sinceninetyfour

[confettiiz]

born to watch and draw murder drones forced to go to school.

[booksooks]

gang i do NAUT feel good

[backensicangel0647]

after discussing with qpp like philosophers, im thinking very much abt making a ramble blog (to anyone who cares)

(EDIT, twas in my q) @angeldigital92 hey... its here.. if you even care.... /j

[just-a-pretty-little-rose]

a step by step process for being funny (I think?)

1. write book (this is the easy part)

2. title book "All the evidence"

3. Fill book with all kinds of tasty controversy that The South™️ would hate

4. to clarify, y'all need to make it the horniest LGBTQ communist atheist evolution anti old guy economy book that's ever been booked

5. book burning

6. book title starts with the letter A so it goes first

7. Now, use your little imagination. Some guy, a normal guy perhaps (unlikely) yelling " burn all the evidence!!" and then starting a book burning. I think that speaks for itself really.

Cool, I'm going to sleep now

[favoritetab]

sonnet 23: methought I saw my late espoused saint, john milton

[frogpogz]

sometimes life is about looking at your friends and smiling to yourself about how much you love them

[janeeyreofmanderley]

How that scene should have gone:

Titania :My Oberon, what visions have I seen! Methought I was enamored of an ass! Titania:*looks at husband* Titania: But then, that seems to be my type anyway.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"Methought the billows spoke and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ pipe, pronounced The name of Prosper." - William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act III, Scene III

[ID: a picspam comprised of 16 images in shades of blue and light brown.

1: A calm sea under a cloudy sky, seen over a stone wall / 2: A crowd of people sheltering as spray crashes over them / 3: The head of a statue draped in pearls / 4: The rigging of a ship / 5: A drawing of a young man reaching out of the sea to grab onto a rock. He is pale and dark-haired, and looks up with an expression of distress and fascination / 6: Old-fashioned script on parchment / 7: The lower body of a person standing on a beach. They have tan skin and are surrounded by billowing white fabric / 8: An ornate astrological clock. The visible hand is shaped like a sun / 9: Ocean waves / 10: The inside of a nautilus shell / 11: Lightning among clouds / 12: A pale-skinned person reclining amid mist or water, viewed in profile. Their arm hangs past their head and their back is arched / 13: A person's arms, hands outstretched in a gesture of offering or accepting. They have tan skin and are wearing a sheer white shirt with puffy sleeves / 14: A hallway surrounded by white plaster columns. Sunshine falls through arched openings, and there is a brown door visible at the end under another arch / 15: Astronomical diagrams / 16: A painting showing several shipwrecked sailors clinging to floating debris //End ID]

[vypridae]

Meanwhile Zestial is sipping tea and when Carmilla lets him know she and Velvette are a thing now he just smiles and says "Methought I sensed a spark 'twixt thou two at the meeting, though cashiered it due to more pressing matters."

Carmilla is surprised, her friend has always been observant but he didn't actually be able to see into one's hearts... could he?

AJHASJKFGHADKJFG NO UR SO RIGHT ACTUALLY . zestial was able to tell from like day 1 and carmilla is like how ??

[ayaosguqin]

“I wandered long, methought, alone

to the deep shadow where the dead dwell;

but ever a voice that I knew well,

like bells, like viols, like harps, like birds,

like music moving without words,

called me, called me through the night,

enchanted drew me back to light!”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, Beren and Lúthien

[fever-project]

Random thought I had

Ravio - R, Hilda- H

R: *tries to make Hilda laugh with some random joke* Shall I compare thee to a summers day?

H: …. Sure, go ahead

R: *giggling* thou art hot as hell

H: *chokes on drink*

Rest: *stares like WHAT THE FLIP JUST HAPPENED and NO HE DID NOT*

H: … w H at

R: *barely holding his shit together* Methought ´twas funny

I should sleep lol

pfft this was hilarious. I should draw this I am picturing this so clearly in my mind

[telvess]

Record of Ragnarok, Jack the Ripper x S/O (shot)

What a lovely day it was to enjoy a cup of Darjeeling tea. Jack headed to the restaurant, humming Mother Goose’s lullaby to himself. His mind was as clear as sky above him. It was crowded at this time. Who would’ve thought that even in afterlife humans would find something worth chasing. Well, Jack now also had a new purpose. Was it destiny or twist of a fate that the moment he thought about it, potential purpose simply collided with him? — Ah, my apologies — he mumbled, hearing loud ouch. Before him stood woman of average heigh, her auburn hair was blowing in the wind. She rubbed her forehead, turning eyes towards Jack. Colour of her soul became slightly yellow as she noticed his serious face. She might not have heard him. — My bad — her voice was weak. Jack immediately put on a smile, he didn’t mean to scare her. — Be not afeard — he said. A woman blinked as if she heard a ghost. In one moment her soul filled with red which Jack interpreted as confidence. — The isle is full of noises — she whispered with content smile. Jack’s eyes widened. — Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. — Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices… — he began reciting with her. They both lowered their voices to better reflect the tone of the work. Red colour exploded inside a woman, passion completely took over. — That, if I then had waked after long sleep, will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, the clouds methought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, I cried to dream again — they finished together. The woman sighed as if she had just smelled a delicious cake. When she looked into Jack's eyes again, there was pure joy in them. — William Shakespeare, The Tempest — she winked at him. — Act three, scene two — added Jack. — Isn’t it beautiful? She nodded with a broad smile. — I thought you wouldn’t get it when I started and think I’m a weirdie, but I just couldn’t deny myself! What a great surprise! — Indeed, meeting another person who can recite so finely word for word such a magnificent part… A shadow flickered across woman’s face. Her inner colour changed; intense red washed out, became faded. Jack interpreted it as an embarrassment. — Oh, I’m so sorry — her cheeks turned red — I think I might have made wrong first impression on you. You see… — she scratched her neck and with closed eyes said in a single breath — I don’t know much more about Shakespeare. She opened her eyes, her face was contorted as if she had eaten something sour. — How so? — I tried to read his work but… truth to be told, I don’t think I am bright enough to understand it. Language issue. I was born long, long time after him. Jack’s shoulders dropped a bit. — Disappointed, aren’t you? — she laughed. Jack smiled. — It’s odd you know that one. — Well, I heard it when I was a teenager and it kinda stuck with me. It’s sounds so beautiful I had to learn it by heart, but until today I’ve never said it out loud. Red colour brighten up again and her soul filled with passion that Jack shared. The loud noise of a passing car reminded them that they were both heading somewhere before this conversation started. They exchanged shy smiles and began to walk hand in hand in silent agreement. — You seem like man who is well-read — she said after awhile. — I have read all of Shakespeare's works. Woman’s eyes widened. — Really? — she sounded impressed. Jack felt a flush of heat in his ears that spreaded on the cheeks. — Be or not to be… — she whispered slowly, glancing at Jack in tense silence. — That is the question — he obediently followed, imitating the right tone of voice. — A horse, a horse! — her voice became more livelier, almost desperate.

— My kingdom for a horse! — he scouted with her. Woman giggled and Jack couldn’t have helped but admire how beautiful someone’s soul was when they enjoy themself. Just how wondrous it would’ve filled with fear-… no. That’s the past. What's done is done. He was living a new life now. — These are hackneyed — her voice brought him back to reality — Beside them I don’t know more except one. I really like… wait, how does it go, I don’t want to spoil it… Ah! To thine own self be true… — … self be true — he finished with her. — But I don’t know where is it from. — Hamlet, Polonius said that — Jack answered almost immediately. — Ah, Hamlet. My English teacher would kill me for not knowing that. She gave him another smile. Jack’s heart started beating faster. Where this heat in his belly was coming from? Almost as if he was wounded, but without blood and pain. Such strange feeling and that colour he was emitting… Jack couldn’t have interpreted it at all. — What’s your favourite quote? — Mine? — that question caught him off guard — Hmm… Jack never thought of that. He adored a whole lot of them. He knew what happen in every act of every scene but to chose one out of so many marvellous works… would it be even… fair? — I believe I don’t have one — was his reply. — Oh, come on! — woman scouted. — You must have the one you like a bit more, the one that stands out. Jack allowed himself to drown in the endless abyss of words. Maybe he had to choose his favourite work first to find it? Which one could it be? Shakespeare’s sonnets? That was his very first after all. If there was one good thing that Jack’s father did, it was leaving that book in the brothel. — Hey, stranger! — Jack looked around and realized that his companion wasn’t walking by his side anymore. The woman was standing few meters behind, pointing out side street where she obviously intended to go — What’s your name? — she shouted. — Jack. He felt unpleasant sting in the chest knowing that they had to separate so soon. — Jack… — she said, her voice was still confident, but Jack saw blue stains of disappointed in her soul — … the next time we meet, you will tell me your favourite part! A larger group of people showed up and due to lack of space, the woman had to go with the flow. But she was looking at Jack as she was walking away and didn’t stop until Jack nodded. And then she was gone. Jack didn’t even ask for her name.

[fallingyams]

"And then in dreaming

The clouds methought would open and show riches

Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked

I cried to dream again."

- The Tempest, Act 3, Scene 2

Sherlock is staring at him when his eyes flutter open in the morning, a warm dimpled grin stretching across his lips as he lays next to the blond in their shared bed.

He's no stranger to this dream.

It's nothing more than a recurring fantasy that has haunted him ever since their meeting aboard the Noahtic on that fateful day.

Sometimes he'd imagine accompanying the detective on his cases, solving mysteries together like they had done aboard the train once. They would tease and jibe and compete to find evidence, stretching their intellectual muscles to the fullest extent in a battle of wits, and giggle like schoolchildren when their thoughts overlapped.

Other times, it'd be scenes like this, of them blissful and at peace, sharing a life together. Of him tucked beneath a blanket and reading a book or two while Sherlock tinkered with his experiments in the corner of the room.

He knows exactly how this dream goes, the same as it has all those times before. Sherlock would stretch and wrap his arms around William's waist, all while whispering a morning greeting.

He can almost see the double bar lines of the repeat symbol on this sheet of music as they dance along to the melody that he's heard too many times before.

William isn't ashamed to admit his fondness for the odd detective, nor is he abashed by his feelings and desires.

He is, however, a little wistful at the impossibility of these dreams.

Dream William blinks away the sleep from his eyes and reaches a hand towards the other, cupping his cheeks gently, savouring the imaginary warmth of the skin beneath his fingertips. There's just a bit of stubble beginning to grow, and he wonders if it'd feel prickly and rough as Sherlock nuzzles into his hand.

Sometimes he wonders what he would give to turn this dream into reality.

After all, he knows that his feelings aren't quite one-sided. Sherlock hasn't been too subtle about his reciprocation, what with his puppy dog eyes and deep fascination with William. It would be so easy to simply give in and-

Thoughts of the Moriarty plan flit through his mind and he quashes his wishful thinking

-no, it wouldn't be fair to Sherlock at all.

William is a man destined for death, and he will not be selfish enough to leave him in mourning.

Neither can he be selfish enough to abandon the plan that they have so painstakingly enacted.

(And he knows that his brothers would agree to abandon it in a heartbeat for the sake of his happiness if he so much as hinted at it, somehow still convinced that someone as unclean as him deserved to be happy)

"Mornin', Professor-" he thinks that Sherlock tries to say, but the words come out muffled and garbled

And just like clockwork, the image of Sherlock before him slowly fades away with the sunlight, forcing the illusion to crumble into dust like the last of his sleep.

With a deep breath and forlorn smile, William allows himself to savour that smug grin one last time, impressing that deep ocean gaze into memory before he gives in to the calling of wakefulness.

It is nothing more than a fantasy borne from his wishful imagination.

But it will have to be enough.

---

//Coda.

Sherly is staring at him when his eyes flutter open in the morning, a warm dimpled grin stretching across his lips as he lays next to the blond in their shared bed.

But this time, it's not a dream.

"-see you're finally awake, Sleepy-head," the detective murmurs, voice rough from sleep.

This time, when he reaches his hand to touch the other, the warmth seeps into his fingertips and chases the morning chill away.

Fin.

---

Have you ever had a dream so good or so real that you couldn't help but lie there trying to savour the lingering feeling even after you've woken up? I honestly think it's one of the best feelings in the world.

Thank you for dropping by to read this silly little thing. I was just a little inspired by the idea of dreams and I thought that William must have definitely dreamed of Sherlock at some point because of his feelings so he just clings to these dreams because they're the only thing he has. (The unfortunate side effect of being a major criminal lol)

Anyways I'm off to bed it's like 2am but please feel free to yell at me about sherliam anytime

[bonyfish]

Any time I am carrying branches that still have leaves attached, all I can think is:

"As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I looked toward Birnam, and anon methought The Wood began to move."

[gailstorm]

Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,

Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments

Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices

That, if I then had waked after long sleep

Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming

The clouds methought would open and show riches

Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked

I cried to dream again…

—Caliban, “The Tempest”

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

Eugène Delacroix, The Prisoner of Chillon

He was a French Romantic artist regarded from the outset of his career as the leader of the French Romantic school.

🫶 I love this long poem .. . :'( hi ya!!! . ...

《The Prisoner of Chillon》拜倫勳爵 Lord Byron (George Gordon) An excerpt from this long poem of him and my favorite parts of :

A kind of change came in my fate, My keepers grew compassionate; I know not what had made them so, They were inured to sights of woe, But so it was:—my broken chain With links unfasten'd did remain, And it was liberty to stride Along my cell from side to side, And up and down, and then athwart, And tread it over every part; And round the pillars one by one, Returning where my walk begun, Avoiding only, as I trod, My brothers' graves without a sod; For if I thought with heedless tread My step profaned their lowly bed, My breath came gaspingly and thick, And my crush'd heart felt blind and sick. I made a footing in the wall, It was not therefrom to escape, For I had buried one and all, Who loved me in a human shape; And the whole earth would henceforth be A wider prison unto me: No child, no sire, no kin had I, No partner in my misery; I thought of this, and I was glad, For thought of them had made me mad; But I was curious to ascend To my barr'd windows, and to bend Once more, upon the mountains high, The quiet of a loving eye.

I saw them—and they were the same, They were not changed like me in frame; I saw their thousand years of snow On high—their wide long lake below, And the blue Rhone in fullest flow; I heard the torrents leap and gush O'er channell'd rock and broken bush; I saw the white-wall'd distant town, And whiter sails go skimming down; And then there was a little isle, Which in my very face did smile, The only one in view; A small green isle, it seem'd no more, Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, But in it there were three tall trees, And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, And by it there were waters flowing, And on it there were young flowers growing, Of gentle breath and hue. The fish swam by the castle wall, And they seem'd joyous each and all; The eagle rode the rising blast, Methought he never flew so fast As then to me he seem'd to fly; And then new tears came in my eye, And I felt troubled—and would fain I had not left my recent chain; And when I did descend again, The darkness of my dim abode Fell on me as a heavy load; It was as is a new-dug grave, Closing o'er one we sought to save,— And yet my glance, too much opprest, Had almost need of such a rest.

It might be months, or years, or days— I kept no count, I took no note— I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free; I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where; It was at length the same to me, Fetter'd or fetterless to be, I learn'd to love despair. And thus when they appear'd at last, And all my bonds aside were cast, These heavy walls to me had grown A hermitage—and all my own! And half I felt as they were come To tear me from a second home: With spiders I had friendship made And watch'd them in their sullen trade, Had seen the mice by moonlight play, And why should I feel less than they? We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill—yet, strange to tell! In quiet we had learn'd to dwell; My very chains and I grew friends, So much a long communion tends To make us what we are:—even I Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.