#leon garfield

[emilococo]

Tick, Tock.

Click Clock.

Honestly, I need to get better at meeting deadlines.

Shakespeare the Animated Tales belongs to its respected owners and creators.

[pasdetrois]

Illustrations by Elena Livanova and Stanislav Sokolov for William Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale (abridged by Leon Garfield)

[masterblackoak]

“At night, neatly dressed in black, with a short round hat that resembled the stopper of an ink bottle, he returned to Highbury New Park where he had rooms on the ground floor of Number Fourteen. Here, in his respectable living-room that always smelled of camphor, he would sit for hours together surrounded by items of heavy mahogany furniture and two tomb-like armchairs ~ all of which had been picked up, so to speak, at sales of Effects at the houses of deceased clients. So strong indeed was the air of bereavement that the very sideboard and table, weighty though they were, seemed unnaturally still ~ as if they’d lately died and left themselves to Mr Fast in their wills.”

(This passage comes from a novel called The Ghost Downstairs, which was written by Leon Garfield.)

[ofleafstructure]

Anthony Maitland

[wafflelovingbatgirl]

Any chance we can bring back Mr. Robert Lincoln? I have some events I’d like him to attend

[bazingax5]

twinning

i promise Leon is not choking garfield i just cant draw hands

[jamespottersdaisy]

i wrote this last night before bed, enjoy while i work on my wips

probably hurt/comfort kinda thing, imagine your current comfort fictional man <33

0.5k

x

He looks at her from afar, taking in the way her shoulders sulk. The pout on her lips that only emerges when she's truly hurt, and the daze in her eyes which seem to zone out, losing themselves occasionally at one point. He knows she's hurt, knows there are so many thoughts attacking her mind, filling her heart with green poison. Her own self-being refuses to help, instead mirroring many incoherent but nonetheless agonizing thoughts. He wishes to talk to her, to reassure her that whatever her brain is feeding to her already weak soul is not true. But he knows she won't listen. She won't open up. She has too high walls for that vulnerability. But he knows he has to try. 

He slowly pads to the room where she is, hunched over the table, left cheek pressed to her flat hand, writing words on a small parchment before her. He knows she likes to write. It helps her with the storm in her heart. It helps with the quake deep in her ocean. It helps with the cracks of her high walls that tower over her silly and broken heart. 

He is not sure if he is to intervene. To abduct her from her place, where no man and no woman can harm her. Where her heart is safe, her soul vulnerable. Vulnerable enough for him to touch, to see, to feel. And maybe, just maybe, for him to love.

But he does anyway. He goes over to her, caresses her hair. He doesn't peek at the paper, he knows she wouldn't like that even though at the moment she doesn't seem to mind, leaving the parchment revealed. He still doesn't peek.

"I love you," he says, not as a reassurance, but as a reminder. 

You are the one I love, it says. You are the light to my dark, sun to my night, it says. He is not sure she understands.

She curls her lips a bit up, emerging a faint, weak smile. One that whispers 'I love you' back. One that's grateful and infatuated just as much as it's faltered and mute. Still, it bears every single drop of affection she has for him. She is not sure he understands.

He drops to his knees, places his hands on her lap, and intertwines their fingers. His hold is gentle, tender and careful enough to make her feel safe, without the burden of expectations. 

Her eyes are pained, her voice absent. He misses her voice. Especially her laugh. Without it, he doesn't feel like it's a normal day in which the sun rises with her giggle and sets with her yawn. He wants it back.

"Talk to me," he begs, eyes filled with a yearning that burns for her, lives for her, and dies for her.

He is not sure if she will. She's not sure if she will. I am not, either.

But one thing is clear if you do talk to him, he won't let anything interrupt. He won't let the words get locked somewhere deep in you just because the fear of judgment has the keys. He won't let the tears get in the way of your feelings just because you don't know how to stop them. He will wipe them away.

If you do talk to him, he will make sure that you are understood.

[dario-el-estupido]

Did I mention I was a US History fan? Happy Presidents Day!

[frillyyyy]

Doodles for u!

I'm probably gonna start posting a lot less often because of school, just letting y'all know so someone dosent think I ended it

(This post isn't as aesthetically pleasing as my normal ones I'm crying)

[cherryvazquez]

Some doodles I redered (☆_☆)

(Manolo its my dog and leah its a friend's dog)

[letterboxd-loggd]

The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) Tay Garnett

February 12th 2025

[iluvjesus666]

running on empty 😔

[leqonsluv3r]

*evilly laughs* my precious 🥲

[callmeriver-art]

It's probably a controversial piece, but here is a piece inspired by artists Andy Warhol and Marcus Harvey of john Wilkes Booth, Charles j. Guiteau, Leon Czgolsz, and Lee Harvey Oswald the 4 men who successfully carried out a US presidential assassination against former president Abraham Lincoln, James Garfield, William McKinley, and John F. Kennedy

[megaswagger]

Leon Kennedy Garfield meep fanart for @valslullaby