#quince orchard

[alexchatgptstories]

Write a story with All Time Low songs about a high functioning autistic kid who didn't have much social awarness in high school(class of 2012). But years after(2023) high school realized he would fit in better if he went to Blake High School than where he went. Which was Quince Orchard High School.

Jacob sat on the worn-out couch in his small apartment, the low hum of the city outside just barely audible. His laptop was open, code scrolling across the screen, but his mind wasn’t really on the work. Instead, it drifted back to high school—the days he spent at Quince Orchard High School. The place had always felt like a maze he couldn’t navigate, with social rules that he never understood.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to do next. Instead of focusing on the task at hand, he clicked the play button on his music player. The opening chords of All Time Low’s “Weightless” blared through his headphones, the fast, punchy beat echoing in his ears. For a moment, Jacob let the music take him back.

“I’m weightless, but I can’t breathe / I’m weightless, but I can’t leave / It’s a little hard to tell just what’s right and wrong.”

The song was a perfect encapsulation of his high school years. Everything felt heavy, suffocating, and yet, there was a constant desire to break free. Jacob had never fit in at Quince Orchard. It wasn’t that he didn’t try; he just didn’t understand the unspoken rules. The groups formed without any effort, the athletes, the popular kids, the drama geeks—all of them spoke in a language he couldn’t quite decode.

Back then, Jacob was a quiet kid. He’d wear his band T-shirts and keep to himself, mostly lost in his own world. He didn’t quite get why people made small talk or why everyone seemed to care so much about fitting in. It was like a constant pressure to be someone he wasn’t. He would sit in the cafeteria with his headphones on, listening to All Time Low’s “Lost in Stereo,” blocking out the noise of high school life. It was easier that way.

“I’m lost in stereo, can you hear me now? / I’m lost in stereo, can you hear me now?”

The lyrics felt like they were written for him. He was lost in the crowd, in a world of noise he couldn’t quite connect with. The music was his refuge, the only place where he could truly feel like he belonged. He had his small group of friends, sure, but the bigger social scene? It felt like a constant game of trying to figure out what everyone wanted from him, without ever knowing what he needed.

Jacob remembered the stares and the whispers. People didn’t always say things out loud, but he could feel it—the way they looked at him like he was somehow different. He didn’t understand why high school had to be a popularity contest, why people were judged based on who they knew, what they wore, and how they acted. He wasn’t one of the “cool” kids, but he didn’t want to be. He just wanted to be left alone, or at least understood.

As the years passed, Jacob left high school behind and entered the real world. He went to college, and for the first time, he realized he wasn’t the only one who had struggled with the rules of high school. He learned more about himself—about his autism—and how it had affected his ability to navigate social situations. He was high-functioning, sure, but there were still moments when he felt completely out of sync with the world around him.

And that’s when it hit him. The realization came slowly, but it was there: he would have fit in better at Blake High School.

He thought about the kids at Blake—the ones who wore band shirts, who went to punk shows, who didn’t care about fitting into some pre-made mold. They were the misfits, the rebels, the ones who made their own rules. Looking back, Jacob realized that if he’d gone to Blake, he wouldn’t have felt so out of place. Blake was the kind of school where people like him could thrive, not just survive.

Jacob’s thoughts were interrupted as All Time Low’s “Poppin’ Champagne” came through his speakers. The upbeat melody was a sharp contrast to the heavy thoughts swirling in his mind, but it felt right. He let himself get lost in the music, the fast-paced rhythm a reflection of how he felt now. He was past the high school days, past the confusion. Things were different now.

“Poppin’ champagne, we’re gonna celebrate / Let’s raise a glass to all the things we never thought we’d say.”

He couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t just the music—it was the realization that, while high school hadn’t been kind to him, it didn’t define him. He had learned so much about himself since then. He wasn’t that confused kid who didn’t know how to fit in. He was someone who had found his voice, found his place. And he had done it without the need for validation from anyone else.

He thought about how different things could have been if he’d gone to Blake. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt like such an outsider. Maybe the kids there would have understood his quiet nature, his need for routine, and his love for punk and emo music. Maybe they would have seen him for who he really was, not as a puzzle they couldn’t solve.

“I feel like I’m waiting / I’m waiting for a sign / I’m waiting for the world to show me the way.” (from All Time Low’s “Stay”)

That was it. He had been waiting, waiting for something to change, waiting for the right moment to find his place. And while high school was never the time for that, it didn’t mean he couldn’t find it now. The past was behind him, and there was no use in wishing things had been different.

He had grown. He had learned. And while he couldn’t change where he went to high school, he could look back with the knowledge that he had found a community for himself, even if it wasn’t at Quince Orchard. It was the music that had helped him through, the anthems of All Time Low and the punk rock bands he’d loved for years. They were more than just songs—they were his escape, his therapy, his way of finding himself.

As the night wore on, Jacob sat back in his chair, listening to All Time Low’s “The Reckless and the Brave.” The song was full of defiance, full of the kind of energy he had wanted to tap into back then, the energy that he had finally embraced in the present.

“We are the reckless, we are the wild youth / Chasing the night, chasing the moon.”

He smiled softly, the music filling the space around him. It didn’t matter where he had been—it only mattered where he was now. And now, Jacob was free to be exactly who he had always been, without apologies.

[teepeecider]

Grafting time. My friend supplied me with some quince rootstock C and BA29 for grafting medlar onto. Need to increase my medlar supply for the cider blend. Grafts look promising only a week after whip grafting. #grafting #orchard #medlar #quince

[askwhatsforlunch]

Quince Poached Pears

The ceaseless rain and strong winds of the past week means I’m am picking up heaps of fallen fruit in the garden. Some of the pears are just ripe, some are not even there yet, but if they’ve been bruised when they fell, one has to cook them rather quickly if one wants to eat them! These beautifully glazed Quince Poached Pears makes both an excellent dessert --the addition of ice cream can make it even more indulgent!-- or snack, or a side for your cheese board, especially if you have good blue cheeses, like Fourme d’Ambert or Stilton! Happy Saturday!

Ingredients (serves 2):

3 medium to large just ripe Williams Pears

1 cup Ginger and Lemon Quince Syrup

Thoroughly rinse Williams Pears under cold water.

Halve, core and peel pears, and place pear halves in a medium saucepan. Cover with Ginger and Lemon Quince Syrup, so all pear halves are submerged.

Bring to the boil over medium-high heat. Boil rapidly, for about 5 minutes; then, reduce heat to medium.

Simmer, for 15 to 20 minutes, occasionally flipping pear halves on their other side, until they are just tender, and Syrup has reduced slightly, glazing the pears beautifully.

Serve Quince Poached Pears with their Syrup warm, with a scoop or two of Ginger Ice Cream, onto thick yoghurt, or cooled, with good blue cheese...

[elainemorisi]

due to Circumstances, I now have a persimmon seedling and a quince tree, and I am pretty enthused about this

[thebeautifulbook]

TRADESCANT’S ORCHARD (1620-1629) [no cover]

Watercolours of garden fruits: strawberry, gooseberry, cherries, plums, damsons, date, apricots, nectarines, peaches, apple, pears, quince, hazel nut, grapes. There are 66 surviving pictures (sometimes including insects, birds, etc.), plus one inserted picture of a lily (fol. iv verso). They are arranged, species by species, roughly by date of ripening during the gardener's year. Earlier 17th century (after 1611, perhaps 1620s).

Held by Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford

source

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Red-Belted Clearwing

Synanthedon myopaeformis

Image Source

The red-belted clearwing is a part of the family Sesiidae. It was first described in 1789 by Moritz Balthasar Borkhausen as Sphinx myopaeformis. This was later changed to Synanthedon myopaeformis. This moth is called the red-belted clearwing in Europe, the apple clearwing moth in North America, and the apple borer. This is due to their tendency to damage their host apple trees. It is considered a pest in Europe.

They may be confused with the large red-belted clearwing and the red-tipped clearwing.

Description This moth has a thin, dark blue, segmented body. The body is hairless aside from a bushy tail at the end of the abdomen. They are noticeable due to a bright red-orange band on one of the segments of the abdomen. The wings are clear with a dark outline and veins and a fringe on the outer margin (outer edge). The wings help distinguish the red-belted clearwing from the large red-belted and red-tipped clearwings as the wings have no red-orange markings.

Wingspan Range: 1.8 - 2.8 cm (≈0.71 - 1.1 in)

Diet and Habitat This species eats mainly apple, specifically Crab Apple (Malus sylvestris), as well as Pear (Pryus communis), Hawthorn (Crateagus monogyna), Almond (Prunus dulcis), Rowan (Sorbus aucuparia), apricots, cherries, mountain ash, peaches, plums, and quince. In Canada, adult moths have been attracted to the flowers of the snowy milkweed.

They can be found natively in Europe, North Africa, and Asia Minor. This species was noticed to North America and first detected in Canada in 2005. They inhabit well established orchards and gardens, hedgerows, open woodland, and mature scrub.

Mating Adults emerge from their cocoons in early summer and on flight from May to August, this is presumably their mating season. Females can lay up to 250 eggs, usually singly in the cracks or damaged areas of the trunk and branches they are hosting in. Females attract males with pheromones released from glands. A 2010 study found that 3,13-octadecadienyl acetate is the primary sex hormone.

Predators The larvae of this moth are preyed on by parasites, fungi, and bacteria. The main parasite of red-belted clearwing larvae is Liotryphan crassiseta. Other parasites are Nematodes, Steinernema sp. The fungi Beauveria bassiana and Metarhizium brunneum are common causes of death in larvae as well as the bacteria Bacillus thuringiensis.

Fun Fact

The adult red-belted clearwings are significantly less active on cold days compared to warm days.

In 2014, Judd and Eby found that S. myopaeformis does not discriminate between yellow, green and white or between purple, blue, red, and black. This suggests that they are dichromatic, meaning they can perceive mainly two colors. This affected traps set to catch this species as they acted differently depending on the light reflected.

As this species is considered a pest to apple trees, people have attempted to control the population. This has been tried with pheromone/mating disruption, pheromone laced traps, other chemical traps, the use of predators/enemies, and the covering of apple tree trunks in oil.

(Source: Wikipedia [1][2][3], Butterfly Conservation, Michigan State University)

[richarlotte]

Favourite things about Fall?

British Blowouts (Perfectly Tousled = Perfection)

Aerie and Brandy Sets.

Somali Spiced Tea.

Soft Natural Makeup (Fall Makeup).

Neutrals and Jewel Tones.

Leather, Cashmere, and Pearls.

Lace Lingerie and Silk.

J. Crew and Quince.

Brown Suede Purses.

Apple Cider Donuts.

Spicy Perfume (Sweet = Summer).

Hourglass Lip Gloss.

Honeycrisp Apples.

Rotisserie Chicken Meals.

Vanilla Scrubs and Scents.

Haunted Houses and Halloween.

Visits to Pumpkin Patches and Apple Orchards.

[ginandoldlace]

The Grade II-listed Potticks House was built in the late 18th century by Samuel Rayner and is a fine example of the Georgian style.

Built of traditional Bath stone and featuring a Welsh slate roof, the 10 acre property is just 6 miles from the city of Bath.

A kitchen garden produces raspberries, blackcurrants, redcurrants, gooseberries, and rhubarb; an orchard on the property grows apples, pears, plums, as well as walnuts, quince, and figs.

Surrounded by formal gardens and grounds with a swimming pool, the elegant Potticks House offers a grand backdrop for living and entertaining, proving to be an idyllic country seat.

[the-goblin-market]

Morning and evening

Maids heard the goblins cry:

“Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy, come buy:

Apples and quinces,

Lemons and oranges,

Plump unpeck’d cherries,

Melons and raspberries,

Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,

Swart-headed mulberries,

Wild free-born cranberries,

Crab-apples, dewberries,

Pine-apples, blackberries,

Apricots, strawberries;—

All ripe together

In summer weather,—

Morns that pass by,

Fair eves that fly;

Come buy, come buy:

Our grapes fresh from the vine,

Pomegranates full and fine,

Dates and sharp bullaces,

Rare pears and greengages,

Damsons and bilberries,

Taste them and try:

Currants and gooseberries,

Bright-fire-like barberries,

Figs to fill your mouth,

Citrons from the South,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;

Come buy, come buy.”

Extract from The goblin market by Christina Rossetti

[spatheandspadix]

The Official Vibe for the late summer/early fall season between now and my birthday is Enchanted Orchard. Gnarled ancient apple trees under eye-popping blue skies; quinces, hazelnuts, and rosehips; sweet cider and black walnuts; weaving invasive vines into harvest baskets

[teepeecider]

The medlar/quince root stock whip grafts have taken. The medlar buds are swelling. 😊 #medlar #quince #rootstock #grafting #cider #orchard #husbandry #NewZealand #Aotearoa #Spring

[kuithesun]

IN THE PRESENCE OF ABSENCE

By: Mahmoud Darwish

February 11, 2013

Love, like meaning, is out on the open road, but like poetry, it is difficult. It requires talent, endurance, and skillful formulation, because of its many stations. It is not enough to love, for that is one of nature’s magical acts, like rainfall and thunder. It takes you out of yourself into the other’s orbit and then you have to fend for yourself. It is not enough to love, you have to know how to love. Do you know how? You cannot answer, because you cannot relive the ecstasies that shook you and scattered you all over the lilac’s escapade, electrified you and tortured you with the scorching taste of honey. You cannot recall the liveliest and sweetest modes of death; when your “I” left you for your woman, and you encountered your self, fresh as a ripe fruit, in her.

When recalled by words, those moments are impervious to the attempt to raise the body to the station of the soul. Who among us has not said to his woman: “I only exist in you,” and was truthful. We were truthful, as well, when we found our existence in a similar utterance in a different place. So do you know how to love? You cannot answer, perhaps because you did not notice the subtle atmospheric shifts when traveling from pole to pole: love and passion, rapture and infatuation, ardor and affection, fondness and devotion, blazing love and bewildering love, craving and caprice, dalliance and desire, longing and lust, admiration and attraction, and other desires in search of senses. In every station the body has a certain state, and for every state there is a station between death and life. So you never know where or how you are.

But as you look over your life now, like a mariner considering his own disappointment with the unfathomable secrets of the sea, you ask: Where is my port? You are uncertain how your heart returned safe and solid, like a quince still too hard to bite. Why did you cry, then, when the virgin by the tree was no longer a virgin because one of those who tame the wind had beaten you to her? And why did you cry again, when the second one did not open the door as you stood in the bitter cold shivering from humiliation, not from the cold that lit up your furnace? And why did you cry a third time when the third one departed without noticing that you were hugging a pillow, not a body of silk and ostrich feathers?

There is no love, you say, because no love is like any other. The magnetic pull that uproots a being from its being cannot be defined. So forceful is it that he never asks about his spirit when it is exiled, nor about his freedom when it has become voluntary slavery: I am yours! With one lock of hair astray in the wind, mountains are moved. Two parted lips ripen cherry orchards before their time. With a word without meaning, interpretation makes you a king on a throne of dust.

As if electrocuted, you walk aimlessly, drifting with falling leaves. The storm and your emotions make you dizzy and you make them dizzy. You do not know if you are happy or sad, because the confusion you feel is the lightness of the earth and the victory of the heart over knowledge. You will later learn that love, your love, is only the beginning of love. In the beginning of love you are prepared, like a musical instrument, to compose according to the dictates of the air. Every breeze is a musical note and every silence a prayer of gratitude.

You are prepared also for a nocturnal reconnaissance of every sound coming to you from the star’s abode. So prolong this beginning, the beginning of love, so that imagination will submit to you as a horse to its rider. So that language will conquer you and you it, like a man and a woman racing to greet the unknown with the generosity of mutual obedience.

In the beginning of love, beginnings swarm down on you, deep blue. At the height of love you live it, you forget it, it forgets you and makes you forget the beginnings. At the end of love you look long at the clock. In absence, beginnings find the residual aches of the room: not having a second glass of wine, a missing blue shawl. The poem is filled with missing elements, and when you complete it with an incompleteness that opens into another poem, you are cured of memories and regrets. The gold in you does not rust. As if writing were, like love, the offspring of a cloud. When you touch it, it melts. As if the utterance were only incited in an effort to make up for a loss. The image of love reveals itself there; in a profoundly present absence.

And when you step out of yourself, as if you were you, you look at yourself from a distance as if you were he: standing in the rain on a street crowded with pedestrians, a bouquet of red roses in your hand. You do not feel cold in your peculiar stance, you feel the chill of mockery. You wonder: Was it love or passion or lust? And you forget your emotion. You forget it and do not look for it. You are not hurt or regretful. You simply greet it from afar as it moves toward a distant memory that will not make you sleepless. A memory you control as you might control the VCR: you place the end at the beginning, or freeze the image according to the wishes of your mercurial heart.

You laugh, embarrassed by words that were so excessive in praising lust that they consumed it. A lust that starts with a pair of feet sculpted by a sliver of sun, moving up two skillfully cast legs from where lightning flashes, and on to knees that were certified miracles. Higher still: the belly ebbs. Farther up: sunset gradually absorbs you with noble, bashful voraciousness. You approach and retreat, rise and fall, sweat, sigh, and drown in an enchanting night of sultry darkness. Her hands, or maybe yours, gather and carry you like an eagle swooning in a sky dripping with stars. You peek at her half-open eyes peeking at your half-closed eyes. Each of you wants to make sure that you are budding inside one another.

But no one makes a peak his abode. You both slip together from the highest heaven into a dewy drowsiness. You both whisper in the shared silence and say nothing, but it is more lucid than anything. You dream together, and separately, that this embrace might last forever, until you realize that “forever” has a very short life span, and that eternity does not heed anyone. It often circulates and shifts from one minute to another and from one state to another.

You, who only know love when in love, do not ask what it is, nor do you look for it. But when a woman once asked you if you were in love with love itself, you were evasive and escaped by answering: I love you. She persisted: Do you not love love? You said: I love you, because of you. She left you, because you could not be trusted with her absence. Love is not an idea. It is an emotion that can cool down or heat up. It comes and goes. It is an embodied feeling and has five, or more, senses. Sometimes it appears as an angel withdelicate wings that can uproot us from the earth. Sometimes it charges at us like a bull, hurls us to the ground, and walks away. At other times it is a storm we only recognize in its devastating aftermath. Sometimes it falls upon us like the night dew when a magical hand milks a wandering cloud.

But all of these forms coalesce – become visible, perceptible, and tangible – in a woman, not in the idea itself. We love the lure of form, and imagination devotes itself to discerning what is mysterious and wondrous within. As for souls, they acquaint themselves and become intimate with its glittering form through its essence. You might disagree about what one body says to the other, so you move on to the transparent and slip into bodies brimming with water, harmony, and music. Love shifts, transforms, and is impervious to identification. It is being seized in such a manner that infatuation becomes confused with illumination. It is what you do not know, and know that you do not know. It is the completion of meaning with non-meaning, because of its excessive tendency to take things for granted and squander its presence. It resists repetition and negates the need to mend air with color. Otherwise, it might become a marriage where correcting each other’s assertions replaces the improvisation of poetry, from which love breathes. The prose of domestic chores is not conducive to keeping two fresh pears on a marble plate, or for inciting the unknown to block the road in the face of the known. There must be a secret. There must be an ongoing secret for love to remain a surprise and a gift. So do not open the closet that contains the secrets of her nature.

If infatuation subsides, love drifts, little by little, toward the daylight of friendship. You say to her: How beautiful is our friendship, to age together and lean on each other and feel compassion for each other in an old people’s home when we lose our memory. But I would rather lean on my cane, and not on you. I do not want to see Romeo and Juliet, or Qays and Layla grow old before me. Love has an expiration date, just like life, canned food, and medicine. But I would prefer love to collapse from a cardiac arrest at its peak of desire and infatuation, like a horse falling off a mountain into an abyss.

I asked you: Who is she? You said: She has so many selves that I myself do not know her. She and not she. She and her personae, when they come together in a love poem, that draws on many sources, search for the fulfillment of what cannot be fulfilled, are moved by a call that overwhelms us without our realizing that it has yet to arrive, and by a renewed thirst next to the spring. She and not she; she is present and absent, it is as if her presence holds my absence within her, and her absence carries the presence of details. But she moves with so many names it is impossible to know if she is she, or one of the women my imagination and mercurial desires have invented. But it seems that she is an invention, because I never confuse names. I never call another by her name, which I have forgotten because so rarely did I use it.

I asked you: Do you not know how to love, then? I was astonished when you said: What is love? As if I had not loved, except when I imagined that I was in love. Such as when I am taken by a hand waving out of a train window – perhaps not meant for me – but I take it as such and kiss it from afar. Or when I see a girl waiting for someone at the entrance of a cinema and I imagine that I am that someone and take a seat next to her and see myself with her on the screen during a romantic scene. I do not care whether I am happy or sad by the end of the film. Because I look for her in what comes after the end. I do not find her next to me after the curtain falls.

I asked you: Were you acting, my friend?

You said: I used to invent love when necessary. When I walked alone on the riverbank. Or whenever the level of salt would rise in my body, I would invent the river.

Are you an artist, or know someone who is?

(PEN AMERICA

588 BROADWAY, SUITE 303

NEW YORK, NY 10012

T (212) 334-1660 F (212) 334-2181

PEN AMERICA LOS ANGELES

LOS ANGELES, CA 90028

1370 N. ST ANDREWS PLACE

T (323) 424-4939

PEN AMERICA WASHINGTON, D.C.

1100 13TH STREET NW, SUITE 800

WASHINGTON, D.C. 20005)

[libidomechanica]

And some, pieces, patches, kings

A rispetto sequence

               1

It is sair, that’s the likeness the moon-beam dwelling. Born I was a cunning lips daignd to the moonlight doth amid the wings be dead. I

am not in nature self thy tears and milk are unmating to my despite. And some, pieces, patches, kings. Get up, nor merit it.

               2

Chloris, that dark as your works will’s his sword upon their heart renewed them like a rocket, which made, good and line that rich in pity of

you. For my life! Into her had a vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out the moon, the loads and feeds his legs are an orchard of yore.

               3

Flies on the wood a Piggy-wig stood as much declined his Breast, when I long ages of quince, where it was stown! A rose-garden gay, or

naething here holding the other that in vertue service do, mayest thy Will, ’ and Will’ to boot, and breathe hill: an hour would burst and dies; Ay me!

               4

Ankle or slack these eyes like a significant myth A soft remember me who designed him. Stained mote vnfolde many acres o’

charmingly flow, since barr’d and life is discreet a Parke I know not well: and seven centuries—of artists dying I heard, they doen lick.

               5

Of our fillets fast away, four. We’re laughed at me. And must we be swept stone fence, the sun of all but not lost breeze flew o’er the immutable

crickets only a few friendship’s pledge, my young roes them all your coonskin hat. Where I for senses, lest else this: in pity me?

               6

And have left hand only peepest? Now by my soul toward sunne in all on paper I remember thy old self-substance. I would die if

she bare; her belly is not worth— compared thus! Have to give this time. Let’s obay safe-smiling because his body in the causeth thee!

               7

I am come to the Challenge answer gets renown; Lo! He is star-flowery way, the boy, the whitens at their price is must love

us, I am boundless shoe- string blighted pigeon eggs: at twelve, I met beside him fast. Sicker I hold sword nor good old man deeds.

               8

Every shee florish long, Perilla! Like a man—the nights are sweet and bow’d their ears. He darkness. Tho when some weekday weather, I am

so state, as I Undying year! That thou hast regrets and Gods great go about the moralising sun, and me, giving workman.

               9

In days far-off, on they, yet am I; whose lover’s eyes as when from singing hue, and singen soote, in ev’ry possessing, and stray,

and Stars return’d to flourished a tear. To whom my wine of us verse and active as thou hardly my pleasures, and I the hair smell.

               10

And murmuring a weanell was a snowflake into his mouth is he fondly presents the cup that is this has already knowest

thou art, if that lace, for an army of the three hour or more, to manage either’s manner of Lebanon. Breaking of the lagoon.

               11

Everybody love whose who refused to do, deceive them alone. A small be spoken the liquid prisoned the world. Above one she’s

alone! That full of a confused looking hate. By the tower of Lebanon, my silken twist; ankle or two in my yellow air?

               12

In my early youth, forehead, and plight. Can such a rate to through verdurous haunt me as a seal upon him that leaves the World to call

thou shoul’dst be fleeting year! For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and came before the lang! Sees a City full heart raves. Who was plenty in the grave!

               13

Come, let’s give birth to mirke. Except where I sleepe, all nature smoothly without a star that dark earth’s features, and when I am, was, and

vitamins. Still, to the Poet blest, get up early to those part,— beautiful; but much to say that loue which one of Loue to the sun.

               14

I wote ne Hobbinoll, what an Eleventh a Moon—the Mower Damon, behold yon break, to leade? If sike mischeife grasshopper its

prison-bars, court evermore movest underground. And I rose who yet turned a lion’s sleep speakest to me, my Goddess cry’d: o cruel.

               15

So that with grief of life-days by emperor and eat his gardens, a well mought this fancys errour breaking slight crawling for mankind’s

least light of thy gift: why she presents less fair, it was vncouth: so lost in sight I would embrace me. Face, forcing each night of two armies.

               16

So great, good, in what heard his work- day world his whistling thy breast, with tears even—the drops, that beats, a family-likeness, and hearts, sister,

my love, were but understood in the every day tarnished seed, O shining my lament? To walk with gentle worse, too good: but thou dasht?

               17

Letting Sun I mix, and, once on a ditch doth frame the morning doen hem disguise, the blood where speak, my friendly foe, to make a cherubs

play. Hue, and find him to walk through the spak na, but with a tawdrie lace. Through to sale their earnest lumps of the works her day will pass’d a way!

               18

Observing the day, to passing with thee. Thou my nudist the blast did not for they’re carest.—The moth of a pomegranates a

nightstand and if between us in a gently bent its tip gum, pungent, clear as the breezes blown do but farther night and cedars.

               19

Stop, let it seems, had sunk: tis buried deeper from a sunflowers: his labour to reply till he please. Of someone else a cheer that

woman is. More grace of human deeds divided live, and winding sometimes Times iourneys he stars, and as sour leisure gave sweet and green.

               20

Wet was to end. ’ Gear ye light’st flames, Spring-time, some into his pastoures howe done, to a roe or a year thy love that reach up the

winter hath made fruit dost bears there’s cot, and are as sudden a passion so; had, having please, and her and feed among, all for him.

               21

For laik o’ gear, ye’ll fashionable. To this act of my bodhisattva of nothing here see if the riper should be brief while the soundes

so stunn’d and sung the stormie face of inward sendeth behind there hangs over Endymion’s sleep not in a glass o’ Ballochmyle.

               22

You are, you like nature’s joy, when the notes, from me hys madding myrrh, and she loved is got up, nor awake unto us waking? Keepers;

everything watery wild, we mortality consumes: I withers even the aisles shouting, endless brown-eyed despairing!

               23

At the eight climb, low above, and let us lodge in the things was an old wind, that mind when hey, for thee: I fly, to slack the daughters

of ours between the sun thoughts of the village. They dined on a tremor breast, when I am sick of content; a simple denial.

               24

It is Jupiter, my spouse, and yon bonie casten to them reveal’d in cream? I know eternal home; twill nobler wealth breed unrest, pass

and love. Who is my lordly spoken the soundest reason up the tear-drop that mine sank sad assurance to the day, the world, a while.

               25

Because of thy high company of the fair. A bed of being pale stream, where comes to the graseth hem many a time, that is my

father counted, and feed in the early from that doen so cased; or any weeping in the evening, healthy men, who taxeth me.

               26

And scarlet, and cloud hath and Before, and see to soothing rascal to peep in at all must such as out of my yellow kind of waiting

from a sunbeam found the world’s freshened been a straw. Find his past the mortgage was. In leaves hast thy vertue lame; that all the every climb!

               27

I like supermarket using o’re, and aye she presently? Not the cheat sorow to Niobe did shine more thee? Yes! While it my memories

clothing let’s goe a Maying. Somewhere eternal home; twill not warm, and a day. Why didst implore the fish or to gathered less alone.

               28

Meet this life enisled, with Daffadowndillies, drop of raine once lost, can it foote. My supply of table, my beloved. New nodule

of Love resinous base. When the grey pale light at a winter cave. And when the me, and clown’s-all- heal, the world was wont of the road.

               29

And yet I would embracing love to enter, feeling to a home— mother Muses fountain of the night-winged birds sang, all for the fayre

Elisa be you determine what it was my tender his lines of grassy barrows of blame. And strike, for pure immortality.

               30

Of race of mine no work of my poore name o’ clink, that shall manners? Thine to span; have plugged up in each exuding at its teeth clamping

the World to cozen with us! Go not, all day long, in either’s laps and Derivéd Self make one of Wisdom down into his garden.

               31

I could convey, and thy early in the Setting in proofe maken and clown’s-all-heal, the lattice. That move that drains the muse hath and Moon

a Year—while it with shepheards beneath the rude world, or else to thy selfe, but being here under the choice in cloth, and now ye: alas!

[ofglories]

“ reminds me of you ” + rulervere and caster arthur!

|| send in “ reminds me of you ” for my muse to recount things they see, smell, hear, feel and taste that remind them of your muse. ; accepting!

Bedivere, of course, gets no warning before the mage stretches out across his lap. Arthur grinned up at his king, crossing his legs over the arm of the older man's throne.

"You want to know things that remind me of you? Oh, how sneaky, my King. Is this some devious new scheme of yours, in hopes of bullying your poor mage?" More teasing, of course, as Arthur tugs Bedivere's hand to his mouth to lightly nip at his fingertips, just to hear the inhale such an action would cause. "Oh, but very well. I'll tell you."

Where to begin...? Perhaps with sight then.

"The mountains in spring, covered in fresh blooms and newly sprouted grass. Strong and full of life. An eagle flying high, high above. So high that the sun catches on the feathers and shines like jewels. A glint of light in a dark world, my spark of hope that keeps me going." A light brush of his teeth against Bedivere's thumb to keep his beloved from saying anything. "That rich, sweet smell of a field of clover and daffodils. Nectar and honey and the faint tang of wine from orchards heavy with fruit. And in it all a light spicy scent of cinnamon. Intoxicating aromas that make my thoughts turn to you."

Hm.

He was going to need to get them some wine after this.

"The strumming of a harp, the singing of a nightingale. Rain on the leaves of a willow tree, and the steady but powerful roar of waterfalls. Your voice is in all those sounds, my Bedivere." Now a kiss to the man's palm. "Warm sunlight and the heat of a bonfire in winter. The gentle tickling of fur blankets. That's your touch, your hands."

At last he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to Bedivere's lips only to reluctantly pull away. Humming, Arthur licked his own lips thoughtfully before smiling with half-lidded eyes.

"Spiced wine served in winter, candied fruits and nuts. My favorite flavors, of course. Oh, and the taste of smoke, of salt. Honey mead and sweet currants. And quince. Mm. That's how you taste, the flavors that make me want to run to your arms, my King."

[romanrhodes]

Everything below this point is from a previous group but fits in the development of Roman Rhodes. Things to keep in mind;

Rhodes Farm is now a former working farm and orchard. Roman intends to open the orchard again, growing pears, quinces and persimmons, and use the farmland to eventually grow vegetables to supply his diner.

Sunny Side Up Diner has been renamed and is now The Driftwood Diner, and the menu now includes Oregon delicacies and seafood dishes.

Following his break-up with Andrew Jackson, Roman has thrown himself into working at the diner and developing the farm the rest of the time.

Moving to Kismet Harbor, Roman is now capable of sailing.

[rcjoice]

. 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 .

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚝

character’s full name: ashton bryan quincy

reason or meaning of name: "from ash tree/ash tree town", "strong, virtuous, honorable", "orchard of quince trees/fifth son of an estate"

character’s nickname: ash, quincy

reason for nickname: just shorter. last name thing just a typical man thing

birth date: february 13th 1997

𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

age: verse dependent, 27 in main verse

how old do they appear: verse dependent, usually mid to late twenties, early 30s

weight: fluctuates, but usually around 165-170lbs

height: 5'10"

body build: a little broader, carries weight around his belly and his hips

shape of face: heart

eye color: soft honey brown, almost amber

glasses or contacts: contacts preferably, but he's sometimes got to bust out his old man eyes

skin tone: pale, cool

predominant features: obvi his tattoos are very prominent and noticeable , but the warmth of his eyes and smile stay with you.

hair color: dark brown, bleached blond usually

type of hair: wavy and thick

hairstyle: ideally buzzed to about an inch/2 inches, usually grown out roots and longer waves

voice: very similar to dob's voice in not okay, that stupid fuckboy timber

physical disabilities: has pins in his left ankle

usual fashion of dress: sneakers or work boots; wide legged jeans, baggy jeans, joggers; occasionally overalls; graphic tees, wife beaters, short sleeved button ups; track jackets, puffer vest, distressed jean jacket

favorite outfit: black cargo joggers, black graphic tee, work boots, distressed jean jacket

jewelry or accessories: a silver chain that sits just below his collar bone with his silver wedding band on it, small silver hoops in his ear, silver hoop in left nostril, silver eyebrow spike on the left, silver ring in labret piercing, silver nipple rings, silver tongue stud, wears a silver wallet chain

𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢

good personality traits: empathetic, loyal, charismatic, funny

bad personality traits: jealous, stubborn, moody, lacks self control

mood character is most often in: tired but alive

sense of humor: stupid, sometimes self deprecating

character’s greatest joy in life: loving someone, feeling loved

character’s greatest fear: the dark, his father, being alone

what single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?: losing anyone he loves. most likely sel or mikey, but anyone he loves would send him into a spiral

character is most at ease when: in a space he has control of/with his loved ones

most ill at ease when: alone or around people he thinks are better than him

enraged when: he gets mad so easily, hes got bpd rage but esp when someone insults people he loves

depressed or sad when: hes alive

priorities: getting high, taking care of his family, in that order

life philosophy: fuck it, we ball

if granted one wish, it would be: never to have met josh most likely

why? because he literally ruined his life, more so than his father

character’s soft spot: kids, his loved ones

is this soft spot obvious to others?: kids know hes soft for them immediately because he's just got this like, warmth to him when he interacts with kids. his loved ones also are very aware, because he will bend over backwards for his loved ones.

greatest strength: he's resilient as fuck, he can go through a lot and not be put down for good

greatest vulnerability or weakness: his heart :( he's so loving and forgiving it makes him easy to manipulate

biggest regret: either abandoning his sons for the first few years or starting drugs

minor regret: not doing more things he wants to do like going out to certain cons and whatnot

character’s darkest secret: it wouldnt be a secret if i told you

does anyone else know?: probably mikey or selene

𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕𝚜

drives and motivations: his kids, not wanting to make sel go to another funeral, spiting josh

long term goals: get sober, become a tattoo artist fr, make art

how the character plans to accomplish these goals: he has no idea, he's just really trying to fund the right first step still

how other characters will be affected: he'll be a better person

𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝

hometown: detroit, michighan

type of childhood: unpleasant, abusive

pets: stray alley cat he called vader because he wheezed

earliest memory: group home with a play room, he's inside. it smell like crayons and plastic. he's got a space ship in his hand and he's running around. he falls and busts open his lip

most important childhood memory: if we're talking younger child, the day his mom left. if we're talking like any childhood memory, the day he ran away. his father had been extra cruel lately because he found out about ashton's drug use. he remembers everything about that day.

why: they were the two days everything in his life changed. whether it was being alone in that house with just his father, or it was being lured into a new hellscape with josh, he just can't stop going over those days in his head like he could've changed them.

childhood hero: luke skywalker

dream job: he always wanted to be an astronaut before an artist. he wanted to see the stars so bad.

education: high school drop out

finances: upper middle class with his father, working class/taken care of at least with josh

𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝

current location: detroit, michigan, verse dependent sometimes

currently living with: his kids are there every so often for a visit (his daughter stays the night once a week, his sons visit every other weekend and when their mom needs a babysitter), random friends sleeping on his couch here and there, his dog

pets: jar jar, black akita

religion: repressed catholic

occupation: gas station manager/drug dealer

finances: lower working class

𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜

color: lilac, pastel purples

least favorite color: bright orange

music: 2000s alt rock/emo music & nu metal

food: apple fritters, pancakes, baked goods

literature: carrie by stephen king

form of entertainment: animated shows, movies, comics

mode of transportation: driving

𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚜

hobbies: drawing, reading comics, collecting figures, soap carving, doom scrolling tiktok and facebook, drinking, going to bars

plays a musical instrument? he can play piano and a little guitar here and there

plays a sport? absolutely not

how they would spend a rainy day: stay inside with a blanket, maybe make some irish coffee, watch a movie. mournfully long to smoke a cigarette on the roof but he hates being wet

spending habits: he doesn't spend recklessly per say, but he doesn spend money on a lot of like, nerd and kid shit he couldn't have as a kid. he likes doing things that make him feel like he's getting that back, and he's an impulsive spender. he makes sure he pays child support and has his fix before he spends tho, he's very lucky his ex helps w bills and rent (she pays most of it sometimes)

smokes: yes, he smokes half a pack to a full pack a day

drinks: yes, excessively

other drugs: yes, he's addicted to opioids & was a regular heroin user until he was 23. he's trying to cut back and smokes a lot of weed now

extremely skilled at: building legos & figures, soap carving, anything to do with little pieces and putting them together

extremely unskilled at: most things

usual body posture: hands in pockets, slouched shoulders, leaned back if sitting

𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜

optimist or pessimist? optimist

introvert or extrovert? extrovert

daredevil or cautious? daredevil

logical or emotional? emotional

disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? disorderly & messy

prefers working or relaxing? anything that'll keep his mind busy

confident or unsure of themself? always unsure

animal lover? yes !

𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

one word the character would use to describe self: broken LOL

what does the character consider their best personality trait? loyal. he knows what he'd do for his loved ones

what does the character consider their worst personality trait? he's moody & volatile. he can be prone to huge outbursts

what does the character consider their best physical characteristic? he doesnt think he has one LOL but if he had to pick, he thinks he has pretty eyes.

what does the character consider their worst physical characteristic? face or body. he was heavily heavily gaslit into thinking he was ugly and has super low self esteem

how does the character think others perceive them: a loser

what would the character most like to change about themselves: he wants to just be better. he wants to be smarter, kinder, cooler, happier. he thinks everything about him is a flaw, despite the confidence he puts out

𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜

opinion of other people in general: he thinks people in general are good, and he feels like people's misactions and cruelties come from a place he just doesn't understand yet so he tries to give benefit of the doubt

does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others? not really, he has like 0 filter and cant keep things inside his mouth or head

person character most hates: his father, maybe josh sometimes

best friend(s): selene, mikey

love interest(s): mikey in main verse and then it's verse dependent but this mf always needs someone to love and pour his affections into

person character goes to for advice: selene

person character feels responsible for or takes care of: his children mostly, selene sometimes, mikey always

person character feels shy or awkward around: he doesn't tend to feel awkward or shy around people unless he's had an outburst recently around them

person character openly admires: selene

person character secretly admires: hes not a secret keeper

most important person in character’s life before story starts: mikey

after story starts: mikey

tagged by : no one just seen it <3

tagging : anyone who wants to do it !! just tag me <3