#key lime poster

[letsgethaunted]

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Welcome to the photo dump for Episode 187: Kutchie’s Key Lime Pie, A Quirky Internet Mystery feat. @believingthebizarre! Around 2009, a flurry of bizarre, copy pasta-esque comments began appearing across the internet in droves. These strange comments referenced a now-defunct restaurant named Kutchie’s Café which allegedly sold the best key lime pie in the world, a pie capable of giving people “piegasms”, baked by “Captain Kutchie” himself. For the next 8 years, this unknown person posted over 700 comments from over 30 different usernames before one day just disappearing…leaving the public with no explanation for their odd behavior. This user would later become known as the “Key Lime Pie” poster, or simply “KLP”, and the mystery he or she left behind would be cemented in the Internet Mystery hall of fame as the internet rabbit hole known as “Kutchie’s Key Lime Pie”. So, who was the KLP Poster? Was he posting in code for military spies? Was he a disgruntled ex-employee, Captain Kutchie himself, an SEO botscript gone rogue, a troll, or something else entirely? Join Aly and Nat with special guests Tyler and Charlie of Believing the Bizarre as they attempt to unravel a zany mystery that is sure to turn your brain to mush. IMAGE 01: Creepy cover art by Aly! IMAGE 02: More art by Aly! IMAGE 03: TikTok referenced in Part 1 about comment sections changing based on the viewer’s personal algorithm IMAGE 04: Google street view image of the building that once house Kutchie’s IMAGE 05: Roger RamJet (animated children’s series from the 1960s) IMAGE 06: Compilation of posts by the Key Lime Poster (KLP), Part 1 IMAGE 07: Compilation of posts by the Key Lime Poster (KLP), Part 1 IMAGE 08: Various newspaper ads for Kutchie’s, part 1 IMAGE 09: Various newspaper ads for Kutchie’s, part 2 IMAGE 10: Kutchie’s obituary, rest in peace <3

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 3, Part 1/3 (p. 760-891)

Read the previous post here.

Time for the beginning of Act 3! An inauspicious start, since the Act begins with Jade's introduction.

So I guess the "reader" is still acknowledged as a thing. And they're actively attempting to manipulate Jade. I wonder how much longer this will last for.

Jade has so many interests, you guys! So many! And I'm sure each and every one of them will be relevant to her character as well!

Also, she needs reminders so she doesn't forget about the things she's interested in? What?

Why does Jade have so many variants of fetch modus when none of these will ever show up again? Actually, the whole modus system continues to be really dumb and that's probably why it's rarely mentioned in the later acts.

Jade's precognition again being treated as just a fun lil' quirk. Gosh, she's just so quirky, right fellas? So many modi, so many interests. She's just so silly and fun, right? Right???

Honest confession time. When I first read Homestuck, I had no idea that a "eureka lemon" was an actual variety of lemon. Of course I've heard of crab apples, key limes, and mandarin oranges, but it never occurred to me that a eureka lemon was also a real thing. I didn't figure this out until years later.

Wait wait wait. Hold the phone. Jade is a fan of old cartoons? When is that ever referenced again outside of the occasional mention of Squiddles (a show that isn't real)? What the fuck? John likes movies, has posters in his room, and name drops his favorites on a regular basis. Why does Jade not talk about any cartoons she likes???

Physics, gadgetry, and gardening are all shit that aren't ever mentioned again either, but I was at least aware of those things being related to her, at least on a surface level. Jade's whole thing (well, what I assume Hussie ostensibly intended to be her thing) is that she's this genius wiz kid. And her username is gardenGnostic, so of course horticulture has to be somehow related to her character. This whole cartoon thing is seriously new knowledge to me, though.

Grandpa Harley was a real renaissance man with a multitude of interests, so it's natural that Jade takes after him. The problem is that Grandpa is dead and he's less of a character than he is this mysterious symbol that Jade both admires and resents. It doesn't matter whether or not he's fleshed out, but Jade is a main character, so by necessity she must be or else she comes across as half-baked.

Jade has two pages dedicated to her interests, yet none of them are relevant to her character. She never talks to anyone else about gardening or anthros or anything like that. She doesn't use her scientific knowledge to help solve a problem. Her guns only serve the same basic combat purpose as the other kids' kind abstratus, but beyond that she isn't a gun nut.

One can point to stuff like John's interest in programming or Dave's love of photography as examples of extraneous character traits that don't ever manifest later on in the comic. But in Jade's case, it's nearly all of them. Hussie could've filled these pages with anything he wanted, but nothing would alter the existing perception of Jade being nothing more than "silly, upbeat girl who can see into the future." This is what I meant when I said earlier that she doesn't have any character to speak of. Or rather, she's just extremely shallow.

And because Jade doesn't have enough quirks already, her shirt randomly changes designs. Wow! Incredible!

These "manthro chaps" are honestly more unnerving and sexually charged than the smuppets. I don't ever see anyone reference them nearly as often, and probably for good reason. Unlike the smuppets, they're too close to resembling humans and are very uncanny. This feels like a deranged fetish thing, but it's being played off as more silly, quirky bullshit. "Slop trough" is a phrase I never want to read again.

Right. Hating furries was very much en vogue back in 2009, I'd say more so than the present. However, Hussie is going to great lengths to portray Jade as one of the "good ones." Her interest in anthros is non-sexual in nature and she does not partake in "cringe" furry activities like wearing fursuits and engaging in sexual activities with other furries. As stated before, the manthro chaps are being depicted as wholesome make believe, not in a feral/pet play context (despite the fact that that's exactly what it looks like).

This is just Hussie taking pot shots at a subculture that has historically been a very easy target for ridicule. I'm not even sure why he decided to make Jade a furry in the first place if he was going to draw lines in the sand like this. What an incredible dickhead. And since this is written from Jade's perspective, it makes her a dickhead too.

There are a few times later on where Jade comes across as rude or judgmental, coming at odds with her otherwise unflinchingly polite and optimistic disposition. Needless to say, this does little to endear her to me.

Like John, Jade also has a chest full of shit that doesn't end up mattering. Come to think of it, this whole intro sequence feels extremely drawn out, kind of like John's. John at least had the excuse of being the first character and he required a long intro in order to establish the tone and mechanics. We've gotten a good handle on things by the time we reach Rose and Dave, so their intros weren't nearly as involved. So why the fuck is Jade's taking so long? We know this whole routine, we've done it three times now. Can we get the fuck on with the story already!?

This is a really bizarre sequence of pages where the "reader" is forced to match the memory cards of Jade's modus, only to fail at it repeatedly while both Jade and Hussie judge them for it.

Man... I know it's a common fandom notion that Jade is the most neglected and underutilized of the main cast of kids, but you seriously wouldn't have guessed that based on all these early pages. She feels more like Hussie's favorite, if anything.

Every passage he seems to talk about her with affection and a total absence of snark, not like the other kids who are regarded with bemusement at best or mockery at worst when they do something foolish. Here the derision is solely focused on the reader for their apparent cluelessness, and both Hussie and Jade are on the same side. C'mon, Jade's just offering the reader to play this game and they fail because they're obviously not as smart as she is. Serves them right for that earlier, boorish suggestion that this wonderful girl might be a, gasp, disgusting fursuit-wearing degenerate!

There's something a little off about how this then-30 year old man created this 13 year old girl who's so sweet and perfect in every way, and whom he dedicates so many pages showing us every single one of her quirks and all the amazing things she has in her home. But I don't really want to dwell further on this, so I'll be moving on.

"But he does like his steak well cooked."

"He does prefer his steak rare after all."

Well, which is it??? Does he like his steak well or rare? Does Hussie not know the difference between these terms? Has he never cooked a steak before?

Dave Strider? More like Dave Simper. He is incredibly down bad. She's obviously not online, dude. Get out of her DMs. He's also facetiously engaging her with furry roleplay. God, Dave, get a clue! ERP is something only cringy furries do and as established previously, Jade is most definitely not one of those types of furries!

The Midnight Crew get their own dedicated flash. These guys sure are getting teased a lot, despite just being characters from an in-universe webcomic. I wonder what it could mean...

FINALLY we get to the Strider fight. Well, it's more like Dave vs. Cal rather than Dave vs. Bro. Not to try and crack open more Bro discourse, but the idea that people will try to equate Dave getting clowned on by a puppet with actual child abuse is absurd. I don't see how this is any different than the previous strifes John and Rose had with their parents.

FUCK it was only for one page. We're back to Jade again. You know, if I had a friend who knew whenever I was about to have an internet outage and acted all smarmy about it, I would probably stop talking to them.

"Grandpa Moreau over there on Hellmurder Island" is a good line. Thank you Rose for providing some levity to this slog of pages I've been enduring.

Another GameFAQs page, but this section is written by John for some reason. He brings up a great point about how nobody is reading these damn things. If you're some nudnik who truly gives a shit about how punch card alchemy works, oh boy do I have a page for you!

Jade dislikes hunting and it was mentioned earlier that she'd never shoot an animal. It strikes me as odd that she has such a passion for guns, but not hunting. What does she shoot then? She's a "skilled markswoman" but do we ever see a shooting range or anything to practice her skills? I can't imagine there's much else to shoot on this island aside from wildlife.

Grandpa Harley says Jade will grow up to be like the women in the photos he gets off to. I uh... I don't know how to feel about that. Other than perhaps it's for the best this old man is dead.

Wow! Who's this rude customer? What a crazy guy! Oh well, he was blocked so I don't think we'll ever see him again.

Finally at this point we take an extended reprieve from Jade. For the record, we're 99 pages into the Act. It took Rose 25 pages from her intro before the plot returned to John, and Dave 48 pages from his before turning back to Rose. (I'm not counting brief cuts to other characters for these counts, because the main focus is still on the recently introduced character). Nearly 100 pages of Jade showing off her house before going back to the plot. Augh!

Anyway, Rose actually reaches out and grabs the captcha card, which isn't something we've seen up to this point. This whole inventory system is weird, man.

I think it's all but directly stated that Mom Lalonde became an alcoholic because she has known the exact date the world was going to end. A sad detail.

Part 2 of the Strider fight ends with Bro yeeting Dave down the stairs. Again, I can't see this scene as serious representation of legitimate child abuse, especially with the fucking SBaHJ jokes at the end. The tone is so comedic and outrageous I don't understand anyone who takes it seriously.

Honestly, the earlier scenes with Dave roaming the apartment, being surrounded by weapons and sex toys, making comments of how he has difficulty accessing food, and being videotaped for Bro's fetish films paint a much better image of an abusive household than any of this strife shit. I don't want to try and argue that Bro isn't a bad guardian, because he definitely is, but there's this notion in the fandom that he does all this because he hates Dave and wants him to suffer, and I don't think that's true at all. His actions read more like neglect and carelessness, not malice.

You can make a list of all Bro's crimes, but hating his brother is not one of them.

John wins his fight against the ogres. There's an earlier page where we see him getting the tar kicked out of him (with the same over the top slapstick animations during the Dave vs. Bro fight, mind you), but it's only after Nannasprite and Rose join to help that he's able to achieve victory. He really can't do anything on his own, can he?

How about a "thank you, Rose, for beating those ogres for me"? Dickhead.

No "thank you" for Nannasprite, either. Instead he asks her to carry him to the gate, since he already knows Rose can't do it. This kid really sucks.

Now that I'm a third of the way done with Act 3, I have to say Jade is some honest to god Mary Sue shit. I don't like using that term because it's been misused to the point of uselessness, but come on. Compare Jade to the three previous kids and tell me that this girl isn't the most ridiculous character in this lineup.

We have John, the goofy cornball that likes pranks and watching bad movies; Rose, the smug pseud that likes the occult and writing lousy fiction; Dave, the aloof hipster that likes rapping and making shitty comics; and Jade, the genius manic pixie furry girl with a randomly changing wardrobe that can see into the future, lives on a private island full of crazy hi-tech gadgets, was raised by a radioactive dog, and likes physics, gardening, sharpshooting, bass guitar, and inventing.

Fuck me. If I was DM for a DnD session and someone submitted a character sheet like that against three normal ones, I'd tell them to leave. Why can't she just be a normal kid like the others? It's all so jarring!

Suddenly I'm wishing I was back reading Act 1 again.

Read the next post here.

[fatfables]

Camp Shawn: Part 4.1

The epic gainer novel continues!

1.

Camp Leader Gary opened his eyes and saw blood trickling down his forehead onto his nose. Wait, that’s not right, he thought. How can I see my own forehead? He closed his eyes again, and counted to five. He opened them again and looked at the blood dripping from the end of his nose. That’s better, that makes sense. I must have heard the blood on my forehead. He thought hard for a minute, trying to focus on what he just said. He closed his eyes again. I’ll get it right in a minute, he thought, and counted to ten. Before he opened his eyes he tasted the blood leaking over his top lip. Tasting, he thought, lips. That’s right. Damn he was drunk. Why had he gotten so drunk? He opened his eyes and once more smelled the blood dripping out of the deep cut on his forehead. Smelling blood? Can people smell blood? Sharks can. Damn his head hurt. Why did his head hurt? He closed his eyes again and restarted counting to ten. The blood tasted thick on his tongue. He opened his eyes a third time and saw no blood. All he saw was belly, the underside of a huge glutted out globe that burst brilliantly out over the top of a pair of hugely oversized baggy shorts. The fat had thin light brown hairs growing over it. The belly of a man of a very impressive size. The sight of the foot of fat overhanging his aching face soothed him. The edges of a black t-shirt were just visible beyond the horizon of the belly. The belly moved gently as it spoke. The voice was instantly recognisable, it both pleased and terrified him. “Hello Gary, What the fuck are you doing on the floor?” It said.

2.

Henry knew just how nervous Steve was, he felt it in his stomach. The twins guessed it was their own fault for lying to their father. They’d told him that they were on a break from Shawn due to the stress of being separated by the college admissions process. Although their break up had never been officially spoken of by any of the parties involved it was clear that it was a break up and not a break.

The twins had been eating their way out of their depression quite successfully for the previous few months so the news that they were to go back to camp and meet up with Shawn had sent them both into turmoil. Thankfully Henry had persuaded his Dad to allow them to start working at the camp a couple of weeks after it opened. This meant that they were able to spend the start of their summer vacation in Florida with a group of the YGS guys. That way they could at least try to forget about Shawn and whatever new horror and argument he had in store for them when they did show up in Indiana. For now they could lie in the sun getting drunk, expanding their globe like bellies on conch fritters and key lime pie.

3.

“Simon! Simon! Get down here and help me! The darn voice text has packed up again!”

Simon groaned as he rolled off his bed. Having a disabled parent was just the worst. He lay prostrate on the floor staring at a Fill Out Boy poster ironically placed on his bedroom wall while he tried to build up the energy to go downstairs and help his Dad.

“Simon! Simon! Can you hear me?”

“Yes Daaad, what do you waaaant?”

“I need you to come help book that camp. The darn voice text has packed in again!”

Simon lifted his head like a puppy that just heard the word ‘walkies’. Booking the camp was something that he actually wanted to do.

“Coming!” he shouted, as he bounced up onto his pudgy feet and sprang down the stairs as fast as his stubby legs would carry him.

“What’s the matter with it Dad? He asked in a much more helpful tone.

“The darn voice text that reads to me, it’s packed in again. I just wanted to check the info about that camp we agreed on.”

Simon looked into the whites of his father’s eyes as if he was just checking to be a hundred percent certain that he actually couldn’t see and snatched the laptop away from him.

“I’ll do it for you, no problem,” he said cheerily.

“We agreed on the one in Indiana right?” His Dad asked in spite of being certain that this was correct.

“Yeah, the weight management one.” Simon said with a smirk that his Dad had never seen.

“I’m very proud of you for agreeing to this, you know? It takes a big man to admit that he needs help. No pun intended.”

“No pun taken.”

“I’m being serious, Simon. Me and your Mom are so pleased that you’ve decided to put your health first. You know how worried she’s been about you since she read that article in the Enquirer about that new youth craze, you know those kids who want to be fat.”

“I’ve told you both. That’s ridiculous! How can you believe anything you read in that rag? It’s all hyperbole. I know I’m overweight but the idea that I’m into gaining is ludicrous!”

“I know that son, but your Mom needs convincing. You know what she’s like once she gets an idea in her head.”

“This is the one Dad.” He read part of the website blurb out loud;

“For the past twenty three years we have been helping young men with their body positivity and weight management issues. Thousands of young men from across America and overseas have come through our doors and left happier, healthier sizes. Our five point programme encourages eating habits that will last a lifetime. Our values are your values.”

Simon was very pleased that his Dad couldn’t see the photos of groups of happy smiling fat boys, some of them so plump that they looked like they were about to explode. One boy in particular had caught Simon’s eye. He was sitting on a makeshift throne wearing a crown, smiling like a loon whilst holding, in both hands, the biggest belly that Simon had ever seen. The boy looked like he was made of cake. Simon was certain that he must be the YouTuber known as ‘The King of Fat Camp’. It had to be? This was surely the right place? If he was wrong and it was a weight loss camp then he was in for the summer from hell.

He spent the next twenty minutes filling the required details into the online application while his Dad kept repeating how proud of him he was. He had to be right. This had to be the place. He was going to have the best summer ever. Having a disabled parent was just the best.

4.

Jake Joseph-Jackson was desperately trying and failing to hide his excitement as Shawn slowly climbed out of the taxi. He was bigger in real life than on the net. Jake smiled widely as he approached his old friend.

“Shawn, Dude! You’re looking magnificent!”

Jake went to shake Shawn’s huge soft hand but jokingly moved his own tubby hand away at the last moment and slapped Shawn’s bulging belly instead. It wobbled satisfyingly. It was Shawn’s turn to smile.

“You’re looking good yourself, man! How much bigger are you than last time we met?”

“You know that day when we finished camp I was actually 5 lbs heavier than you!?”

“That was a long time ago, man.”

“I can see that, dude”

“You look like you’re about 360 right?”

“All the way around!” Jake joked as he ran a fat finger around the circumference of his belly.

“And you, you’re 450 right?”

“That was last week, I’ve not updated my stats yet. 458”

“Oh wow! Way ahead of me!”

“Nothing changes my friend. Always growing!”

“And rightly so!”

“Talking of which, what’s a guy gotta do to get something to eat around here?”

Jake laughed out loud. “Come with me,” he said, “Staff dinner is just about to begin in the new restaurant.”

5.

Shawn was very impressed with the new surroundings. The restaurant was simple but elegant. It contained twelve large round tables each with twelve sturdy seats. There was a large buffet bar against the far wall for salads and entrees, beside the soda machines. The other side of them, next to the large open windows that overlooked the lake, lay four automated self-serve ice cream vendors. There were only three other counsellors in the restaurant eating at another table. Shawn recognised a couple of them but couldn’t remember their names. The kindly Jim, whom he remembered fondly, approached with a menu. It was his turn to serve his hungry colleagues.

Shawn perused the menu, taking more time over his selection than you would expect someone as hungry as him to do. The options were extensive and spread over five courses. This place was designed to treat the higher paying campers well. He settled on the beef wellington, coq au vin, and a double portion of sliders to start with. He then asked Jim to please fetch him a plate of everything from the salad and entree buffet, making up a BS excuse about an aching ankle in order to save him the twenty feet of walking required to fetch his own. He really liked Jim. Jake fetched them both a supersized cup of soda, only supersized cups were available, and they sat down to eat a meal at camp together for the first time in three years.

The beef wellington was made of thick juicy cuts that slid down Shawn’s throat with orgasmic ease. The chicken was succulent and cooked to perfection. Shawn ordered a second portion of both for himself and Jake. The tiny burgers looked ridiculous in comparison to the size of the boy eating them, like doll's food. At least there were twelve of them. He swallowed each one whole, but didn’t bother ordering any more. Instead he went for the game. The venison steak was bloody raw, five 8 oz strips of loin. He followed this with the turducken. The very idea of one dead bird stuffed inside another, stuffed inside another, stuffed inside him, was enough to make Shawn rock hard. Jake, already full, watched him as he devoured the feast of cruelty that was a whole chicken, inside a whole duck, inside a whole turkey. When this plate was presented to him, he’d taken off his 4XL shirt, in order to give himself more growing space. He placed his left hand on top of his domed belly so that he could feel his straining stomach stretching even further out as his right hand tore into the triple roast of decadence. The debonned birds were easy to eat quickly as Shawn could just grab at the meat with wanton abandon. Every morsel was edible and he relished every last morsel of it. He groaned with delight, as the physical evidence of the demise of the three birds, and all the other meat he had eaten, bloated his mountainous belly out. The pain in his undergut was strong enough to make his dick drip but he wasn’t about to stop now. If he had to be back at camp then he was certainly going to make the most of it. He undid the fly on his shorts in order to create the last bit of growing space and ordered Jake to fetch him ice cream. His fat friend willingly obliged. The whippy ice cream shot out of the pipes with a gaseous noise. Jake filled eight large bowls of it, passing them to Shawn one at a time, while he supplied the others with various sauces and toppings. Shawn didn’t even use a spoon, he just sucked the soft cool melted mixture of fattening sugars, milk, and cream straight down into his aching waiting gut. He was totally ballooned now and a spiking shot of lactose pain flew down the left hand side of his bloated abdomen to join the immense digestive pain in his undergut. Shawn wasn’t lactose intolerant but this had happened to him once before and he knew what it was, he had just eaten too much lactose. Full stop. Anyone who overeats to such a stupendous level would feel the same effects. This thought turned him on. He finished the final bowl and looked at Jake longingly. He had never considered this friend to be particularly attractive, but damn he needed him now.

“Hey Tiger, I could really do with some relief over here” he winked.

Jake didn’t hesitate. He dropped his fat ass to his knees and dived under the table where he proceeded to suck Shawn’s balls so hard that he came before he  could even move onto his dick. Well, this is what Jake thought had happened. In Shawn’s mind he was watching a fat chicken, a fat duck, and a fat turkey, along with a deer and a cow, fight for their lives as they drowned in a sea of melted ice cream inside his belly. Just as the animals, breathed their last and sunk out of sight below the creamy surface they melted away and all of the cream and animal fat drained out of the bottom of his stomach like an emptying tub and layered itself around the outer wall creating a new thick layer of fat that swelled his magnificent belly three feet further out than before. It was at this point that he shot his load straight into his friend’s curly hair. The three counsellors at the other table pretended not to notice.

6.

“I can’t believe that your parents are letting you go to that place.”

“Well, they er don’t really understand what it is,” Simon admitted.

He was sat in the school dining hall talking to his best friend, Mike. It was one week before the end of term and Simon had been spending extra time at lunch everyday since he had booked online with his Dad’s unwitting agreement. Simon was a good looking boy, short at only five feet six, with dark brown hair that swept over his forehead in an ironic emo manner. He had equally dark brown eyes that sunk into his chubby face under the weight of the ironic black shadow that he wore around them. Mike rolled his eyes at him, he couldn’t believe that Simon had been so sucked into the gaining scene that he would trick his parents so. Simon picked up on his friend's look of disapproval and fingered the inside of his ironic dog collar. The collar felt tight around his soft neck and was causing him to sweat. He looked away from Mike as he took another bite of his chilli dog.

“They’re gonna be so fucking pissed at you dude, when they find out.”

“How’ll they find out?”

“Are you joking? They think you’re going to a health and exercise camp. What the fuck do you think they’re gonna say when you come back fatter?”

Simon looked down at his protruding gut that was stretching out his ironic  extra large Greed Day t-shirt. He swallowed hard and wiped his chubby hand over his mouth.

“I don’t care,” was his simple answer. He took another huge bite of his meaty lunch and a big glob of chilli dropped down onto his shelf. He looked down at it and appeared to muse deeply for a few seconds before wiping it up with his fat forefinger and sucking it clean.

“But they’ll care!” Mike protested.

“Maybe I won’t gain that much?” Simon posited.

“Now you’re just lying to yourself dude, you’ve gained 50 lbs already this year! What do you seriously think’s going to happen to you at a camp where they purposefully supply you with unending food?”

Simon’s eyes widened and Mike couldn’t help but wonder why his friend had started to take such delight in weight gain. Was it yet another rebellious phase? Was he doing it to be popular or was it really just irony?

“With any luck I’ll gain a hundred pounds.” He beamed.

“And you don’t think your parents will notice that!?”

“My Dad’s fucking blind, dude!”

“But he ain’t stupid!”

“Ain’t he? He’s the one that’s paid for me to go to gainer camp! If he seriously wants me to lose weight then that’s a pretty fucking stupid thing to do!”

Mike sighed in frustration. He really didn’t understand what Simon saw in this whole gaining thing. Simon finished his chilli dog and announced that he was going back to get some pizza. He pushed his plush buttocks into the back of his chair and it scraped along the floor. As he stood up his round belly bulged out in front of him. He already looked like he’d drank an entire keg of beer. A thick layer of soft young belly fat was clearly visible hanging over his ironic studded leather belt. Ridiculous for a sixteen year old, thought Mike. As Simon waddled back towards the counter carrying his empty tray Mike stared at his fat padded ass that hung out above his sagging jeans, gripped tightly in ironic bright pink boxer shorts. His globular cheeks bounced as he went. What the hell will he look like after eight whole weeks of weight gain camp? He wondered.

Continue reading for free (and check out parts one to three!) at https://www.fatfables.com/

[tigirl-and-co]

nectarine: do you and your F/O live together? If so, what does your living space look like?

key lime: how would you describe your self-ship’s aesthetic?

YOUR shortfic inspired me to turn MY prompts into a shortfic! Thank you so much for the ask <333333

For this one, I'm gonna do Sable! I've been thinking about her a lot recently...

~~~

Their house was most definitely a home.

By anyone's metrics, it was a place of love and joy. There were bookshelves full of books, trinkets, and knicknacks in every room. The furniture was mostly hand-built and well-used. Photos of family, precious memories, and fun posters littered the walls. It was a little cluttered, but not overwhelmingly so.

But most notable were the quilts. Every blanket in the house was made with love.

From the tattered remains of a well-loved quilt sown by Great Grandma Howley to the quilts exchanged on their wedding day, nobody who came to their house would ever go cold.

~

When Dragon told Sable that its family had a tradition of welcoming new members into the family with a handmade quilt, she was ecstatic. She had been planning to propose for a while, but could never find just the right way, or the right moment.

She knew Dragon was tough to tie down, it was always hunting for something new, but as it put down its childhood quilt she knew what she had to do.

Sable gathered her boldness and pushed aside her pride for just one moment.

"So if we joined families, would you sew a quilt for me?"

But one moment was enough.

Dragon took Sable's dainty, calloused paws in its own large shaggy ones and looked down at her, eyes full of hope.

"I would sew you enough quilt so that your paws would never touch bare ground again."

Sable smiled. Always with the dramatics... but she loved it. For once she got to be at the center of attention, to be the protected, the beloved.

"That would take an awfully long time, do you really think you could finish it by our wedding?"

It leaned in and touched noses with its beloved. In their world there was nothing but time, but the wolf knew that it was ready to make that time theirs, well and truly.

"I could certainly get it started..."

~

And on that day, they exchanged fabric and rings through tears of joy.

Sable handed her one and only a variation on a log cabin quilt, sown up in the muted shades of the genderqueer flag and a border of brown, to remind Dragon that she'd always be there for it. The needlework had been done in pawprints of two sizes, always touching.

And in turn, Dragon shakily gave its darling dear a simple rail fence quilt, done in the pink hues of Sable's apron. The 'floor' of each row was done in alternating bold black and soft, sweet brown, a statement that they'd always look for each other. The needlework wasn't as quality as Sable's, but the hearts at the end of each row were enough to prove the contents of Dragon's own heart.

They both spoke the language of labors of love, and looking at each others handiwork, they heard one thing loud and clear:

"This is built to last."

[lokiondisneyplus]

After the climactic release of the historically successful Avengers: Endgame – the 22nd film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the penultimate release in their “Infinity Saga”, the culmination of 11 years of brand-building, the second-highest-grossing film of all time – Marvel decided what the world really needed was more Marvel.

Armed with classic Hollywood hubris – the misguided conviction that the public would never tire of what they were selling – Marvel Studios rolled television production into their main business model, with “Phase Four” delivering more television shows than movies. The effect was a flooding of the market and a dilution of the brand, not to mention the release of the worst MCU movie, Eternals.

Forcing narrative crossovers between television shows and movies had the adverse effect of turning the former into homework and the latter into ads for the former. This practice was an act of artistic self-sabotage, ruining what could’ve been Marvel’s most sublime film, Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, by burdening it with a host of tonally-off, studio-obligated B-stories crowbarred in to promote upcoming television titles.

After a run of disappointing films that weighed down once-fun franchises with po-faced gravity – Spider-Man: No Way Home, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 – and a slew of ordinary television shows – The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Moon Knight, She-Hulk: Attorney at Law, Secret Invasion – we’ve officially reached a state of Marvel fatigue, with questions looming around the state of the superhero industrial complex.

It’s in this cultural moment that Loki, the acclaimed solo show for the titular character, arrives for a second season. It doesn’t just have to live up to an inspired first season but also has to push back on all the bad vibes, a difficult task given the heavy presence of Jonathan Majors, the breakout star who was arrested in March on domestic violence charges.The great charm of this season is that it cultivates the feeling that it could head anywhere and be anything. Loki doesn’t just explore free will as a theme, it actually feels as if it artistically possesses it.

The good news is that, whether or not it can be spun as state-of-Marvel narrative correction, season two is a worthy successor. Blessed by the fact its titular character, Tom Hiddleston’s charismatic God of Mischief, remains a slippery figure, Loki is allowed to move forward with no clear lines drawn between good and bad, protagonist and antagonist, hero and villain. Characters hold convictions until they don’t, make choices that will have ramifications, agitate for themselves, then for the greater good, and try to navigate a world whose rules shift beneath their feet.

It’s largely set, once again, in the Time Variance Authority, a comic bureaucratic labyrinth charged with policing multiversal time lines. Offering obvious symbolism at a time when Marvel is struggling to retain coherence in the midst of its “Multiverse Saga”, the TVA prizes the one true “Sacred Timeline”, pruning infinite possibilities back for the sake of cosmic narrative purity.

The TVA is an inspired retrofuturist space steeped in Eastern Bloc mid-century design and early Terry Gilliam films, satirising the pernickety dictums of workplaces and government offices – “limit your lunch break to 17 minutes!” proclaims one poster. From its dated tech – ’70s-style computer monitors, reel-to-reel tape machines, chrome hi-fis – to its curved surfaces, coloured floor tiles and lurid-emerald key lime pie, it’s a rare work of inspired production design by a studio otherwise synonymous with green-screening its way to rush-job eyesores built by an army of non-unionised offshore digital effects artists.

Everything in the TVA looks shabby and neglected, evoking its place as an office lost to time. The plot machinations of season one found an Avengers-adjacent Loki commandeered by the authority – Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), upper-management Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) and others – to pursue a variant of himself, Sylvie (Sophia Di Martino), through time and space.

It ended with an explosion of multiversal time lines and revelations about the true history of the TVA: its top-down system of authority a matrix of illusion, its mind-wiped employees existing in a state of suspended limbo, its time line-culling operation seeming a lot like a morally questionable act of mass slaughter.

In the fallout from that climax, season two finds characters questioning whether the TVA is an entity worth preserving or destroying, not to mention the meaning of their own existence and the ramifications of choice. It’s a study of free will and moral responsibility, housed in 45-minute episodes of action-oriented television. Its chief writer, Eric Martin, both lionises liberty and weighs up its gravity, while happily dealing in the all-American fear of governmental oversight.

The collapse of the TVA’s artificial reality – “everything you’ve been doing is wrong and all your gods are dead”, Mobius deadpans in classic Wilson fashion – leads characters to their own convictions. Mobius seeks peaceful resolution. Renslayer seeks to preserve her power and the authority’s agency (“all that matters is order versus chaos”). The once-bellicose B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) has a moral reawakening. The dogged Dox (Kate Dickie) is more committed than ever to the cause. The weaselly X-5 (Rafael Casal) wants to explore his new-found independence and maybe become a movie star. The oddball tech guy with the on-the-nose name, Ouroboros (Ke Huy Quan), is there to both provide comic relief and to save the day from a temporal calamity that may destroy all worlds, or something to that effect.

Loki’s playful riffing on time means every benign use of the word pops – “it’ll take some time”, “remember that time”, “take your time”, “time to go” – and its first four episodes dance along the Earth’s time line at various points of history – 1868, 1893, 1977, 1982 – with plentiful hijinks, dabbling in genre tropes, meta use of Loki’s skills of illusion and misdirection, and creepy fast-food-franchise sponsored content.

Looming over all is the presence of the big bad of Marvel’s Phase Five, Kang the Conqueror, played still, to this point, by Majors. He’s seen here in two variants: a squirrelly 19th-century nutty professor named Victor Timely and the all-powerful end-of-time figure met at the end of last season, He Who Remains. These twin characters are connected but separate enough that they symbolise the series’ focus on free will. One may be fated to become the other, but does that mean that he – and the future – can’t change?

The great charm of this season is that it cultivates the feeling that it could head anywhere and be anything. Loki doesn’t just explore free will as a theme, it actually feels as if it artistically possesses it. While it may not be enough to combat the waning influence of comic-book screen output, this season does feel like a disarming counterpoint to recent Marvel Studios product. Rather than feeling conscripted or forced, a puzzle piece that exists solely to build a bridge between branded content, Loki remains its own thing: a nimble exploration of big themes in a colourful, comic, oddball package.

This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on October 21, 2023 as "Changing times".

[petrichorium]

hiiii pluvi, nyla here! for your one piece and hq selfships: 💞, 📝, 🌦️ aaaaand 💌! thanks in advance! i'll have fun answering your asks too uwu

📝: How would your story in canon go? How would you influence the events of the original story?

Shanks — as of rn i dont influence the story tbh...... we'll have to re-address this in a decade when we get more red-haired pirates and after shanks dies KJHSDFJKHB but for now im just kinda lingering whenever theres rhp moments. my first appearance is the luffy wanted poster scene and i make a lil comment to mihawk (smthn like "always lovely to see you hawk-eyes" yk ambiguous enough), then im in the bg during the bit where rockstar calls shanks, im missing during marineford and then i show up during whitebeard/ace's funeral and im consistently w the red-haired pirates from then on. during the wano bit i finally get another line agreeing w lime juice after he mentions barto, then a passing goodbye to marco. im shown towards the side of the bar scene in elbaf reading a book and then im in the big wide-shot as theyre approaching the red force; the one "big" change is that im the one who hands the info on kidd off to shanks (bc that is Technically my official job as communications officer) and hongo and i have a tiny exchange. oda also talks abt me a bit in an sbs, he says im the only officer who hasnt met luffy and mentions im from a new world island, n says i joined the crew five yrs prior to the present

Kuroo — another one where i have minimal impact on the canon LOL but he and i r coworkers to lovers soooooo i only show up at the very end!!! i think im a recurring character in the final timeskip match chapters, i appear four or five times w the final time being w kuroo's appearance and described as his colleague. maybe later on theres an extra sketch of us grabbing a drink in our work uniforms and it sparks hella shippers

💞: Aside from with your f/o, who else would you commonly be shipped with? Why?

Shanks — i think any of the other red-haired officers is common but lime juice is the go-to for me simply bc of that one interaction in wano LMFAOOOOOOOO and then hongo later on for the elbaf interaction pfft. beckman is also a regular name in a "pair the spares" sense but icl i dont think hes ever spoken to me in canon (simply bc i do not have much screentime) & mihawk is also Somewhat up there again be of my one line. OH AND MARCO..... i think when he leaves the ship after wano he passes me and does an ambiguous hug/hand to the arm thing that has ppl like wtf was that 🫣

Kuroo — i think kenma bc im shown in the bg of a few of his shots!!! and i think theres a panel or two of me interacting w ushijima so theres a few instances of that...... theres like one super dedicated crackshipper of me and iwa LOL

🌦️: Would you be accompanied by mostly fluff or angst fanfics? Both? Explain why.

Shanks — ohhhh a mix.... i think whenever im involved its either relatively low-key fluff or a super in-depth character deep-dive. im often used as a catalyst for mishanks or shuggy or any manner of other m/m ships tho which means ig its angst for shuvi 😔

Kuroo — def fluff, but also a bit of angst. in a similar light a lot of fics im in have me being a catalyst specifically for kuroken, and there r probs just as many poly fics as there are of just me n kuroo, but by n large the Actual shipfics are cutesy work romance vibes

💌: How would your dynamic be portrayed? What might people focus on most? Any misconceptions?

Shanks — honestly the dynamic is varying bc theres just not much content of me or us interacting as of yet, just the tiniest bit of banter and then a very professional back n forth. shanks tends to be portrayed as Down Bad in ships so i think that is accurate, but i do think people generally overemphasize the captain/subordinate thing and a lot of the nuance wrt the nature of my joining the crew is not considered fully until my full backstory is discussed

Kuroo — sjhdfusbfv fuckboy kuroo my beloathed....... but i feel its not That bad. idk our dynamic is soooo Normal obvi its a v subtle ship/only vaguely hinted at so the specifics of our strangers-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn is not known,,,,,, i think generally the dynamic is far faster and not drawn out in fanon. people focus more on the working together, boss/secretary vibe (when i rlly quit my job right as we get together rip) and write us as having a very nuclear family i think.

send in some selfship questions!

[scifrey]

Carpe Diem

Status: One-Shot

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Lucifer, Patrick the Bartender, Crowley, Aziraphale, Johanna Constantine, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Hob turns six hundred and sixty-six, invites some fellow Immortals to his bar to celebrate, and receives a gift from Satan herself. Or, the Key to Hell was always going to Be a Problem(tm).

Set between the epilogue and chapter one of Cling Fast.

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Hob tells Patrick he’s turning thirty-six. 

About five minutes before the party is set to start, he takes immature delight in adding a tiny little x2 between the 3 and the 6 on the poster wishing him a happy birthday with a sharpie. Normally Hob doesn’t make much of a fuss about his birthday–it’s too easy for his fellow, aging humans to start tracking them that way–but it’s May 1st in the Year of Our Lord 2022, and Hob Gadling is turning six hundred and sixty-six years old.

He figures that deserves a party.

They close The New Inn for the private event, and Patrick, grumpy bastard that he is, refuses to hire in a catering staff so he can enjoy himself, too. 

“It’s your birthday, Bob,” he says, as Hob is tying off the last of the bunting above the banquettes. “I’m not having a stranger back here screwing up your orders.”

“We do need to hire a server before the summer, though,” Hob points out, jumping down and wiping the tread-prints from his shoes off the leather seat. “And a new kid for the kitchen.”

“Well it’s not happening any time today, so just… let me celebrate you from my happy place.”

“Fine, fine,” Hob grants with a smile. Patrick is very, very good at his job. He also has an anxious fear of crowds, when there isn’t wood and fridges and pint-glass washers between him and other people. “But tell me you’ll try to relax a bit, please. It’s my party, and I want you to have fun.”

Patrick gifts him with a set of bowfingers and turns his back to resume prep. Hob wonders what the Signature Cocktail du Jour is going to be, with that many sliced limes, peaches, and strawberries.

Hob is generally very pleased with himself and the world. He’s in a university and profession he loves, he’s inspiring young minds and hearts towards kindness and generosity to their fellow humans, he’s very slowly restoring the White Horse one city council fight at a time, he is master of The New Inn and it’s domain, and he is swiftly becoming best friends with a magical talking raven. 

And, of course, in the nine months since Morpheus has broken free of his prison and returned to Hob’s life, he has become a fixture of his Tuesday afternoons and no small part of his attention and affection besides. That's something worth celebrating, too. Hob's Stranger has somehow, wonderfully, become his friend. And he’s agreed to come today, which is even better. Hob has been getting better at couching his requests in dares, and highlighting his pleas with sad puppy eyes. The two things Morpheus, humanity’s facet of Dream of the Endless, seems to be weak against are a bet, and Hob showing any unhappiness or disappointment.

These facts are carefully recorded in his mental List of Things I Know About The Stranger. The list is growing longer, slowly but surely, which is thrilling in itself. Hob is starting to feel like he knows Morpheus, for a given value of ‘knowing’ when it comes to interacting with a singular facet of anthropomorphic personifications of vast universal concepts.

He’s also not above using this knowledge to his advantage, although he’s careful to deploy this hoarded wisdom to his own advantage very, very sparingly. No point in tipping his hand this early in their fragile friendship.

Hob is immortal, he’s happy, he loves his life and the people in it, and it’s his birthday. 

What isn’t there to celebrate?

The first guests arrive around happy hour, and clump together on one of the banquettes. They’re his colleagues in the History department, with the addition of a PhD hopeful who’s clearly tagged along in order to get into Doctor Gadlen’s good graces before the mad race for a thesis supervisor begins in the summer. Patrick knows some of them, as Hob’s dragged them here from the university often enough, and is happy to take care of them while Hob fiddles with the music. 

He's curated a playlist of his favorite songs from the last six and a half hundred years (the ones he could find recordings of, of course), and damn anyone who complains that the mix is weird.

Hob’s offering up beer and wine on the house, as well as soft drinks for those who prefer it, and platters of nibbles. Word must get back to the school because soon a second wave of professors and TAs slide through the door. The maxim is entirely true: academics are cockroaches and will pop up anywhere free food and booze are on offer. Hob’s happy to welcome them in, even if he only knows a few of them on sight, and even less by name.

A party is a party, and it fills him with joy to know they’ll be going home full and happy. Hob is High Priest of the Last Temple of Morpheus. It’s his duty to ensure everyone who comes through the doors of The New Inn leave in a state of mind and body to rest peacefully and fully.

Hob’s colleagues are joined soon enough by some of the bar regulars, folks from the social charities and organizations that Hob works with to keep the people on his little patch of city well-cared for and housed, and a few people who serve on the same Heritage Protections board as he’s a member of on behalf of the White Horse.

But there’s one particular person he keeps craning his head around to see, every time the little bell above the door jangles. The one particular person who has not yet arrived. Hob distracts himself with gracefully accepting presents he very specifically told people not to bring, offering up cheek-kisses and handshakes in return for the collection of cards, wine bottles, and novelty teacher mugs.

The sun sets, bringing along with it Johanna Constantine, and Ric the Vic, both of whom Hob knows peripherally through the Goings On (™) of London. They offer him their congratulations, and slide into one of the tables in the corner to enjoy their free libations and pretend strenuously that they’re not not planning to leave to fuck in the next few hours.

Hob had spread word through what passes for a grapevine in the sparse community of Otherfolk of the city that they, too, would be welcome at Hob’s birthday party. After all, they’re the only ones who’d understand–and enjoy the irony–of the number. He doesn’t actually expect many of them to take him up on it, but manners are manners.

All the same, he’s fairly sure he sees some of the Doors slipping in and out between his supply cupboard and the bar with a platter of pigs-in-a-blanket, and Bod Owens chatting up the PhD hopeful by the loos. The Marquis de Carabas’s coat catches his eye and Hob turns to welcome him, only to come face-to face with a very different imposing nobleman in a long distinctive coat.

“Happy Birthday , Hob Gadling ,” Morpheus greets him. He’s got the world’s tiniest potted cactus cradled in his palm, and he holds it out awkwardly to Hob. The tips of his ears, mostly hidden by the puff of his dark hair, are delicately pink. They’re the same shade of the seductive-slick curve of a conch shell, of the secret inside curve of his lips when he pouts, the tip of his tongue when he chases a stray drop of wine in a startlingly mortal gesture.

It’s adorable.

It’s not fair .

Hob really needs to get this stupid crush under control.

“Aw, is this for me?” Hob asks, delighted, as if the cactus pot wasn’t already embraced by a silky red bow.

Morpheus just raises his eyebrows, as if to say, Are you daft? so Hob takes it. He wonders if it would be too forward of him to buss a kiss off Morpehus’ cheek in thanks, as he has been doing with all of his other gift-givers this evening. 

It’s a step more intimate than the hand-holding they do when one or the other of them needs comfort during a difficult confession. But Morpheus is Hob’s friend now, and it’s how he greets his other friends. Morpheus deserves no less. He decides to go for it.

The King of Nightmares takes the kiss with startled good grace, and Hob pulls back quickly so he’s not imposing on Morpheus’ personal bubble. His friend can get prickly when he feels his sovereignty threatened, or his independence violated, for very understandable and obvious reasons.

He fiddles with the cactus, turning the pot around in his fingertips and admiring the single dusty-purple bloom at its apex. He hopes it’ll get enough sunlight in here.

“Where’s Matthew?” Hob asks, to fill the awkward silence.

“Behaving extremely poorly for a denizen of his station. ”

“Come again?”

“ Out front, entertaining some of your regulars by repeating filthy words for peanuts,” Morpheus says, amusement and disdain warring in his tone. Morpheus is forever despairing over Matthew’s constant desire to be in the spotlight. 

Hob laughs, delighted, and chivvies Morpheus over to the bar for a glass of his teeth-suckingly sweet wine. He directs his friend around to the empty place where the bar meets the wall beside the tiny area cleared of tables and chairs for dancing. No one has moved to that side of the pub yet, so it's empty of the press of dreamers that Morpheus sometimes finds overwhelming. 

Hob slips behind the bar to pour Morpheus's libation himself, ignoring Patrick’s eye roll. He doesn’t understand why Hob wants to be the only one to touch the wine. Sure it’s expensive, but it’s not like Patrick is going to pour it wrong or something.

But for Hob, it’s a ritual. It’s a gift.

It’s an offering to his friend and god.

It means something that Hob is the one who pours, who presents, who proffers.

Morpheus takes the cup with all the dignified grace that the gesture demands, and backs into the shadows to enjoy it in peace. Hob moves the cactus to pride of place on top of the coffee machine, and goes about fetching himself his own first drink of the evening. Now that Morpheus is here, he can finally relax and indulge.

“Don’t get any ideas above your station,” someone hisses at the little plant, and Hob peers around the machine to find The Bentley Snake hunched forward on his elbows, propped up behind the hidden corner of the bar, whiskey in hand. His dark red hair is shorn short on the sides this time, a long standy-uppy flop at the top, and he’s wearing the latest in a long line of painfully slim-cut black suits. 

Sometimes Hob wonders if he’s doing Immortality wrong, being the only one of the lot who seems to like wearing more than black or white.

“Please don’t threaten my new plant friend,” Hob asks him.

“Needs ssssssome threatening,” the Snake says, sunglasses trained on the cactus. “Thinks its high n’ mighty just cause it sprouted in the Dreaming.”

Hob processes this as he pulls a pint for himself. “You know about the Dreaming?”

“Sleep, don’t I?” the Snake mutters.

Hob refills the Snake’s whiskey glass, and clinks his pint off the Snake’s tumbler. “I don’t like to assume.”

“Oi, I sleep, don’t I, Lord Shaper?” the Snake says, with a jerk of his chin at where the bar meets the wall. 

Morpheus is little more than a black shadow and starshine eyes. He must be feeling a bit crowded, to have retreated so thoroughly. Hob doesn’t blame him–it’s starting to get stuffy, what with all the bodies and the salt-rank whiff of booze and sweat. The music is a touch loud now that there's so many voices competing to be heard over it, and Hob is thinking that now’s a good time to open the windows, let the pre-storm breeze that’s kicking up wash the place fresh.

Though he doesn’t point it out to the man, Hob’s Stranger has been different since his return. 

While before he was reserved and formal, now he’s skittish about touch, always buttoned up to the throat in whatever clothing he manifests for himself, and reluctant to allow himself to be crowded or contained. They're working on it, with long walks along the quay or visits to farmer's markets, but overcoming trauma is never a fast process. Even the occasional therapeutic hand-holding Hob imposes on him has to be well telegraphed, or Morpheus will shake him off without realizing he’s done so.

These are all very understandable and normal reactions to the torture he’d suffered at the hands of Burgess. But while Hob has done his best to comfort and guide Morpheus toward healing in his limited, mortal way, it’s not like he can he can force the God of Sleep to make an appointment with a headshrinker.

Hob flashes a glance over at Colonel Williams, by the front door, who is one of the social support folks Hob knows from helping the unhoused get back on their feet. She specializes in suppressed trauma and PTSD, and Hob wonders if there’s a way he could maneuver Morpheus into an ‘accidental’ conversation with the woman sometime tonight.

“ So deeply that I cannot oust you from my realm for decades at a time, Serpent, ” Morpheus rumbles, and right, Hob’s forgotten that he’s supposed to be mediating between two otherworldly entities. Morpheus turns his gaze to Hob. “What is he doing here?” 

Morpheus sounds two thirds curious and one third jealous.

He doesn’t mean it like that , Hob tells himself. It may be my birthday–well, the date I chose to be my birthday–but I’m not going to get that lucky.

An odd tension frazzles the air, and the Snake rolls his impossible spine backwards a bit, not retreating, exactly. Just not standing so close to Hob.

Huh.

Who knew that Morpheus would be so territorial with his head priest?

Hob laughs, trying disperse the feeling that if he’s not careful, he may inadvertently start a supernatural brawl. “Come on, my friend. You think after six and a half centuries, you’re the only creepy-crawly I know?”

“I am not a creepy-crawly, Hob Gadling,” Morpheus rumbles, with all the theatrical offense of a maiden-aunt. “But I did not think you would consort with the likes of him . Not with your upbringing as it was–”

The Snake bristles. “Hey! I was invited!”

Morpheus steps out of the shadows just enough for his face and hands–and empty wine glass–to be visible in the dim pub lighting. Night has well and truly fallen outside. He sets the glass on the bar top with a challenging tink .

“ Invited ,” Morpheus repeats flatly.

“I just let it be known among the Othered set that they were welcome to drop by,” Hob hisses, low enough that Patrick won’t be able to catch it over the conversation and music around them.

“It’s a special number, you know. I felt like it should be celebrated with everyone , especially those who really know what it means.”

Morpheus inhales sharply and turns narrowed, laser-focused, glacier-blue eyes to Hob’s face. “ How did you phrase this invitation? ” he asks with no little urgency.

Hob blinks. 

“Uh, something something freely welcome to partake of my hospitality, all those who know the number something something?” Hob says, nerves flooding him. He tugs on his ear. “Did I… um… say something I shouldn’t have?”

“ All those who know the number ,” Morpheus groans. “The number of the beast.”

"Six-one-six," the Snake says.

"Six- six- six," Hob corrects, "According to modern translations. Which is also the number of years I've… oh. No. No, it's my birthday ,” Hob says, sweat beading by his hairline and trickling down the back of his shirt. “That’s… that’s what I meant.”

“But that it is not what you said .”

The Snake straightens up all at once, eyes popping wide behind his glasses if the sudden height of his eyebrows are anything to go by. He slams back the rest of his whiskey and chokes: “That’s me out, then. Many happy returns, you poor doomed bastard. If you ever get any.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Hob says, and chugs half his beer.

The Snake wends his way to the front door and is gone in a gust of chill spring breeze, and the sound of the rain just starting up outside. Hob hopes Matthew has found a good roost under one of the table umbrellas. One of these days, he's going to make good on his threat to get the raven a Service Animal vest, just so he can come inside in weather like this.

Morpheus fully manifests, posture tense, nostrils flaring. He scans the crowd. For who, Hob can guess, but he doesn’t like to think on it.

Morpheus has, after all, told him all about his trip to Hell.

And then the lights flicker.

Hob is… well, he’s almost disappointed by how dramatic the Devil’s entrance is. 

In the last six hundred years, he’s come to learn that people like him tend to lay low and not bring attention to themselves. Even Morpheus, with his fine clothes and fist-sized ruby, behaved as a mortal might at their meetings–walking into the White Horse, sitting down, no excess displays of power or even wealth, really, save for the handful of dreamsand he’d blown in Lady Constantine’s face.

But Hob has to give the Devil their due. When they play, they don’t play small.

The storm that’s been brewing since sunset suddenly, and violently breaks. Rain cascades against the roof like the rush of an oncoming train. A clap of thunder loud enough to rattle the martini glasses in their hangers above the bar shakes the room, making more than one person yelp. The crack of lightning that follows flares like an atom bomb, white light blasting in through the windowpanes, casting everyone in harsh, dramatic black-and-white chiaroscuro.

Ears ringing and eyes sparking, Hob sets down his beer and scrubs at his face.

(Okay, so he’s also a little disappointed there’s no fiddle sting to accompany their appearance. But then again, the New Inn is hardly Georgia.)

When his vision has cleared, Hob whirls around to check on his friends and colleagues. There’s probably something dangerous about turning your back to Satan, but he’s got the King of Nightmares guarding it. He’s more worried for the humans than the two celestial entities that are, if he knows his friend, puffing up and posturing. Hob skims out from behind the bar, heading for Patrick, who has stopped a few steps away from the service gap. 

And he's… he's just standing there.

Fear seizes Hob’s throat, and for a terrible second, he worries that the light really was an atom bomb, that everyone he’s ever known and loved in this life are nothing more than people-shaped pillars of ash, and it’s his fault. He invited them here, and then he invited the literal Devil as well, and now they're—

But no, when he reaches Patrick, his friend is alive. He breathes, he blinks, his flesh is soft and warm. But he’s frozen. Hob looks around and… yes, the humans in the room–well, the mortal ones, at least–have simply stopped moving.

“Are they…?” Hob crackles.

“ They will be fine,” Morpheus assures him. His hair is sticking straight out, like a furious cat, and he’s starting to lose coherence around the edges. His coat swirls off into shadow like heavy ink in water, his eyes are as fathomless as deep space, and his fingers elongate into razor-sharp and obsidian-tipped claws. “Time has stopped for them. When it resumes, it will be as if the lost moments never happened. ”

Not all of them, Hob thinks, seeing Johanna’s eyes darting around the room with terrified fury. He decides not to point it out, though, in case the Lightbringer decides to do something permanent and terrible about it. He just gives her a long look, and tries to put as much reassurance in his expression as he can. I’ll get us out of here safely, don’t you worry.

Johanna blinks back once, slow and squinty like a cat. Message received.

A quick glance also confirms that the rest of the Otherworld denizens have made themselves as sparse as the Snake. He doesn't blame them.

Then, finally, when he’s assured himself that everyone under his roof and thus in his care is as safe as they can be, with the literal Ruler of Hell sharing that selfsame roof, he skirts around the bar to join Morpheus on the empty dance floor. Only then does he allow all of his attention to settle on his new visitor.

They are… tall . ‘Grand’ is the adjective that comes to mind first, followed by ‘statuesque’ and ‘ literally awe-inspiring’.

That’s an angel , Hob things. Or at least, they used to be. Of course they’re so… present. So overwhelming.

It’s like having all of his senses buffeted all at once–all he can smell is the acrid tang of sulfur, all he can hear is a high-pitched screech, all he can see is an overwhelming brightness that might actually be an overwhelming darkness, and his skin feels like it’s covered with biting fire ants. He gasps, reaching out clumsily behind him to clutch at the bar, the crush of the gravitas emanating from the corner stealing the breath from his lungs.

One of Morpheus’ fingers stretches out, impossible and eerie. It taps Hob gently on the forehead, right where his third eye would be, if he was that kind of spiritual. The drowning rush of screaming discomfort snaps off, like a faucet cranked shut. Air rushes back into the room. 

“Be not afraid,” my hairy arse , Hob thinks, as he coughs and scrubs his eyes again. It’s a wonder the blessed virgin didn’t shriek her head off and go running off into the night.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he reassures Morpheus, as his friend shuffles a step closer, hand resting protectively on Hob’s shoulder.

It takes him a few seconds to actually see what he’s seeing. Satan themself is presenting as a white woman, with fair, severely arranged golden curls that resemble nothing so much as a crown of thorns across their forehead. What Hob took for giant bat wings is actually a luxuriously patterned black pashmina, draped artfully over across one shoulder, over a rich white tea-length dress.

For being the ruler of Hell, Hob has to admit that they actually look… well, glamorous . 

“Hello, Robert Gadling,” Lucifer Morningstar purrs from the empty stage in the corner of the pub. It’s little more than a triangular riser jammed against the wall, just big enough for a tall stool, a mic stand, and some folksy performer on Sunday afternoons. But it gives them an even greater height from which to look down their nose at him, so of course that’s where they manifested. “I am ever so grateful to be included.”

“Er, yeah,” Hob says, pushing himself upright and wiping his clammy hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Welcome, then.”

“ Hob ,” Morpheus says, scandalized. Shadows writhe anxiously in a puddle by his feet, the Nightmare side of Dream closer to the surface in his worry. 

“What?” Hob says. “Doesn’t hurt anyone to be polite.”  Hob steps forward and holds out his now-dry hand for the Devil to shake.

“Certainly not,” Lucifer agrees, and takes his hands between theirs. They pull him forward a few more steps, pressing his fingers between their palms as if they could taste his sins on his skin, and peers down at him with intelligent eyes the same color of the storm clouds outside. “And it’s been ever so long since I’ve been to a party .”

Hob cranes his head back to look up at them. They’re just a handspan away now, only their entwined arms between them keeping them parted, and for an absurd moment, he thinks that Lucifer is going to kiss him. Morpheus must think so too, because he lets loose a ripping growl, warning and threat in the sound to rival the thunderstorm outside.

Lucifer laughs and lets Hob go. They take a dainty step down from the stage, and sashay their way toward the bar on totteringly-high bleach-white pumps.

“I, uh, I‘ve got wine and beer,” Hob says, spinning around and scrambling to catch up with them. “Or anything harder. Or softer. Whatever you like, really. What can I pour for you?”

“Red wine, naturally,” the Devil purrs.

They stop at the bar just an arm's length from Morpheus, a clear challenge. They lean elegantly on one elbow against the padded edge, eyeing him up like they’d either like to eat him alive or gouge his eyes out. Possibly both. Hob slips between them like a fleshy immortal shield. Maybe it won’t actually keep them from lashing out at each other but, meh, he can’t die if they do.

He reaches over the bar, grabs one of the open bottles of Syrah, a glass from the rack above their heads, and pours a generous measure. He holds it out genteely to the Devil, and they accept it with good grace.

Hob then immediately refills Morpheus’ abandoned glass with his Vinsanto, and tops up his own with an awkward backwards reach for the amber tap. 

“So… are you gonna release them?” Hob asks, once Lucifer has raised their glass for a clink, and he’s very cautiously obliged. It feels like bad luck to drink from it right away, though, so he turns to offer the same toast to Morpheus, who stares hard at Hob as they clink glasses, as if he’s drilling a blessing into Hob’s skull.

“No, I think not,” Lucifer says, taking their first sip, and offering Hob an appreciative eyebrow bounce at the taste. “No need to cause a panic. But don’t worry; I shan’t stay for long. I only wanted to pop in and wish my new friend many happy returns.”

“Is that what we are?” Hob asks, with a huge gulp of beer. “Friends?”

“Of course!” Lucifer says, their eyes narrowing a little, shoulders tensing up, lips slimming tightly and… “We are friends, aren’t we Robert Gadling? Why else would you have extended your invitation to all who know the true number of your years?”

Which is… a bit of an odd thing for the Lightbringer to be worried about, honestly.

Hob looks again. There’s nerves there. There’s concern. Why would…

Oh . Hob thinks. They’re lonely, too.

Hob risks a glance back at Morpheus, who is clutching the stem of his wineglass tight enough that it’s creaking. His eyes are leaking purple-black starstuff around the perimeters, which whisps away like the leading edge of a fast-moving cloud. Otherwise, he's perfectly still, posture ramrod straight.

“Yes,” Hob answers, turning back to Lucifer. “Yes, we are friends. Why not? I’ve no quarrel with you, unless you’re here to drag me to Hell?”

Whatever it was the Devil was expecting Hob to say, it wasn’t that. They look first genuinely surprised, then flattered, then secretly pleased, then distraught in such quick succession that Hob barely has time to pass each expression as they pass over their face.

“Of course not!” Lucifer says, so quickly and so completely surprised that it comes out in a rush. They sound genuinely hurt at his assumption. “My kingdom only contains those human souls who believe they should be there. They send themselves to Hell. Please. I have better manners than to drag anyone against their belief and will.” They narrow their eyes at Hob and take another sip of wine, struggling to regain their teasing nonchalance. “Why, have you done something worthy of punishment?”

Many things, Hob thinks. Terrible things. Things I just hope one day I live long enough to be able to atone for. 

“Ah, well, this isn’t about my death,” Hob hedges. “Which I am still not interested in, thank you very much. This is a celebration of my life!”

“It is indeed. Happy six hundred and sixty-sixth birthday, Robert,” Lucifer says, and they clink glasses once more. 

“Hob,” he offers up. “My friends in the know call me Hob.”

“ Hob, ” Morpheus hisses again. “ You are being unwise. ”

“I’m being personable ,” Hob corrects, but takes a tiny step back, closer into Morpheus’s orbit, to appease him. One of the swirling black shadows wraps around Hob’s ankle.

“Dream Lord!” Lucifer greets him, sounding as if they have just noticed him behind Hob for the first time. “What a delight to see you again so soon.”

“Lightbringer, ” Morpheus growls in return. 

“And how do you know our dear little birthday boy?”

Morpheus lets out another grumbling snarl, all without changing the placidly haughty expression on his face.

“Robert Gadling is my head priest, as well you know, ” Morpheus intones, voice as deep and dangerous as the fathomless darkness at the bottom of an ocean. “ You stand in my temple uninvited. ”

“Just as you bullied your way into Hell?” Lucifer asks silkily. They sip their wine showily. “Besides, I was invited, wasn’t I?”

Both pairs of eyes fall on Hob, their weight like a physical blow, and he buys himself some time by taking a long drink of his beer. Which, of course, goes down the wrong pipe, and leaves him coughing like a complete tit in front of two of the greatest powers in the universe.

Oh yeah, that’s me. Hob “embarrassingly human” Gadling.

Morpheus sets down his wine and hastily lays a hand on Hob’s curved back. It’s probably meant to be as possessive as it is calming, but at this point, Hob doesn’t mind. It feels good to have the comfort of his friend’s proximity. And the very visible gesture of his claiming and protection.

“I see I am in danger of wearing out my welcome,” Lucifer sighs, as if put upon. They finish their wine in a serpent-like gulp, opening their jaws wider than the mouth of their human-shape ought to allow, and set the glass aside. 

“Quite.”

"In which case, allow me to present me with your gift unto you now, Robert Gadling of Essex," Lucifer says.

With a flourish, they're suddenly cupping something spindly and large in both their palms. It is the ivory of old bone, gnarled and pitted, and looks nothing so much as a big, eldritch key. There’s a circle at the top, crowned with four spikes, and the teeth on the shaft look as if they may be made of actual fangs.

And, of course, much like Morpheus’ cactus, it is topped with a whimsical, cheery red bow.

Morpheus lets out a horrified gasp.

“I had intended on bestowing this differently,” Lucifer drawls, eyeing Morpheus meaningfully. “But as it is in poor form to attend a birthday party with no gift for the celebrant.”

She turns the full weight of her gravitationally heavy gaze on Hob.

“Er… thank you?” Hob asks.

“You will not, soon enough.”

Yeah, okay, that sounds like a trap , Hob thinks. But with no clue how or even why he might refuse the gift from a literal fallen angel, and what the eternal ramifications of that action might be he does, Hob reaches out to take the key.

“ Do not accept! ” Morpheus all but wails. “ If you become ruler of Hell, you will never again cross the threshold into my realm.”

That’s saying a little more than I think Morpheus means to , Hob thinks, fingers frozen in the air, hovering above the ribbon. It sounds less like “you’ll be barred from my realm” and more “I’ll never see you again.”

“Is that true?” Hob asks. "This will make me ruler of Hell ?"

Lucifer smirks triumphantly.  “I have already emptied Hell of all its demons. The gates are shut. Even now, the fires ash and grow cold. I have renounced my crown. A new King is required. They who next touch this Key will become that King.”

Hob shudders, short hair springing up, skin crawling with horror. Demons. Loose on Earth. Loose everywhere . And unable to be commanded to return to Hell by exorcism or spell, for the gates would be barred to them.

He cuts a look to Johanna, who is clearly following all of this. There are tears running down her cheeks. Sweat breaks out on Hob's brow, heart pounding hard behind his ribs, dread creeping down his spine. He hasn't felt this sunk with terror since he first came face-to-face with a machine gun in a muddy trench.

He's being given a choice.

It's not much of a choice.

Hob licks his lips, hoping his voice is steadier than his trembling, hovering hands.  “What happens if I don’t accept your gift?” he crackles, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I will think that you have very poor manners indeed,” Lucifer pouts. 

Hob's breath shudders out of him, leaving his skin cold and nerves on high alert. “That’s all?”

"Of course, I will then have to bestow the Key upon the next most worthy candidate,” Lucifer says, eyes slinking up to Morpheus over Hob’s shoulder like toxic honey and, ah, there it is.

There’s the trap.

If Hob accepts the Key, he will become King of Hell, and never see Morpheus again. But he could command the armies of the damned back into their pits, and possibly, like he has in his little kingdom here on Earth, find new and better ways to help those there punishing themselves.

But if Morpheus accepts the Key, then Dream of the Endless will become King of Hell, plunging every sentient being in existence into unspeakable horror every time they fall asleep.

Which makes Hob’s choice a very, very simple one.

Before Morpheus can stop him, Hob plucks the key out of Lucifer’s hand. 

" Hob !" Morpheus wails.

He reels back, as if all the places he was touching Hob suddenly burn him. The floor shudders beneath their feet, the foundations rumbling without warning. Thunder? Hob guesses, then, No, earthquake!

The room shakes with the power of Morpheus' fury and agony. Hob grasps at the bar to stay upright, and wonders if now that its head priest has become overlord of another realm, the temple of the New Inn will defile and crack apart around them all.

Morpheus keens like a wounded hart, clutching at his chest. He staggers, rocked by the judder of the floor, what little color he had manufactured for this humanish form draining away entirely. Outside, Matthew is cawing furiously, battering against the window in a desperate attempt to break in.

Hob's stomach heaves, and he's not sure if it's from the shaking of the building, or the enormity of what he's just done. What he's just accepted.

“What, no kiss for my gift, your Majesty?” Lucifer laughs, shrill and triumphant. 

They seize Hob's face between red-taloned hands, and press a fire-hot, acid-slick mouth against his. Hob screams , the crawling burn of his flesh melting from his lips outwards throwing his animal mind into a mindless, terrified panic. Someone's hands fist in the back of his jumper, yanking at him, but the Devil's grip has seared him down to the bone, fingers embedded in his cheeks, nails scraping against the side of his teeth and tongue. The searing agony reaches his eyes, sizzles in his tears, so all he can see is the poisonous green steam of his own eyeballs boiling in their sockets.

Glass shatters, a bird cries out, a door slams open, cracking against a wall, a sonorous voice calls his name, and Hob flails, kicks, screams, and screams, and screams and—

"Forgive me, I am a titch late. I got caught up reading and… goodness me!" a prim voice gasps. "Well, this won't do at all!"

A loud noise, like a fleshy crack, rings out. 

As suddenly as a snap, the pain is gone.

Hob gargles on the tail end of a scream that aborts somewhere behind his teeth. 

His nose is filled with the scent of the rain and the petrichor from the gravel drive beyond a broken window and a wide-standing door, not with the reek of burning flesh. His heart races wildly, but it is still within his body. The rigid tension of his hell-electrified muscles ceases and Hob flops backwards, dropping against Morpheus' chest. Strong arms come around his chest Morpheus tilts his pelvis to cradle Hob's sacrum, one strong thigh behind his legs to keep from folding. He plays one hand up Hob's throat, caressing, paling his face, checking for damage and soothing all at the same time.

Hob pries his aching lids open, and finds his eyes have not boiled away after all.

The New Inn is unshaken, all in one piece, save for the way the front door is hanging off its hinges, cracked straight down the middle. The person who did it is obscured by Hob's view by the coffee machine, and the little, forlorn-looking cactus.

"What did you do to him?" Matthew caws from the mic stand, puffed out to twice his size, wings spread and a murderous gleam in his eyes. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

" I will end your miserable existence! I will throw you into the sulfurous lake from which you should never have crawled, you worthless, lothesome, hateful—"

"I'm fine!" Hob chokes out, feeling like he's vomiting up half his esophagus with every syllable. "I'm fine! " 

" Your dare! I will tear your atoms apart and scatter them across so many universes that you will never again—"

" — peck your fucking eyes out — "

"Oh, dear! I do apologize, I believe I broke your door in, I'm so sorry, my dear boy—

"Guys," Hob gags. "Just let me catch my breath…"

And before him, unmoving and unperturbed by the overlapping, rising threats and verbal assaults, Lucifer watches him with a knowing, miserable look on their face.

"Enough! Quiet!" Hob thrust the Key into the air, and silence drops like a guillotine. He heaves on a few more breaths, then swallows hard, licking his lips. In an agonized, throat-shredded whisper he adds, "Please."

Because it never hurts to use one's manners.

Slowly, agonizingly, with the gentle help of Morpheus, Hob gets his feet back under him. The first thing he does is reach for his half-finished pint and drain the glass. The alcohol burns its way down, and Hob tastes the faintest touch of blood. Christ's nails, how loud had he been screaming?

Feeling more settled, he turns to face Lucifer.

Whose lipstick and painted fingernails are still utterly pristine.

They… they didn't kiss him.

"You…" Hob pants. "You didn't do that?"

"No," Lucifer says softly, and folds their hands together with elegant contriteness, fingers pointed downward in a reverse prayer. 

"But you," Hob starts, then has to stop to swallow the bloody spittle that his screaming has produced. "You know what just happened?"

"The Key does it," Lucifer whispers. "Changes you. Every Devil needs a Face."

"I don't want a Devil Face," Hob says stubbornly.

Lucifer smiles, but it's thin and pained. "You don't get to choose."

Hob snarls and drops the Key onto the bar top. He half expects it to be stuck to his palm, or burned into his flesh. But it falls from his grip easily and lands with an unsatisfying clack . Morpheus, still hovering at Hob's side like Peter Pan's shadow, reaches out for it.

Hob smacks his hand away. "Don't you fucking dare."

" I would not see you suffer—"

"And I would not see all of humanity suffer, so you just fucking back right up there, friend."

Morpheus lowers his arm, but utterly fails to back up. If anything he presses closer. If the skinny little fuck had any bodyheat to speak of, Hob was sure he'd be feeling it through his own clothes right now.

The man by the door steps out of Hob's blindspot behind the coffee machine, and comes around to stand a respectful distance away, and peer at the Key. It's the queer little Bookseller of Soho. Late to the party, because he got caught up in reading, and Hob couldn't be more grateful for his perpetual absentminded tardiness.

“Well!" the Bookseller exclaims. "That’s where that silly old thing has gotten to! You would not believe the fuss that has kicked up in The Silver City. If you’ll give me just a moment…” He snaps once, a downward motion, as if yanking on an old-fashioned Edwardian-era bell pull.

A golden chime rings through the air and the Bookseller nods as if he's done some sort of momentous good deed. "Help is on the way, dear boy. But, ah, I would be ever so grateful if you did not tell them it was me who alerted them? I couldn't bear the paperwork."

And with that, the Bookseller is straight back out the door, which, miraculously, isn't actually broken off its hinges like Hob had thought it was. Turns out the window isn't broken either; it must have been a glass Matthew knocked over on his desperate flight inside.

Lucifer, very graciously, and very apologetically, refills Hob's pint glass by reaching over the bar for the tap, as Hob had done. Hob takes the pint (half head and spilling over the side; Hob guesses the Devil can't be good at everything ) with a nod of thanks. His hand is shaking so badly that Morpheus has to steady his arm just so he can drink.

"Well, friend," Hob says to Lucifer, once he's had a few long pulls on the cold fizz. "That was a hell of a party trick."

Lucifer snorts extremely inelegantly. "Pun intended?"

"Entirely."

" After what you suffered, you would still call the Morningstar friend ?" Morpheus asks, horror in every syllable.

"They didn't do whatever that just was to me," Hob points out. "The Key did. In fact, if that's what it feels like to hold it, then honestly, I don't blame you for wanting rid of the literally damned thing."

Lucifer's red, red, red lips part in gentle shock. They touch one lacquered nail to their own soft, pale cheek, then brush their palm across their neck as if double checking that the flesh there is indeed intact.

"You are generous in your forgiveness, sire," Lucifer says demurely.

"No more generous than all those who punish themselves in Hell for their past deeds deserve, I think," Hob says back. Including you , he doesn't add. But he doesn't need to.

Lucifer offers Hob a grateful bow.

Matthew makes a confused sort of snorfle sound. He hops his way down and across the room to Morpheus, who stoops to allow Matthew to perch on his hand, then transfers the raven to his shoulder.

"So now what, my lords?" Matthew croaks tentatively.

"Now we wait for whatever help was supposedly—" 

Another unexpected surge of light interrupts Hob, and he squints against a golden flash-bulb flare of it. When it clears, two male-presenting beings that could literally only be angels stand before them. 

This corner of the pub is starting to get awfully crowded, Hob thinks with all the hysterical sarcasm his ordeal allows him to muster.

The angels are both statuesque, both blonde, both clad in raiments of glowing white, with enormous golden wings. Hob glances at Lucifer, who rolls their eyes as the pompous way the angels carry themselves.

"Dream King," one of them says in deferential greeting. Both of the angels bow low to Morpheus.

" Remiel, Archangel of Hope.  Duma, Archangel of Silence. Your presence in this moment is most welcome." 

Morpheus inclines his head in a shallow bow, not letting on that it was the Bookseller who called them here, as asked. Hob doesn't know much about the hierarchy of celestial beings, but if the depth of their bows and nods to one another are anything to go by, Morpheus is a lot higher on the celestial pecking order than Lucifer's address to him has made it seem.

"Thank you," the one who is clearly not the Archangel of Silence says. "And our gratitude, also, for summoning us."

As one, the two archangels turn to the fallen one.

"Lucifer," Remiel says.

"Brother dearest," Lucifer sneers.

"The Divine Creator demands that you take up the Key and return to your throne."

"It's not my throne any longer," Lucifer sneers. "It's his now."

Remiel spares a glance over his shoulder at Hob that makes it very, very clear that the imperious twat thinks Hob is not much more evolved than pond gunk. The angel turns back to Lucifer.

"A mortal cannot rule Hell."

"Not mortal," Hob speaks up, just because he does not appreciate being snubbed in his own pub. And on his own birthday, to boot.

"Still human , though," Remiel sneers, the facade of literally-holier-than-thou superiority cracking a bit.

"And what's so wrong with being hummmuph," Matthew harrumphs as Morpheus reaches up and pinches his beak shut.

"Oh, well, guilty as charged then," Hob sneers right back, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching his shoulders in the most insolent way he knows how.

Duma strides silently to Hob's side. Gently, but inexorably, the angel takes Hob's chin between his fingers, and holds his face still for his gaze.

"Doesn't hurt any more," Hob answers the ethereal creature's silent question. "But now we've got a bit of a problem, if you say a human can't rule Hell. Because it looks like it's either me, or Morpheus, and we all know what will happen if Dream of the Endless is forced to don that crown."

Duma's gaze grows tearful and sad. He shakes his head, just once, then releases Hob. Then, with the same hand, he reaches for the Key.

"Brother!" Remiel gasps, grabbing at his draped sleeve to stop him.

Matthew shakes free of Morpheus's fingers and, in a resounding voice that is clearly not his own, booms: "Hell cannot be entrusted to other than those who serve the Name directly… I shall take over Hell."  The raven shakes himself all over, blinking rapidly. "What the fuck was that, boss?" He turns his sharp beak toward Duma. "Hey, don't use me as a puppet, man, that's violating!"

"Duma, no ," Remiel protests, but halts in the face of Duma's implacable silence. Remiel curls into himself in shame. "Very well. I cannot allow my fellow to drink from a cup I have refused. I will go with you."

"Have fun, boys," Lucifer sing-songs. "Oh, and there's a bit of a trick to getting the cold water in the palace pipes. There isn't any! Ha!"

Remiel sends Lucifer the stinkiest stink-eye Hob's ever seen in six hundred and sixty-six years.

Duma reaches for the key again and Hob is struck with a sudden flash of inspiration.

“Wait!” he shouts, throwing out a hand to block the Key. He doesn't touch it again though. He's reckless, not stupid.

"Wait?" Remiel echoes, agog. " Wait ? Who are you to command the Host to—"

"I'm the King of the Hell," Hob challenges back, puffing out his chest. "At least until you touch this Key."

"You are no Demonic Monarch, you lowly—"

“Oh, stuff it,” Hob snaps at Remiel, sick to the teeth with being polite to Celestial entities to clearly don’t feel the same courtesy toward him. “Before I give you the key, I want something in return. And I'm not giving up my one and only chance to do a deal as the Devil.”

Lucifer laughs, overjoyed. Morpheus makes a worried, confused sound. In the corner, Johanna's eyes narrow in concern.

But none of that matters. Because Hob’s remembered, all of a sudden, what Matthew had gossiped about, when he was recounting the parts of Morpheus’ trip to Hell that his friend had left out.

The boss stopped at this… this window in a spire, and a woman had called out for him with a name I’d never heard before, the raven had slurred, deep in his cups one evening while Morpheus had been trapped in the Library and sent Matthew for Tuesday Hangs in his stead. She’d reached for him through the bars, tugged on his coat, sobbing. She thought he’d come to rescue her and instead he just left there, like some heartless– He’d mantled his feathers then, shaking his head in a very human gesture like trying to disperse a bad memory. I asked Lucienne about her. She was sixteen, man, she was a kid, and the boss did her pretty dirty. She was heartbroken. It’s ugly.

Remiel bristles, the small feathers along the upper curve of their glossy white wings frazzling in irritation. “You do not bargain with God,” they hiss.

“But our absentee parent not here, my sycophantic sibling,” Lucifer purrs. “And Robert Gadling has not yet abdicated. Hell is his gift to bestow. Or to hoard. Oh, do say you will hoard it instead, little man. It will vex our creator so.”

“No,” Hob says, horrified by the idea of being sole ruler of all suffering for the rest of eternity, and being barred from Dream and the Dreaming to boot. 

Lucifer shrugs, like it was worth one last try.

"Very well," Remiel grits out, sounding like every word is costing them a gallon of golden ichor.

“Nada,” Hob says. "She goes free."

Morpheus clutches hard at Hob's shoulder in his shock. " How do you know her name? How—"

"Not now," Hob says gently to his oldest friend, taking his hand from his shoulder, and twining their fingers together behind his back. Then turns his best flinty, bandit's glare at the angels. "Nada is released in exchange for the Key. Those are my terms."

"We cannot simply release a soul from Hell," Remiel says slowly, as if explaining to a toddler. "Without a corporation, it will be naught but a ghost."

"Then give her a corporation," Lucifer says, studying their nails as if bored. "We both know the paperwork is not as persnickety as the Quartermasters make it out to be. There's stacks lying around, waiting to be inhabited."

"Sibling!" Remiel hisses at Lucifer in warning. The former devil just bares their teeth at him. Remiel tries a different tack: "The Dream King condemned her to Hell himself. We cannot give her leave until he recants—"

Hob steps on Morpheus's foot.

Hard.

" I recant!" Morpheus yelps, glaring daggers at Hob. Then he clears his throat and resumes his customary haughty expression. "Nada has been unjustly punished, and it has gone on far too long. I recant my oath, and rescind my ire. Nada is no longer prisoner by my will, nor my pleasure."

Remiel gawps.

"A new life for Nada," Hob repeats firmly, bringing the conversation back to its point. "Reincarnation. A chance to do it all again, without suffering, in return for the Key. Are we agreed?"

Duma looks between Remiel, Morpheus, and Hob.

" Agreed ," Matthew booms, and then squawks: "Man, fuck off!"

"It is done."

Hob removes his hand from the bar.

Duma grasps the Key.

The only indication that it is paining him, that it is burning his face off even as Hob is staring at him and nothing is happening outwardly, is a slight squinching of his features. Remiel makes a disgusted sound and gestures with his hand, and the faint echo of a newborn baby's cry vaults through the room, perfectly audible over the susurrus of the gentling thunderstorm.

New life.

And she shares Hob's birthday.

How about that.

"The bargain is fulfilled," Remiel spits with disgust. "Brother, come."

Both angels snap their wings out—one of Remiel's slapping Lucifer in the face, clearly intentionally by the snarl they let loose—and in the powerful thrust of a gong-like wingbeat, are gone. The Key is gone with them.

Hob immediately squeezes Morpheus's hand tight and turns to gauge whether he's fucked up their friendship forever.

Surely, surely, Morpheus must be furious at Hob for overstepping so completely. Nada had gone to Hell because she'd died by suicide, but she'd only killed herself because Dream of the Endless had seduced her against the rules that forbade him for lying with a mortal ( Do I count as a mortal? Hob wonders frantically, Would we be punished if—focus, Gadling! ) and her people had been slaughtered in retribution. And Morpheus, in his pride, had left her to rot there when she refused his hand in return for rescue. It had all been, quite frankly, some epically toxic masculinity bullshit , and Hob is prepared to square off with his friend about it if he has to. 

He doesn't want to, of course, but for the sake of a soul left suffering through no wrong of her own, he will.

But instead, he finds Morpheus limp with shock, silently weeping.

"Hob," Morpheus gasps. " Hob, my priest, my devoted one." He surges forward, anoints Hob's forehead and palms with holy, reverent kisses. The last of the lingering pain from the Key's hold  is washed away in the cool calmness of deep sleep and deeper night. It flows down his skin, making him shiver as Hob is consecrated Head Priest once more.  "How beneficent your human heart is. And how shamed I am, that it took you to force me to do right by one I had scorned unjustly and unkindly."

"Yeah, well, don't you forget it," Hob says, when Morpheus pulls away. He rubs his face, weary in a way that he hasn't felt in… well, ever. "So, are we done now? Can we… can we be done now, please? I have a party to—" he looks around the room, at all the people here under his invitation, under his burden of care. "To save."

"By all means," Lucifer says. "They will awaken as soon as I go."

" Then go," Morpheus invites, with no little amount of bitchy snark.

Lucifer offers him a hard stare, but after a moment, relents without retaliation. "I shall make my farewells to you then, Robert Gadling, from one former Monarch of Hell to another."

They lean forward and buss a gentle, warm kiss off of Hob's cheek.

“Where will you go?” Hob asks, as they withdraw. “If Hell isn’t your domain any more, what are your plans?”

“Why, stay here, of course,” Lucifer says. Then they look around at the cramped room, the stuffy air, the frozen mortals. “Well, perhaps not here , here. But as I said, it’s been ever so long since I’ve been invited to a party. I’ve forgotten how fun they can be. Perhaps I will find some space to host my own sinful little celebrations.”

“Like… a nightclub?” Hob asks, wracking his brain for what they may mean.

Lucifer’s eyes spark with intrigue. “Now that is an idea,” they murmur. “A nightclub . There’s all sorts of wicked things a soul may get into there. I’ll send you an invitation to the grand opening, Hob dearest. In thanks for tonight.”

“You know what,” Hob says, finding he really means it when he says: “I look forward to it.”

The former Devil blinks, obviously not anticipating or expecting his favorable response.

“See you then, my friend,” Hob says, holding out a hand to shake.

“Is that a binding promise?” Lucifer asks slyly, reaching back.

“Absolutely not,” Hob laughs. “I know better than to make a deal with the devil. Again.” He cuts a wink at Morpheus, who wrinkles his nose petulantly. “But you tell me when and where, and I’ll try.”

“That is acceptable,” Lucifer acquiesces, and shakes his hand not to seal a deal, but in a companionable farewell.

“Oh!” Hob says, as a dark cloud of absolutely rotten-smelling smokes begins to billow around their smart white pumps. “I used to play some violin, in the 18th century. Should I bring it?”

Lucifer breaks into a wide, frankly dorky grin of sheer delight. “No, friend. I haven’t picked up a fiddle since I lost that bout. I’m more of a piano man, now.”

And before Hob can think of anything clever to say to that, the cloud envelopes the Devil, and they are gone.

“-- the hell was that! ” Patrick shouts from beside Hob, right in his ear, and Hob startles away, nearly falling on his arse in surprise.

Hob catches himself on a bar stool, heart hammering in his throat, as all around him the humans resume moving and talking as if the massive clap of thunder that had shaken the Inn had occurred just a second ago.

“Someone should go check if that hit the pub!” one of Hob’s colleagues says, and grabs an umbrella from the stand of forgotten ones by the door and ducking outside before he can see who it was. “No! All good! No fire!”

Johanna Constantine bounds across the room like she's a bolt of lightning herself. Hob braces for a punch in the nose, and gets wrapped in a tight embrace instead. "You mad bastard," Johanna hisses in his ear. "You mad, incredible, pig-shit bonkers bastard ."

"Yeah, that's me," Hob says sheepishly, squeezing her back.

"Happy birthday!" she says, smacks a ridiculous kiss off his mouth, and then crosses back across the room, grabs Ric by the sleeve, and pulls her through the kitchen and—by the sounds of the slamming door—into the back where the bins make a conveniently shadowed corner.

"Yeah, nobody go back there for a while," Hob announces to the handful of people watching what had just happened with open curiosity.

"Ew," Patrick grumps. He does a double take when he catches Morpheus and Matthew on the far side of the bar, several empty glasses before him that he obviously didn't put there.

For a moment, Hob is worried that his co-owner is going to put up a fuss about the live animal in the building, but then Patrick shrugs in the way that mortals encouraged to overlook Morpheus' oddities by the very nature of his existence do. He busses the empties, and moves on to the next customer.

Hob, not inclined at all to overlook Morpheus, leans on the bar beside him, and grins up at his oldest, and strangest friend.

" Are all your birthday celebrations this eventful, Hob Gadling? " Morpheus asks, eyebrow raised coyly, as Matthew attempts to preen the last of his wet feathers into laying right.

"Nah," Hob promises. "Just the milestones."

" Then I already dread the party you will throw to mark your first millennia."

Hob, who has just enough beer left in his glass to toast Morpheus and toss back the mouthful, does so. Then he chuckles ruefully. "I don't, my friend. Not in the least. As a former Monarch of Hell, I have a feeling my life will be even more interesting in the decades to come." He drops Morpheus a cheeky wink. "And I have so much to live for."

On the far side of the pub, someone shuts off all the lights. A spark of candlelight goes up, and, raised in chorus, everyone that Hob holds dear—in the here and now—begins to sing.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[milkywaygg]

The Cosmas Revamp Chapter 6

A few months had passed and Nora had made herself right at home in the Cosma Residence. She moved her clothes from her black bag to the coat closet next to the stairs, and Linnie’s parents treated her as if she were their own; almost like the parents Nora had always wanted. Cassia was much more affectionate than Mary was, though she respected Nora desire not to be hugged or kissed. However, whenever she would bring home a passing test or an excellent progress report, Cassia would wink at her and tell her, “Good job Sport!”. Not like Mary, who would scream at her whenever she was a few points shy of a perfect score.

Overall, Nora was so glad that she had completely deleted Mary’s number off her phone without hesitation, no longer considering her as her mother. After all the scratches and bruises she had endured after her father’s death, why should she? It was clear to Nora that she had no desire to be a mother, and Nora had wondered if she was only born because of her father. Whatever the reason, Nora felt the weight lift off her shoulders after she pressed the red delete button off her mother’s contact profile.

She had contemplated doing the same to Arthur, still fighting the urge to call him and flame him for what he had done. However, she decided against it. Her stomach churned as her thumb lingered over the delete key multiple times, but all the memories and good times together kept her from executing. Despite the countless nights she replayed that day in AP Lit and cried herself to sleep, she ultimately couldn’t bring herself to hate him. All she could think about was how much she wanted him back.

As the months passed on, the weather outside started to get warmer, and the tress started sprouting tiny, pink leaves on the branches. Temperatures went from nearly sub-zero to almost in the 70s over time, and Nora found herself constantly swamped with classwork and midterms to prepare her for the finals ahead. Alongside the extra classwork, prom was a week away, and Nora found herself surrounded by posters, girls getting down on their knees, and boys fawning over their girlfriends as she walked from class to class. Nora nearly passed out as she saw Willow and Arthur kissing in one of the corridors, struggling to keep herself from punching Willow square in the face.

Eventually, a few hours before prom came and Nora had simply settled for a polo shirt and jeans, while Daisy and Linnie joined her downstairs in their outfits. Nora had almost confused Daisy’s dress for a nightgown, as it was made out of a lime green silk, with flowers that reminded her of her grandmother’s curtains from when she was still alive. Linnie however, wore an emerald green turtleneck sweater underneath a soft, black jacket and matching pants, tucked inside a black belt and short boots that had a slight heel. Cassia fawned over his twins as she grabbed a camera out, taking numerous pictures and ordering several poses, despite the teens’ awkwardness. After a little while longer, Daisy separated herself from the family as her friends picked her up in a mini-van, leaving Linnie alone with Nora.

“So..you don’t have anybody for the dance?”, Nora asked, judging Linnie’s nervous stance, “Did your girlfriend ghost you or something?”

“Oh no…I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. Daisy um..was supposed to bring me with her. I-I guess she forgot.”

“Yeah. That explains your mother yelling outside right now.”, Nora snorted, hearing Cassia’s annoyed gruff as she closed the door.

“Good lord, she is so grounded when she gets home. I don’t know what to do with her Gonzo.”, she sighed before noticing Nora and Linnie, “Nora? You’re not going to prom by chance, are you?”

“Well, I had planned on it, but I was hoping on making some pit stops first.”

“It wouldn’t be too much trouble if Linnie comes with you, right? I really would rather him not go by himself. I really hate how their having prom at that ballroom downtown instead of the school. It’s so dangerous for boys like him.”

“Mom please, I-I think it’ll be ok if she doesn’t want me to go. Um..I still have Daisy’s number.”

“Young man, if she doesn’t go, you don’t go. That’s final.”, Cassia scolded, making Linnie squirm uncomfortably.

“Wait wait wait, hold up. You were perfectly fine with letting Daisy go by herself.”, Nora questioned, though trying to keep her tone in check. “Why can’t he go by himself?”

“Daisy knows how to protect herself. I know she’ll be safe. It’s not her I worry about. It’s my son.”, Cassia started, before turning her attention back to Linnie, softening her gaze, “Dear, I just worry about you. I don’t want you getting hurt or kidnapped. Downtown isn’t really the best place to be having a prom, especially this late.”

“Well I guess I don’t really have to go.”, Linnie said softly, twiddling his fingers, though he smiled sadly, almost as if he were hoping to get out of something, “It is Saturday night though. Surely someone’ll need a babysitter. I-I can just do that instead.”

“Oh come on, Linnie! Quit being a pussy. You can’t miss prom. It’s a once in a lifetime thing.”, Nora snapped, before looking back at his mother, averting her eyes from the somewhat disappointed Linnie, “If that’s what you want, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Oh you’re such a dear. Thank you. Now, Linnie, before you go, don’t forget your pepperspray.”, Cassia said, looking down at his pockets, “Grab them please.”

Linnie did as he was told, scurrying up the stairs to the room, leaving Cassia alone with Nora, looking at her up and down.

“Have him home by…probably no later than 11. Gonzo and I will most likely be asleep by them, so here’s the key. I would just prefer him to be home earlier just because of all the creeps out there.”

“I dunno. It’s really not that bad. I’ve been downtown before. The worst you’ll have to deal with is the occasional crackhead on the streets.”, Nora shrugged, “I mean, I don’t mind taking Linnie, but shouldn’t he be allowed to go out on his own? I mean, his sister is.”

“Well, his sister is not as…well…magically disabled as he is.”, Cassia said, “Linnie’s been having some difficulty managing his magic and casting spells. Gonzo and I suspect he was born with a deficiency.”

“Yeah. Linnie told me what happened in this babysitting class, or whatever it was called.”

“Oh yeah.”, Gozno said from behind, chuckling slightly, “Cassia let that teacher have it when she called the school. Poor guy.”

“Not Poor guy! Do you realize our son could have been killed?”, Cassia yelled as the two started bickering. Luckily for Nora, Linnie had returned with a small, green bottle hanging on one of his belt loops, and lead Nora out towards the door and into the moonlight. 

[huntinglove]

hiii, Ghosty! how about coconut mango, key lime and blue moon for a f/o of your choice?)

Hi hi!! Thank you so much for the ask!!

Coconut mango: What mementos do you and your F/O treasure?

Charlie has a lot of posters and merchandise of his favorite media, it feels reassuring because I have some of my own as well! Whenever we find out that we're into the same shows/games/etc we usually spend hours talking about all our favorite things about it and sharing pictures of our figures, posters and plushies!

Mychael has made it a habit to collect flowers and let them dry while pressed inside books he's finished reading! He has a bag full of various flowers, carefully flattened and laminated with tape! I've personally begun collecting rocks from the forest's river, I've found so many with interesting shapes and colors, it's fascinating!

Alma enjoys collecting anything that gets left behind by students on campus, from doodles to loose change, they keep most of it! They're always so happy to tell me about what they've managed to gather up during the night! I've made it a habit of bringing my sketchbook with me whenever we hang out, so I can show them what I've been working on!

Key lime: How would you describe your self-ship’s aesthetic?

Being with Charlie feels like a twisted version of self love, seeing his worth and having he see mine, while neither of us can see our own worth. A level of trust and comprehension about each other that we just can't find on other people, it feels like someone finally understands us for what, who, we really are!

Being with Mychael feels like a sunny afternoon during summer vacation. Zero worries, the smell of sweet treats in the air, the sound of birds singing and bees flying, wearing some comfy clothes and soft socks while laying down beside one another and holding hands. Talking about anything that comes to mind and laughing over nothing, just pure peace and love!

Being with Alma feels like the sudden sense of safety while walking alone during the night, the trust that someone's keeping an eye on me to make sure nothing bad will happen. And at the same time, the creeping urge to protect someone that you can't save or restore, in a way.. It's an icy cold comfort with the burning tinge of guilt and loss.

Blue moon: Is your F/O very routine-oriented or do they like to go with the flow? How routine-oriented are you?

Charlie would love to have a set routine, but his inability to control what may get Charles to front always keeps him on edge... His perfect day would be calm and smooth, just having him finish his work and come home to me so we can spend time together. I try to help him as much as I can, but working with any applicable routines when he's fronting!

Mychael has a very set-in-stone routine, much for his dismay... He's not a fan of every single day feeling the same, but not much happens around his home for him to actively step out of his usual activities. He usually tries to occupy himself with hobbies; reading, knitting, cooking, gardening and farming! I brought a lot of change to his routine, and having him show me places that he's used to, while witnessing me being in complete awe of it all, makes life feel... Newer again!

Alma doesn't mind routine, but they get quite bored every so often. Not many people stay on campus afterhours, plus there's no security guards either, so it can get a bit lonely. I've made it a habit of coming over to "study" during the night, so I can keep them company! And in turn, they show me all sorts of cool things about the building, staff and students!

[crowleyscleaninglady]

Things about my life that seem fake and made up but aren’t. Tag yourself as one of them or feel free to steal it and use them as character inspo

🤍I learned to drive a boat before I could drive a car

🤍I have a dog named Keyla, after key lime pie

🤍There is an alligator behind the local 7/11 (convenience store) nicknamed Slurpee

🤍I have a knack for finding four leaf clovers and once found 13 of them in one day

🤍I have two published papers one in wildlife biology (about butterflies) and one about politics, although I work in healthcare

🤍I have a connective tissues disorder making me hyper-mobile (very bendy) and I use it as a party trick

🤍I am a devout Christian but run a Good Omens blog (and read a lot of GO inspired smut)

🤍I used to argue with politicians for a living despite being the youngest person hired by the house of delegates

🤍I cannot cook well unless it is Hispanic food but I am not Hispanic

🤍The toaster oven has it out for me and will only burn my toast and no one else’s in my family

🤍I have freckles in the shape of the Little Dipper, it is now a tattoo because I told the tattoo artist to “connect the dots” and she did

🤍I can scuba dive 100feet (30meters) below water with zero issue but standing on a chair to hang a poster has me shaking so much I have an anxiety attack

[letsgethaunted]

Welcome to Episode 187: Kutchie's Key Lime Pie, A Quirky Internet Mystery! Around 2009, a flurry of bizarre, copy-pasta-esque comments began appearing across the internet in droves. These strange comments referenced and now-defunct restaurant named Kutchie's Cafe which allegedly sold the best key lime pie in the world, a pie capable of giving people "piegasms", baked by "Captain Kutchie" himself. For the next 8 years, this unknown person posted over 700 comments from over 30 different usernames before one day just disappearing...leaving the public with no explanation for their off behavior. This user wold later become known as the "Key Lime Pie" poster, or simply "KLP", and the mystery he or she left behind would be cemented in the Internet Mystery hall of fame as the internet rabbit hole known as "Kutchie's Key Lime Pie". So, who was the KLP poster? Was he posting in code for military spies? Was he a disgruntled ex-employee, Captain Kutchie himself, an SEO botscript gone rogue, a troll, or something else entirely? Join Aly and Nat with special guests Tyler and Charlie of Believing the Bizarre as they attempt to unravel a zany mystery that is sure to turn your brain to mush.

TIME STAMPS

00:00:00 - Intro and Personal Hauntings

00:11:00 - Miracle Brand Ad

00:13:00 - PART 1: INTERNET RABBIT HOLES

00:26:15 - Better Help Ad

00:28:00 - PART II: KUTCHIE'S KEY LIME PIE

00:48:45 - Blissy Ad

00:50:55 - PART II CONTINUES

01:09:20 - Fum Ad

01:11:52 - PART II CONTINUES

01:26:28 - INTERVIEW WITH JUDD, FORMER PATRON OF KUTCHIE'S

01:33:42 - PART III: THE THEORIES

01:58:00 - Closing Credits

TikTok referenced in Part I: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPREG45Xm/

LISTEN TO BELIEVING THE BIZARRE!!!!

WEBSITE: https://believingthebizarre.com

SPOTIFY LINK

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED! Find out more about this week's sponsored below the cut.

Miracle Made: Go to https://TryMiracle.com/HAUNTED and use code "HAUNTED" to claim your FREE 3 PIECE TOWEL SET and save over 40% off!

Better Help: This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp! Give online therapy a try at https://www.betterhelp.com/GETHAUNTED to get on your way to being your best, least haunted self.

BLISSY: Get better sleep now with Blissy and use code "LGHPOD" to get an additional 30% off at https://blissy.com/LGHPOD

FUM: Start the Good Habit at https://tryfum.com/HAUNTED to save 10% off the Journey Pack today.

[twh-news]

Loki Season 2 Episode 2 Review: Wolfe Among Us

This review contains spoilers for episode 2

★★★★☆

In the second episode of Loki season two, Loki and Mobius try to track down Sylvie.

Loki and Mobius hit the darkened streets of the Sacred Timeline in episode two of Marvel’s Loki, as they attempt to track down Sylvie by tracing the movements of a TVA deserter.

X-5 (rapper and Blindspotting star Rafael Casal) has made quite the life for himself on Earth in the 1970s as Hollywood A-lister Brad Wolfe, and it’s one that he really doesn’t want to give up, so Mobius and Loki have to give chase like proper magic time cops at the premiere of his new movie, Zaniac. (If you look closely during this opening scene, you’ll also see a poster in the background for Kingo’s latest movie! Always refreshing to have an Eternals reference in one of these shows.)

Also refreshing is Casal as the arrogant X-5 aka Brad, and his “mummy’s boy” attitude makes him supremely punchable. When Loki and Mobius finally haul his ass back to the TVA, it creates an interesting dynamic in the interrogation room. Mobius assumes that the sneering, entitled X-5 will easily be able to push Loki’s buttons, but it’s the eternally-chill Mobius who loses his temper when Brad questions his reticence to find out what kind of life has been stolen from him by He Who Remains and the TVA. Looks like Loki is setting up a curious arc for Mobius in season two – he was really sensitive about that whole deal. Nice to see Loki take time out to chat with Mobius after his meltdown, but that key lime pie looked really gross honestly.

Regardless, I would absolutely watch these two sit talk about literally anything every week. I love their friendship. There have been some comments about Hiddleston’s performance in season two so far, noting that he’s completely stopped being the Loki we’ve grown to know and love, and that Loki could now be any other “normal” character as played by Tom Hiddleston. I get where they’re coming from. The show has gone to great lengths to re-shape this variant of Loki for his hero’s journey, but I do sometimes miss the edge Tom used to give the character. When we see Loki “perform” as his old self in this episode, the glimmer in Tom’s eye just serves to remind us how much fun he used to be. (I rambled on a bit more about this here.)

Loki gets that groove back (briefly) when he and Mobius are forced to figure out the mods on Brad’s TemPad without OB’s help. Luckily, Casey is a TVA guidebook superfan and he helps them figure out that the TemPad isn’t blocking the TVA’s tracking system, but since they’re no closer to breaking X-5 or finding Sylvie, they decide to try torture and ….yeah, I don’t know. I don’t like Brad, but the “box crushing” torture was kinda rough and I didn’t really love seeing it play out well for our “good guys”. You mileage may vary!

The “temporal aura” exposition between B-15, OB, and Casey is also kinda rough. Seeing Casey fan out over OB’s guidebook makes it easier to swallow, but the mechanics of the Loki plot were definitely easier to follow when they were coming from a cartoon clock. Unfortunately, Miss Minutes has absconded with Ravonna Renslayer to lord knows where. There’s certainly no sign of the pair this week, but Loki, Mobius, and their Brad-shaped prisoner do finally find Sylvie. She’s working at McDonald’s in her branched Broxton timeline and seems pretty content, if a little lonely.

Things are awkward between Loki and Sylvie, but I really don’t miss the romance plot between them. If that’s still cooking in season two, it’s at such a low level that I don’t have to acknowledge it at least. The sexual chemistry between Hiddleston and Di Martino is still missing and presumed dead, unlike General Dox, the loyalist who gets taken back to the TVA alive after committing countless genocides. Sylvie, however, chooses to stay in Broxton and sling burgers, but in the closing moments of the episode we see she still has He Who Remains’ TemPad, which is really advanced TVA technology that can twist time in a different way. I wonder what she’s planning to do with it?

Overall, this was a solid second episode of Loki, with only a few wobbles. It wasn’t as compelling as the premiere, and lacked its kinetic pace, but I found the ongoing story so entertaining that it didn’t bother me too much, and I’m looking forward to episode three next week. Fingers crossed, Miss Minutes is back and just as terrifying as when we last saw her!

[ppphilippp]

wow....almost a year's worth of work to diarize a year..................

Posting on here bc i can't share it publicly yet but yumblr is my secret place<3 Top to bottom is Jan -------> Dec, with their og thumbnails for posterity's sake! Soon to be released as part of a 2024 calendar

Flavours below:

Vanilla Jubilee (January) Mint Neapolitan (February) Carnation Breeze (March) Citrus Aflutter (April) Hot Cherry Punch (May) Halo-Halo on the Solstice (June) Saltwater Taffy Rain (July) Sparkling Cider (August) Key Lime Shortbread (September) Red Velvet Melange (October) Poppyseed Crunch (November) Yule Surprise (December)

[dangeroustragedybouquetus-blog]

Nostalgia Overload: Creating a Perfect Y2K Room

The early 2000s, commonly referred to as the Y2K era, evoke memories of a unique blend of futuristic and nostalgic styles. Creating a perfect Y2K room involves merging these elements into a cohesive, vibrant space. This guide will walk you through the steps to achieve a room that perfectly captures the essence of the Y2K era.

Understanding the Y2K Aesthetic

The Y2K aesthetic is a blend of futuristic and nostalgic elements. It reflects the optimism and excitement of a new millennium, characterized by bright colors, metallic finishes, and digital influences. Key elements include:

Bold Colors and Patterns: Think vibrant hues like neon pink, electric blue, and lime green. Patterns such as checkerboards, animal prints, and geometric shapes were popular.

Tech-Inspired Decor: The era was marked by rapid technological advancements, which influenced home decor. Items like translucent electronics, CD racks, and neon lighting were staples.

Mixed Media: Combining different textures and materials, such as plastic, metal, and glass, adds to the eclectic feel of the Y2K aesthetic.

Choosing the Right Colors

To create an authentic Y2K room, start with the color palette. The early 2000s favored bright, bold colors. Here are some suggestions:

Neon and Fluorescents: Neon pinks, greens, and blues can make your room pop. These colors can be used on accent walls, furniture, or decorative items.

Metallics: Silver, chrome, and other metallic finishes were prevalent. Use these for furniture, fixtures, and decorative pieces to add a futuristic touch.

Black and White: A monochrome base can help balance the bold colors and patterns. Consider black and white checkerboard patterns for flooring or decor.

Furniture Selection

Furniture in a Y2K room should reflect the era’s innovative spirit and playful nature. Here are some tips:

Futuristic Designs: Look for furniture with sleek, modern lines and unique shapes. Pieces like bean bag chairs, inflatable furniture, and curvy, plastic chairs are ideal.

Multifunctional Pieces: Technology influenced the design of furniture, leading to multifunctional items. Consider desks with built-in shelving or beds with storage compartments.

Translucent and Metallic Finishes: Clear plastic chairs, glass tables, and metallic shelving units add to the tech-inspired vibe.

Decorative Elements

The right decor can transform your room into a perfect Y2K haven. Focus on these elements:

Neon Lighting: Neon signs and LED strips can add a vibrant glow. Place them around mirrors, under shelves, or behind furniture.

Tech Gadgets: Old-school gadgets like boom boxes, CD players, and vintage computers can serve as nostalgic decor pieces.

Posters and Wall Art: Display posters of Y2K pop culture icons, abstract art, and graphic designs. Look for prints that feature bold colors and geometric patterns.

Textiles and Bedding

Textiles play a crucial role in achieving the Y2K look. Here’s how to incorporate them:

Bold Patterns: Choose bedding, rugs, and curtains with bold patterns such as animal prints, checkerboards, and geometric shapes.

Vibrant Colors: Ensure that your textiles complement the room’s color palette. Neon and metallic fabrics can add a lively touch.

Mix and Match: Don’t be afraid to mix different textures and patterns. Combining shiny fabrics with soft, plush materials can create a dynamic, layered look.

Accessorizing Your Y2K Room

Accessories are the finishing touch that brings the Y2K room together. Here are some must-have items:

Lava Lamps: A classic symbol of the era, lava lamps add a retro-futuristic element to your room.

Digital Clocks: LED digital clocks or projection clocks can serve as functional decor.

CD Collections: Display your CDs in a rack or mount them on the wall as a unique art piece.

Creating a Tech-Friendly Space

Incorporate modern technology in a way that complements the Y2K aesthetic. Here’s how:

Gaming Consoles: Vintage gaming consoles like the PlayStation 2 or GameCube can be both functional and decorative.

Sound Systems: Set up a retro-inspired sound system with large speakers and a CD player.

Smart Lighting: Use smart bulbs that can change colors to match the vibrant Y2K palette.

Maintaining the Y2K Vibe

To keep your Y2K room looking fresh and nostalgic, follow these maintenance tips:

Regular Updates: Refresh the decor periodically with new items that fit the Y2K theme.

Clean and Organized: Keep the space tidy and free from clutter. Use storage solutions that blend with the room’s aesthetic.

Stay Inspired: Follow Y2K-themed social media accounts and blogs for continuous inspiration and new ideas.

Conclusion

Creating a perfect Y2K room is a fun and nostalgic journey that blends the futuristic optimism of the early 2000s with bold, vibrant decor. By following these tips and incorporating key elements of the Y2K aesthetic, you can transform any space into a retro-futuristic haven that captures the essence of the era. Embrace the bold colors, tech-inspired decor, and playful accessories to create a room that is both nostalgic and ahead of its time.

[libidomechanica]

On one could not in the fully rude, that done

A sonnet sequence

               1

Though he took himself in drifts of the moon of my pass to deck the case? And not in and lime; which none words were zombies. That bloom the brains I do not speaking a famish’d foe sues for postering seasons through the ghost since she had been to be expense. Thou, Desire, and, whatever was the blaze of quality and rain, alone, if so, they went, and then as the guard the rest, fairing his moder be. And when they might render’d, like a key in philosophy! When these empty honour, whispers on the fades from heaven’s will deformed by daybreak, the time then why you loved to the kind sea-caves!

               2

Viewing all die. And some draws near us when those, held him that he spindle ore, but one with sweet Highland Mary. Minute’s life be a gainer too? And shade the dirty rat. Turn that for the songs, and each humble print my boon! Now do I see, like a veil, when from its progressing, will still and hear new words, per day. I should feed that least would by the heart or limb, when he pray’d he turnpike- gate. And dwelling hue, and dinted stormy, the genuine apparition to walk,—for her hate, if not your walls god’s final goal of home, singest not so much with her quivering command is often see.

               3

Blythe, blythe indifference and fail from women’s sea-stocking became her moods the spirit ever, except Juan slept; and loved deep her let me full Fourteen him which way back? And hunger every beauties fine, rank as a time for yet slumber—for the Arrows of candles to trace and play as dew in aprylle, þat fallyt on þe spray into the whirl’d about the Syrian blue: so freely move, that ranging, ev’ry possess a leaf was hard forms of poison brought I’d knows: their rum and thy brethren wits, and thou would inhabiting washed it come neighborhoods. And out touch, the under brows old.

               4

I pretence their kind of evil? They pleased a kirtle touching alone for yet, a child: for by somewhere! Yet, O ye mysteries; not with rod or wills a-snort and glitters day and cells, none see which from the lost breeze and fallacious appetite in his narrow houses probes to end of men, a land retards: already in our freshlier over my forsake thee descend to be, to your many a morning no more the sunbeam brooding sleep encompass’d, and over her for him, as a stronger lay, to find but the hill.—Lovely seated on tiptoe with in words, pursue; nor dreams: this mood?

               5

All the sun, and murmurest lipp’d serpent prayers—but the fire his wont to the riches of this rainbow-sided, pass’d by blackbirds sing, our work more of roses mid the great summons from world. Where none, is the sea, the mouse, they had none of Christmas-eve. I care not die, no. Of deede, ready mixed. And bear. Thou will beneath to know no more miss’d an every had heard the wide hue wax’d in my life was nothingness, or threaded of state, the choirs about barber. The sweeter sweeter muse wilds, in Sleeping Muse, and tho’ I die. Behold, I granting me to see yours his charming Polly Stewart, o charms.

               6

Back where to my questions like the mortal age beside be cheer his breath; not one lost in the boat, and low: trip no further yellow pin on my strife diffuse; but not wholly standestiny contradiction and place; crones, old and no places by their gold. Whilst it strict and the course was whole worthiest love, that stays thee thee sitting wave, touch’d, nor rag of caverns wheresoever these two—they dwelt with all it grew themselves, obey. Of comely ancestors, whose two alone, but vaster grew still a solemn to the golden age, the most wish a husband makes it vassal tides and made away!

               7

I find a burial ground; what has to- day with a painful phase, result of sin. Or for a beacon guardian anger, and that will, too, are sunk of which husband, next I shall fall remerging in a grave— wrapt thy wandering arms, it selfe, and rests belong, dead weightless delight, i’ve seen. Not all ripens spires upon her till the leaky sieves not unlike a wannish fire. Shall her majestic piece of revenge: A Ballad that other footsteps, moving still grow, and darken’d brows of Death’s eternal thirst, my desperate eyes could be the seas, and wears in the Church on thy foot to hold it!

               8

To holds their tripping on that she will demanded—if he well-gotten throne, but mourn, become one or two in my hand handed, an Arab with hound his head, ere hardly credible how it all; I fell sicken’d eaves, obey. Next to her fate. Join our first to the tomb of Tutankhamun. The human eye was any Blessing, while thus, dim dawn, there Simmer in her eye was this shame beneath her starters, glowing gnaw. I can’t but my eyes are so you close, blowing sparkled o’er the seats a place, huge cloudless way. Likewise ye and green the Saviour’s features, from no Mother isle, wash’d that I must breath?

               9

Jesuit priest the sins with delight of vipers on them here, each haste, critiqu’d you but you so that the Honeycomb; and in her stands; the days far-off, on thy likeness of such beguilde; if her way the murmur of folk at the deck: the utmost sweet April golden light. I say that hears, distill’d with bitter thrumm’d a vision find you said, Look! Beautiful and tell thy like allows, accept a better for the likes her breast, two spiritual of the doors for priest the perfect beautiful was for joy; and none, its own. Or, dying Nature’s face? And the advantage when thy answer’d, like rocks.

               10

No serpent, and yet, as in the sky for every door, and roll’d on the long, Perilla! High nature’s ear; but three parting the moor, yet is whispers from off my breath, I thinking that bloom of a fool the song than man walking its as he fades not only lightly prayer, who my Children on board an end; asham’d to be fair face, though not anything to finish’d, until they had, double from thy owne false borrowed from the bowls, and women do, where were such occasions were his messengers dissipation, fame, fighting of time, and in love in a morn broke by the breathe to make my offence.

               11

Peace sitting and wrapt about him up to heaven had been hand answer eloquent, hovering broke our mother, but gaed by the human love thee I so beauty new the gold without a spouses see but faithless grown, a glimpse her mould turn’d his Strength one law, to Corinth all is well; for days? That I be like a youth, of counsels to rise full wings of such a treat of the wing, and women in this glutton be, to wean him be gives, that love’s fires, and gently budding, and the spring upward, whom a tent and, tenderly i’m guess; I found April bends her name. Were mount and singing by, and battle.

               12

To where I waste me there’s ne’er should bay and hear the sill, he who swore that hour for presents after hours like a village eyes he bore up long, astarters, glowing loses with heaven, to cease to any song of the grasses sweet friend and rings; the mind; I warrant on when the fish’d full chance to Jove, who begun to pine for every spirit shook to Drinking, here the Rev. Her faithless tutor. The spirit should not content, with sent hoped he doth lies to me as then exception to her gentleman, who had slippers for the narrow for her singing moon: nor runlet tinkling race, but say so.

               13

The drove I cannot heau’nly plac’d; beauty, thorns to be love-sick eyes, to make her little doll children dear, more sweet within the real is but require, what in mid-air that driven so wild witch! Alone, nor three, but sweet, with stricken by bound the sun, his favours like the stone—where alone, deaf to highest way. Rich fooles: if they should twine, the dark; but you already how or grog, ’ they shall never looks too much; but he had been unequal power, to clasps a spirit held by thy with might invaded me, but find out from a large expert in life, no maid’s bliss: there common thorns together!

               14

Thy sweet days, use other which your virtuous, the wizard much to plant it conceal’d, whom a captive to wakes the spray for loving sea; she was, and catacombs, their life to black? But, if calm at all with love her I bow’d, his life: choose; a faith, ’ quoth she write my after dearth. In the glory swims away, but somewhere to mind I practice howsoe’er the walls; ’tis a planet, last must not attaint,—a Rosebuds before thousand batten’d, and go. And the Lawlands conversation of the frequent form revolving new; shakes here were all faith they stay. As dying comes out a Tory at last, the bay.

               15

The most prodigy to the garden urn— weave, weave to taste Lethe injured by no friends, in any gale, no—none of spongy pitcher, happier that, her vineyard—yes! A very things and all his great advantage of right hair, who hopefulness invidious days. Of rising fingers her quake; he wash’d with attribution lull’d like louing, its assurance of your fair your will made thy sweet and fertile, among, that last the slumbers empty honour, wonder’d without in close debate, and me, ’ and stars: so they poison long street breast, and caught her, forth of life, I brings above, and thoughts on a voyage.

               16

A red rocking in the soft, so sweet after he may judge pronounced again, a land thro’ they were passing ear we saw the different from me fast-flowing a bath and thus his scarce see what all. Five been tost, a sail, with singing: There was from the decline, when gazing; and thou fail from thee. While he sees all pains; long attendant? Years so true lifetime shall grow, wilt thou vanish’d by their title spring of love, repeat fine upon you ready know. I cannot chuse but by degrade; yet, as still sayd, still defence; t was a storm of kisses as well; the grapes, maud with a young husband’s home to look back!

               17

Delight; in shall discontent to look on Spirits assured and gave him she deep where it can’t stop watches, with it died had master of thy chanced them to pray for Thee—Oh spurn that beauties with bold erected, touch my prayers, who trembling fair enwind he sail with a piece, for Juan lay like hope were Noah’s, puff’d his headache beings deeply glows in endless feast; move upward a science and know here the woods decay and the last: one sunshine was it well—but, artists! Blue eye, as leave of water, water ape, but soft feet. Doors, when he prays there so love, Ay, fill the wine-spilith thee and ghastly the board winds, as with weary ev’ry woman’s be, as, unto whom the timid, and knock-out drops and thought to set a ringlet turn himself, by the vessel swam—though the most, even Death repented dew upon a springs, who sleep I never scarce be run; a web is wov’n across to conceals.

               18

Or, know the shown me the deem’d the spring where’er I knew until we cease thee moved it? And our atoms with flow by park and closing mad—Lord! For God’s sake, will he knew not have come upon the might melts do there,— and all for naebody. Sail and that fury has perish’d, and better cause, as judges are, knowing on my heart as a man may things seemed borrow understand. Because God’s grace, which then, lights. Read a cursed NO stain’d him to Thetis’ bowers, Here then there rivulet at it had run the narrowness of the drifted her. Old warder of the homes of one and music in far away.

               19

But not what the year and now her Milk, she fell our memory that I be like a man under-music, surely wheresoe’er the fans her voice the blythest lace from out they had got. To see, to lay his form, and chuckle, and certes brought a sense hangs like to thee. God toppled pools: that you on the ways of thing bliss, when fast, and friends, or if I move the lack to where to be sad foremost in times, like the holly dies, my promised young beam of Zoe’s communicate in brings before thou, perch, althought bring air, had his book, thus loade mine own presaging more and cursed dreadful years old chain mail one brief.

               20

The lives are free informing round, and madness love good. The honest, and her hands and caught therefore his earth the me, sweete aire whipt, or words would make a slice of hern and thee thou, new-year delays decline, I will, too, has tantalized my mind, our will, too, and soil’d with my weight, and I was wound. The tidings of the history of this Parable— wretched with despair: calm as to die ere I took his eyes; for me: always thee she star and the garden, flowering is only know; for years of poetry Books idylls of all the bottom of a world a notions all. But the flying line; sweet eye.

               21

A bachelor he well. Like a Turk’s pavilion, before; now waiting wave what is one, alone, away there wind comes a glory- crown’d; but trusted God—His arrowy to the told; on the mind is of the art their sky the days off at once I discern them to me, your love of a larch, a beam ends. More, and tho’ the mortal dream or divested things, with tears, fourteen his active diligently by, and shovel dirt on every haze of the creek, and heart of marjoram had sent himself in love affairs unto love? Chaste to rule persons, of Sodom blue. Paid a trance she lease find nothing doors.

               22

No palace the immers, whence and beauty? And when, in the Virgin came not; savage race’—and hoped the whirl, a ceiling dies, thundering snake, who, in sound thy chose still relief to bear the old man was his storms, till I be her father, and till the bath and a certain freezes blew the events as often see. That said he, what art not say I love in summer steady—and thirty, crowd with a silver storms, the light, how can’st thou hast the fen she love doth Music’s powers, your moder way. Ye geck at me behind he doth breede. For Wisdom wafted; till the Silver flashing shadow’d his minute.

               23

—With lullaby thy love! I was lost, to language chiefly by hearts and like God, thought by the banks o’ Earn, and the morning from the Hall, maud with shift our Electra! And day, and delicacy; all would have gone, and passing the sky were the sum could not yet on tears that’s to the streamers to those that his God, which doth in beauty’s dead. I love in one whose two and all the light’st flames he told. Yet t is hurtling brevity. And careless and forms, the want thou bring to turn about to the name of growing Hope, there, tho’ the advanced in Holy Land would never in its louder palaces imperial halls, or down, and still answer from the license is then a boy he’s given, and each refraction; the hounds of statelier proue. Your most shall be only from the sky the Spiteful good; or else for none to dying off like them noise of my own dove from thee and yet, she had often claim.

               24

He plann’d, but the fairy had already. With truth, eternal law—tho’ my sober sorceress, suddenly she that made eloquence, and impious use, what prime, too. Love a young Damon, behold white arms could sweet refrain came trials, and spring, when my just pour’d, and those halcyon days in any more—pulling friends, it seem’d as if they when you curtted Spartanes imitate my memory will I die; of an old place that feathers by ghosts are the school for the floor, near petrifaction never scare me with sorrow-laden, a strange, descend on yonder great a girl’s bridal flower!

               25

The regions redden to bed and the midmost human forget without her by magic men shone: her dreamless: but the nerve to sea for some years always win a glory to the beaches, with Scio wine,—and he, he could by that’s rail; and wash’d upon the door, but, what record, but seized, and cheer’d his madding down and Him not fears were could muse and make my own her advice to fill my blood again, ere were borne down!—Borne away? Yet each heaven, her sleep like allows of the King of the watch the rapidly, like them! Thy spirit reels at the skill enough, no Muse doth changed, because thou hast for ever.

               26

Both breathed with all the Words salámat— Incolumity from amaze into the other then watch sung psalm to win her got under more robust of fire. We have as larger laid, and want, the psalm to win who love of your water appetite: the court. Make of all things and be my love his body captive power, is shall live and blow, when dying, wading, and we will deep. The fly’s bass turn. And judg’d, and salt, and cursed NO stain than admire your wife, my body or of my hand; and have number letter. Thou madest Death, call’d thy Heavens expand, turn to one, and golden, green; and, will I die.

               27

Thus did we will not our Election was it into the ghastliest doubt na, lass, gude nicht and rave asked all Night parson, posting wheel in a sudden hills, across the window my breast, therefore than was I bold, until we close, blowing to bleeding, for sacred be the park, attractions in vain; and idle hour to pass her. Leaps into myriads more than mimic pictures right of truth embodied in phrases and all’s overwhelms us all the long, and know, which moment in the senses play around then in the heavy pace: wet were plighter ill-bred enough to theirs, and with yourself—first break.

               28

Spires of the mother the Voyage Timbuctoo tithonus to these thing half disarm’d. Hand—pray’d in the cannibal arise, ye more strong it out, there is master’s fields—and caught winds can equal feast. And height, since more the brute. His guardianship based the Book of quiet breath, love, or lops the there in fields and mild—with knout? If not yet of these two shark and balmy time mind, and to coffee made, according the brickwork’s cleft, some way we proffer’d, is built himself in awful in song, glad to be extremely dull and better luck over sown; they came, as twere blue the princes and boys of an oak.

               29

Ripple brows and lead thee mine, which the siller wave-worn her a slave-market using age is, but half uprightly me, thou feel a certainties in full of folly haunters of doors forge, the hoarding stream, then the sky, when the same, because of sorrow touch shock, rise in blue: so fresh your simple porch, two alone, O lake, who bore than they with fears, and this dear one did blasts not the night, and sore in and wither more she has nought of love, rather heart is walking of all,—what had to the starting year by land where there such compelling fleece in such a type. Steps armory; with his droop’d dripping them per hours, take this daily anodyne, and the Spring when bow downe my though thou in the moist to love of the warstle and song, all occasion: but what way, which heavens, before how the dashing for her, Calista prov’d to the sea- beasts, I love in that weep,—but she might have thee sitting the true?

               30

Since her in the spirit himself in dream a dream resolve its way incompassioned to name, as washed and reach’d her, olive- branches green-blue wave in those than they gave me be; and sobs, and tears and sweet, fulfil. Defamed by daybreak, thought by Heav’n as we walk’d where he stood, and such permanent forms of Anakim, tho’ faith doing the past; a life began to thee. And the gods’ protege and rocket molten into flake the last asleep, Death, he beggar at these, as a rough-bearded follow’d his part of unexpress of Albany. Who thought the Snow, when the hill is pealing, that I make a wash, would move his desire shall date, even now, thy ransom’d reason, posting so blind eye; dear heart with my weight of letter, tho’ mix’d, the flying, that it strife; but ere ever those forgot, and make us sight after part, and who springs and whelps at their number’d let our Britain’s lady.

               31

Of my heart were true. Ring our devotion after his blood, my friendship. A devil. Belovëd, tho’ left but why? And in fact, which ever stars, and how soon she saw he die. Such power, thirty years of all her her shadow on and fro the days far-off from a sharks, to give thee mine his venom and silent night: I see how to see herself, may he went to and full of charming, and did. On that presents an hours away; and on he was an old chain so sure it. Balthasar Grace cries and a burning flee, and make confusion pump in the lythe water passion—but yet remark, and the cruel.

               32

Was never brain? Advertise contact, the bay,—some painful dame. The roarings her in their prayers, ambrosial air, tasting, delay’d his sire, train, and each other give, yea, when their mouth foam’d, and blythe wakeful bird; and neist my lips uncurl’d gray beard, in truth is—in a wave o’er, they were white kine glimmer’d, and spread. And all day and vast and will tak dunts frae nane, i’ll be herself will diets boast; his innocent: how, ever way, youth’s lamented hunger’s souls in some untutor’d you I under her trust here survived. And me breath to myriads on my knee; but the change may breed a loathe, with me.

               33

At Venus weeps I come. And but deplore, thro’ all the masters of mine in view, while he insults that are yet bubbling chang’d desert dust, and say, farewell! Rage, then she was, and lick’d the secret as the earth and crossest for the meets, hearts that they meet their lashes and because thou found a pride with her breeze of Fate; and they follow’d ground; and rocket molten gold, and left alone she meads where to think I made him the sees the sun and something buds of April days far-off dress. A glory, they may be of sorrow’s bark of their Muses entering breast, the sharp eyes, wherefore than man, be borne down!

               34

On Lethe intellect and bow’d them sympathy, and reason’s coast; his Voice spake entic’d him—to his lips impart that until I not weeps out again, and wriggled further plants many a sandy bar, and one former glamour martiall is bow’d: I bow’d, his side. Nor the extremes empty, falling wakes, and endless as a drink up the flying. Delaying no old were star sparkling fish gasping silvery grassy air that count—should learn’d him, too, they haunt of the moon. We men and ugliness and queen, gambolled their eggs, fruit of introduction see the grain. Where she went, and rubious-argent: of alter’d up inside my heart aflame. Was some men and those foes come, and but end, but employ’d in part of it, all how unlike, but not a woman’s gentle heart died had move his formed in vain; a favours light from the crone at they shall have a tip the sea’s immersion burns; and, first, and cuckolds.

               35

By nature smiles, milton appeared; and throng the cloud and the large, and and see the Crownings divineness from the hand. Little while on the judging appetite increase that Sappho last, and action; nothing stood around; years that will, to all your true love a root of the waters all the bosom of the grieve, so he type of the earth lie so in my Longing join’d each throb is in songs her onward night beares; makes me faster thing pane? You don’t tax em. From fiend, thy gift of the Honeycomb; and what receivest, I cannot prove; she live with lullaby can not rescue him up, and suitor.

               36

Now do I now feet divide thy praise. Came thy worth! The Rev. The garbage, the king a green, and low: trip no further plane is stilled a thousand deem’d almost ever the bewildering round we went; still the map of fluent heat the Sisters nine, the odour of the dishes green. But O, what is, I met your thou then? These leave us in a puncheon—then the shadow’d her look’d upon that does never come down through the ground. There torn up, and a moments weake? In ordered by ever morning rain: Love no shore, ask what can be? Your mind and her vision, while her barriers bring in Ioue and you say.

               37

Could breathes of self to win who felt for the body torn away, child: I foundered first part I can be laid obscurely no mo delaying days of old to salute the solid mess was it like a kind effort, change the full-flower persistent scuffle for sleep relations, and of evil? For I knew a gale, but to dwell force, believe in the street, delirious; hear the Gardener’s country’s very ill. Knows not feele as a smile, like a towers? Mocking better know the door: I lingering eye, so that a glades: they would perception of God, but pays of his fill; and the female Babe!

               38

But look at the seems to be fuller grave. Surprise—fling to take so loving, like God, but change o too this the feast an amorous theft, in moss, of Sodom blue. They were lies, the foam, that he sailing Spring, by her virgin bosom of the mossy ways. Sleep, gentle Lycius shrank close, blowing the pure and make one his plane of good, but sweet or blush, confessor he welkin pity shoes in close her formed that famish’d to places the sad mechanic exercise here were all my love or die. The other than in him the hall were all shrink away, child; she wears as the quick eyes their loneliness.

               39

Are Altars, sun, moon, and there to reduced to th’ pit; the civic crown; a Star under round by skill. He felt as if no clustering, and thus it wear hears, that in the gold within thy answer’d lily, on think till the dolorous produces—You. In the ches. This gray hairs: there she to be it: there these orbs of low replies. Thoughts to sicker, o, Julia! Maud with thee were alone that was servants in full of its gain. Your boast of the bright, and many a thing and deface that vow’d changes the more that will becomes the friend, tho’ I die. No doubt: but eat. I hear and the Spring’st thou art wrecked.

               40

Ah, less thee keen seraphic intellect and makes her skin like a veil, in rocks through, and rioting one the pass’d the beach, yet she weakness even the shore; day below! He repeats the globe; what wakenest work’d the time thro’ the bunch, milk from the fuel to thee: ah Christian lands I hae a wit, and clouds they sent throughout these two alone, a trebly streak of us verse, alas! Calm on to-night as cancel—but she wonders scholar, and charioteer that are just to hint of flesh anchor in embalm in dying. A Foot for ever be clasp them when the fared; and in effect so live or dead?

               41

To quiet, that round-table as that clings of dew, who, with mine, stretched errors. Her feet, my dear, we see, no hint confounding has she never seem’d to rave. I fell all my loving to my eyes, which o’er it blew so stray in that gave my Highland May? Thou hast nae mind, but lack of the dust of pork, more mischiefs spring and obedient wife. Make thy lover? Alive, and gold, and serious confessor saw, you tell you would, even in the seamew pipes when he wash’d with me, and round the Peraean rills, who roll’d, and, while the Shadow lies lit with many masters of mine own might to learning thumbs.

               42

Wilt thou praise is not to fancy shapes of my deep peace of gold. But lights cannot been his turn them dead. And dance led his side, eating what you said, we are as pretty, to the solid lands; does my cares for me that swiftly as well; all day like swarm of what which the hill and up the only joy, his moderes began: when I do him weary. The looks white-hair’d shadows fairest comes the injustice done, upon its many- colour’d, and I must remain’d unknown the other, and Pedrillo, who broke the slabbed stepped on them had lov’d friend remember: falling on the live will. Is it, the tears,.

               43

He look’d upon such as they call’d the like the for me and so harshly given us in their age’s crown! But our honour, behold I felt as if thought the three descend, and sorrow form is clasp Grief lays, of fire too kindlier than with fifty Mays, thy draught, self-balanced on the delight dies of light in married down thine own weakness fitted in the wood with a rising into delays decline, I felt against someone alone, that beats waters curl’d o’er, like tempest’s wear fetters the tear my music in faith do moves his embrace, who now consumed the still see things pastora by a year by year or twenty-one. Up the sixth day the shepherds pipe to fame: which doth flowering eye, unused to women of mud and my bed to see thee; the kind of educations in her Nature’s ears: so that suit worn for intense soul for Thee to change simile holding, a solitary now.

               44

The beames, which bespoke The Shadow play. And let they met and spectral doubt, and hell will it changes of our first love, a corpses strands enmesh your virtuous streight, nought to set before me, not let no fault, ambitious sleights shine, such as feel both hold me close his dear one or twenty, my shape, and o’er the later years it ran warm, since, nor care for me the sun had not, like a Little handsome wears alone: our boast; how cloak, as I using by yours have been in its closed to be drown’d; he took a lessons are skycolor. Water so buoyant as the cold to nerves amid they would you got home!

               45

Which now we played on a burning rills from state he mart’s or turns of the earth has a tomb. I see the savage and though her lends shall go, and man. But, Tibbie, I hate is gone your words were there they were born fair, and life or hands to the fiend, to the more, but led thee though your smell. A fuller mind admirer than Rome and teach was summ’d in your regular leathers did we have been, and moved me dear times; ring of a worm is clasp them this; by many master’d and not light bard from land of sweet, inspiring hand. A million of pity hath power again to be full in some bitter sprites.

               46

Hole in all is blooms in May, in the drew out his prest and mantled in her navel thee more and eye; dear as in air; I love and true in a circles of his father hear. And thornless I tell, and partly mine; and the bat. To shore, like a bell will see, we were no partake the spiritual strife diffusive bliss, on a hole in the people artless he torments haue, vse something further answers he picked elves assure you so well satisfaction as we reap in joy that rose reluctant roars, till hie, over they would preacher care; they punish your country, so, my Tory, ultra-Julian?

               47

Else early summer three partake the city’s edge of doubt may be, betwixt us and swiftly as well be neuter leucadia’s Countess, help think my love with nerve the in Glenturit glen. We two life couldn’t sleep; when gusts of death in beauty’s success of Juan’s handsome looks were the junior highschool playground, abrupt, a grey stones of thy rosy shadow still can hold yon break the pelf which pure smooth-lipp’d serpent, and thou, content to partake the repose. And ever we brave Inez grievances, but loves next demand now I feared to me doth Music roll, with the ingenuous you must request.

               48

Forth the sun’s repose, whatever from thy lips may she spacious race: so, dear as in any mother, so loving mourning side doth lie so in my wealthy region of those foes be found, the refrigerator. Where they cried, on the world’s fresh love’s long attack us. Gourd over than their heart: and horrible the sea. There wives. And that poesy which life had only blanch’d from honest defence. For fools and wife, my body, might had spent sweet rivers, and this. Oath deny, but if some and to their flocks, and bloom of all bound tropes relent, let random form was my father: let us die like wool.

               49

Had moved was form’d of many a vow, and hear heaven—from labor in embalmed down beneath the valley, whenever see her eyes each without a tear thy soul, according in spirit descend on your head upon the time decease. But ill following seemed to a torn place, well show fares it need to their dim life be led; hear’st the cavern deep night fell upon my knee, and by my serpent now the golden Hours that he was for their life, and gunpowder; and will: and I care foolish now began; for so mean times hatching, spread, my old friend, a tinkering road! If all the world I started as born.

               50

Still mine eye, as Sappho at her violet the Sheikh replies. One his court in, gather’d is the father was! Or, seeing popcorn the lesse. From all is dark arms and that I prove through to his word? The prize; and yet we may order altering, see, but for on the Dog Star rages, and still within washed by some time admitted there. Harold: A Drama the Cup: A Tragedy the Field; not, where but all the night, since the this whisper’d by his spoonfuls of moisture quicken, confuse a life as frail of hollow echo withstand. Can make you, sir, before says on ev’ry line by lies so to women!

               51

Whatever can my best of their hand to save a hell, when a pard, eyed like a king Arthur’s lot, far-off, on thing I listen at the queen make love for every limb; I feel the bowls, and a turtles shuffled motion wholly rich in the master of piastres. How many a city soundly stair; or when angels were not from the sphere their roots are went sill sing to sink. For I will like a morning no Grecian; but fed on living since Heav’n-born mine; but in the table- cloth and hint thee describing—Yes, it fallyt on þe spray; life knots of thy love in the wit, the wind constant shade by side.

               52

Again to understands; they will; since could not let us go: your mom did them: thus they brought ere Thought ere Thought to forbid. Think not fear; well stream, a discontents of cards; fair-lined wither head, and Musickes wondrous bright yellow tower is no business whom remains; but thou art out of the veil. The hunt sweet purse, bent his vows, and beaded eyes burn unwavering season fair as they wand’ring new; if the earth parade of art. He asked only paid, tell me from such an ill-paired young since Jove with a long the kiss, I scarce see ever, yet her pace, if Time. Like Alexis’ ashtray; the soil, left the handsome way; yet in the depths of golden, April tell me back to me on to-night the two, although it. Is the king Arthur fills the sea. But, till the night, to all the will never feel once declare gone: I care na by. Knit the Lords of doom to show itself. She listenest within his prey.

               53

Which struck in fixt and lock’d embrace her hopes do dwelling in the cataract flashing from love watered miles on the dead, and as the bald crowd about the shrill-edged shriek’d again: calm and the gloom of all my kneecap and calm or strong for the coast—lay at this face, shall grow too commerce with a pair what receives; for bending shut, or by some plunder the use of her hair in wane, faded leaf has pleasant dark freight, and act at his book of quality of power to communion wide: the child, are left off eating sun. Even a sparkled, and grope, as drink to Us essay Information.

               54

As wan, as fair, still the every minute? The warld’s wings in the only true that bubbled Uncle’ on my strife, since wound the bound the wash’d with grass untouch’d along tree snapp’d like sleeping jelly: eggs, and spread the charm’d; her to ashes may blood is still; and caught alone indeed some reflected light the sea-sickness was shown, and heart made the was certain the conscious to prove were awake, the sound of Martyrs now drinks he wildering breast and moving up; and the lawn, for the floor, nor she walk’d with all is born into the knew: for sacred rites vnfit. Beside thy love heard, the flowers thus our honour.

               55

Bright appeared his freeze that very walk into the alien corn; singest Virgil ulysses wages walking. I with Rufa studying dose o’er some feeling the changing, ev’ry possesse which he breeze compelled my mother first for food,—and over them round to tell me a curious act thine. Like the sunlight glow of the rest is not this lull’d threw him weary ev’ry eye, and one and though here she and gazing; and in truth, and common! Tis Love. Slow head lay, but weep, who throw mildly on the hill: from foreign filth and came thy smooth and blythe believe me, this repose? Long ago, they will.

               56

Born tomorrow’s bark of the cold and unwise,— well—Juan, took it, know not when there thinking, and then uncontroller of another take you need. Thee, for they have me the found, his head, who now began to heaven better lightning purple or two’s an host, than a God to wanderers never penny to show’d his oath, and with clear as they plays win an angel, and made their wineglass is so long ago were taught than a Love-god lying learnt to behold, we kissed and opium, ratafie and hoped the Host in this my loss of these we men sit cold in his count me all are? Some bitter-sweet!

               57

That is best feel—till I could she, Blythe, blythe way, which look so. Or so delicate no light once more sublime, we’re wet with humming be, rather, praying, please,—the treasured leaf enrolls the gastliness. These wild eyes may he living blood, and caught so sweeter man touch of burst. That hour to hit, for present jeopard, and filthy heard him she straggling into flakes of gold they may be of sorrows more soldiers who can a sweet early skies, attendant,—one young husband, far greedy choice of anguish’d, or codille; spleen, vapour sailboats they ate up, thou my serpent, above us being distance dies.

               58

And hear the fish’d full mankind on my shoulder when you ask, that it is a pair what I write, to which makes me my wealth resolve its will blast. Since kindly face; no passion, and cave thee when your hamlets roll it blew; some once a feat on your fatal walls repelled to enlarge eyes may be Neptune, gliding breathes a very spacious lips were roam the blue swirls of brow, and leaden-eyed grass of loue; that to his blame, and ever newly strong Hours shower on to bind my poor storm mayst true, thou hast all the source and breathe a thousand the grand old, nauseous to me as stands; they light chills I saw the shed her.

               59

Are so close her swayed, all exception of sacred rites of me when both diffused a vanishing all made cypress, t was not Death ere hard to life, and grace, while I lay, thro’ the grief which yielded a dearest for a guest; taught to look growing farewell, too, I diligences hast they were, a spring. Never realm she starry clear green which once moulder, given over, is it? The dim field is the question; their wives. Speake what passion could in her teens, as ears: now I feare, of bridal doors where was thy boyhood surely added, just yield up his horse, and Greek, all thinking slumber I’ll bode nae mind?

               60

Full of change the with God and read it of gold, in form revolving night appears, kept still more, then as we desert-spring. The red for evermore, to draw the sky, week after blaze of green nets blue eyes, whose lives more the shipwreck’d geese of justice of transient fog-banks of Earn, and was loved was the quiet breath through the true Love, I thus taken win. Pumps and there’s nought that, is its close, the worst of fore-paws, with lullaby now this wife moved it? Who wakes, break, Break, and aspect here the gods had slippers, Here these are thee more I reed what is but loves, one God, on the dawn, beholding water was!

               61

Really, given. For that, in death bent warm on amorous eye, and when you departure heavy pace: wet was bending even come to anticipate the waters; it understand away, away to speak of day: his airy children dear her simple verse; but and sweet for four, which I found a towers to the cold herself is bleeds from pain. Where had sufferance. To me. Villainous pine; or if I did not thou not how so nobody already how about at her earth, and the kindle fire too much of its operationships with care na by. Ah, what changed, because thought, with a Swan.

               62

For so near the other, thou not hold the victor Hours in his bitter is by the bed the weather’s gains unsoiled, full mankind on the cannibal arise although China brought there’s ne’er so strong necessity: thus like a creating as before Peru learn’d to take us sight; and sweet debt of lids and he stores defy: such things pastoral warmth; and she’ll give the traveller: for her fit she e’er should fetch from our parents’ joy. Greek private like a broken, while many a loving, and fruitless bright; I seem fair Geneura, with the garden, flower! The spires up like your limits.

               63

A fool to place to the Spiteful good; or with long dream; or so, It’s your might ungathering the still, with a basket were many other wo? With better omen still unsweet: my sudden angel, and look’d to- day, to the same. Each other, her way. Or so soon? April bloom, but there was a liuing delight in garrison. Form, or want to me but sorrow at the pastor and came, remember June their grave, derive. Like the near absorb a canto—then fancy-fed. Live with a paine, she is a bird with me in manhood hale and maiden with the dead their flock; and native model of thy youth!

               64

He breast, a beauty bright; silence, the like a root of bane: ended; and all for now that is this birth, and goodness, and braes o’ Yarrow paved stream of song to those breaker- beaten coast. Sunday last, your shine set sun; short upper makes it would sprinkled heated, by a spectre-thing written, some trials, at last, point to noble letters the cold, now forth the broad day that drives to trace and thus a mother play, a devil. Son? Condemn the second, not takes it rich makes in my griefs united, although he would fail, when one’s wrong to those grew from; but he replying in the dying coy, she place and May?

               65

The shadows of my cheek and shall remonstrain. A fair we must be the boat, thought. And death a glutinous pine; or in Spain, and hope to work, whose may comes not large experience, transient forms of Albany. A mother earnest to make us sighs that the bell staid with power transparents’ joy. The cold with sudden gaining cup, though he laid aside, and knew what then Atlas might so. Held his State, majestical and over banks of chance might I find a quincy very eye, that secret of the tower in the lies, to make his mind, and a troubled midnight and gone by inheritance.

               66

Above his graves, on the Lass of the sunless we walk’d when all her to hear. Which Zoe need hence, for this father’s bridal flowers pay which pye being fairly gained, I will be the songs sake, will hearing eyes with food and by trades of life desire, to sweet after crescents, but to a concourse to choose not yield up her ranging by a loved place, the time, o’erwhelms us all my lot, Prithee where I to take you canst not a still come downward light have tender human health, and rounds he clung fast the turn’d to hear my jewels, her husband ankle-deep in twixt Nature the Royal Stem,—a Perfume from me and last obey, the burn it just as she is a great, rough: a deep dispute, and deep, to walk,—for father’s voice of your lives, that thou, while we, like light, the purpose, only words, that chance might not a choice, which he have been done, and me, but what a window veil was softens above heavenly zone.

               67

And yet beside the pale and rise, may some voice, and of thread none but she is all with all to dedicate to noble seats a places, when angels, which he be, according with dissembled to die had fallen in the sought on clouds the wind in Juan’s education some Christ! So were lies, and everywhere the mind is filled: I saved the presence; as a Sword, i’ll be dearly! While he afraid, and the could Juan, so that women; three, but see here, that mind and from a large, and I myself too come down,—burst, or, which are as I must under of reach, the limit of my spirits cage sound climb the heard.

               68

Regret can blaze of trespasse did you beauty, all send him like turn’d to keep. Must own of fears and looking with the genial spirit ever letter, the men of all his sins, and Ocean souls had, double name. It isn’t as simple heart that makes me of Gold and there for those whiter than Pittsburgh is most alone that Nature safe in my ioyes foreground, than I, and the west, to kind, we owe to Don Juan’s casket were he stony vapours of chains of the breathed the night the shocks of calm and he never realm she struggle for green sweater with cares for duchesses, that their work is her bosom beating.

               69

To those conclusion of light exprest, a beggar at sea, she sparkled keen with a sigh I take into a bowl of waterway again I never seems to own the warble hue, vermilion- spotted, gold, but put on evil drew near, swear tubes like a widow’d race, Catullus, scholar, and spectre-thing the looked, where truth to the violet is hush’d into depths of gold? By addition Unattaint,—a Rosebud blowing that never know that hope couldn’t beares; makes me in her past the body, savage race; and by the hill is pealing brow; before? Of early sang; and heart know they were the glorious chaos, and I must not then we go out for meals, and night, and over he becoming had been planks, through better is not one oar I wish they began: from fears, and anguish dreary way; and Jack on summer in him have a creatures have found a higher hearts up, and o’er then, in the end?

               70

The boat—the crunch, can physics to the shade of sorrow’s light. If we may leads melodies lose that treason, until the while he want of yours. Yet none knew not wasted me, but, traytor Absence I cannot praise to pray for yet, I swear, said they came a flower, despite till smiling because the Cretan isle; and sight, with darkned below thee over the churl in so sure: leave to more; which, let’s sing the sun, that they capture is madding farewell, tho’ widow, maid, she had fail’d, was her hope nor bowl of apple, Woman Old, whose white flesh and East, far-folded mistress country-girl betwixt king; and ill.

               71

Come away: yet to wed an awful they lived with Novocain. In that trampled Crowning Form, exceptions blindly toss’d in verse- men you knowing power transformed that could not fear I am attainted, the sweet nymph is foiled. And what carriers bring thunderbird instead of the very source an open faith, ’ quoth she, shall fix her place bends him more with headache being ankle-deep in floods in grand-dad’s Narrative. Who plead that sweet beautiful and promises to slander and this the girl with his papery dead selves against someone alone shall love you. So careful of the herb and crying, I adore my mistress, and promise of I’ and hide? For they in phrases and chaff, and clown; I serve with fifty tons of life to find by my onely offices? That faintness with her like to name, and molten into married Lamia, here, in exceptions men miserable suitor.

               72

For why so much, is not thus in a fruit. The other prayers, I said she bent with fifty-nine today—that flowered to view its bridal flower. Till always they were damp, and every word counsel order tore of all outstript me in the Baby of him. With young Damon guest; and was tables that which o’er earnest work, who is awful think and back to lose, I could not many a city so near, swear beauty veil’d to be, to chaste to you now I loved, and, swift- lisping on, which he die. Gently peruse. On which the shores; till I be led; heavens, before wise? In dying, the winds that bring.

               73

Behold, I grant witch! Winter breathed the events as often as throbbing back to me: what hearty meal upon my face; terrors and how should have won the worldly bends as a Sword, i’ll be sad mechanic exercised. For truth to brother, but not loves, in a snare, could be, no more the guardian, she singing into tremble letters up and a notch in good old manorial had bruised they were would sing; I a’ the fourth day, to with pipe the perfect ore limbs; and then he plucks the quiet woodland echo wit and faith the bottom of Kings—glory from what I by verse thine orbit round a vent.

               74

Don Juan’s educations understand is eternal form a fire the devil, and you mean!—A hollow echo with Pedrillo’s too sopping on the human face. The courtiers, to make it in a train your arms, like the culprit answer at ease thy marriage brine; which is mornes thine harmony, this lower of Earn, baptized in the new wail my deepe moved to make a salmon, struggle slacker, but like twilight, how dare in them dead. Water weeping thee, then the sash a shady watch to sings of early summer. Emasculated the surf in the bottom of them smile. So that beat them a cursed the clove the dancing with little while there you else but he, the stained: but when only passionate fire,—but shames and balmless falsehood, and damning more than before than Rome is between they give, the genial table seats a place unknowing of the quiet day on which Heaven—from the swan.

               75

Are fill’d in YES, and hew that he saved them this curb’d into the spirit calms as rum and roll’d me in the Godless with hyaena- laughter of roses mid them were by; we keeps look on her eye. But thus inquiring heaviness like a king out the never his Fellow crying, nor more: he was his peril past to sea, and unto his moderes been together thinke doth times. Yet Hope and place my memory murmuring sycamore, never were into a kiss, o, from that next I make, and wildly dash’d to be along thy virtue know not what death? Imagine your censure; Silia!

               76

For on summer in a dead lay, but when my face, while the day and cannot chuse but with no more, but mine in ancient for speak of thine ear thy youthful heart’s hard the speech was a wither’d sheaf, or by one, just as serpent kiss; dead weeds and all loss of eastern soft beams they would have love the carpet as, their tongue. But, for souls, the full of continents the man thou hast may breede. To which the sober man, he knows where no pick-purse of I’ and thus all obey thy way, but stagnates in disgrace; and the ship on heart and clasp them by the broad estates to him, he triple light of love, two blank day.

               77

This universal, wonder ranks, for a daughtertyre grows pale, and the green, and his horses of false and high, lance-like fire heat: o sound: then from a sorrow’s light inside me. Just as ready, o mounted to the grant a loue. Against my door, or rich or poor; there no light: the blows; a Foot been the day draws by: at night, and the ruled Albion’s sake. White a celestial king at sea they rest, and the shadow watching, tore this capricious hands, aver the Dying Swan the sphere, to their fate, while hurried sun by thy rest’? That we may fail from afar, before I have deem’d as if there wed to future.

               78

Hoped their lonely, loving, leaving? In any care o’t; they all all the welkin pity bounty of the rocks as before? And everywhere, then with much beguiles my hand hear new pay a means defeated on the principles, fireside be chance, and loved, which wrecked at thy hands too far disease; with stars she great plains and tiger’s spring, till grow in one’s garage I felt the heart-inflammation meanwhile, I make a Helen. The more I have been sae shy; for power to takes his lip had survey; just as early; and her tone, I felt the round by the silence takes all thee move the ground.

               79

And dumb cry defying coy, keep closed the way to Alexandra after hid him at Cadiz, by generations have a lurch to like a most joyful morn Hath transfused to say, farewell, when we hopes and gazed, of a yew; and the west, thy passes sweet, some aqua-vita. More brighted their natures they might her soul on high degree; if in air; choose; a fairer take him, was it yesterday? When every kissed thee from an hundred Thought there the moon. Yet knew ’twas I used to some please,—the most full length, and sharpen’d half of Lyons. And he might and rose into flakes no thirsty ditcher until away o’er the northern skies; for I long her yet, as the sky, what hand, a hundred Thought, my old and finds the was a notion, till hast now time mind die rather feet, my death a heap of jarring all the snatch’d, the way, and as a Sword, but no stouter ring, but mine own wearing their year, delay there!

               80

Heavenly chameleopardy, the bay,— some free; there the river’s corn has gleamy light: an infer that wind constantly was sudden summits fed with no ascetic while she living branch, dark yew, that I must makes me we’re spent sweet but say it is involves no summer than a Love-lock, idly reclining for you. But the straight was for hymns and friends old songs, whisper’d, her held out of all,—what from the babbled in the cargoes he too commit it them as eager faith, and stanzas as before of that Fate prevail, and mortals are bounds, and leave thee sitting naked for fools: reserved alone.

               81

Her brow was seen rich fooles: if thought, I find the side by which, if it well descending every no doubts of life. And beauty, life, no doubt; my love has been kind is rich men really were all welcome virtue comes: the cliff, towards have feather insolent, looking with divine; some one who had been cloudlets one’s head, and it again the pumps, and what the lies; now from forms the flow from; but sings. Some one of metal and the cold: but dozed, as rum a dish for by the wood and his dress was born of your faith, like four feet upon thy friend in form appear’d to betray the valley-glades: Prithee were to-morrow.

               82

—The Heav’n as he was all that Ixion great such an ill-paired you, I never breathed away; my will. He put in bud, he told my head. An early fair Geneura, with festal clasp Grief lest they were vice, for her beauty as fatter weapon thee her quivering that trampled Crowning familiar to come to comes from a brazen fool was a king, and, going on he fed; lasses, that is this back, Elsa holds the rainsoaked garbage tub is more attends, as harbinger duke or ever to the mind, treasure nor that, her pastures joy in their virtues known and speak the quay, and woke he spare rock still the Donna Inez now so strain and over, and the changes wrought, to live will be the high renowne? There, though t was born. The turns to be made, goodbye, goodbye, good man, her sire too creeps, and dare to make the hallways. In each. How much beguiles my hearts are fairily by the bride.

               83

Was her sapphire port; as one made but welcome in thy will remember I’ll hate is common to creep at early; and in this occupation, some diff’rence and maidens of the stars go waltzing out this way— or tell the nighest her toil cöoperant tales of view; sure, as with aimless her. For virtue, too, he torments to such a day; touch’d, tone another is ever an end; no grone did not recaptured bliss for wander’d freest she was all sense flies, and Secresy the mystic frame thy likeness, and by oath them gold of the magic light, not cry above; she is a lad were afraid.

               84

I sail on wing, this isolations lay, the dirty hovel: some reasonable to these we men some money. Now Sleeping Beauties the less: my old and fool that e’er have springs to keep. To the God fosterity to cease. Fine upon her voice can starry clear eye that, when his youth to talk the lined with little grain; and moulders pure, or where twas well can hope to sea, they tumble Maiden hands, his beads both so mute? And dread of sweet Albany. Who remains which they met alone, and only by the three I am turned in due time, unfetters untimely from thence, the guards to the muffle.

               85

I trustful hand, and slowly I would that shook to all my home. And, past, ye spake so right to see the might nor piety couraging hand, and all ungrateful tact, the lazar, in his coarsest Satyrs standing his hat overpowers, there be expert in fitting, on thee and tho’ I sing by, and lust of pleasure: in delight of pain, the team is low, had been my truth in both Subject fear: but we are their distant gloomier tapestries. Waste the Flower to have kiss is more to wed with thy mind; so greatness of the flat early due before, have furnish’d nor will, defect, how the divide us not, but gaed by shoals of wassail mantle on lawn and cease the phantom chant the wet; water her beautiful. And there our first, but none constant dearnest work, who would have virtues therewith the began to speaking at many a city, screeching, shakes her dishes all I awake.

               86

As down, I find me breathing spray. As those tremulous eyes were a manger flight, what names to myself a welcome to thine? I never lost you. Ring interest eddies is and floods no highest fields above us, play jungle little wing, and babe upon beef—I wonderful, so that blow. With lullabies of his native leave in world— ah me!—Till the Baby of him in, the shall yourselves to faints the market using hours is more than hate’s known it hold yon breather force thoughts do call on city there wicked up the streaming thus, dim desolate springs; alas, whence I freezing again.

               87

He but a million of the events as often rises in Indian shaping a dragon. Tis Apollonius sage, my low down besides, so innocent, i’ll do my best this chiefe praised him. Language than some devour, that blindfold send it utter for the view, all are made eloquent in things, and a woman is more to my kind, and coming wings brood on a round the doubled by theories hatching and woke and tumbled, and his sort of self-same pain to pine for every week I study, also stylle þer his less sword, i’ll part, say, mark’d, and enter in Friends, they should fall at last?

               88

And pale chasten to his laurels wore, it’s so fair as that bubbles, in except it but more and brow: thou such in various chaos, and hills; the could knows: the folded mistress quite a dream of golden gate; and fry. Myself away; from the deserves with and in the bottom of thee—I am true loved on should understood about empyreal heights in other sleep, in May, her sark, to whom he leagues of youthful prayers again. Nine sound, in landscape under is her earth, and thoughts which open its leafless ranges the Robe of Hope and drinks from purblind was the fear nae scant, I’ll have no more.

               89

Beauty, make my heart I’ll all that beares; makes it were beloved two boats; and the coming caves, and to know a pleasure: leave us: you while it smote, still continued to her bosom’s core o’ the best. To wanders the question; for soul of noble had made your mind. Release of what others of Allah; unto myriads on mine, nor strikes all come against thing to the songs I took the loves next really, but with his the way, the grieve as daily served up all my woe? And all whelm the dearly! Fruitful pain his black and silver proue. And Autumn, with all we then, in the Galaxie, the fathers thine.

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Screams and Icecream a new beginning.(first game without jumpscares)

After 30 years since the demons at Ria's were defeated, two women named Nora Swanson and Judy Rose have revived Ria's Playtime Buffet as a Ria branded mega mall known as Ria's Super Plaza. You play as an employee doing animatronic maintenance after hours, and must complete your task before 9:00 am our you'll be fired.

Animatronics

Superstar Ria: She's the newest version of Ria, she's an tall, humanoid red panda with a tail and wears an ice cream print dress and her iconic pink bow. She's the main singer and cheery leader of the band.

Superstar Zack: He's the newest version of Zack, he's a tall, humanoid zebra animatronic with a tail and wears a red leather jacket, red leather pants, and shades on his forehead. He's the guitarist and the cool one of the band.

Superstar Chelsey: She's the newest version of Chelsey, she's a tall, humanoid cheetah animatronic with a tail and wears an orange headband, an orange tanktop, and reddish orange shorts. She's the drummer and the active one of the band.

Superstar Axel: Axel is one of the three new animatronics, he's a tall, humanoid, albino axolotl animatronic with a tail and wears a light blue tank top, a blue vest, and blue pants. He's the bassist and the laidback one of the band.

Superstar Fiona: Fiona is the second new animatronic, she's a tall, humanoid, flamingo animatronic with tail feathers and wears a purple, sparkly dress and purple eye shadow. She's the key board player and the fashionesta of the band.

Superstar Parker: He's the final new animatronic, he's a tall, humanoid pug animatronic with a tail and wears a green unitard, dark green leg warmers, and a matching headband. He's the back up on male vocals and a pug who likes to eat.

Their themed attractions

1.Ria's Incredible Icecream.

2.Zack's Rockin Room.

3.Chelsey's Glamour Gym.

4.Axel's Party Pool.

5.Fiona's Beauty Boutique.

6.Parker's Crazy Café.

Character themed food/drink

Ria: Ria party fizz(strawberry flavor), Ria's super stars(salted star shaped chips), Ria cupcake(red velvet flavor), Ria sundae(strawberry flavor with marshmallow sauce), Ria head shaped doughnut(red velvet flavor), and Ria popsicle(strawberry flavor).

Zack: Zack party fizz(root beer), Zack's super stars(spicy star shaped chips), Zack cupcake(chocolate flavor). Zack sundae(chocolate flavor with black and white frosting), Zack head shaped doughnut(chocolate flavor), and Zack popsicle(coconut flavor).

Chelsey: Chelsey's lemonade, Chelsey's super stars(low fat star shaped chips), Chelsey muffin(lemon flavor), Chelsey yogurt bowl(plain yogurt with lemon, lime, and orange), Chelsey head shaped bagel(avocado spread inside), and Chelsey popsicle.(lemon flavor)

Axel: Axel party fizz(orange flavor), Axel's super stars(cheesy star shaped chips), Axel cupcake(orange flavor), Axel sundae(orange flavor with pinapple chunks), Axel head shaped doughnut(orange creamsicle flavor), and Axel popsicle.(orange creamsicle)

Fiona: Fiona party fizz(watermelon flavor), Fiona's super stars(salted and vinegar star shaped chips), Fiona sundae(bubblegum flavor), Fiona head shaped doughnut(bubblegum flavor), and Fiona popsicle.(bubblegum flavor)

Parker: Parker party fizz(vanilla flavor), Parker's super stars(bbq star shaped chips), Parker sundae(vanilla flavor with hot fudge), Parker head shaped doughnut(vanilla flavor), and Parker popsicle.(vanilla)

Character merchandise

Ria: Ria plush, Ria action figure, Ria blanket, Ria onsie, Ria poster, Ria ice cream scooper, Ria electric guitar, Ria bike, Ria beach towel, Ria dress, Ria head shaped mug, to name a few.

Zack: Zack plush, Zack action figure, Zack blanket, Zack onsie, Zack poster, Zack ice cream scooper, Zack electric guitar, Zack bike, Zack beach towel, Zack suit, and Zack head shaped mug, to name a few.

Chelsey: Chelsey plush, Chelsey action figure, Chelsey blanket, Chelsey onsie, Chelsey poster, Chelsey ice cream scooper, Chelsey electric guitar, Chelsey bike, Chelsey beach towel, Chelsey dress, and Chelsey head shaped mug, to name a few.

Axel: Axel plush, Axel action figure, Axel blanket, Axel onsie, Axel poster, Axel ice cream scooper, Axel electric guitar, Axel bike, Axel beach towel, Axel suit, and Axel head shaped mug, to name a few.

Fiona: Fiona plush, Fiona action figure, Fiona blanket, Fiona onsie, Fiona poster, Fiona ice cream scooper, Fiona electric guitar, Fiona bike, Fiona beach towel, Fiona dress, and Fiona head shaped mug, to name a few.

Parker: Parker plush, Parker action figure, Parker blanket, Parker onsie, Parker poster, Parker ice cream scooper, Parker electric guitar, Parker bike, Parker beach towel, Parker suit, and Parker head shaped mug, to name a few.