somehow (despite protest) is able to get the trio to join her for a Dungeons and Dragons one-shot.

“No, we’re not doing that. No way,” Dean ranted as he walked through the bunker.

“Why not,” Charlie whined.

“Because I’m not a complete and total nerd.”

“You larped with me once before.”

“That was different. We were undercover on a case.”

“You did get really into it,” Sam adds as the two of them have now brought this conversation into the library.

“You shut up. Cas back me up.” After getting no response he turns around to find Cas nose-deep in the Dungeon Master’s Guide and Player’s Handbook reading about oathbreaker paladins. “Cas?”

“Hmm?” he says lifting his head up. “I think playing this game could be fun,” he says innocently.

Dean rolls his eyes but caves in pretty fast after hearing Cas’s enthusiasm. “Fine I'll roleplay but I refuse to do math for a game that's supposed to be fun.”

“It's basic addition,” Sam says.

“Ok poindexter.”

After some deliberation and character creation, they ended up with a pretty well-balanced party with Chairlie as the dungeon master. Cas was playing a human oathbreaker paladin while Sam was an elven sorcerer and Dean was a half orc barbarian.

“The three of you have just been hired to attempt to hike to a mysterious cave and find the dragon’s hoard,” Charlie started while adding a voice for dramatics. “You're approaching the entrance to the cave, what will you do?”

“There's a stat on my character sheet that says stealth. Does that mean I can sneak in?” Sam asks.

“Yeah so roll the 20 sided dice and add that number.”

“14. Is that good or bad?”

“That's not bad, you actually rolled higher than the passive perception of the three goblins you find gathered in the mouth of the cave.”

“Ooo I use the… Message cantrip to communicate that to the other two.”

“I wanna run in and hit them hard,” Dean says. “With my… greataxe.”

“Awesome roll to hit with the D20 and then add your proficiency bonus and then if you get high enough you'll roll the D12 plus your attack bonus and–”

“You lost me,” Dean says holding up a hand.

“Oh my god give me these,” Sam says taking the dice and rolling them for Dean. “18 to hit.”

“Thats a hit. Roll for damage.”

“6.”

Charlie narrates the goblins surrendering in fear. “The goblin is downed to one hit point. He and his companions cower beneath the shadow of Deanigar the great. Please don’t hurt us, we'll give you whatever you seek, they say.”

“Tell us where the dragon of this cave resides!” Dean said, slamming his fist on the table.

“Yeah you're totally not a total nerd,” Charlie added sarcastically before jumping back into DM mode. “Roll intimidation with advantage.”

“In English?”

“Roll the dice twice and take the higher number.”

“This game is so weird,” Dean mumbles. “17… plus 2?”

“A 19! That's awesome! The trembling goblin points you in the right direction through the cave.” Charlie then handed Dean a map drawn on a sticky note.

Dean studied the note as if it's an ancient scroll and declared the path forward. “Onwards Samington for our glory is near.”

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1845 Lady Caroline Nairne, songwriter and poet, died at Gask.

Carolina Oliphant was born on 16 August 1766 in Gask, Perthshire. She became known as the “Flower of Strathearn” because of her beauty. Both her father and grandfather had joined Bonnie Prince Charlie in the 1745 Jacobite Uprising and she herself had been named after the Young Pretender (Carolina being the feminine form of Charles) so it is not perhaps surprising that many of her songs were sympathetic to the Jacobite cause.

In those days it was not appropriate for women of her social standing to publish poetry and so for a long time they were published under the pen-name of Mrs Bogan of Bogan. Even after marrying her second cousin, Major William Nairne in 1806, she kept her writing secret from him too! They had a son, born in 1808, when she was aged 43. In 1824, following a campaign by Sir Walter Scott, peerages and titles which had been forfeited as a result of the Jacobite Uprising were restored and so Caroline became Lady Nairne.

Like Robert Burns and James Hogg, Lady Nairne collected old folk tunes and modified or put her own words to them. She showed a love of the countryside in such songs as The Rowan Tree and The Pentland Hills. Her poem The Auld House is about her birthplace in Gask and she showed her compassion in songs such as “Caller Herring”

Her husband died in 1830 and she then travelled through Europe, returning to Gask two years before her death on 26th October 1845. She gave permission at that stage for her collected songs (87 in all) to be published as “Lays from Strathearn”. They appeared in 1846.

"Will ye no come back again" was written by Carolina Oliphant in the first half of the 19th century. It is one of the many songs and pipe tunes written about the period which encouraged the idealised and romantic view of the Jacobite cause which remains to this day.

Will Ye No Come Back Again?

Bonnie Chairlie's noo awa', Safely ower the friendly main; Mony a heart will break in twa', Should he ne'er come back again.

Chorus: Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Better lo'ed ye canna be, Will ye no come back again?

Ye trusted in your Hielan' men, They trusted you dear Chairlie. They kent your hidin' in the glen, Death or exile bravin'. Chorus

We watched thee in the gloamin' hour, We watched thee in the mornin' grey. Tho' thirty thousand pounds they gie, O there is nane that wad betray. Chorus

Sweet the laverock' s note and lang, Liltin' wildly up the glen. But aye tae me he sings ae sang, Will ye no' come back again? Chorus

Meaning of unusual words: gloamin'=twilight laverock=skylark

[chaoticgouda]

34. What is your partner’s voice like?

39. Do you have cute pet names for each other?

93. What are some major differences between you both?

99. If you were both in a dating sim, what character tropes would each of you be?

127. How does your partner treat you special compared to everyone else in their life?

Ahem here you go, definitely just a stranger

Ooooh an anonymous person in my inbox? How intriguing....

34) This might be my bias talking but it's... Just so incredibly soothing. Warm, soft, gentle. Sometimes it's adorably hesitant and shy, other times it's playful and teasing, other times it's more to-the-point and serious. I also adore their accent and some of their turns of phrase, like "y'all" and "what all". It's ridiculously endearing to me <3

39) Hehehe we have a few yeah!

For them: Sunflower, Star, Simp, Special lil guy, more general ones like darling, my love etc etc

For me: Chairlie, Chi/Sleepchi, [Lucky] Charm, also my love, darling etc etc

93) Hmm I guess the way we tend to approach some displays of affection and our communication styles in general? I'm v much gushy and kind of theatrical/dramatic in my shows of affection, writing rambles about things I like about them, stuff I'm excited to do, silly things like that lol -

Whereas they're more considerate and thoughtful with their praise and affection, giving it out a little more sparingly but having it be all the more meaningful for that?

There's a few other differences but that's the first one that comes to mind :>

99) Ooh this is a good one!!

Them: The cool, talented and attractive creative type who seems a little aloof and reserved at first but is secretly a dork with a huuuge heart once you put in the time to get to know them. One of the first CGs with them is definitely one where they kiss your hand.

Me: Uhh probably the supportive and silly character who is a bit of a sad clown about it, wants to encourage and help the main character while ignoring their own needs. Breaks the 4th wall for the bit.

127) Sooo this little tidbit of info always makes me smile whenever I think about it - They've confessed to me before that they feel a little awkward when I'm hanging out with them and their friends because they have to suppress the urge to be as affectionate as they normally are, and that their friends would be surprised if they saw that side of them. They're really sweet and sentimental and honestly kind of a big romantic when we're together, and I think that tenderness and affection steeps through into a lot of our interactions, spoken and unspoken. I feel loved and appreciated, whether or not they say it with words <3

[ineffag-swag]

Okay I am calling it now. Maxine will be our puppet/Charlie stand-in

I HOPE YOU'RE RIGHT, I NEED TO SEE MY DAUGHTER CHAIRLIE!!

[chuck-e-cheese-anime-faces]

Dude hus head face gonna melt off no more willy wonkma / chairlie and thr chocolate factory letd make it skeleton and the chocolatr factory

[meathounding]

tears in my eyes

chairlie 🪑🫶🏾

[p-isforpoetry]

Tam O'Shanter by Robert Burns (read by James Cosmo)

When chapmen billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors meet, As market days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousing at the nappy, And getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Where sits our sulky sullen dame. Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonie lasses.)

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober; That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale:-- Ae market-night, Tam had got planted unco right; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither-- They had been fou for weeks thegither! The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious, wi' favours secret,sweet and precious The Souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy! As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white--then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm.-- Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg-- A better never lifted leg-- Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire; Despisin' wind and rain and fire. Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares: Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford, Whare, in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Chairlie brak 's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.-- Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll: When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!-- The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight

Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He scre'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-- Coffins stood round, like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some develish cantraip slight, Each in its cauld hand held a light.-- By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murders's banes in gibbet-airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi blude red-rusted; Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft, The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which even to name was be unlawfu'. Three lawyers' tongues, turn'd inside out, Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout; Three priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, Lay stinking, vile in every neuk.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens, Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Louping and flinging on a crummock, I wonder did na turn thy stomach!

But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie: There was ae winsome wench and waulie, That night enlisted in the core, Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; (For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie,- Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour; Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! In vain thy Kate awaits thy commin'! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane o' the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle - Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail; The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

No, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son take heed; Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think! ye may buy joys o'er dear - Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

______________________________________

Tam o' Shanter (Translation)

When the peddler people leave the streets, And thirsty neighbours, neighbours meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to take the road home, While we sit boozing strong ale, And getting drunk and very happy, We don’t think of the long Scots miles, The marshes, waters, steps and stiles, That lie between us and our home, Where sits our sulky, sullen dame (wife), Gathering her brows like a gathering storm, Nursing her wrath, to keep it warm.

This truth finds honest Tam o' Shanter, As he from Ayr one night did canter; Old Ayr, which never a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses.

Oh Tam, had you but been so wise, As to have taken your own wife Kate’s advice! She told you well you were a waster, A rambling, blustering, drunken boaster, That from November until October, Each market day you were not sober; During each milling period with the miller, You sat as long as you had money, For every horse he put a shoe on, The blacksmith and you got roaring drunk on; That at the Lords House, even on Sunday, You drank with Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, You would be found deep drowned in Doon, Or caught by warlocks in the murk, By Alloway’s old haunted church.

Ah, gentle ladies, it makes me cry, To think how many counsels sweet, How much long and wise advice The husband from the wife despises!

But to our tale :- One market night, Tam was seated just right, Next to a fireplace, blazing finely, With creamy ales, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Cobbler Johnny, His ancient, trusted, thirsty crony; Tom loved him like a very brother, They had been drunk for weeks together. The night drove on with songs and clatter, And every ale was tasting better; The landlady and Tam grew gracious, With secret favours, sweet and precious; The cobbler told his queerest stories; The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus: Outside, the storm might roar and rustle, Tam did not mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man so happy, Even drowned himself in ale. As bees fly home with loads of treasure, The minutes winged their way with pleasure: Kings may be blessed, but Tam was glorious, Over all the ills of life victorious.

But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow fall on the river, A moment white - then melts forever, Or like the Aurora Borealis rays, That move before you can point to their place; Or like the rainbow’s lovely form, Vanishing amid the storm. No man can tether time or tide, The hour approaches Tom must ride: That hour, of night’s black arch - the key-stone, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in And such a night he takes to the road in As never a poor sinner had been out in.

The wind blew as if it had blown its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, Loud, deep and long the thunder bellowed: That night, a child might understand, The Devil had business on his hand.

Well mounted on his grey mare, Meg. A better never lifted leg, Tom, raced on through mud and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whilst holding fast his good blue bonnet, While crooning over some old Scots sonnet, Whilst glowering round with prudent care, Lest ghosts catch him unaware: Alloway’s Church was drawing near, Where ghosts and owls nightly cry.

By this time he was across the ford, Where in the snow the pedlar got smothered; And past the birch trees and the huge stone, Where drunken Charlie broke his neck bone; And through the thorns, and past the monument, Where hunters found the murdered child; And near the thorn, above the well, Where Mungo’s mother hanged herself. Before him the river Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars throught the woods; The lightnings flashes from pole to pole; Nearer and more near the thunder rolls; When, glimmering through the groaning trees, Alloway’s Church seemed in a blaze, Through every gap , light beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn! (whisky) What dangers you can make us scorn! With ale, we fear no evil; With whisky, we’ll face the Devil! The ales so swam in Tam’s head, Fair play, he didn’t care a farthing for devils. But Maggie stood, right sore astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tom saw an incredible sight!

Warlocks and witches in a dance: No cotillion, brand new from France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. In a window alcove in the east, There sat Old Nick, in shape of beast; A shaggy dog, black, grim, and large, To give them music was his charge: He screwed the pipes and made them squeal, Till roof and rafters all did ring. Coffins stood round, like open presses, That showed the dead in their last dresses; And, by some devilish magic sleight, Each in its cold hand held a light: By which heroic Tom was able To note upon the holy table, A murderer’s bones, in gibbet-irons; Two span-long, small, unchristened babies; A thief just cut from his hanging rope - With his last gasp his mouth did gape; Five tomahawks with blood red-rusted; Five scimitars with murder crusted; A garter with which a baby had strangled; A knife a father’s throat had mangled - Whom his own son of life bereft - The grey-hairs yet stack to the shaft; With more o' horrible and awful, Which even to name would be unlawful. Three Lawyers’ tongues, turned inside out, Sown with lies like a beggar’s cloth - Three Priests’ hearts, rotten, black as muck Lay stinking, vile, in every nook.

As Thomas glowered, amazed, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew, They reeled, they set, they crossed, they linked, Till every witch sweated and smelled, And cast her ragged clothes to the floor, And danced deftly at it in her underskirts!

Now Tam, O Tam! had these been young girls, All plump and strapping in their teens! Their underskirts, instead of greasy flannel, Been snow-white seventeen hundred linen! - The trousers of mine, my only pair, That once were plush, of good blue hair, I would have given them off my buttocks For one blink of those pretty girls !

But withered hags, old and droll, Ugly enough to suckle a foal, Leaping and flinging on a stick, Its a wonder it didn’t turn your stomach!

But Tam knew what was what well enough: There was one winsome, jolly wench, That night enlisted in the core, Long after known on Carrick shore (For many a beast to dead she shot, And perished many a bonnie boat, And shook both much corn and barley, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her short underskirt, o’ Paisley cloth, That while a young lass she had worn, In longitude though very limited, It was her best, and she was proud. . . Ah! little knew your reverend grandmother, That underskirt she bought for her little grandaughter, With two Scots pounds (it was all her riches), Would ever graced a dance of witches!

But here my tale must stoop and bow, Such words are far beyond her power; To sing how Nannie leaped and kicked (A supple youth she was, and strong); And how Tom stood like one bewitched, And thought his very eyes enriched; Even Satan glowered, and fidgeted full of lust, And jerked and blew with might and main; Till first one caper, then another, Tom lost his reason all together, And roars out: ‘ Well done, short skirt! ’ And in an instant all was dark; And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees buzz out with angry wrath, When plundering herds assail their hive; As a wild hare’s mortal foes, When, pop! she starts running before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When ‘ Catch the thief! ’ resounds aloud: So Maggie runs, the witches follow, With many an unearthly scream and holler.

Ah, Tom! Ah, Tom! You will get what's coming! In hell they will roast you like a herring! In vain your Kate awaits your coming ! Kate soon will be a woeful woman! Now, do your speedy utmost, Meg, And beat them to the key-stone of the bridge; There, you may toss your tale at them, A running stream they dare not cross! But before the key-stone she could make, She had to shake a tail at the fiend; For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie pressed, And flew at Tam with furious aim; But little knew she Maggie’s mettle! One spring brought off her master whole, But left behind her own grey tail: The witch caught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, who this tale of truth shall read, Each man, and mother’s son, take heed: Whenever to drink you are inclined, Or short skirts run in your mind, Think! you may buy joys over dear: Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.

[kitten-kokomo]

Of course not! I ask my good friend Chairlie to help me all the time! Isn’t that right, Chairlie?

*silence*

…Chairlie said yes

[natequarter]

🎶

🎶: Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

nope. can't stand it. as for what i've been listening to - jacobite bangers. wha'll be king but chairlie?

(link)