#poplar beach

[inkymink]

Seafoam. Poplar Beach, Half Moon Bay, California. 1 Jan 2017.

[tylermileslockett]

"The Gate to Hades" (part 3 in my Orpheus and Eurydice series)

Part3: But Orpheus is not satisfied to sit in solitary mourning. There was a great injustice in the death of his love Eurydice. If the beasts and rocks of the wild woods of Olympia bow before his song, what is to stop him for persuading the spirits of the underworld? Perhaps he can even persuade the King Hades to take pity on him and his lost love. With this determination, he receives directions to the dark gate from the forest nymphs and sets out. Many days later, standing before that gaping black maw, Orpheus shivers. He might never return to the land of the living. He steps forward. He has nothing left to lose.

In Greek literary sources we have varying references to the location of the entrance to underworld. In Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus must travel to Hades to  perform a “Nekyia” ceremony to commune with the dead to receive prophecies. Circe gives Odysseus the vaguest of directions; “…once your ship has crossed flowing Ocean, drag it ashore at Persephone’s groves, on the level beach where tall poplars grow, willows shed their fruit, right beside deep swirling Oceanus.  Then you must go to Hades’ murky home, where Periphlegethon and Cocytus, a stream which branches off theriver Styx, flow into Acheron.” – translation by Ian Johnston.

Some scholars believe Homer’s description of the location is based on the real-world temple of the “Nekromanteion” (oracle of the dead) in Ancient Epirus (Northwest Greece). This was a temple of necromancy dedicated to Hades and Persephone where devotees could commune with dead spirits, and was believed to be the entrance to Hades. The temple was located at the meeting point of three rivers; the Acheron (river of woe), Pyriphlegethon (river of fire), and Cocytus (river of lamentation).

Thanks for reading and looking! If you share this image I'll swim the river styx to.give you a high five! Xoxo

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in march to kickstarter. Please check my links in my linktree in my bio to join the kickstarter notification page. 🤟❤️🏛

[vintage-london-images]

People have walked on the Thames foreshore for thousands of years but Tower Beach as it was known was created in 1933/4 by bringing 1,500 barge loads of sand to the site.

In 1934, Tower Beach was officially opened, King George V decreed that the beach was to be used by the children of London, and that they should be given “free access forever”, and it was such a success in the 1930s, that it was estimated half a million people had used the beach.

For the many East End children who had never been to the seaside , this was a great substitute and thousands flocked there especially from Stepney and Poplar.

Although Tower Beach was closed during the war time, normal business resumed in 1946 and was still popular in the 1950s and 1960s. However in the 1970s there were concerns about the pollution in the river and the beach officially closed for ever in 1971.

[peersights]

poplar beach//2023

[happyk44]

Hermes growing up in sunshine and bright lights and pretty thrones and regality and formality and "stay still, for the love of the stars, just stay still for one bleeding second" and hearing stories about the dirty Underworld and how its damp and dreary and no one it and the people who do are weird and strange and he meets Thanatos on a war field and admires the pretty wings stretched long across his back and watches quietly as he walks through bodies and blood and weaponry laid bare and plucks wandering confused soul up from their barely breathing chests and away from the grass they're sobbing in and and he follows him like a duck to water and Thanatos pays him no mind, just deposits the soil at the foot of his older brother and descends across the Styx with wide black wings that glitter like jewels in the dim light of the Underworld.

Charon regards Hermes with little interest, collecting payment and readying his boat. There's a young boy, no older than fifteen, who has no money, but Charon just pulls a coin from his own pocket and adds it to the bucket. It's locked tight and snaps at Hermes with large fangs when he creeps too close so he batters back and follows the boat across the Styx. She's black and vicious, waters tremulous and cruel. Beneath her waves, lost souls are screaming, begging to be saved. But around Charon's boat, her waves are soft and gentle. They push his boat along as he paddles to the gray sandy shore ahead.

He pays Hermes no mind when he lands of soft gray beach beside the boatman. Just guides the souls in a long line to the wall. There are other souls walking long across the beach and they turn and run with wispy feet and crash into the newly deceased with untapped joy.

Charon's lip twitches.

Hermes wanders through hallways and rooms and there's a large court, a myriad of souls waiting with shaking nerves as nymphs and naiads and skeletons holding stacks of parchment beside them. Some are assuring them. Others are silent, simply waiting.

Out through the final door, there's a beautiful walkway into a large field of asphodels. The Lethe trickles nearby. He can hear her soft siren call to rest, to sleep, to wash away all that worries him. Poppies flock her riverbank. Hypnos shimmers nearby. He is humming as soft tune as he lays a wispy soul to rest in the water.

The first and last time Hermes met him was Pasithea's wedding. A grand affair as Hera would have nothing less for her lovely daughter. He had been sleepy-eyed, dim and unresponsive. Here he is brighter. Whispering soft assurances as the soul rolls out of his arms and into the soft lap of the river below. He waits some time then collects them. They seem smaller somehow. Wet and dripping. But their form, once wispy and deteriorated, is stronger now. Squishy and soft along the edges, but ridge.

He seals them up in a jar and sets them aside with another set of jars. He pays Hermes no mind as he walks past. Nearby Pasithea descends. She cracks a crooked grin at her half-brother, and collects the washed souls sealed away. She disappears on gossamer wings into the darkness above their heads. Hypnos continues his work, lowering one soul at a time. Some of them are wispy and some are glowing bright. But he treats them all with the same gentleness. Like a parent tucking a child in for bed.

Hermes moves on.

It is not as dark as everyone said. Jewels glitter along the walls. The poplar trees almost glow, their white back standing strong. There is no dampness. It is cold, yes, but there's a warmth there. In the hustle and bustle. Ghosts wander, but nymphs and naiads and gods fluster back and forth among them.

It doesn't feel dreary. Feels like home. Comfortable, like every village and town Hermes has travelled through. Everyone has a job and they do it the best of their ability. They step around one another with practiced ease and smile and laugh. Cows roam freely and come when called.

Macaria doesn't say hello when he drifts by. She simply states at him for moment, but she doesn't question his presence. Just turns around and continues onwards with a cluster of souls at her side. Elysium is clustered further to the back. It is saved by a large boundary wall and strong iron gates. She pulls them open easily and he follows her inside. It is beautiful and orderly. Obsidian walkways. Colourful cottages. In the center square there is a large pomegranate tree. Each fruit is golden, hanging high and neatly in dark green leaves. As he approaches, they seem to shift, pushing outwards as though enticing him to take. Macaria grabs his wrist. It is the first true acknowledge of his presence.

"Don't," she says. "Eat those while living and my father will own you as if you were dead."

The golden fruit entices him. Turns a rich red as the trees almost tilts towards him.

"Oh," he says faintly. He doesn't like to be denied the things he wants, doesn't like to be told he can't have something, and he's tempted to take it anyway. But he withdraws his arm.

She pulls her hand off him and smiles kindly. She says nothing else, just carries on her way.

Hermes states at bright red fruit in front of him. He's never really been a fan of pomegranates. They're annoying to eat, little seeds you have to chew and spit out. And they're bitter. But he wants these ones. Distantly he thinks they'll taste good, like candy, like sugar, like the sweet relief of death.

He steps back and exhales shallowly. Turns on his heels and leaves.

The castle is far off to the corner. Built in the shadowy walls of the Underworld. He wanders through hallways and a throne room, peeking into bedrooms on the second floor. Each room is carefully curated to everyone's own design. He stumbles a bit when the castle floors shift under his feet, expanding rapidly. A new door opens up. He peeks inside to spot a nursery, and a second leading into Pasithea and Hypnos's shared bedroom. It slowly decorates itself. Sleepy wisps of fog against the ceiling. A soft rocking chair beside a study crib. Glowing jewels sprout from the walls. They are sharp for a minute before rounding out gently.

There is one room that is bare of any real effects. There is a bed that sits in middle, untouched. The sheets are too crisp. There's a closet. Dark robes sit inside, all the same colour, all the same design. There is one thing, a silver handmade crown on the beside table. It isn't well-crafted, but its cute.

He steps out and continues to wander. There is a modest kitchen on the second floor, across from the line of bedrooms. It accompanied a small seating area. But that is all. The third floor is open, no ceiling, just floor and an impressive view of all that is the Underworld. He steps onto the railing and jumps off. Flies across grass and wheat and a small but bustling farm and asphodels and poplar trees.

It's not scary. He doesn't know why the others grumble so much. Perhaps they fear what is below the surface, Tartarus, eternal punishment. The Phelegathon swirls around a large staircase that descends into flaming waters. The closer he gets, the warmer it is. The Keres are dragging sobbing souls to it and shoving them in unceremoniously. The river doesn't part for her, as she flies over head, but when a soul falls from her grasp, it spits the poor sufferer back out and into the pit itself.

Hermes recognizes Alecto as she ascends from deep inside the darkness. She glares at him, unpleased, but does not say anything about his presence. Merely snaps her whip and flies off. From a safe distance, Hermes follows.

Ah. Yes. The crown jewel of the Underworld.

The mines.

The caverns are glistening. Carts and carts of jewels are stacked along the walls. Guards dogs and a couple rams hold close, growling at Hermes when he tries to sneak over. A nymph shoots him a dirty look before she returns to her parchment. Hermes floats back.

He can sneak the jewels later. Right now, he wants to know why Alecto has left her post. She flies into the caverns. Hermes follows and falls still.

He's met his uncle before. Sat near him at meetings. But the man he's seeing now and the man he's seen before do not match up. Hades had always been tall, half-covered in shadows and shifting darkness. His crown sat on his head so dastardly no one but his siblings could bare to look him in the eye. Even Ares, strong and bull-headed as he was, cowered ever so slightly when Hades walked in.

Alecto speaks low as she settles near him. He listens quietly then nods, speaking near silent. Ghosts mill around, chipping at walls and pushing carts of shiny jewels.

He seems simpler now. There is no darkness, there is no crown. His pale arms are exposed. His legs. His face.

His eyes are blacker than the void, and Hermes finds himself falling into them, falling, falling, falling. His voice is a soft thing. Coaxing. Deep beneath his bones, Hermes feels himself crave something. A falling again. To lower himself. To rip out his own beating heart and hand it over without question.

The ruby red pomegranate filters back into his mind. He swallows around thick saliva of want and wearily steps back. Alecto mutters something and flies away. Hades turns and Hermes falls.

His smile is gentle, soothing. Everything is alright, it says. It's time to go.

"Hermes," he says and his voice is like a song. Upstairs, it is rigid, cutting and sharp. Like a blade. But here it's almost like medicine, healing parts of Hermes's soul he didn't know were damaged. "I was wondering when you were going to say hello." He cocks his head, like a pup, and it's almost laughable. It's cute, which doesn't make sense. Kings of the dead should not be cute. But Hades is. In a older matured sort of way. "Did you see everything you wanted to see?"

He knew. He knew Hermes was here and nosy. Of course, he did. This is his realm, his home. It shares his name and it is him, done to the bones.

"I was curious," he says slowly.

Hades's eyes glitter. Like stars. Like diamonds. "Yes, I know." He gestures loosely around him. "They were all curious once too." He laughs and it is sweet. The souls around him shimmer and bend with the sound, as though reaching for him. "Well, except Mac, but she was born of this earth. Nothing to really be curious about when it's in your veins."

The souls wane as his laughter dies.

I am not dead, Hermes thinks. Why does the sound of his uncle instill him with such longing then? He steps back. "Sorry for intruding, Uncle."

Hades looks amused. It fits his face far better than Hermes had imagined. Here he is lively and together. Breathing in the presence of death and wealth, invigorated by what Olympus lacks.

"People don't intrude," Hades says. He pauses. "Well, that's not true. Mortals intrude when they want something. But gods don't. Our family-" He waves his hand dismissively and moves forward. Each step is languid and calm. "-tend to stick to where they feel safest. Mortals will avoid me until they need me. But our family oftens feels I am unnecessary."

Hermes blinks. "Ares doesn't think that."

Hades grins. It is a sharp toothed thing, reflecting bloody war-torn bodies and rapid burials in shredded grass. "Ares likes Thanatos. And the Keres. That doesn't mean he thinks what I do is necessary. I am not the reason people die, nor am I the creator of their deaths."

Hermes blinks and Hades looms over him. It's not scary. Not worrying. There is something comforting in the presence of his uncle towering over him. It feels... Protective.

"They worry," Hades says, "about my proximity to our father and his friends. To the souls I have. My realm will always grow, even when belief begins to fade. The dead will always need a home to come to, even if they have no home in mind. It worries them." He shrugs. "But that's not a concern you need to bother about."

"I-" Hermes falters. He looks away from porcelain skin and glittering eyes and the sweet voice that coaxes him to spill bitter juice across his tongue and stay. "I should go."

Hades steps back. "I'm not stopping you," he says. "But when you want to, try to come back during the day. Charon locks the door at dinner and I wouldn't want you to be waiting too long for everything to open up."

Hermes falters again. Distantly he knows he was going to be come back. Drift in to poke around again. Maybe try to steal some pretty gems. Explore the farm. Check out the heated punishments down in Tartarus or sit in on one of the court proceedings.

There is too much he hasn't yet seen.

But how did Hades know?

Hades just smiles and says, "I told you. No one living walks in here unless they want something." He turns on his heel, to the souls waiting before him with carts of diamonds and emeralds and gold. "You don't have to know what you want now," he continues. He shoots Hermes a pleasant smile from over his shoulder. "But let me know when you figure it out."

[likeniobe]

paris and oenone: georg pencz, 1539, and jan saerendam, 1590s

Each Beach my Name yet bears, carv'd out by thee, Paris, and his Oenone fill each Tree; And as they grow the Letters larger spread, Grow still! a witness of my Wrongs when dead! Close by a silent silver Brook there grows A Poplar, under whose dear gloomy Boughs A thousand times we have exchang'd our Vows! Oh may'st thou grow! to an endless date of Years! Who on thy Bark this fatal Record bears; When Paris to Oenone proves untrue, Back Xanthus Streams shall to their Fountains flow. Turn! turn! your Tide, back to your Fountains run! The perjur'd Swain from all his Faith is gone!

from aphra behn's "paraphrase on ovid's epistle of oenone to paris," 1680

[rhysintherain]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you 💙

Sorry it took me literal weeks to answer this, it's busy season at work and 'happy' hasn't been a word nearly as common in my mind as 'the deadline is in 20 minutes and I have 1.5 hours of work to do first'.

But it's been slowly calming down, it's starting to feel like summer isn't just a distant dream, and I probably can't stay in a bad mood when the leaves are starting to come out and everything smells like budding poplars and sunlight.

So...

1. Afternoon storms

Took this photo biking with Pixie yesterday evening as the storms rolled past my river valley. There's nothing like a dark sky and the distant rumble of thunder to remind you that the universe is huge and complicated and doesn't care especially much about your tiny corner of existence. And that we've been navigating it since life first crawled up the first beach, and we'll keep doing so as long as there's a world to live on.

2. Vacation prep. My spring vacation is coming up with alarming speed, which means I need to pull out all my travel and camping gear, fill fuel and charge batteries, and get ready to go in a couple weeks. I love packing for trips.

3. Biking with the dog. Everyone keeps saying how hard bikejoring looks, but Pixie has been doing this since she was like 6 months old, and she's extremely good at it. Having a hyper dog forces me to go outside and enjoy spring, and her endless endurance means we get to go further and find different places every week. No regrets, no matter how tired I am I always enjoy riding around the neighborhood.

And Pixie loves running more than just about anything.

4. Being outside in the Pacific Northwest. I'm heading south to my hometown in a couple weeks, and this is the 2nd best time of year for it. Coastal old growth ecosystems work their way into your soul and never leave, and I miss the beaches and cedar forests. Time to drag my little sisters to the edge of the Pacific ocean, collect materials I can't get in the interior, and wander around my old stomping grounds to see what's changed and what hasn't. Last year I saw some signs that wolves might be moving back into the area around the ranch, so I'll have to see if I can collect more evidence.

5. Flint knapping. I might order some new materials this summer, and I'm still experimenting with industrial glass. Hoping to make some dacite and maybe obsidian points for a friend's grad gift, and definitely need to make some new antler pressure flakers for detail work. Pictures of new stone tools coming soon.

[dogandcatcomics]

#repost @jessedayan (Melbourne, Australia, 1982-). First image is Alke at the Beach, 2016, oil on linen, 56 x 43 cm. Second image is Alke at Breakfast, oil on poplar plywood, 30 x 35 cm. I am very interested in Dayan's affectionate dog portraits.

http://jessedayan.com

[swearingcactus]

Chandelier - Will Paquin < ??????

Eight Wonder - Lemon Demon < now THAT'S what i'm talking about!

Sex, Drugs, Etc. - Beach Weather

Poplar St. - Glass Animals

Life Itself - Glass Animals

Alien Blues - Vundabar

I Really Want to Stay at Your House - Rosa Walton, Hallie Coggins

say goodbye - Sarcastic Sounds <???? pt.2

Sweet Dreams, TN - The Last Shadow Puppets

help herself - bbno$, Diamond Pistols

i have no idea what's going on on number 1 and number 8, i have neither of them on any playlist, my guess is they usually play as a similar song radio. most of these are kinda surprising since i don't actively look to listen to them anymore, i can't remember when i last listened to i really want to stay at your house for example 🤔 anyways thanks for the tag @bunwithantlers ! to anyone, feel free to feel tagged if you see this <3

[inkymink]

Reflections and silhouettes. Poplar Beach, Half Moon Bay, California. 1 Jan 2017.

[tylermileslockett]

"The Gate to Hades" (part 3 in my Orpheus and Eurydice series)

Part3: But Orpheus is not satisfied to sit in solitary mourning. There was a great injustice in the death of his love Eurydice. If the beasts and rocks of the wild woods of Olympia bow before his song, what is to stop him for persuading the spirits of the underworld? Perhaps he can even persuade the King Hades to take pity on him and his lost love. With this determination, he receives directions to the dark gate from the forest nymphs and sets out. Many days later, standing before that gaping black maw, Orpheus shivers. He might never return to the land of the living. He steps forward. He has nothing left to lose.

In Greek literary sources we have varying references to the location of the entrance to underworld. In Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus must travel to Hades to  perform a “Nekyia” ceremony to commune with the dead to receive prophecies. Circe gives Odysseus the vaguest of directions; “…once your ship has crossed flowing Ocean, drag it ashore at Persephone’s groves, on the level beach where tall poplars grow, willows shed their fruit, right beside deep swirling Oceanus.  Then you must go to Hades’ murky home, where Periphlegethon and Cocytus, a stream which branches off theriver Styx, flow into Acheron.” – translation by Ian Johnston.

Some scholars believe Homer’s description of the location is based on the real-world temple of the “Nekromanteion” (oracle of the dead) in Ancient Epirus (Northwest Greece). This was a temple of necromancy dedicated to Hades and Persephone where devotees could commune with dead spirits, and was believed to be the entrance to Hades. The temple was located at the meeting point of three rivers; the Acheron (river of woe), Pyriphlegethon (river of fire), and Cocytus (river of lamentation).

Thanks for reading and looking! If you share this image I'll swim the river styx to.give you a high five! Xoxo

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in march to kickstarter. Please check my links in my linktree in my bio to join the kickstarter notification page. 🤟❤️🏛

[serenescribe]

got tagged by @kimium in a music tag game here (thank you, kim!) and i figured i may as well get this post written before the next twst update drops tomorrow and permanently alters my brain chemistry q-q

rules: post 5 songs you actually listen to, and tag 10 of your followers/mutuals (except i def don’t have that many people to tag TT)

i freaking love music with all my heart and soul so uhh— time to tangent! under the cut. this got long. just scroll past if you didn’t follow me for this shit ahfndhgdgf

1. bathroom community by glass beach (pinkshift cover)

i stumbled upon this song earlier this year thanks to spotify (yes, i actually look at what they recommend! i need more songs!) and god. GOD. this song has held me in a choke hold since i first listened to it. i desperately want to create an oc from this song, or a story of some sort; the story it paints with its lyrics just has so much goddamn potential for a character.

i love singing this song, even if i can’t sing very well. it’s just a lot of fun, with how intense it is! plus the lyrics... god, the lyrics. i usually like to gravitate to songs with more vague lyrics, but something about this song really soothes that teenage version of me tucked away somewhere in my soul, still angsting about the world.

i think my favourite line is this one, in the second verse — “he said you’ll never be okay if you don’t come to your senses / with you, everything’s the end of the world.” though “flipping through a spiral notebook for some / sad, hopeless words to turn into a liturgy” slaps hard too.

2. everybody’s falling in love by *repeat repeat

oh, i have a fic idea i long to write with this one. actually, i have an oc story (which is its own thing i won’t talk about) based on this song, but i have a fic idea i want to write too. this song just evokes so much whimsy of people falling in love, a constant spiral of romance! and it brings to mind a soulmate au — except instead of soulmate marks already existing and being common knowledge, they just... suddenly appear. which leads to a spiral of people figuring it out, relationship drama — what if two people who were dating aren’t soulmates? people who were platonic who suddenly get marks for each other? who gets together? who doesn’t? i’unno, i’m like... relationship introspection extraordinaire. might be a silly idea now that i’ve typed it out, but it’d be fun.

ah— for the song itself... yeah, it’s light on the lyrics, but like i said, it’s whimsical! it’s fun! i love the announcement at the start to really set the scene — this is a stage, and people falling in love is the show for everyone’s entertainment. yeah, it’s just— it’s a fun song. i don’t have much else to say.

3. sex sells by lovejoy

oh... (longing sigh) this song.

i listen to it a lot whenever i’m in a depressed funk. it just resonates with me a lot; the lyrics remind me of being second place to someone else, of a relationship slipping, that kind of thing. actually, the fact that i haven’t listened to it as much lately is probably a sign of my improving mental health (HA!)

i conceived a fic au before based off this song before — for a different fandom, not twst. it’s kind of shelved, i might turn it into an oc story instead because i still like the concept. but the inspiration i drew from this song turned into a very complex introspection of a close relationship (think childhood friends to lovers) crumbling and shattering under jealousy, envy, et cetera, et cetera. wrote like, one short ficlet off that? never posted it, but i’m still happy with it.

ah... lyrics. yeah, this one’s obvious; my favourite line is “how’s it feel to be so loved yet so alone?”

4. poplar st. by glass animals

was struggling between a lot of songs (how do you expect me to pick just FIVE?!) but considering how a line from poplar st. is literally my blog title on my main... figured it was a no brainer to include it. i wish i could convey my thoughts and feelings on this song, but this is one of the very rare few songs where, if you asked me to tell you what i like about it, i’d be stumped.

i’m not good with identifying instruments or explaining any of that, but the almost dreamy atmosphere of poplar st. hooks me splendidly. the vocals fit beautifully, to the point where they blend with the music and almost seem hard to pick out. i like how the song seems to tinge with darkness and fragment as it goes on — both lyrically and musically. it just scratches a lot of itches for me. would love to try writing something based off it someday? might just be oc stuff though, given the lyrics.

lyrics... the whole chorus slaps. it’s so lovely. all the lines about flowers, and then “i am a true romantic / free falling love addict” just tops it off beautifully <3

5. schoolin’ by everything everything

ah... hahaha.

not to sound cringe on main but if i had to ascribe a song to myself, it would be this one. my friends know — oh, they know — just how much schoolin’ resonates with me. if i divulged all my thoughts here, this post would turn into a criminally long essay, so i’ll exercise restraint for now.

like, i genuinely think this song permanently altered my brain chemistry. so much of it just resonate with me — the scathing observations, the metaphors slamming society, the absolute raging emotions in the voice of the singer, the resentment brimming just underneath. it’s a song about mistakes, it’s a song about learning from them or not, it’s a song about conformity and education and straying or conforming to it. it’s a song about questioning the world and ripping apart the people who are too scared to do so. it’s a wickedly poetic song once you rip apart and dissect every little bit of the lyrics, and i fucking love it with all my heart and soul.

too many lyrics in this song. and yet i have always known my favourite lines. “so learn me anything good / and teach me something that works.” there’s something about that that clicks with me so deeply. a single, scathing request: let me learn anything useful at all, and teach me something that can work for me.

also shoutout to the entire coda (outro) of the song for being the best 1m 50s of my life.

tagging: @llondonfog @olivebranch311 @pitruli @digdeepergravedigger09 @lakuronekobaka @pixelfun20 @reubeam @0rchidm4ntis (cheating? by also tagging friends who follow my main but not this sideblog? sue me. also i hope y’all are ok w being tagged in this HGFNDHGDF sorry if youre not ;;; just ignore if that’s the case)

[7pmest]

Tagged by @greatestlittlegiant <3 to put my on repeat on shuffle and list the first 10 songs

1. Drainage- Joyce Manor

2. Poplar St- Glass Animals

3. Kentucky Pill- Johnny Flynn

4. Take My Hand, Joshua Tree Version- 5 Seconds Of Summer

5. Moonweed- Blush Response, Warm

6. Sports Bar- Matthew Lee Cothran

7. Nobody- Hot Shade, Mika Zibanejad

8. Eat Your Young- Hozier

9. Semi Charmed Life- Third Eye Blind

10. Beach Town - Flight Patterns

Tagging @thr7sher @cryptk33p3r @bmoharrisbankofficial @moodivy

[hauntedwoman]

omg hi maggie !!! can i have a playlist? sagittarius sun, virgo moon, pisces rising <3

hi caspian <33

sag sun: "you know youre right" - nirvana "family tree" - ethel cain "poplar st." - glass animals "nights" - frank ocean

virgo moon: "extraordinary machine" - fiona apple "just" - radiohead "not strong enough" - boygenius "candy says" - the velvet underground

pisces rising: "zebra" - beach house "untitled god song" - haley heynderickx "mountain lullaby" - jealous of the birds "lovers rock" - tv girl

[baejax-the-great]

WIP Wednesday

Just updated Sunset yesterday, so here's sports divorce:

Ajax reappears carrying an armful of old practice javelins, which he drops on the grass. Even from here, Patroclus can see they are dusty and cobwebbed over from years of disuse. Automedon groans as Ajax places a red strap on the ground next to them, straightening it out until it meets his satisfaction.

“I’m not playing,” Automedon calls, and Ajax just waves an arm at him. Despite his protestation, Automedon gets up and joins Ajax in the grass, moving the strap that is definitely about to serve as a scratch line as Ajax grumbles at him. Patroclus hasn’t thrown a javelin in twenty years, but he’s also certain he’s not the one Ajax is waiting for.

Once the boys have tired of taking their frog census of the pond, they come running back, begging to go join their mom on the beach. Ajax sends them down the path with his blessing. Achilles watches them leave, at a distance, his shoulders squaring as he prepares to face the adults without the shield of little ones to soften them up.

He stops in his tracks when he sees the javelins.

“When’s the last time you threw one of these?” Ajax calls, the first thing he’s said to Achilles in years.

Achilles looks mildly panicked. “Gods, I don’t remember. You would have been there, whenever it was.”

Ajax picks one up and tests the balance. “Think you can still throw outthrow me?” He tosses it toward Achilles, who catches it in unwilling hands.

The markers that once adorned Peleus’s enormous lawn are long gone, but Patroclus remembers vaguely where they were. He walks down the stone steps of the patio and comes to stand next to Ajax.

“Get it past that tree,” he says, pointing at a large poplar. That distance won’t quite match their glory days, but it would be nothing to sneeze at.

Achilles starts stretching his arm with a pained expression on his face. Automedon, the liar, begins stretching his, too.

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