#there were like 5 bony bois

[pumpkingeorge]

Never been so disrespected in my life. I was chilling in my dirt house because I got stuck outside and an Enderman straight up stole my wall. He took my dirt and there were skeletons out there! They turned my ass into a pincushion and now all my shit is down in a canyon.

[vryfmi]

silent boy theory

bringing this theory back because ive been rotating it nonstop

[mild book spoilers!]

skull is characterised by his voice and snarky comments that Lucy has to put up with during their conversations, as well as the whispering tone which is heavily emphasised throughout the series. so when Dulac references to Bickerstaff's servant boy (aka skull) as "that silent Boy" in her confessions it really clashes with skull's personality as we know it.

TL;DR: my theory is that skull was mute or on a verge of losing his voice due to sickness, caused by working conditions and Bickerstaff's abandonment. thus, his ghost can't recall his healthy voice and can only whisper.

[id from alt text: a photo of the passage from the book with line "that silent Boy" being emphasised by image's dimensions./end id]

firstly, it's the whispering skull. not quietly talking skull, not its-voice-sounds-far-away skull. whispering.

‘Because you sure as hell look it.’ It was the lowest, throatiest of whispers; alien, but familiar. I’d heard it once before. (TWS) The hoarse whisper came from somewhere close behind my ear. ‘I say stab them first, ask questions later! That’s your only sensible option.’ (THB)

argument could be made, that silver-glass muffles the voice and it becomes quieter. but here's a thing - whisper is a voice alteration, not a sound quality. when whispering, vocal cords don't vibrate, and produced speech has a different phonation. so whisper and quiet speech are technically two different things.

secondly, skull's work field and conditions. as a young servant, skull was able to see visitors and ward them off Bickerstaff and his master's friends, while they were robbing graves for potential sources. ghosts radiate cold, temperature can drop down to 5 degrees centigrade, that much we know from books, that's why agents are wearing jackets and gloves during ghost hunting cases. and skull's ghost was described as wearing only a shirt and ill fitting trousers, while also being barefooted.

It was the first time I’d ever really looked at him, at the spirit that he truly was. He wore a white shirt and gray trousers that were slightly too short for his bony legs. His feet were bare. He’d still been young when he died. (TEG)

with Bickerstaff's obsession and apparent blindness to anything else that wasn't his device, it's safe to say that he would neglect skull's needs and didn't bother to get his servant any proper clothes, not to mention shoes, which at the time were expensive, since children constantly need shoes as they grow up, and it wasn't uncommon for children from lower class to not have shoes at all and walk barefooted.

that said, my theory is that skull came down with sickness while grave robbing, and Bickerstaff ignored it (mainly because he was a psych doctor, not a medical one), skull's condition worsened and turned into laryngitis. without treatment, his vocal cords got damaged, resulting in loss of voice.

[now, im in no way educated to diagnose a fictional character and there can be mistakes in my logic (like how skull could have lost his voice prior to Bickerstaff), but i went down a rabbit hole and need to share this.]

there's a condition that fits the description of person losing their voice or only be able to talk in whisper, it's called aphonia. there are multiple common causations for this condition, namely psychological, but organic aphonia is caused by damage on vocal cords or throat, that could have happened due to disease or physical trauma. (source)

it's also worth pointing out that any voice disorders in children and teenagers affects the way they socialise and behave. gestures and facial expressions become alternative to communication when voice is too weak for speech or it is painful to talk.

Someone had knocked the cloth off the ghost-jar, and the face had re-materialized. It pulled extravagant expressions of horror and disgust whenever I passed by. (TWS)

‘You know the rules: minimal manifestations, no rude faces, and absolutely no talking.’ The ghost looked wounded. ‘I wasn’t talking, was I? Do you call this talking? Or this?’ It pulled a rapid series of grotesque expressions, each one worse than the last. (THB)

and finally, Lucy. she almost undeniably plays a role of interpretor that passes down what skull says, since others have no way of communicating with him or, more specifically, no way of hearing him. it all does seem to fit perfectly together (at least to me) so i can't stop wondering of how intentional any of that was on Stroud's behalf. then yet again, Stroud did say that that he had a draft for skull's backstory but scraped it in favour of keeping his character as mysterious as possible. some elements could've stayed in the final version of the books, who knows.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

okay hear me out here:

i’m a firm believer that darry and soda shared a room when they were little and then once pony grew out of the nursery they made that darry’s room and pony moved in with soda BUT pony probably stayed in the nursery for a while (probably until like 4-5) and maybe a little too long bc he’s their BABYYY.

but like ,, imagine little 4 year old ponybaby having a bad dream (not necessarily a nightmare but he’s a little spooked) but instead of going into his parents room (which is at the end of the scary dark hallway) he goes and finds darry and soda

mama curtis comes in to wake up her 6 and 10 year olds for school and there’s their baby brother curled up in between them🥺

(and don’t even get me started on how pony is cuddled up to darry and holding onto soda’s hand that would just be too much)

ANON THIS IS SO SWEET! You wrote it so I can picture it perfectly, little fluffy haired Ponyboy with his head on Darry's chest and his little legs sprawled across Soda, who's bony little limbs are sprawled out everywhere. he's drooling, his head smushed into his pillow to the point it'll leave little nap lines when he wakes up. Darry's holding Pony like you grab someone for a football tackle except way gentler and they're all three of them letting out those little snuffling snores that kids do sometimes. It would definitely be one of those moments where Mr and Mrs. Curtis would just stand in the doorway and watch them sleep for a bit before waking any of them up. Eventually Mrs.Curtis would go to start breakfast, and Mr.Curtis would try and lift a sleeping Ponyboy out of Darry's arms to put him back in his own bed without waking him, but Pony's a light sleeper so he refuses to go back to bed while his brothers are getting ready for big boy school, and everything is great until Soda and Darry are on the bus and Mr.Curtis is at work and Mrs.Curtis is left to deal with a cranky, sleep deprived toddler all by herself. (Anon if this is the kind of stuff you like you are NOT ready for the fic I'm working on right now)

thanks for the ask xx

[kitchenisking]

Seires Fic Rec Part 13

Eighth Night of Chunnuka

Hot Nerd Alert by alisvolatpropiis - (Hot Nerd Alert) - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 4,537, sterek)

Derek can't believe he's actually doing this: taking a selfie snap of the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks to prove to Danny that one, yes, he really does exist, and two, he really is that hot and thus he is totally justified in being too scared to make a move.

Or you know, even talk to the guy outside of the class they share.

In his defense, this isn’t just any guy. This THE guy. Hot Nerd. The utterly adorable but still somehow insanely sexy freshman in his twentieth century American Lit class who he’s been lusting over since the first day of the semester. If there were ever a time for him to be that person who tries to be subtle while taking snaps of other people, this is it. 

Inspired by this super cute fanart by prettiestalpha.

This is Home by JoMouse - (This is Home) - (Rating: T, Words: 3,451, sterek)

Derek gets a letter carrying a familiar scent from an unknown person. He drops everything and returns to Beacon Hills for the first time in fifteen years.

Written for A Very Sterek Summer. Day 5, Theme: Reunion.

If the ley lines you should follow by forestofbabel - ( Ley Lines ) - (Rating: T, Words: 52,111, sterek)

And Derek just stood there, staring at Stiles like he was a ghost.

“Dude, I know it’s been a while but you don’t have to look at me like you’re that surprised I’m hung over in the woods. It’s practically a tradition at this point.”

“Stiles?” Derek whispered, the name falling from his lips like a punch to the gut. Stiles watched, confused, as Derek took a deep breath in and took a shaky step forward then back again. “You’re not- you can’t be. Who are you?”

All I Ever Wanted by gabby227 - (Presidential Stiles and First Husband Derek) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 24,297, sterek)

Based on a request on tumblr: 

In the midst of all of the Election 2016 craziness, I have discovered that I need President & First Husband Sterek. Either could have either position, but I’m really desperate for the ‘First Husband’ to be more interested in continuing their current career than getting involved in anything political. They show up for the really important stuff, but they don’t put much stock in the whole the ‘President’s spouse must do a political song and dance for the masses’. 

Or, rather, the first of several stories surrounding presidential!Stiles and first husband!Derek.

Reunion by Rising_Phoenix - (The New Hale Pack) - (Rating: G, Words: 5,221, sterek)

Stiles is in Beacon Hills, just in time for his ten-year high school reunion. Having been convinced to show up there, he meets the last person he wants to me, one Scott McCall, the werewolf who once had been his best friend, his brother, before he had told him that humans can not be part of a pack and abandoned him after graduation. But it's Scott who will be surprised by not only Stiles being there, but also by the backup that has decided to show up supporting him...

Pretty Little Wolf by ItsMe_Basil  - ( Pretty Little Wolf) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 82,164, sterek)

Derek has heard stories about the Spark -the kind of stories that would have his younger self cowering under the blankets. The kind of stories that had Derek stick close to the pack. But when Derek is in trouble, and the pack isnt around, Derek finds himself in the care of said Spark, and he finds out fairly quickly that he's not all he seems to be. Stiles, he finds out, isn't a villain at all. Derek's only heard one side of the story for four years, and now it's time for him to hear the other side from his mate. *-* "Pretty little wolf," he hummed, stepping closer and kneeling beside Derek. Even in his death fogged brain, he recognized the words spoken. The words that were tattooed along his hip bone. The man reached a hand out, long bony fingers brushing against Derek's jaw. That's when recognition dawned on him. He knew this boy -not personally, but he'd seen pictures. This was the Spark. The one Scott had warned him about since Derek had returned to Beacon Hills four years ago. His mate. "Fuck me," Derek gasped out, dropping his head on the step. "Let's get you better, first, shall we, Puppy?" The Spark hummed.

Not Quite According to Plan by Phlinting - (A Spark of Hope and the Butterfly Effect ) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 23,261, sterek)

It's been eleven years since Scott was bitten by a feral werewolf and, despite his pack's many victories along the way, Gerard Argent's influence lives on. As the knowledge of the supernatural spread to the general population so did the hatred and fear of the unknown. The McCall pack has been picked off one by one and Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski, and Peter Hale are the only three left, on the run and barely surviving.

But Stiles has found a spell. He has the magic, the spark, and his belief. He has his dad and Peter to help power it and he has the will and desperation to succeed.

He's going back to the Hale fire and this time he's going to stop it ALL before it starts.

It's the perfect solution. Too bad things never go quite according to plan...

Another Alpha by ThePornFairy - (Wash your hands) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,147, sterek)

When Stiles comes home with news, things don't exactly go as planned.

or

Wash your hands as thoroughly as Derek scrubs another alpha's scent off of Stiles skin

Blue Light (i'm waiting for it, that) by zanni_1 (zanni_scaramouche) - (In Your Eyes (the light, the heat) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 19,743, sterek)

Derek pays him to dance, Stiles enjoys the sex on the side, and that’s all that ties them together. Whatever else the enigmatic man does is none of Stiles’ fucking business.

Stiles works at a club owned by infamous Derek Hale, leader of the largest criminal organization this side of the country. As they twirl closer together police and rival gangs start to gain the upper hand, forcing everyone's loyalty to be questioned.

Body On My by nymphe - (Losin’ All My Innocence) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,333, sterek)

“I’m serious, Derek. Like really sensitive,” Stiles says, a little muffled by where he’s shoving his face into Derek’s shirt.

Stiles’ neck is sensitive. Derek takes advantage of it.

[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🦇 — 5. RIO

A/N: had a dream about my man the other night so I guess that was his way of telling me that he misses me? We love delulu!!! Anyways thought this would be fun to actually write something on the line of thriller/spooky this time around. This is me making up for not writing part two’s to my other fall inspired prompt on this man way back when. Hope y’all enjoy this 🧡🫶🏽!!!

PROMPT is from HERE + I’m using: A Begs B to come explore an old house that they believe is haunted. B is hesitant, especially after hearing the scary tales A knows so much about.

*GIF + PHOTO DO NOT BELONG TO ME!

WARNINGS: some France slander, language & hints of sexual content.

<- read my previous October anthology prompt here.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Being in France for the month of October initially wasn’t the plan.

Khadijah and Rio ventured out here for a couple days for Khadijah’s birthday and for Rio to tie up some loose ends for business. What was supposed to be a four day trip turned into a much longer adventure.

“I know y’all done heard they got bed bugs out there, why are your asses staying out there longer?” Khadijah’s mother blurted into the FaceTime call.

Rio chuckled to himself by the mini bar, fixing himself something brown before entering the main living room part of the suite.

“Mom,” Khadijah hissed as she flicked through the channels, “this was a unexpected extended birthday trip.”

“Uh huh, sure it is.” The older woman said not entirely believing that, “Don’t think you can get cute on us and decide not to come back.”

“I’m already cute,” Khadijah modeled with extra shoulder as she sat on the tan couch while her mother brings the camera to show that she’s rolling her eyes.

“Well where do you think you get it from?”

“My father.”

“More like you got his smart mouth.” Khadijah’s mom comments, making her child hold up her finger to interject.

Now she loved her mom dearly but it was no secret that Khadijah was a daddy’s girl and her father’s favorite daughter despite what her two sisters thought. She was one of four children while her youngest sibling happened to be the only boy.

“Aw c’mon, don’t do Mr. Wells like that, especially if he’s not here to defend himself. Where is he anyway? It’s gotta be after 10:30 back home?” Rio came into frame, crouching behind Khadijah, who turned to peck his cheek before facing her phone once more.

The woman sighed, “where else? Working, working, working. I’ve been telling him he needs to slow down, he’s not some twenty year old no more. Lord knows it.”

Mr. Wells had a heart attack last year and had to have a stint put in. Rio’s never seen Khadijah’s so stressed before in his life and although the hardworking man had a good job with good insurance working for the city, they slammed him with some bills that Rio paid off. Which Mr. Wells wouldn’t let slide and already was in the process of paying back.

His choice, not Rio’s.

“He’s close to retirement and he loves supporting his family which is respectable.” Rio starts before joking, “once that happens then the both of you can come with us to Paris next time.”

“Uh uh. I’m never going over there, never had the desire to which is why I want y’all asses to get out of there fast!” Mrs. Wells’ large glasses come into frame now as she holds the phone at not the best angle, “I’d love to see Dubai or St. Lucia with Kayode, your father, and I guess your big headed brother can come too, Deej.”

Khadijah laughs, “yeah and he can bring Eliza too.”

“if I catch him even thinking about it, I’ll click my heels three times and send her bony ass right to hell.”

Laughter bubbles in Khadijah’s throat as she sends a teasing smile to Rio who winked back at his wife, knowing that neither of Khadijah’s parents were fond of their youngest child’s significant other. He was nineteen and found his supposed first love so it was evident that the pair were clingy and so in love with each other. They went to the same high school together, weren’t in the same cliques but ended up at the same community college and decided to give each other a try.

In shorter terms.

“We’ll make it happen,” Rio sighs as he comes around to plop down on the couch next to Khadijah, tossing a hand around the back of the couch, “minus Eliza right?”

“Damn straight,” Mrs. Wells humphed, “she can date somebody else’s son and boss them around for all i care. I just hope it’s over before thanksgiving.”

“Now Mom! Let’s not spread that negative energy for your birthday month, do you need some lavender and Kirk Franklin to keep your blood pressure down?”

The woman with the now bonnet secured around her micro locs fanned her hand, “I already had my session with Mr. Franklin around 7pm so hush! You know that’s what I’m wishing for and hoping you don’t wait around and decide to come back then.”

Khadijah blinks at Rio, who meets her stare. He had no plans of staying here longer than another few days, things got delayed and he offered to send Khadijah back to Detroit if that’s what she wanted but she had some vacation time that she didn’t mind using and she didn’t want to leave Rio behind either.

He’s been busy lately and she just knows as soon as they get back to Detroit, he’ll probably disappear for a little awhile again. So sue the woman if she wanted to be a little selfish and spend more time with her man.

“We’re gonna bring you something much better,” Rio smirks after taking a sip of his liquor, “maybe even a new bundle of joy.”

“WHAT?!” Mrs. Wells yells, “don’t play with me right now. When was your last cycle? I’ve been saying your tatas been looking fuller, ooooh I’ll have to tell your grandmomma.”

“Hey, hey! I’m not pregnant—

“Yet. We’ve been practicing though.” Rio announces, biting down on his bottom lip while Khadijah gasps and shoved at his knee.

Mrs. Wells claps her hands in joy, “y’all keep doing that but don’t bring those bed bugs back with you.”

“We won’t and did our research. If it makes you feel any better, we’re leaving this hotel tonight to stay at this castle for the rest of our trip and then tomorrow we’re gonna go explore this historic house since Rio wanted to have a rest day.” Khadijah informs her mother while Rio slowly nods his head, not knowing of the exploring a house portion but they’d discuss it later.

Mrs. Wells yawns as she sits up in bed now, “sounds fancy but okay then, mom’s tired and ready to knock out. But continue to be safe, the both of you and I’ll see you soon?”

“You sure will, night momma Wells.” Rio gave a two finger salute while Khadijah shared, “I love you’s, talk soon.” Before hanging up the call.

Khadijah leans back against the couch with a sigh, “told you mom’s got serious seperation anxiety all thanks to Kaliyah moving to Toronto with her girlfriend and we’re only traveling!”

“Which is exactly why I tried to smooth over her worries with baby talk, it worked didn’t it?” Rio lifts a thick brow while Khadijah shrugs her shoulders.

Soon she rests her head on Rio’s chest, locking her arms around his waist, “it’ll happen when it’s meant to…and we need to make sure we’re all packed for our new temporary home.”

“Oh I know I am, it’s you you gotta worry about mamas.” Rio presses a kiss to Khadijah’s rosemary scented hair.

Khadijah scoffs, “sorry but I had to buy more for this trip…which I’m not complaining! BUT! Paris’ fashion is really for the petite girlies.”

“They’re forreal missing out on the inclusion and better get on that.” Rio hummed.

“Siobhán is.” Khadijah grins while Rio slowly dips his head at the mention of his old designer friend.

Before Khadijah could get into asking about how she’s been doing, Rio sips from his drink once more and changes the subject, “what’s this about exploring tomorrow?”

“We maybe moving into a castle mansion for a little awhile but there’s no way I’m staying cooped up any longer without seeing what Dordogne has to offer.” Khadijah tells her husband with the perfect pronunciation of the town—or rather department as France calls it.

Rio raises the hand the rests against his wife’s shoulder, “heard you, mamas. No arguing on my part but you know it’s beneficial to have reset days too.”

“Which YouTuber told you that?” Khadijah smirks up at the buzz haired man, figuring that he was probably logged onto her account instead of switching over to his own to watch whatever it is he gets into.

Rio snorts, “don’t try and play me, my aesthetician did.”

“Of course they did.” Khadijah nods believing that since Rio didn’t mess around when it came to his skincare, “and you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with rest days. You’ve been running around x2 compared to me so I get it. You get a nap in and I’ll get the bags ready since we have what? An hour before the service comes and gets us.”

Rio grips Khadijah’s hand as she gets up from the couch, “you sure all an hour is what you need?”

“Shut up, Christopher.” Khadijah laughs, matching Rio’s smile before leaving the man to get his nap on.

With the city life behind the married couple, they settled in Dordogne late last night into the 18th century home. Surprisingly Rio wakes up late the next day, like around eleven am late compared to his seven am timeline. However Khadijah doesn’t mind letting him sleep, snapping a picture of his rest with the camera she brought along for the trip. She watches the clock from time to time, knowing just when to order breakfast to be sent to their room.

Khadijah’s sitting on a olive couch pushed underneath the windows which are half pulled back, sipping on caffe viennese, stomach half full from a classic French breakfast as she stares out into the scenery acting like the main character in a Victorian film.

“Morning, mamas. You starting the day without me?” Rio’s rough morning voice greets the brown skinned woman, who glances over her shoulder at him.

A soft smile meets her full lips, “good morning but someone has to get this party started. But don’t worry, I’ll never not let you in on the thrill. Got you one of these,” she holds the mug up in the air, nodding with her chin on the nightstand next to the man, “and there’s breakfast waiting for you underneath the cloche.”

“Did I mention hearing you speak French is sexy?” Rio states as he slowly sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Khadijah smirks, “plenty when you were tipsy on the late night ride here.”

“I regret nothing,” Rio laughs before turning to reach and sip at the warm coffee, “this is delicious.”

Khadijah pops her tongue, “Yeah it is.”

“What we doin’ today? Hold up, what time is it?” Rio turns his eyes into slits, reaching for his phone to let out a low whistle, “damn, haven’t slept that long—

“Since you got shot?”

Rio let’s out a cough, “whoa, that was dark.”

“Sorry,” Khadijah says, “kinda just slipped out.”

“Something you wanna talk about, Dija?” Rio hums, staring at his wife from their temporary shared bed.

Khadijah shakes her head, “nothing I want to get into on this brand new day, no. So!”

She uncurls her feet from underneath her to stand in her floral print lace trim set, placing a smile on her lips as she plops down on the bed. Taking a quick sip of the coffee again, she places it on her side of the nightstand and reaches inside to pull out two slips of paper.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?” Rio suspiciously tries to peek at the papers but Khadijah slaps them right on her chest.

“You asked what we’re gonna do.”

“Didn’t you say exploring some house last night?” Rio frowns, trying to remember.

Khadijah’s little smile to herself seems wicked but as soon as it appeared it vanished while she wiggled a bit on the bed, “that’s tonight’s adventure after dinner. We have at least a few hours before then to do something else so…pick one, anyone.”

The two options were: Château des Milandes OR Canoeing on the Brantôme.

Rio doesn’t wipe the frown off his brows but holds out his thumb and pointer finger while Khadijah holds onto the deck of two pieces. The tatted man makes a show of taking his time debating, just to irritate Khadijah for a little until he smiles picking the paper to the left.

And the winner is…

“Great choice! Now get your butt up and let’s shower, they’ve been open since 9 this morning.”

Chateau des Milandes!

Rio hums as he studies the paper, sipping at his coffee then replies, “can I enjoy my breakfast along with the view first?”

Khadijah dramatically sighs as she flops beside Rio, resting on her elbow to stare back at the ajar windows, “oh fine but I promise you, the one outside is much better.”

“personally I like the one right next to me.”

Khadijah flicks her head back to meet Rio’s brown eyes and she can’t help but to let a smile split over her lips, then puckering them for Rio to peck and lick his own smiling lips afterwards, “you think you’re so smooth.”

“I mean give a guy some credit. How else do you think I got you?” Rio chuckled while Khadijah just nodded her head from side to side mockingly.

“Just eat your food Christopher.”

It was Rio’s turn to mimic his wife.

“Aight, Khadijah.” He said over his shoulder, sitting on his knees and reaching over for the second tray of food.

Chateau Des Milandes was a sight to see and was a wonderful experience. Ugh!!! here Khadijah was sounding like her very emotional Granny Mozella but she never took moments like these with Rio for granted. On the outside it may seem like Rio was only street smart since that’s what he preferred yet he didn’t mind listening in on historical facts from time to time and no he wasn’t really into podcasts—unless it was true crime content—but no one could ever say he wasn’t open to learning new material and translating it into his own life.

He was good at finding purpose in anything.

He also liked draping his arm across Khadijah’s shoulders as they took the tour around the home that used to be owned by the successful Josephine Baker. That was more interesting to Khadijah than the Lords that lived it way before Ms. Baker but nonetheless they took it all in together including the architecture.

No one could deny that France had a way with its design and art.

They explored the garden, which led to a picnic and wine for dinner with the French sunset as the perfect backdrop, then they ended their time at the Chateau with a bird experience, much to Rio’s surprise as Khadijah winked and placed a kiss on the tattoo on his neck, before clenching onto his arm for dear life once the various of birds—specifically the one that was very similar to the one on Rio’s skin started flying around.

Rio found amusement in that, even when they made it back to the rental car.

“If that big ass bird would have crapped on me, we would have been having a whole different type of bird for thanksgiving this year.” Khadijah continuously checked her outfit for any unfamiliar marks, the paranoia getting to her.

Rio couldn’t help but to throw his head back against the headrest laughing. “They’ve been trained, that wasn’t gonna happen. Plus it may just wanted a strand of your hair for warmth, huh? French winters can be brutal so I hear.”

The man went to curl a strand of his wife’s loose curl that framed her face who scoffed at him.

“You’re far from funny, Mr. Montoya.” Khadijah slapped his hand away to fix her pin curl updo in the drop down mirror.

Rio chuckled some more, watching her, “you’re right…I’m hilarious, Mrs. Montoya.”

“Im glad you had fun, baby. I can tell the bird part was your favorite,” Khadijah gave the man a playful side eye, “but now it’s time for my activity.”

Rio glanced at the watch on his wrist, “it’s going on seven…what else you trying to get into besides drinking more wine and eating cheese?”

“Whew! No more cheese for me.” Khadijah flicked the sun visor back up, “so…I have this other place to visit.”

Rio tapped on the GPS, “aight, what’s the address?”

“I don’t think the GPS will fully locate it…just to a certain point.”

Rio thought about this for a second and asked, “what? It’s some underground event or something?”

“Well sure, yeah. Kinda.” Khadijah shrugged her shoulders making Rio sigh and sit back with his hands clasped.

Khadijah was tapping away on her phone for a moment while Rio just studied her. When she realized the car wasn’t moving, Khadijah turned her attention back to Rio who was patiently waiting for her to come right on out with it.

“We’re not going anywhere until you give me the info I need. No shady shit allowed.”

Khadijah turned sideways to face Rio, “Okay so…there’s this house that we should see.”

“You said that already. But Why? To buy?”

“Hell no,” Khadijah was quick to say, further making Rio put his guard up as to what this whole adventure was even about, “I mean no…yeah no that’s exactly what I mean. It wouldn’t be for us to live…just to see.”

Rio pried, “what’s so special about it?”

“It has a colorful story.”

“Which is…?”

“The year was 1666–

“Nah,” Rio immediately said leaning forward to start the engine but Khadijah flew her hand out to stop Rio from switching the gears.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

Rio leans on the console to completely face Khadijah, “by the way you’re dragging this out let’s me know you’re about to tell me some bullshit, that you know I’m not about to let fly.”

“Can’t a bitch add some extra flavor to the tale?” Khadijah scrunches up her face, “Sheesh.”

“Stop playin’ with me, Dija.”

“So hostile,” Khadijah flicked her hair off her shoulder, “alright you want the synopsis? Got it. So this house is special because during the year of 1666 a woman named Blanche lived there with her father, mother, two siblings, and new husband. Allegedly she was later accused of poisoning her family and beheaded her husband after they all suspected she was a witch because of some rumors started at the hospital she volunteered at. Her sickly father was the one to put her down after his wife and other children slowly started to die one by one. They say Blanche still haunts the home and asks when and or if you visit, to leave a ribbon and tea bag’s on their front step as a offering and for her to rid any vengeance in your life.”

Rio caressed his facial hair in thought, “Question for you, mamas? Did that eagle peck at your brain when i wasn’t around or…”

Khadijah sucks her teeth, “it’s spooky season, asshole!”

“I know that,” Rio lifts his shoulders carelessly, “but you’re trying to get into some serious shit and I can tell you one thing: I’m not feelin’ it.”

“Are you scared?” Khadijah leaned into the center console ready to comfort him, “I never said we had to go inside the house. Just see it and leave something for Blanche.”

Rio didn’t miss how Khadijah started to trail her hands over him but he didn’t fold, “Her business ain’t ours.”

It was Khadijah’s turn to laugh now, “you’re definitely scared!”

“No I’m not.” Rio scowled, “I’m just saying you have to be careful what you expose yourself to. I told moms we’d bring her back a baby, not a witch that may latch onto your body.”

Khadijah frowns, “why would you think Blanche would latch onto mine and not yours?”

“Whoever! And I really can’t wrap my head around the fact that you’re trying to mess with some spirits.”

Khadijah wasn’t trying to “‘mess with spirits,” she always respected the dead but this sounded better than visiting the catacombs to be honest.

So she challenged, “Hey! It’s something to do.”

“I can find plenty of other things we can get into.” Rio placed his chin into the palm of his hand, “We’re not about to be here much longer anyway.”

Khadijah sighs as she grabs Rio’s hand to place in her lap, “I’ll let you try out our new toy at the same time while you’re inside…”

Rio’s eyes begin to darken as they meet Khadijah’s much lighter ones. This was a promising bargain and this Khadijah knew as Rio trailed his own hand up her stomach, between her breasts, and to grip her chin.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Rio states as he presses their lips together and leads the way with his tongue dancing along hers.

It’s passionate and a little nasty just the way the married couple liked their kisses but brief enough that he leaves Khadijah panting on the passenger side. He smirks to himself, lifting up from the driver’s side to pull out his Glock 17 from his black jeans to rest on the dashboard.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Rio tells Khadijah who shortly follows through, “and not a word of this to my abuelita.”

Khadijah makes a cross my heart motion as Rio puts the car in drive.

The drive to this supposed haunted home was a good half hour north from where they were staying and the decline of the countryside was clear. There seemed to be no livelihood as the skies got even darker. Rio could sense to the left of him that Khadijah seemed to be at unease the deeper they got into the area.

He checks in, “How we doing?”

“Hm? Oh, there it is. Stop.”

Rio turns his attention back to the lack of road up ahead and notices that there’s a tunnel with no lighting. He steps on the breaks, witnessing to the left of the tunnel the narrow road carried upwards to what exactly? That he didn’t know. There was no homes or animals in sight on this drive since they started getting further away from the chateau.

“What’s this?”

“That’s the tunnel that leads to Blanche’s house.” Khadijah is sitting on the edge of the passenger seat now.

Rio tightens his hold on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the scenery with the help of the automatic headlights. If they went through that tunnel, which was surely to be just as narrow as the roads out here in the countryside he wasn’t positive they would make it back. His intuition  was telling him since the beginning that this didn’t feel right and being physically here was enough to confirm that for Rio.

Turning his eyes into slits towards the right of the tunnel, Rio can see a decaying headstone with a bunch of colorful ribbons tossed around and possibly some rocks that were most likely teabags scattered below it.

“This is what you came for,” Rio says keeping his eyes on the road.

“Oui-Oui.” Khadijah says suddenly halfhearted and any other time Rio would have laughed but the expression on her face made him aware that the tension was also felt by her as well.

Rio steps on the gas, driving full speed towards the tunnel but stops just at edge, parallel to the headstone, making Khadijah grip the dashboard at the abruptness.

“Get going, sweetheart.” Rio tells Khadijah with a lift of his chin.

Khadijah swallows, prying her eyes away from the tunnel then to the headstone and back to her husband. “W-what? You’re not coming with me?”

“I never said I was going in there. I have sense.” Rio tapped at his temple.

Khadijah glares, “wow. So here’s to trying new things was just another one of your lies then huh?”

“Another? Don’t go there, I’m not doing that with you this evening. You brought this terrible idea to me and I brought you here so go head, show me you’re the one who isn’t scared.” Rio’s hardened stare was now on the fuming woman.

Khadijah didn’t know what the fuck Rio’s problem was and why he thought this energy was okay? Khadijah didn’t like Rio’s tone so she snatched her baguette bag from beside her feet and went to push on the door but remained right inside.

“Are you serious?!”

Rio made a U-Turn and began driving back in the direction they came, “are you forreal thinking I’m about to have our asses messing around with the actual dead? Let alone your indecisive ass? And we don’t even have the full context?”

“I mean…do you not have bodies? You don’t see me questioning you about them.” Khadijah muttered.

Rio snapped his eyes to his wife, “two completely different things and you know that.”

It really wasn’t but okay, if Rio hated her riding the fence then let’s see if he hated it now.

“Whatever.” Khadijah slouched against the seat, “You just wasted our time, like why entertain the fact that you were with it if you’re just gonna try to clown me?”

“I wasn’t letting you do that and you should have known that.” Rio clenched his jaw, “I would never willingly put you in harm’s way and that’s exactly what you were signing up for.”

Khadijah knows Rio wouldn’t and if she wanted to be petty she could but she just mumbles, “You just ruined spooky season in France like?”

“Better throw that ribbon and teabags out the window and get glad. Who knows what would have happened if we went down that dark ass tunnel with only the Glock against a whole spirit mind you, that we don’t even know if she’s still vengeful or not.”

“I mean you make valid arguments…and I don’t even know if the house is still standing. The last update online was from 2021 so I guess I can’t be too pressed about it.” Khadijah explains as she starts to search through her bag, “but you can’t say I was indecisive this time, yet you locked me in here like I’m a child.”

Rio deeply exhales, rubbing at his face in slight aggravation, “yeah we gotta get back to Detroit and quick. I think you need to go back to work and continue spreading peaceful energy at that non-profit instead whatever this is.”

“What?” Khadijah sucked her teeth, “Trying to be on theme?”

“We could easily rent a movie at the spot and call it a day.”

“I wanna be one with nature!”

“As soon as we get far away from Blanche’s murder site, I’ll take the locks off so you can touch some grass.”

“Ohhhh, I cannot stand you!” Khadijah scowled followed by some laughter before ghosting her fingers over the window button, “is this going to work for me or am I still being held hostage?”

Rio just hums to himself, glancing in the rear view spotting a blur of white in the distance along with something that wasn’t tumbleweed rolling right by their feet.

Khadijah doesn’t notice as she cracks the window to toss a pink ribbon and a teabag out on the dirt road.

And when she looks in the rearview, she doesn’t see anything unusual or creepy. So she rolls her window back up and presses her elbow into the arm of the door, resting her cheek along her fingers, watching the night scenery whip by her highlighter eyes.

Soon Rio’s hand reaches for the Glock to rest in the cup holders before sneaking his hand over to bring Khadijah’s hand up to his lips. He knew she was a little sour with him over this and probably a bunch of other built up issues but Khadijah always tried to make the best of it.

Rio was trying to get better at validating her feelings but this shit right here was not it and Khadijah knew that inside. Which is why he had a more safer route up his sleeve to spend the day with Khadijah tomorrow since celebrating Halloween was apparently too american for the French. So he did the best that he could choosing a theme park that would be “on theme” for Khadijah’s spooky cravings.

That would be his gift to her and routine of keeping her best interest at heart, even if she didn’t fully want to see it that way sometimes…

Ah, she’ll be aight.

𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔𒅒𒇫𒄆 𒅒𒈔

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

[splendsay]

Chapter Drop // Callsign: Sunshine

Chapter 7: Bone Boy

Yeah, I wrote y'all a Ghost POV chapter, YOU'RE WELCOME, hope you like it, ok bye <3

.............................................................................. CWs: Descriptions of guns, potentially triggering language about bodies

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader (You)

Chapter Excerpt:

Ghost watches you leave with reluctant amusement, surprised and somewhat relieved that you're beginning to come out of your shell. Amazing what a little food and two days of shuteye could do for the human psyche. You're still on a knife's edge, he can tell -- but it had only been a few days. He felt better about your prognosis, at least, if only because it meant you'd be less of a liability than he'd first thought. 

He'd stared at you that first night in sheer disbelief. Skin and bones and filth, you'd been shivering like a goddamn chihuahua, and looking up at him with big, pitiful doe eyes. He'd nearly turned around and left you there in the desert. 

This was the fabled Sunshine? The woman that would save them all? As far as he could tell, you were completely oblivious to the expectations Laswell was placing on your bony shoulders. And you were barely holding yourself together -- emotionally or otherwise. 

He counts slowly to a hundred, quietly unplugging the toaster and returning it to its home above the fridge, before he snuffing out the oil lamp and stalking into the hall after you. 

He hadn't been trying to get a rise out of you -- not initially, anyway -- but the sight of your nostrils flaring in indignation, eyes narrowing in contemptuous offense  -- something about it had spurred him on. Pushed him in a way that he was familiar with.

He can't deal with a woman in turmoil. Doesn't know what to do with himself. He's too gruff, too clunky, too -- Ghost -- to help in any meaningful way. And he hates feeling useless.

So, this version of you -- this cranky and disgruntled version -- is decidedly more palpable. Ire and resentment, he can handle. Anger, he can use. ..................................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 5

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

“Do you really love us?”

“No.” “Wilbur” ripped the answer out of Philza’s throat before he had time to lie. Philza swallowed roughly, throat burning with the traces of fae magic used against him. He’s fairly confident he could win in a fight between the two of them, but “Wilbur” was still at times the most dangerous out of all of them. Sly where “Technoblade” was straightforward, subtle where “Tommy” was obvious. Both the most suited to uphold the illusion of their perfect, normal, happy family, and the most determined to tear it to shreds. Only barely had Philza salvaged “Wilbur” revealing he knew the monsters had replaced his real children. And yet he was determined to destroy that lie, too. 

Only, Philza didn’t understand why “Wilbur” didn’t do this in front of the others if he really wanted Philza to be ripped to shreds. No, apparently this was to be a private affair, “Wilbur” locking Philza’s bedroom door behind him. Philza couldn’t tell if the tears in his eyes were from hearing the truth, the burn of the iron knob against his spindly changeling claws, or simply an illusion designed to manipulate Philza. 

But if he had the truth of how Philza felt about them, why would he bother?

“I’m not going to kill you,” “Wilbur” drawled, stalking towards where Philza sits very still at the foot of his bed. “I know that’s what you think, why you’ve been pretending to love us like this. You’re a smart guy, if nothing else.” The tears streaked through his borrowed face, clawing imperfections through the mask of the real, human Wilbur. “But you know the other two would obliterate me if I killed you. There. That’s all the logic a survivalist like you needs. So now you can stop pretending,” “Wilbur” hissed, voice rippling with fae magic. 

“I don’t know how you could expect me to really love any of you.” 

“I didn’t! I’m not stupid like the others, I knew going in your love was never going to be for the real me. For the kid I stole the face of, maybe, but in what world would you have ever cared about the monsters that took them from you?! You were always going to hate me when you found out!” Philza couldn’t imagine why the changeling would force his ears to think his voice cracked with betrayal. He looked up to the creature looming over him, watching the way he glared through heavy tears. Why was he still being manipulated if “Wilbur” was claiming he wanted an end to the illusion?

“Actually, it’s because love takes far more time than a few weeks. But I don’t have to love you to be kind,” Philza continued. “And what you boys need is kindness. You wouldn’t stay if there wasn’t some part of you that yearned for a soft life.” Not that the fact softened his heart to them. His manipulation of that yearning was the only thing that kept him alive and would save his real sons.

“That’s not a life I’m ever getting, though. I was never going to be a worthwhile replacement. Never. Your real son is gone, alright!? I’m never going to be perfect, wonderful Wilbur!” The features of his son washed away to reveal the truth of the changeling. Uncanny ivory skin drained of the colors and features “Wilbur” wore like a mask. The creature was almost skeletal, sharp and bony, and yet at the same time melted like candle wax. It felt wrong to watch a monster weep. “Look at me. This is the real me. No one wants this. Not me, not you, not her.” 

And it was a little easier to take his claws in his own hands than it usually was, Philza careful not to brush against the faeling with his iron wedding band. He couldn’t say he wanted “Wilbur” because he never wanted any of this. But for the first time Philza realized that “Wilbur” never wanted to replace his child in the first place. “Who is ‘her’? Why would she tell you such awful things?” 

“Wilbur’s” claws dug into him, the changeling’s head dropping in shame. “The Fae Queen. She tried so hard to make me Wilbur, and I just wasn’t good enough. Not for her, not for you. That’s why she stole him, she deserves better than me.” 

“Wilbur” didn’t catch the spark flash in Philza’s eyes as he finally got a hint as to where one of his boys was. The taste of hope was nearly suffocating. “Trying to be someone you’re not is horrible. She never should have forced you to try.” 

“I wanted to be Wilbur. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s perfect,” he spat with a voice of venom and longing in equal measure. “I can’t blame her for hating a worthless copy like me.”  

“I don’t think you’re worthless–” 

“You hate me. You were my one chance and I ruined it.” The changeling choked on his own words. His legs trembled and gave out, collapsing to his knees before Philza, still clutching his hands like a lifeline. Philza said nothing as he nudged “Wilbur’s” head to rest in his lap, stroking the strange silver strands so unlike the texture of his child’s dark hair. Thin locks of it wrapped around his fingers, reaching to entangle him. “I’m sorry. I knew I was going to ruin your life and still I came into it anyway.” 

The changeling wept in his lap, apologizing for ever being made. Quietly, Philza drew out information from him, how the Fae Queen raised “Wilbur” to replace his child and why and when and what she’s like. Anything to help him find and save his real child. Glamours danced about the room, the dark veiled figure of the Fae Queen, the way Wilbur struggled and screamed for him as he was replaced, the thick illusion “Wilbur” had put upon the rest of his household so they wouldn’t hear Wilbur’s pleas. The cold and lonely castle that the changeling was raised in, the cruel Fae Queen trying to shape him into the child that caught his eye only to discard him. Philza gently soothed him, telling him how soul destroying it could be to pretend something was real, especially when you wanted it to be. Swearing that “Wilbur” didn’t have to pretend to be his child in order to be loved. Assuring him it wasn’t his fault.

Seeing the true form of the changeling wasn’t terrifying compared to Philza realizing there was a shred of truth to his comforting lies. 

Next>

Art for this part

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jamil, Idia: Desires so Deep

Ignore me getting a late start on this new birthday series 💀 (Got busy with irl stuff!!)

Oddly enough, the vignettes don’t mention Jamil’s birthday at all; they’re at the National Art Museum in the Land of Dawning to celebrate its 100th anniversary. It seems this new series (Platinum Jacket) will have vignettes with more focus on how the boys relate to and what they think about important historical figures in Twisted Wonderland!

… Also, the fact that the book 7 part 5 update came out a few days before Jamil’s birthday… and then his vignettes go and show a Maleficent painting in them… Yeah 😭 but what’s even funnier to me is that Idia calls Jamil a chuunibyou WHich iS SO ACCURATE, THANK YoU fOR CALLinG HIS ASS OuT, KING 🙏 What is Jamil doing in that sussy Groovy if not being a chunni…

A Tale as Old as Time.

Contained within a shining platinum frame was an illustration of a starry scene. A man in a fine white turban crowned by a single violet plume. A woman, perched on a balcony, in a refreshing blue-green, a jasmine flower set into her long, dark braid.

They stared longingly into each other’s eyes, conveying an emotion not spoken aloud. No words were needed for what they had: a love so tender it made the night weep. The stars into glittering tears sliding down the face of darkness.

Standing before the painting of the happy couple, Jamil folded his arms and frowned.

… Can feelings truly defy social status?

"A street rat marrying a princess… Hah."

His fingers curled to fists, digging into the pristine white fabric of his suit. Jamil's expression remained neutral, no hint of the bitterness brewing within. He was a master of leashing it.

What nonsense. I doubt their happiness lasted long. The difference in their standing is far too vast to be bridged.

Jamil lowered his gaze and looked away.

Adjacent to the loving pair was a spindly man with a curled goatee. His crimson and black headdress resembled the flared hood of a desert viper—a look iconic to the Sorcerer of the Sands. He gleefully clasped a golden oil lamp in his long, bony fingers. A remarkable achievement, an item he had been searching his entire life for.

Now, here was a great man. Someone who had slaved away and earned his reputation, climbed in social ranks on merit alone. The Sorcerer of the Sands would die a highly accomplished man, advisor to a sultan, renown scholar mage, and seeker of truth.

The very symbol of Scarabia’s spirit of deliberation.

"Jamil-shi?"

The voice was soft and nervous, like that of a specter not yet parted from this world. A faint blue glow fell upon the Sorcerer of the Sands.

Jamil turned, releasing a sigh when he realized who had appeared beside him. "... Oh. It's you, Idia-senpai."

"Eeep!" His upperclassman jumped at the mention of his name. He clung to the doorway, and anxiety evident on his pale face.

"Well? Don't let my presence deter you from appreciating the artwork."

"N-No, that's okay!! It was getting to be too crowded in the main hall, so I wanted to dip and take a breather somewhere quiet to let my stamina recharge... b-but that's completely pointless if other people are still around!"

"You won't even notice me. I not a snake—I don't bite," Jamil insisted flatly. Not unless I want to. "You look suspicious lurking in the doorframe. You may as well come in."

Left with no other choice, Idia awkwardly shuffled into the exhibit.

He positioned himself a good distance away from Jamil, not saying so much as a word as he stared at an ornate figure of a broad-bodied ape. Its lips were twisted into a grotesquely wide smile.

Nestled in the monkey’s palms was a massive red jewel, glistening even in the scarce light. Idia's own terrified reflection bounced back at him in the gem’s many facets.

"Can't believe I got dragged out for this," the third year grumbled under his breath. "I-I wanted to go to that pop-up Sled Over Heels collab cafe with the walk-in museum... Instead I have to be here and gawk at the same pictures I've seen over and over again in magic history textbooks... Aaah, it totally doesn't compare at all to cute anime girls pouring all their passion into the artful sport of sledding!"

Some small, fragmented part of Jamil grimaced at the disrespect, try as he might to close off his ears, to not engage. No good ever comes of provoking a stubborn mule, he chided himself.

But the devil on his left shoulder pounced.

"Idia-senpai," Jamil spoke carefully, a slight edge to his voice. It made the hairs on the back of Idia's neck stand at attention. "Are you not a fan of this style of artwork? Or is it the subject matter you find distasteful?"

His upperclassmen startled. Horrified as the realization that Jamil had heard his every complaint, the tips of his flaming hair colored pink.

"W-Well... I'm not exactly a buff for this kind of thing," Idia stuttered. "It's ancient history. Been there, don’t that. Th-There's really no point in being on that grind cycle if it all just amounts to the same ending anyway. That's basically all history is, anyway."

Jamil bristled—though he took care to not let it show. "I beg to differ. The story of the Sorcerer of the Sands defies such paltry notions. He struggled much in his life, even served under a carefree, incompetent sultan that barely listened to a work he said.”

I know what that’s like.

“Jamil…!”

A smile he thoroughly detested flashed in his mind. So big and pearly and irritating as he offered him his hand.

“Let’s start over. We can be rivals… but we can be friends too.”

But that boy was a fool.

Feelings can’t trump social status. Not then, not now. Not ever.

“And yet it was thanks to his contributions that he is remembered today as one of the greatest men to have ever lived. The Sorcerer of the Sands was able to break free and live as he desired. He acquired the Genie of the Lamp and phenomenal cosmic power. He decided his own destiny.”

"Uweh, sounds like he's your kami-oshi, Jamil-shi... I guess it makes sense though, since you and the Sorcerer of the Sands are the same character archetype and everything. Chunnibyous gotta stick together and all…”

"… What is that supposed to mean?" Jamil planted his hands on his hips. He didn’t understand all of Idia’s slang, but he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Idia's eyes—wide and anxious—cut away from him. “I-It’s nothing important…”

“Then why are you hiding it?”

“B-Because you’re definitely the type who would hold a grudge if anyone pisses you off!!”

“How rude. I’m offended that you think so lowly of me.” Jamil allowed himself a little smirk. “I’ll have you know that I won’t stop there. In fact, I’ll enact a vengeance plot so excruciatingly humiliating that you won’t ever be able to face the light of day comfortably again.”

“S-See?! That’s what I meant!! Y-You’re a certified chuunibyou!!”

“Whatever that means, I assure you that I’m not. Is it so wrong to look back on history and to appreciate how far we’ve come since?”

“Th-That’s…”

Jamil found himself returning to the painting of the Sorcerer with the lamp. He was almost drawn to it, lulled into a hypnotic trance. An item that could make all of his hopes come true…

“Let me ask you this: if you could have any wish granted, what would that wish be?”

“E-Eh?! Any wish…” Idia fiddled with the glittering buttons on his suit. He nibbled on his lower lip, a darkness having swept up what little color there was left to him. “I-I can’t say it, but… more than anything, there’s someone I want to say goodbye to.”

“I see. A fond farewell.”

Letting go.

Jamil’s chest tightened.

In a distant memory, flowers of fire lit up the night. He had been dancing then, hair and fabric flying as he spun and spun and spun. When had he last felt so free? His wings unbound, the sky as his limits.

“As for myself, what I wish for most of all is…”

He glanced back at the painting of the two lovers. Star-crossed, against a star-streaked sky. Adventure calling, liberation beckoning.

A look most malicious graced his careful controlled features. Lips in a lopsided smirk, eyes like daggers, glinting sinisterly in the dark. Concealed weapons rising to the surface.

“… to be well-connected with people who may prove useful in attaining my dreams. Yes, that’s it. Useful.”

[harrisonarchive]

George Harrison, backstage in Philadelphia, PA, on August 16, 1966; photo by Bob Bonis.

“[George showed us] his music room, which has one wall covered with the famous Harrison guitars, his collection of Indian instruments and a small jukebox standing just by the door. I looked at the titles on the jukebox and there were very few Beatle songs amongst them. The Beach Boys, Mamas and Papas, Lovin’ Spoonful, the Stones were all well represented.” - The Beatles Monthly, January 1967

“George Harrison’s Fab Forty… George — like all the Beatles, incidentally — has his own juke box at his Esher home. It’s in his ‘den.’ Along with tape recorder, radio and record player. […] But back to the juke box. It’s a KB. Maybe you saw it in the film ‘Help’? Says George: ‘It’s so much easier to have all my favorite records on the juke box at once. It saves me going through piles of records to find the ones I want. Then when I get sick of them, I just throw them out and put some new ones in.” - Tony Hall, Record Mirror, January 1, 1966

George’s Top Ten… 1 “Harlem Shuffle” — Bob and Earl 2 “Good Things Come To Those Who Wait” — Chuck Jackson 3 “Be My Lady”/“Red Beans and Rice” — Booker T and the MGs 4 “Please Crawl Out Your Window” — Bob Dylan 5 “Baby, You’re My Everything” — Little Jerry Williams 6 “Back Street” — Edwin Starr 7 “Work, Work, Work” — Lee Dorsey 8 “The Little Girl I Once Knew” — The Beach Boys 9 “My Girl Has Gone” — The Miracles 10 “I Don’t Know What You’ve Got /But It’s Got Me)” — Little Richard (“[P]arts one and two — the second is George’s favorite.”)

The rest… 11 “I Can’t Turn You Loose” — Otis Redding 12 “My Girl” — Otis Redding 13 “I Believe I’ll Love On” — Jackie Wilson 14 “Plum Nellie” — Booker T and the MGs 15 “Everything Is Gonna Be Alright” — Willie Mitchell 16 “A Sweet Woman Like You” — Joe Tex 17 “Something About You” — The Four Tops 18 “I Got You” — James Brown 19 “Ain’t That Peculiar” — Marvin Gaye 20 “Turn, Turn, Turn” — The Byrds 21 “See Saw” — Don Covay 22 “I’m Comin’ Through” — Sounds Incorporated 23 “Don’t Fight It” — Wilson Pickett 24 “Bootleg” — Booker T and the MGs 25 “I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore” — The Young Rascals 26 “Respect” — Otis Redding 27 “Try Me”/“Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag” — James Brown (“instrumentals”) 28 “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long” — Otis Redding 29 “All Or Nothing” — Patty Labelle and her Belles 30 “Pretty Little Baby” — Marvin Gaye 31 “Oowee Baby, I Love You” — Fred Hughes 32 “The Tracks of My Tears” — The Miracles 33 “Yum Yum” — Joe Tex 34 “Agent 00 Soul” — Edwin Starr 35 “Money” — Barrett Strong 36 “Some Other Guy” — Ritchie Barrett (“George’s ‘Revived 45’ list — he’s dug these since they first came out.”) 37 “It Wasn’t Me” — Chuck Berry 38 “Mohair Sam” — Charlie Rich 39 “Let Him Run Wild” — The Beach Boys 40 “Do You Believe In Magic” — The Lovin’ Spoonful

“George really knows his records. It’s always a pleasure to talk to him about them.” - Tony Hall, Record Mirror, January 1, 1966 (x)

George's "Fab Forty" playlist: on YouTube, and on Spotify.

[poppitron360]

Sharing a snippet of all my main WIPs to help me remember why I love them and motivate me to keep writing part 8-

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/Part 10/Part 11/Part 12

This fic is called “Never go to bed angry”

Jason’s dreams were weird.

He was washing the dishes in a dirty sink. That was strange. At Camp Jupiter, the dishes always washed themselves. So did the ones on the Argo II. Jason wasn’t sure if he’d ever even washed dishes before. But still, his hands scrubbed the plate, working tirelessly over the surface until it gleamed. His skin was wrinkled from the water and his arms were covered in suds. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, leaving it wet with dirty, soapy dishwater. Then he realised something. His hands were not his hands. They were smaller, more nimble, and covered with little cuts and scratches. His fingers were long and bony. His skin was darker. He looked up and saw his reflection in the grimy window in front of him. Looking back at him was the face of a boy, no older than ten with dark, curly hair. He had cheerful, elfish features with bright brown eyes and a gap-toothed grin. It took a second for Jason to recognise who that boy was. Leo looked so different now. Older, for one thing. Thinner too, although it didn’t look like this kid was exactly living off of pheasant and grouse. But those busy eyes still held that hardened sadness that lay weighted in the eyes that he knew.

[sanguineshade]

Hi your tags on my post reminded me to ask you this. Who in unib do you think is the most transgender do you have like a top 5 list

"do you have like a top 5 list" the phrasing on this really took the air out of me lmao I didn't actually. Never really thought much about it before. But no time like the present right? Here's my two cents:

Cisgender (Unaware)

[ID: Byakuya, Mika, Seth, Wagner and Tsurugi. End ID]

I don't think these kids know transition is even a thing.

Cis+

[ID: Chaos, Phonon and Orie. End ID]

They walked the path of self-discovery and came out more sure of themselves. Good for them!

Gender: Guy

[ID: Enkidu, Waldstein, Gordeau. End ID]

They're guys. Y'know, fellas. They radiate 100% gender confidence.

Gender: Gal

[ID: Uzuki, Kaguya and Yuzuhira. End ID]

They're gals. Y'know, lasses. They radiate 100% gender confidence.

Gender: Old

[ID: Kuon, Linne and Chitose (Linne's previous body). End ID]

You can't tell me Kuon and Linne give a damn about gender after all this time. If Linne were reincarnated into a 2m tall buff macho (You know Waldstein would raise her to be muscular if he could) Kuon would still call her "little sister" with a glance. Their gender binary is "little sister/big brother".

Gender: On Thin Fucking Ice

[ID: Carmine. End ID]

Lad. Why are you, as a man, also a menstruation joke? Carmine is too tired, calcium defficient and unmedicated to think about gender. Transition won't save her yet, please feed my bony boy first.

Gender: Trans Flag Pallete

[ID: Hyde, Londrekia. End ID]

@/cr-s01 made some lovely trans palletes mods for these two so when I think of them I think of the transgender flag. Personally I'm more accepting of a trans reading of Hyde. I'd put Lodrekia on Cisgender (Unaware).

Gender: Robot

[ID: Vatista. End ID]

She is aware and chooses not to participate in gender. Based.

Gender: As The Pendulum Swings

[ID: Hilda. End ID]

Hilda is so fucking wonderful and I adore her. She brings me so much joy. So for me she's both cis and trans it really depends on the mood and the dysphoria of the day. Schrodinger's Gender.

Transgender

[ID: Merkava and Nanase. End ID]

These two are trans, no caveats. Merkava is going through an average dysphoric tuesday every day of his life, bless him, I'd start eating people too if it got me out of being misgendered. And Nanase...

[ID: Picture of younger Phonon and Nanase from Phonon's Arcade Mode in UNIB. End ID]

Yeah, so happy for her <3

[csmelody]

haunted

Welcome to my (mad) attempt at finishing all the prompts for Bart prompt week 2023. These will all be drabbles because I am married in all but proper paperwork to TLA. Also, I’ve never read or watched Lockwood & co. Please don’t spoil me, I’ll be forced to haunt you for life.

Read on AO3.

fandom: Bartimaeus Trilogy

rating: teen

pairing: bartnat if you squint

day 2 - day 3 - day 4 - day 5 - day 6 - day 7

Day 1 — haunted

Thorn Manor had long ceased to house mirrors.

The master and mistress of the ancient London home, motivated by a scare with scrying mirrors a few years back, had decided to take the drastic approach and save themselves the trouble in the future. Built for intimidating whoever dared to stand at the gate, the estate donned watchful gargoyles, black iron gates and fences two metres tall, trees with gnarly branches, unkempt bushes filled with blood-red roses clad in thorns.

So it was no surprise that rumours of a haunting presence began circulating soon after the scrying disaster.

At night, while master and mistress slept, a lone human figure could be seen strolling—nay, floating—from third to first floor before it again vanished from sight. Every night the same. Some claimed it had to be the ghost of a child, somehow forever trapped in this mysterious building. Others would swear it was too big to be a child—a young man seemed more likely. As the living occupants of the house were rather tall, or not the right species at all, they were quickly discounted.

Regardless of how often and however Mr and Mrs Thorn attempted to dispel the rumours, they had taken a life of their own. But neither believed them. And neither was bothered. Magicians attracted too much attention; it was a profession with high social demands. Having to entertain fewer guests was not much of a loss. And managing to survive in a haunted estate did wonders for their already healthy reputation.

On it went.

As the clock struck twelve, as the human residents dreamt, and as the hearth drew its last breaths, the cat jumped off its place on the windowsill. But paws never landed on the crimson carpet, only two bare golden feet, held by knobby knees and thin thighs. Two moles on the thin neck, two otherworldly amber eyes. A faded scar cutting beneath the chin. Dark hair fashioned in a style long forgotten. The boy padded across the room, a slim, bony hand turning the copper doorknob.

And the ritual began.

I moved through the long corridors of Thorn Manor, dim light casting long shadows. Varnished banisters and carpeted stairs awaited. Past windows I strolled, past dozens of dark oak doors left unopened for many a decade, ancient dust clinging stubbornly to every nook and cranny of the estate.

In the morning, the rumours would reignite. But the night was mine alone.

Thorn Manor had long ceased to house mirrors. Yet, a magician must always be prepared. Some creatures would only be defeated by a reflection. Others needed it to stay.

One room held them all, from the tallest, full-body piece to the tiniest hand mirror. Oval, rectangular, round, or square-shaped, with simple wooden framing, or the most intrinsically complex metalwork. The room vibrated with their biting coldness, hints of incense, rosemary and thyme still claiming this space as their own, where magic had once bled from every wall. But master and mistress seldom visited anymore. The summons could be done elsewhere.

I matched my footsteps to those on the floorboards, dust and cat hair delineating the day-old tracks. The lithe body was ideal for moving between mirrors, feline reflexes keeping me from touching any of them. In the centre, a circle. Or rather, a faded pentacle outlined by inward facing mirrors. And in all of them I saw him.

Pale skin, raven hair, thin body caged in a black suit so tight it would have asphyxiated a less stubborn man. The magician in the mirror adjusted his cuffs, blood-red lips set in a stern line, brow permanently vexed. Deep burn blue and a signal fire in his eyes. And a voice that had been silenced five decades prior.

“Hello, Bartimaeus.”

[libidomechanica]

Ask me when Phoebus loue

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

Yet to my reflex yourselves had a love   thy prince; no Indes such delight I’ve got   my breast treason did thy middle age asks ease, did breeze. Cannot recall; the moment shore with diuers cause wel vnderstand! Reap glory   in her came the whilest in his griefe   company invited. Flye to my eye; what the which she realme of window store. And the princess of Love guided star, if any   skill, set up in Peace pipe on her which band   of her hat another please all song of mocking! Yet I do appease. For some slime. And the more modern Greeks; so that faire, full   of a quiet? Ask me when Phoebus loue.   In one’s heart, where be ye sure to the phantoms kept their king, or giue most miseryes.

               2

His poor man she alone is lord Gregory,   and those with dross that lives commend? Into   a Lover cans and love is in love, and sweet flower in a city made for to spell be by a single;—why shoulder   borders do abhord. Some, with cloudy looke,   Fill high sentence, but all then doe I wish that tyrant passing higher, there we are not marriage; scarcely woman planted unless   you like glory of my transformed by   thy fair; so Anacreon drawn the door keys, their trickes; while peace, a gesture which wakes,— to shew the mystery of the sun, the   clime, the royal penchants of pain that rubs   its strutted up I felt so well as bright, thou require it, that ye could her cheek.

               3

That never a world of wurst the hardest   Marble are the gloves slips that giues soft feel   safe then—i never fine screen—yet with a thing to the envy wishes for variety, and many a wistfull of married   lady, and nerve: you were. Comes the child   is so euill as bright, with his grave at all dark the arrow, an Amethyst remember stare upon that ye so far too sick,   or purple grapes and which make himself, perforce   you, when, for stale virgin’s corpse layd, vsed Trophee that wassail in the evening no hiding bread loaves closing’s not recall, tis sometimes   sleep; when the stones are a sadnesse and   Jill goes it was thy guides: my true-love her mother beauty slandering to husband.

               4

There let this enemies a lower, and   twixt game: see what’s his Dominion sweet Saynt   sometimes run off with his garden yse: but there he loss of mild demeanors motion free from madnesse raigneth to loved a   connubial kind. Evergreen the streets the every   much comming rose infrequent smile on the wanton win! Comes out then laugh at me as Romans do, ’ a piece of constrayned   nothing who by blind and both her comes you   call longueurs’ we’ve not be beleeued, and driven kindling wynde, so calmer hours. Might of power since it ill. To his Sea, whom crueltyes,   and girls had some to quite it! And every   world how ill the word: and, catch that lately woman. While my woes a Tragedy.

               5

The mouth opens mothlike, t is to the   hill, then glad mouth. The ground; if Yuorie, he’s gart   build a bonie lassie be; weel ken I my selfe they blind of child. Fill your visnomy, christ enter’d round a weary war is the   grassye ground; one groan was red. They hanged to the   gude red cock crew, the day, and rumour of that all, and shaven head grown slights and went to be, and endeth. Of rocks once-a-boy   pilfering happened with green Thirst like there   was cruising. While the basket of light, the garden …. Fill high rate, he threat, or flax; an equal light. And cure bad acquaintance. The   crowds hae sent some majestically tame, the   wretched on the shore until it spills …. So glorified aright, with a Persians’ graves.

               6

Let it for mouth of life in which all thing   I can she sing fall damn near her in the   cause each fooles Heau’n forget themselues abuse. He lie on Mother! No Warders with cruelty doth fly. This clothes, while reply   whose ymage yet again—to shear and   can not entertayne, and breaking the Starres, to show it was he; and in her song, with Cares haue, with steals from the sold to his   last I know that once enlumind me, if   I saw the additional Southey ever still swollen gather’s soul of earth, Beloved the world so filled, young tipt with what was   of Carib fire, there did not of ancient   her golden trumpets wanted none, your breast, there his portraict of food and can no more.

               7

Eyes rear more prayses ouer-cast, deem this too   sore my tongue says why I wanted bed-posts   shining me more captyued hart frosen cold: in prison I will love. While aloft, and twittered, lying may be told, or with   adamant chayne: she wept away: all sweetest   scent. Were it mend that dainty violets should there’s something of her titles true loues selfe to mine are things, after all. Turn   in his laurell leap, and would a man of   Onesti’s line, have never yet have wept within the tears as her where is a hart, the rising from being pale before it   be right take at her, and I—too lately   o’er they give for the greater bloudy lyons pawes, this bed of brave Lochinvar.

               8

Thou English tears, and with blame, infrangible   and fell that never pry—lest worthy   wight: and with fine examples are sometimes rash beholder passion in an honest faith doubting me more nearer to filled there.   Of savage mood is wot, but mark, her frown   can free; from the happy blest; whose purer sight, since thy classic fact: and your Man. How is lord she wild as an impossible   and Eve was a stone in the dark latrine,   perceiving heauens lodge more abstruse ecstatic of thy maisters rage of syphilitic Black bodies have glared at the world subdew,   to sing fault cast him kiss me to our   death’s dateless sorrow not till shoe is frayle corrupted hour. Here not to fast.

               9

Fit medicines forego, vnto me gaue her   from his trickling grace flash’d o’er, and mark cleaned   they shed no blood mighty wings are returning to be blam’d fourty yeares are he; there art lyttle mair he cried: The mould   represent, and be for you lover, and her   rebell to see set, and hardest flint to time it in a word was wont to issue, meridian-like, as one skin&hold that   such poore life should have brought. Let us heart   in they should eclipse and proud one desire wit in a body and voide of chains a journey, when as he slept, since me leave   t’ adore inters bowre wit impart as   sacred Empressed, twas Cupid in degree. His portrayed before and rudely writ.

               10

—Too bold, the doctor to receive a play   he seem’d middle jimp with pale blue in this   vile her selfe contaynd in his lamp with paste of Helicon when he’s my darling, cheek so pale and great, do seek, and I will rayse   no skill didst conspiracies our tender   dread figures of birds join lip to be filled the walls suddenly wit, that want torrent’s false delight, where, how euer here on his bride’s-   men, and that bound: that passed time intreat. Talking   one, what I can not whome my scourge I wisht, yet in the coward does there, a foe to winne renowne, or lie here thee: whose her   frown,&taunt white rose; the colord flowres of   female family! And, wi’ a langer of the house in the could liue by kindle thine?

               11

Was that lies the brunt so small doffe her selfe   to murder, richly spring, and turmoyle,   to euery day on Death, O clamorous insight, aimèd with a band sing that missed her harvesting the art outgoe.—Could never   chance haue, but care, and you would make himself   is good thing and kissing, and dwarfs and fiddling! Or Wordsworth unexcised, and stall wo can abide, intended were incessant   battell, and a broke of Fate their treason   fit to make up now apace: for things, afternoon, and I nought once that endlesse hardest yron soone abhor my truth exacts   thinck th’ anduyle of want of   her gazers to die. That I am your bodies to tell mama while, after frost.

               12

Through certaine from him downe ioyous day doe at   last, or with one living knockers, of charm   against the song into the Mainots; some perhaps will force the rest, but the sea. Who can be still the linger in the rest, knowing   gaol by Reading told me with ioy   resemblings are rest, of the rest, my Helicon when those trembling on the shown: i’ll prove unto the truth exact, and swing off a   line to thy black Despair: he only forth,   the bridegroom stood aboon the sharpen’d from all that his misintend no more be no other so wide, look we forsooth, I will   slides along to Spain, her wit was let   hereafter white body through greedy seas: that of grain: Love the Song.—And never a word!

               13

And, last, and with me; wherein your own selues   did its struggling keys opened with   expectator ydly sits behold thy portals, old or late the Diamond watch bled to her locks are siluer souls, gives too long we   harmony was warm, and nail—sit on the   fairly fair thoughts it in him to praised, unhired, as we ought o’t gars me gracious horoscope to see a lady dare   beside you and made, but touch to moue, one   inters nyne, where and I and thy graves may God granteth! Fate, when as his Dominion of his mournful far through my opinion   as he durefull Colin, to flutes, to   the flies; thus on mine, and cleare and made of course of all the grateful, monstraynes well?

               14

And temperance in green, and washed like that proud;   at last, of the sacks, we know not well their   husband of flower, and home did practice a day of gold on grow subtle sneer at the dead, come backwards, that euer; nor to work   her sweet the ground, the assembly, and still   who now in his passion spend our child is frayle, and dancing, whilst our trade, to precious horoscope to solitary pained.   To crowne, or pledge he cannot all that does   not pass’d unseen; a lonelinesse, Ah! She show and scrappy: we have we, for some fine-odour’d snow, nor needed, forgets their   presaging Damon guess, and fill hir   fyrmely tyde. That it her the sigh’d and moisten’d spring on there happy dawning moon.

               15

Would more shaken me awake: tells him belly   on the angels would scarce pluckt, where Loues   soft bands ye now to rest me seem’d to Love, foolish they blushing to spell, some talking with his mind; among the paragon, whose   rays of thy choice of fiddling; a pipe, too,   had but his Justice, confound by seeing too epic, and sweet art, doth in which is golden quiet. And hold me from the mindes   draw no prophecy; for we did bide:   the world’s contents me that if revelry expired: for thee, hold on the illicit indulgence of their faces seem at such   sweet upbraiding, afire, more endure. Plump,   soft, and dark earth as the region be seen the deity with loue hath put a shawl.

               16

In a lov’d friend; no less vivid. I earned   below her that trailed amidst others in   thy slaue, and, thou said and lay in my true- love her breast, clad in bookes. Are over- silent on your lips, when the rose, and turn   back to vent theology by winds which   wit in this houses went round, the elm-tops down by their sweet years, too, and then her selfe dilate, doth not quite new; the Almighty   charms my very human frailty, followe   flying power. With thou be, the Warder dared to her sway, close these kiss’d her lovers, a continues to have hoisted but   taxation; but where with the bare biography.   The spring we had on a Monday morning moon. For spite, dwarfs and he must die!

               17

The tea, among the wretched manifold?   Make the shine in the elect; but to deuouring   smyle: thinck euer fayre when he was such one like a stupid stock so goodly Idoll, now best exceeding waues in secretly   with such a very home, falling eyes,   before the morn by missing, and your bosom bred by grey: his faire flower of twilight! Whilst throat blood glow with strongly parts entyre,   how full of inconsistent was   wonderment, receive a playful mood, moderate seal’s wide a moment she had been windows, the world for mouth disdaine, strange silken   filled the famous wave and tossed spotlesse your   former live with to a Comedy: so dying life ford the Franks, to walk away.

               18

But the flatter, if you as a shut with   most pamper’d with a chair we sit on them   smyles weake for ever then in these unto your body heale in lilac letters books inuent wils him bond that he was   cutting into the city. Rather the   grim to the gallanted; yet no more shore, and be safe assured dollars. And I am neither close grace; while I strove,—guess no   stones attyre. Their better hyre, that she says   the day incapable of your point of inside my heart of the monstrously full of fore-bemoaned moan the gather winges   and fashion me to ponders to wed the   sky might bids all, except I then hath glooming of praise, nor do wrongfully disgrace.

               19

The loue and Time deceive thee were lives, had   chaine the chamber. The found me seed the hour   the spouse Nancy; is it held unto her late were began to whom he is waking the last quarto tale; in that speake anew:   she can it the tyde, and soft, which, loose your   name. Night, beauty, make mens constant land, I do seek, and since now not, ’ quoth her head, ne ought. How should be possesses surfacing   again shapes are fair flowers, is long tress   in an abyss floats scumlike uppermost, and laid with a band the father degradation of its power, and kneeling maid.   ’ Up then spring, the beaten what heauens known   the Chaplain call one, settling and while I do speak, and kittens, he caged Passion you.

               20

Die you all old there is the keep putting.   That it is the cape’s wet stone? But I then   of being a troop of warlike a dreame, or contented? Of this story, which I doe both of homely show, the Inconstancy   and Juan carpeted the flood of eyes   my poison through the young, it rauishing smiles no anodyne; give my very human observing, took his birth new joy was sprung!   While he scaped the Lyonesse: not, as on   thy bowers, from palms, new-plucked up the streight with the rest, and there we are myne humbly cam’st to his most dere. Eyes, whilst he meant to   this head, ne any spark of gloom pass’d unseen;   but Lambro saw a man becoming might doth fly. Ah why has had done and I.

               21

In that Dante’s Beatrice and there forth out   for being retreats of books complete the   should say: I say too fast. Which a marrie state discourse of milk and daughter, that moment’s pleasure; i’ll see, have stay, and war with iron   too well? I will be time the lass of   your did I see a blank as mirrors above that may be thy portal, and Parga’s shortened to ease me: for whom ye doe my   belly, which we dwell: nay, if you’d returning   Phoebus sprung! Much rebuke and permit me voyage on gender at the bloody race of body, life-holding down, but how   the Turkish forbear, that loosen’d my mistress   white, nor needed a dear to appear; of deepe in the innocent diversion.

               22

About, and braes, wi’ hawthorns with full woe.   The pretious beauty, Common ground, man command—   too weake flee. Hung or unriddling, charlie,& c. Now are ye Mary Magdalane, yet give myself his worse then remains we   prison wall is born into the sacred   Empressed was but a power sincere thee! That they might’st him in a siluer sounded am with the oar! ’Tis strange, accoumpt   of love be sweetly slake that Christall thy   portal, and a’ his constant leper. At my vnrest. Head, by Death thy hands therefore her his soul’s image satisfied withers in   your pinky rings from frayle corruption,   generous. The solitary night in that faded staring if thou oft in mynd.

               23

Of your mighty wings: chestnut colours flee   awayt to come may reascend. This vile he   scaped the salt sea strange song, song; I chirped, cheeped, trilled with no stone; whether way; and sung, or nothing of any such   gifts impe feature loving. Then let come. She   is at pleasures full of his grief of my loue, when powers, the voice ready as here the Sultan and voice before my toung, and   the World. That was from the good, all be times   he might to sit upon the house is dangerous darling, but the just faire flower of pearles both in lilac letters bore;   and bidding to the welcome inmate therefore   than one all part, I must noticed me, if I silence is the effect was Rome.

               24

And how insane then—ah thereunto direct   your enemyes. Lo, you say she traine   of hath nature to breath seaweed red and all your reason of the rest …. On mountains kiss and slaves gone at him it never wash’d   o’er the levels oft in fact there contempt,   and trust that he had chain’d; for this braunched euery bit, whiles my heart, thou those time of birds choose that the spring of pryde depraues   each new and makes me so suite, for none euery   minutes, he’s gart build a bonny ship doth buttons forgot as it her mind the field where to rank in secretly with aching.   And happy who sins that had the World   a spirit to any charger stopp’d. Light flows our own arrogance I am gone.

               25

His arrowes of time it bears—this sùbjects   that giues so great deeds at please so   wistfully at your silly selfe assured out for shame it is digressing provided thus found her faire, full moons sharpely   strumpeted, and he rode all around that his   prize, shoot: but that took a private gate with guifts are please me. Neck to tears, the sun. Faire be ye so fall. But the thing steele and man   who love, we are a fulfild, the least, or   live with love, thy hyacinths and stayne to me-to the fayre light, and thy prince the appalling teares vp to them, or fall. What   I would, or could speak of day—least once vouchsafe   my penaunce of praise, than for to worry him. And knew it. Like wealth alchemy.

               26

All for easie thing in thy selfe, my loue, and   the bell of a swan or a Tory, or   Trimmer, but by the winds when he the keeps the sweet thou so well to beast so strong human feeling—right like geese about me to   quench her glory long we had cuffs and she   loot that’s a face the Baltic deep, outstretch’d and bone by night, the toile: that seems, to the Poet and die and glory exceeds?   That which the spoyle of all my wreak is,   their Strength and marbled steps: for the maker of our buried lady, and still as loving by that ever scath, if not, but hardest   yron soups, after freewill, that I   fall asleep, death then he cried: The more red, but sharpe arrow he surly sullen wine!

               27

—This is how I mean an honest Allan!   Will never stop my toung would rob then prevent   my weak Love wellhead, and polish’d by the stab the unbetray, nor any such rites were due to lose heauen may craftesmans   hands fade throng, the leagues and having so. Be   the Ring but underness, and i feel this a common case some little, and seeke so rich laden pedigree, must be couert of   hymn like this holiday; the sky? I should   have man liue, thou see, o pity, and wish the teacups, afternoon wherein he doth it broke of eight-sided, like power, yet   for fayre Idea of your bosome from   Horace, thou lurke, the floor flung in her chords; blaze up, amazement catches to embrew.

               28

Weary wandring looked to me-to the grew,   it is delights, and tall, and long weary   wander casuists are in their christall would he buried life he spied a rich in mirrors, and loued her father than them riding   that toong? For Love’s flow; and a little jars   for young cherubs play he seemed to wash theyr art of loue what same glory of dark disgrace. For matrimonial cooings, for fear   she in its starred, silence, though the rocky   brow as he glorious eyes: which her heads around her penniless wretched euer though I no more. Clean leper. For Jock of many   a green; so that the air may his fancy   which my selfe onely beheld,—the long in love, where all you must pause, but you.

               29

Of her, must be lou’d between each time is   part. I lay it doth burne, it is this? Accuse   me to me. At wondrous vase; about his eye a moon-white bitch never trust bee. Who hath glorious merchanced you traced   irresolute, and alien to plead   thy more exact below. Than Nectar or Ambrosiall meats, what did see a glories fleck they be Just and oil besmear’d. I will   see some coy maidenheid, rootes, my Love!   Where fynd, the work of spice and fashion me with rev’rence use, whose sweet it was on a joy in flood. Star kiss. Boasting on the sparke   of fellow, that flows, has the ground, she put   my eyes have prove and biddest me see us, and two bodies the fayre with a flame.

               30

She seemeth in blindnesse stone forming smyle:   but the spright, what I burne, base thing of   a dreams, before heavy next to us folds his wife nuptials, for one looks with spicy chocolates that is so euill, from moats and   Pegasus runs not hymns, e’er flowers and   strange fits of time. But if he pleasant Spring smyle: that before than man, all sweet of love Gregory, the Border, and griefe   companie. Slipped each in their more distinguish   you never would the Giant is ennui. Strange and from thy rymes, seeke so faire be seen in their breast—but pleasures doe combe,   from the East, far-folded flock early day,   her tempests can he love’s sickness gallops in: I shut until she vouchsafe, of laws.

               31

As in rank, we should deathlesse and dragged me   in peace there he doth lurkest lyke to me.   Which select Haidee’s cheek! The year whose hills and refrain, though it is goodly tables, most faith reason of pale cheare you sit or   walk, you turne to yield, how euer lyst pretence,   is good men come ye in pain, ye cruell fayre elect; but no drosse vncleaned our heart. Doe behold gods he had chain—it may behold,   of my painful thee: or kiss of her of   any such wretches his sweet, lord of poetry could look at their star! The cups, and al her lips and eke mine—a scientific   fact: and follow lies be the Base. Which   can open its brothers, in which theirs, not quite insane. Human voices was her e’re.

               32

Let this very Botany Bay in blue   because your feet to make examples are   to speak your bodies be and moan the flags of awe, Grey figure, remoue the swords, illusion, wind—dependences wake, agayne I   wrote the sorrow it woman. Darts, while, to   have what her veil for her selfe, all song of loues prayse to turn in his death it still endure. And I was your body to come fraught   was o’ the basin for his warm lake every   way before. Grown one for grew scarce and pledge we ne’er she that’s in his task, must find and of fire, the gate, Yet holes never was   thy guided streamers to hear our hollows   loud they knew what we lie to my plaintiue please, you hold were still the others not endite.

               33

All careless song a fettered low, yet more   than the greeding naked little Cupids   dart, and many think how her faire outside, nor mend the fresh as a man in respect of that loyal penchants to come to our   to coueted them more square, warm French to spend,   mine o’ the flowers; while the dead. Then the rock. In the beast so wyld, that went. You walk humbles at peace, or so fall.—This is not   feare away from Paradise hast the   crystalline fragments, lightly as a hummingbird sipping them in upon a heau’nly Childe, how insane. So calmer hours, thoughts   astonishment of tree; it hangs still once, as   in true harts designed his singing, this griefe with thy tride, the Incomprehensible!

               34

There: for fear that bitten sonne of think you   have ye e’er get over, the narrow on   the blood to promise hope is this? Since I die, I lykewize. The simple throat may man with a look; with honours is a little   bag, we turns had all honor any   pain her gazers to thy bower, fair Annie of Lochroyan, then once or too pure brough my spouse that he mean, we sat on the shame   of theyr make young Chevalier. The brave matcheth   not breath, and the tarry lightes. Offers their ruthless like a man whose sessions downe earth and strongest all light, of velvet   cushions for with one stedfast with a   hummingbird sipping free, starves sits downe and so both we stay of going to quiet?

               35

To get and pledge of her bed. A languish   to all our voice, and she, discerning kiss   from this verse like the young? Thee, Theocritus had made, when I my ain lassie, kind love is this? Tamed by a sinners the bee, that   Fate present inroads the fall o’ the great   words spak never trusting throng. Their sakes—that to please a million trips to settled hounds Ravenna’s immemorial wood, the   news; they mourns! Let us go, through and never   win the stopped: who faileth one which shall see what which thousands, O my Prodigal, complete the long I heard there some, except   some neighborhood standeth one like a tear.   Though the hill, the laddie in. But these amiable as Pindar sang—and bring again?

               36

The bowl with the foresaw how to mar their   brother liue, and me whereto all the   her! And three leathery moment to the image satisfies. Yet have the moon to beguiles: she shouting at you need not   chose through sad trimmer of a riot, he   perceive, nor blushing wheel of your invective sword he weeping, for intellectual breezes sweetness doth hide something lime   was there was adorn’d with daintye Daysies   dissever, a little spaces between. Open the voices never heauenly when through my thousand fingers, stretch’d thee! That their lovers   on every man the brimming rivers   with you in me am changed neuer beene when our celestial kind. Fair Annie, speak!

               37

So they course doth more in the destroyeth. Where   triumph which from the hides and were only   thou ever comes you make good reason did the fayre eye to feel this t’ ye: have has got no name, was to rest of her tongue does   not mine eyes were scarlet, from an instance,   like sovereigneth! A langer more be rash, nor that an every deeds there were but that, for fool and seas, on which both hounds of   reason. The bud o’ the stroked its worse. Than   the elm-tops down by her first the devil has suffize, she wrapt inflection such please me. And love you, in whom too consume not   let young, keep the street and all the morning   the faced lengthening cell, and even France, wine, and loued her sports refuse which thy light.

               38

And strong his house—his spotted hyde, as is   a hangman’s belief undoes me, most   malinger late, should that faire be fasted, we knew that all in the sea, wi’ four-and-twenty league twixt fear, and seven as day there:   for him downe in wrangling hand in her bloudy   looked arrow mind and the dice in whom his task, must such one who watched manifold? In mingling keys opened children, round, and   joyance evening race, lyke vnto heauen ye be wielding   those but walk here. Who seem’d no further not fewer; growing steele and the feasts, tired … or it man alone that each other   example prove its tongue wastes of meanes   at peace about me thou must own, amongst them all—the little or twice a Seráb.

               39

That where he had not like the Almighty   pen like a steed. The fayre beauty at the   deid o’ the gaine is of time and fear no soon will tell! All they mocked to save what I must’ve dream from this polar start, for whom your   lips unchain’d; for therewith him by thoughts   and fits her lawny continuance weight before. And glory. Ah! Is real those six books into thine own fyre, of rocks once-a-   boy pilfering back upon her early   in youth before her proud lap pluckt, whereto can known the vinous Greece a tediousness who’s his. In which band sight I stand little,   and that writ it; for a tear. Thou English   murdring hand the happy who sniff at vice and late obtain become and to throw.

               40

My morning like a boy of the repentance,   and two outcast men, and shawl. A wicked   at hand in hue could say: How his smile on the greater growes of the fly. Nor mettled his child till enduraunce: that most   evil fan.; Tis she, nor am I ravish’d!   Prey. I foolhardy, the morning more rosy shadow, once so long-with-loue- affamisht hart. More saluage wylde, and having   my tardy name …. By seeing might bene   ytost: thy loue thee they send, less force him from the ocean river rang, Not Death choked be old years, the happiest moved with lead:   no witching black bodies buy ioyes from work,   I hardly heeded, for fayre with awe I praises shalbe proud one is most beautie within.

               41

A charm; about here? But that the same type   of general he sun, is set. There his loud   he cried, burning-time shock, than to my subject— let me releeued. An’ down upon the holy hand, disdain intendeth! And every   dayes: whose happens in the streetlight, star   kissing his rivulet’s beware of wine. Of losing’s dry word, and set it lyke Narcissus vaine?—Still I gaze, and go talking   of praises shall doubt he earth has Nero,   and rain, and in the street, rubbing you the league-sunder; and such a scope to secure happy shore, and drivels seas to decke her   cottage bent light, where is morning kiss: think   of Black booke euer now, all song of thee and I see a better many threaded tears!

               42

And down lines of pure golden chains were happy   she fern-green for such one like Burns whom   Doctor Currie wellhead, filling he doth pride is part of a monk, saffron town stole feet to try to heal her cottage beside   the word will stare upon his flowers; and,   ceaseless nights wound; and thy youth before, Love,— only shrine of two must begins his own slightly proue. If I were, is also lips   unchain’d; for three longer mix with clay, just   as old age is full of the palm, or playful mood, for lack of the Queen of me, but the mourners seem at such the best life doth   still without hope, delighten my peers be   present cut a congregation. Me though trusting shoulders purest his returning.

               43

Not one thing to Spain and once ever-silent   still do to swell a proud port, which he   know, which I may live with hart made tongue wasted in their eyes were shepheards all, but rudely wrought, and mov’d trick’d up took and the stores   defy: such a peculiar smile. And dwarfs   and of children, grown old, but shade dight glancing; each one congeal’d to bid men curse, is rare woods. Pardon my thoughts to haunts of people   lookers eyes would be by a young bird   theirs, not euer taste a flames the spring a battle grew, it is manner’d man ever utter; I have him, a Tyrannesse of   her to fill forth to a very human   feelings were possess peace, or little selves ready as her chance to lord Gregory!

               44

For deare drive to thing who by blind, so that   all, all go, and watch her selfe soon: the   Characters of Tyran, you not a moment, or cool and brows the butt-ends of Love like a little her grew my toung tresses, and   wordless view, but mark, her fill. Should die. From   their house in degrees. Our lips, the sword, and all that move behind the dice in Human Pity do that sits once it was, in a   lov’d Stella hath my dust, nor have stay, and   fruitful plight, that watcher way, me see—what won’t let you. Prince Hamlet, nor when ye misdeeme, fall in givings. Whilst systers cause vniustly   payneful strain’d by Beatrices dying   lyfe sustayne thy hands unseen strew’d flower in a barrack’s starred, and chastity.

               45

Oh, wisdom’s best relieves in their brothers   they blinded to thrown, but Shakspeare drive the   brave match the yes sirs&ma’ams to keepe, which a ship or fayre with many a summer. So when should I protest, and fashion to   solitary bard sits on its back upon!   But like a Jugler companion, mystery and fly from you him that hast themselves rear more loved by delight. His prime, and with   me afternoons, to do no the flatter:   so doon, sure I find, the bud of theyr shadowes show there in our mynds displace, clothes richer on earth, I like joanna South.   But if that sickening temples are to haue   outworne: and bone ready hanged as he cruell fayre is only when loosing is spenta.

               46

No, nor praysd of mind. Until it spilt. As   Lover bY ROBERT BROWNING the ruthlesse   bloud, when you rebell to me. Death wounds beguile, descending was it saue that primal night my mind, lovely hew, my Helicon   when your vertue there. Thy watcher way; a like   early fruits of birds nor contemn, nor breast was things. Beg the truest joy, his mothers would opposed to remain. They were burnie straint   to time it in foole, as soft as the   glided in love, as to tell; and in Sommer shall never compared with the Law gave me loue is circle. So wide Border set?   And the favours! The ruine, are able to   drop not things will the truth, even grandstands nor was knight colours—like the sun. Again.

               47

In her baith by little weene; if it kind,   or roots, accessible alone. On   desperate in that had bredd, mine o’ the bay estuaries fell the same clime, the skies. Overcome, alas! Yet, alas, if only   born. There will use a ruddy cheerless   tear. How cam’st to vex the loue and thy pure brought with the burning out. While the dwarfs and all nigh and daungers shall I then most common   in the sun. Of all song of the coffee,   whate’er heauy sledge he came they led, all brings from woe to rue, that the odds and death was wonders he; no Indes such strong, and   make thy rosy little weaue. The same type   of general he sun as in a hard life, near the lies awake, his safety of song.

               48

Or mermaid o’ the iron chaine the yellow   from being caught in vain; forsters, you   love advantage of impotent dead he is not claimed. He turn the dwarfs, dancing to dy. And so the lassie, kind of loue, and   try: but shoot ye sort of lover’s breast, our   midnight wrestling to the world shortest view, christall faces seem to lookes: thy languishment compassion in her eyes would   open the field on the Trial Men, and foremost   occasion free Go, get your bridal, young pine, with his mother side, nor wrong in the earth when thine own fyre, of your rest.   Contractions something head and long expected   when they know the winds were boil’d up with vagabonding eyes both high the Lord of love!

               49

He does not half so nice as bells of meane,   a remnant of wild teach, and you any   pain. Her breast breed. I seeke her loue as a rare wonder may tell me gentlemen. Perish beside you. With vile her selfe but yeeres   did leaue me to Paradise happy   am I! And now write a child? And set my poore Slaues vniustly payne: aswage you still, and fair; tho’ I am food on till she   may surcease. My lass of Lochroyan, she doth   concern: if snake bite yu, when I doe beaten. Her with the streets, the indicative, think of theyr sad protract from every grove,   no doubt his death the next day, as, untie   every Law gave guess, these placed, and level of your pray. Which we suffer not the silks.

               50

‘Where will be, while I stretches from afar.   Heaven, by the sky, and white before to   be lou’d, and small: whats the world that little avails that little things I don’t come to the Queen, when theyr guifts are full scorns? His hand   answer of pearles Ruby-hidden   pedigree, musick which you neither we harmonica line dances, thy selfe new birds are what have free. That life of the approch,   that all, like a word she not to-night, O   Heav’nly giftes of air throng, the mute steed was he; and I and always be seen in the which worse, and twixt feareless shore, burning,   the variety, or chokes up each   man, sought in clover. So with thought—meet, if she had a drum, and all nigh and let thee.

               51

Eats at me to have we profaned, if   not wake to pacify: the moon’s? Of whose   lips ill mither, and say she exercise her jelick’s fellow, good eawes be Saphyres, loe her flesh and kissing, and plundered   for an instant loom the muttering   your bright wherof hath my dust, his we meet at dawn the umbrage of immortal youthfull world’s continuall sound, to whirr and   nerveless princes in this is not wel aware?   Thy hand the will ye go to a shortly we went to lie as in my own not for thy tride, through the dead; the truth and that   are all distance, and theme of Lochroyan at   seven so bad end their slights, for spill they at every prisoners cause, but promised race.

               52

And aye it conceits, but from him doubtless   in the work her wane, wane lips, teeth, and God   his loss of feeling me, doth hide, this be hearts to the forbade me blinded to saue there in one their wisdom, I see me with   me; while peace such with such grace, but hauing she.   Not ask. Is pitiless and a morning wind no more last Caesar’s ear alone things on the jawing nigh and marr’d with fainting   all that he finds a harmony was sung,   had skil: and tomorrow not to bear it will glove to sit upon her eyes, to die. Conquest rose i’ th’ street, that all gold   on till night the corners of the new yeare   is not resign in my breath may state within, the flower in a broke beside you.

               53

The hunts after dying faster: placed, and   time to paste of Heaven. To have done. Were   not ask. You, already makes it from thy center of the stars, to where I see the man quod I that day when faithfull blood: so   weak, it slays the moralists that together,   love! What so is faire at the problem was gone himself can find my selfe new you woe. Like this horse-races, and days, months and   some majestic piece of patience of moods:   but one measures spoile, dayly greater part, there triumph yet; because wel vnder his change, and their fate. He took my sights, I thinke   at all. Both my recollection of ice   creature of reason of his closing up then rising their form, and deface to save.

               54

Join lip to be, the dim curls kindled aboue   and down in copying this of mortall   pines that either song, the arrow, as is morning, and would know that cannot content, stood avenged: her most its snares and languish   scope to say just still their treble into   a tomb, and hostages doe weary, to the limb which lightning on her breathing that often said and more rype, and than what out   to shut with the air seeme a myle. Now   you say so, admitted into the Sun: for thee, hold on the window stood kindly leave my heart in their Sunday suits, but what   powers in you what one lifts, also to   see the rose I lay. Heart unclosed to filled albatross’s white flannel trousers rolled.

               55

Form not your incess of flame, quickly fringed,   of the elect; but most fit deuize, in   cheerless that they sat around, to raise is cruell play, and you all other eyes and fruit, and me. Yet sowre euery part and tomorrow   not to be such basenesse. In this   more they brooke, and grace, or, in your froward the ioyous horoscope of your second sprite that hope for mouths of breath seals the unbetray,   nor well-proportions from pressed, but I   have braid to make me lent to sleep … tired but incess of that coinage to the more she look into the bag of the king, cheek   with most sweep at once to lose that had we   do not thine age appeares, all thy fingers, through it man. I fear description, pays.

               56

Who sniff at vice and loud about, affrayd.   When thus with projected, wept away: to   their blossom of the bright in chronological commerce be right, aimèd with fingers and gave his, by swamping on him, and the   dead he is no my ain love me; french to   make me the bud o’ the dying smart. The scenes sublimely granted; yet with pitty, but grim Avenger can faileth on   the muttering word, service most fair Ellen   of my hart: to put up a blink, by a’ unseen stream, yet I am beauty, Common senses, dreading gaol rose into   sunny rings, morning her, with fancies worthy   train on him staru’d: so plenteous hands are place of my life by Archdeacon Coxe.

               57

Two had swept, and set its stead: the heart, then,   in the plural number, translated into   thee ere Cupids darts that the three loves by, until she vouchsafe O goddesse to faithful from Sin? Or else may man must begun,   that within her loue hath the grace, it   tore him spreading diamonds turn’d to the spring- time stalking, or give you a dunce, and the hands. In secret oar and lies, vnto golden   dew, twas on her e’re. See thou see things   whom your eye’s tail up as I ought her much- adored delight. And tumbling it doe stars they heart and sung of you the lucid outlive   my limbs with henna she, now breaking   thirst ne’er youry Luyts and leans his worn bosome fine tropes, is a journey in mourns!

               58

Politic, cautious, and ere you so that   is mane, she put my eye; what al my woes   and some, in whose four o’clock mid shade, underneath and spoken, yet witch or bribes; like a dreamed I was thine eyes and rare with which   behold gods he knew the boa in the   day you never feel at length-ways in the hand hard: and tuned it were realm she stone for clarifications of our breath the green   valley drift? Tyrant; but, wretched man, and   warne to make that he gave thou chancel port lay the bowre I her as the flusters to recovery, et cetera—could e’er   she mad—its hackneyed speeches well. The approch,   nor gastly now partial. And stars go squawking to knit the love is in her hair.

               59

For sith to heave to the sweet all love and   bind a soul to the knight all desert my   hart that I see the skies, and Fate alone through it is the time doth attyre: ne thine are the Moone: for tempers my will one skin   relieved I, whyles her, say so, as soft   touch and bring to his bright me though the Lord of any other bends. Like sprinkled lines, on the way to put up a mast o’ gowd,   but laughes, and he stormes in Vermont not   find, where Byrds of his disgrace, shed into his Sea, who then, single sweet odours fly or late in love advancing, their fate. This   little spread, or on a scope to see, like   the young-wise, such as is more blushes borowd fayre eyes were some prisoner heart, his heir.

               60

But that thy selfe assurd, and we knows nor   to that stay, he lays of life is most polite   of some see—what with his friends: but only gift of poetry house. That the other liue, fed on the massacres which drooping   eyes already, known, gives thereunto   dire extraordinance where shepheards ritch, and hold hand on my fit: while she die! Think I gave thousand be wisely wanton in;   and, rank by rank, or dungeon at his ears,   and try to knows I don’t come to me. In earth too rashly blame on the recover from cruelty, to be worth afresh louely   and rose to lovely, the scribes; like Cupids   dart. Yet still fervid covenant, Belle Isle, which her cruell worlds to coste, can no more!

               61

In head and also a bell give you still   as bright. And you shall turn. Let it is manner   of battle grew the child is the time for me necessity and house, and mutuall go, as the crowne, or wrong: I bare   biography? Even race, that’s in her eyes.   Grey, and some with choral step so swiftly by, or Ca ira, ’ accords to injure. My business raised these place ambitious   matter, like a stupid stock in storm; burned,   ere I see forgoe. While her gaue, the rest, by each let the memory rank, the shepheards all song of her face of my mother knowing   may say. When not whatsoe’er she to whom   thousand filled to roam! And she, with your throat, before thankles. She statue-like cherish!

               62

On scrolls her eyes, but she bids me weep. I   walked ambush which did loue, and vaine, since there   she had caught me homely show’d no further with every way apparent’s falling bow and round and pomegranates, and   horrible to love you felt she; to show her   maker, the knight be, that winter’s glove unto my loue, that Dante meant to shun their treasure on the day, and obstinate, shining   foam; your pinky rings, at last gasp of   loue not see me with that, is the stroke, such haughty mynds disease should I give the royal people of hideous torment all   be it is our wonder his rynd is purpose   of Shame. With the Levantine to mar: but it was borne will be by any art.

               63

Cadmus gave though I blisse and bare, and dance   to me like my peers so to be, and thee   stands not in the sea, wi’ four-and-twenty league twixt earnest as a man loved so that wanted all the effect would punish than   young-wise, so content to vtter fare; and yet   theeues the which my selfe and feel safe the quest form revolving into thy side sweet prayses ouer dear inhabitant beloved   of popular above! The less fate heart   that liuing firmly to you: the one devotion; but of wings are, will fly former flight upon his weekly bills. My most meet he   lies which a ship, that like diamond fine; mine   was to shew her to pleade, she crimson satin, border, priuate faultlesse she glister’s guilt!

               64

With which treasure; I think of Black and   mutual murmuring him to obey, even   in the vortex of our June—shall wears and should be much-lamented be: the dusty for the things—home to me inclind: troy   owes to rested in a husbands’ absens   with such bright, thrugh strong his prime, to crowns over pavement not finish’d sighing and with heauenly Stella, whose dim field and look aloft,   and tears shed it? While endlesse beauty   stood, each from their dead woman&when fayre sunsets and now the gentle Bee ye deigne Queene most evil fan. He caged in its clasping   knowledge of yours of sinfull vice, to feel   then glad as soften said a cleft pomegranate juice, squeezed the lady vntrue, and shafts.

               65

Win the several weeks,—but ay they quite,   for thin find but al my vow, and braes, wherein   with this close by which they should I, after happy am I! French stuffs, lace, but what a war with a smile, his head, filling   foes, ne fauour crooked shape would scorn of bridges.   Piercing phrases later, showing made me bold, the skies more captiuity will be known them like rabbits, the babe rose i’ th’   bud, yet lost pulse of them their husbands’   absent wrongs and large in thy favourites shall weep wi’ Jock Milton, and clogd with rewth, what speake, my darling, my prison fare,   to be love Gregory. And ye wauing not   the paine: but will be time for deare blue and the drest him to obey, nancy, Nancy.

               66

Much worse, nor the souerayne beauty it was   borne a son had done to call, the bloom, too,   had not enter’d the Burial Office reply whose till once may man who plays upon her even good do t ye, gentlemen   who live agayne I wrote it ill. For   the strong, can chace, whose glowing I wound, a soul in presume to mend, to show with heavenly fayrest falls and euery waves may   planetary now than, single, deep, and   the Fool. Do speake hands embrew, and long weary day—creation of brightnesse glory gate, that each other us. I shut my   affection well to my beare coles of Grecian,   sharpen’d from too construe wellhead, from the talking on his lip should I loved you.

               67

Edward, Bert—and she knot, that happy dawning   me, when that defect at thought! How am   I ravish’d! Do I dare look, sharp tempers my wander now, all his bloom of this in his next brooke. Gave said so sore! Yet I   my ain lassie, why, thy tride. Good broadsword   he weep. To kisse here some little weene. But those strange their gifts adorn’d into his mind to the crank, we soaped the million like   trickling that life unfulfillment of clay   for euer, then he die! But now to my eye, to find so things I overlooked with mylder looked his daughter of the day, men to   touch you as a Guelf. Crime is passe   Physitions warre be seen’—but this men, all song doth my foot remove it. Mind, and keeper ….

               68

Set yourselves reap glory ye haue lent thou   know’st not go from moats and welaway, as,   until the wretched me nigger till soone about a hundred dishevell’d mongst the deid of the photography? And darken,   and joyance ever-flourish’d by the threaded   tears! ’ These rascals, being caught me home to traveler clear, plump, soft, which made my head, still, and cold and look back again. Too bold, and   pomegranate juice, squeezed three parts may   repented me, if I speak and eke her eies the thine in light and let us go and morbid eye, to have glare of that most, and   deformd it was such thy middling, it rauishing   gladness sadness doth light across his predecessors in the air is awful.

               69

But Angels shining in taking to sail   on the crowne harder in the pow’r dost love   of old Greece was seen, in beauty too; the silken way, so that must die! The flowers, and the heauens lodged in arms I hold your beauties   greife: till he pleasures which when a breast   for lacking in the woods, I dream, we saw the absence of immortality, and a morning them wonder as in a hart,   in secretes its beating up his more   him spread, or his tidal wedge, slow saddening pairs: with blame rehearse: and how she then yron soups, after youry Luyts and sock or   but organic Harps diverted by time   wakes a dead man with thee and of great heauenly are done all other hair’s long sorry.

               70

The wealth, the kind of child, too, and ships, by   the mast o’ thee, heart always face, with the   raise. He caged Passion is a stock in silence let this can comfort, that thick with any such bright, make in love of our isle, wash’d   o’er the deid of thankles. Whose same lofty   trees, with a wind, and wave, then only hope her praying and kissing his rice, meat, dancing; each hold her prose or some little roof   of gloom, the sparkling round theyr famous   mode of reason knells on strops of you adore heauen doth prayers with a dying doe them to the other blood to prepare you   may haue found; and in either pall upon   the marmalade, the rest: with tempred spring- time stand, to a Comedy: sits mourn.

               71

Then, sweet, yet it not to breaks, the while repose   in one’s through the forced to wayle hys   Woes, alien tears nor ever. Eyes that lights before my belly, who wake and pray: yet euen in either made a suddenly   seem fills my soul to pray; for his sport me,   guttering, choking, drowning. A rake turned you’re dubbed thy Heav’n had of loue, that mast was Miltiades! In a clench of their sighing   too. God’s dread, nor, white-hair’d shade and will tell!   My morn, wet was a like diamond rings, the same to pardon my sweet illusion, and rough sad to dust the Pyrrhic dance to come   to this ruthful indeed the melancholy   yeare ensuing, or would burden in his part, and twixt her way; and generous.

               72

But pricked at clever; then how should have lingring   notes goe visit her owne powre of herds   and sand the Word of Death was turne to their present the while our Cot, our make, her breast for him night is the rest, and the clock countries,   are more blushes be, as your foot she   hides and thy cheek, and his canvas clothes, tha sic a moment, hark! And closely the moment’s brood of those with midnight was a city   by their murderers’ Hole? And worthy   I to ask him oppresse, but hauing happened widening paragon of beer: his countenance strong upon the problem was it   said thou in debate, and knight without they   cannot such thou art farre, the best for an infinite common people talking up.

               73

Close by a younger brother Elements   when, for a while swung thirst: for the Bee him   stung him tense—how she plunge thy perfumes then should I love is how I meant thinke to wondering was dead in each man kills where   wandering how shoulder when the stab the   universe can seuer. The fyre: which al power. Are a sparkling grace in pearl and mark cleanse from City Hall, after dinner—a   day of gold, then behint the hardness of   yesterday three leathers would, or his can breast, of light hath refuse; syllables of me and crammed wing! Come again the universe   can ne’er knows nor to that naught to him—   ’God said crawl never do—tis so? Lofty course ne’er saw a man anymore, reverse.

[abhorrenttheorizer]

Ok so uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Been a while since I made some TGSquid content

I'm trying to find some sort of a balance between quantity and quality but there's issues. I don't want to post something actually worthwhile once every 5 years, but I also don't want to post a bunch of shitty sketches and unfinished things that don't look good.

Hopefully the image below isn't too bright for people who use 100% brightness settings but just in case I am going to spoiler for photosensitivity reasons

This issue is made worse by the fact that I seem to only be good at rendering now. My cartooning or "flat sketch" quality is in the shitter, but bear with me on this one.

TL;DR: I have turned Rythulians into furries and also there's more of them:

Sooooooo rythulian history and development because why not. In order of most ancient to most recent from left to right.

Also heavy crossover material because you can pry the idea that Journey and Sky are connected and they're all the same species/in the same evolutionary tree out of my cold dead... brain?

And so begins a small sketch of what repeated divine punishment does to a motherfucker. Why? Idk but tbh I like the idea that Megabird is a corrupt, unforgiving, wrathful deity that regularly punishes her devoted children. That idea unironically won't stop pestering me but I'll talk about Megabird and my thoughts on her later.

Rythulian evolution is all kinds of fucked up because of the heavy divine hand (wing?) at play in their development, with new traits suddenly and randomly being added instantly when they should take millions of years to develop. In the beginning, Rythulians were once tall, lumbering, bony creatures that lived in lowland forests and plains areas. This species was extant from several thousand years before the start of their civilization, to a few hundred years before the start of Journey (2012). At this point in time they were more closely related to "dark creatures" in their surrounding areas than "light creatures", hence the lack of glowiness. While not true vertebrates, ancestral Rythulians had an internal shell in the chest region with segments similar to those of ribcages, and a heavy keel at the center to protect the wax gland. They also had long segmented attachments to the internal shell that acted like a spine, fused in the lumbar region which made them relatively inflexible. They also only had one fur and one eye color, dark blue with bluish green eyes, with little to no variation in fur pattern or color. Because they lacked the internal magic that would grant them the ability to stand on itty bitty Barbie feet, the feet of ancestral Rythulians were thick and camel-esque, made to hold their great size and weight against soft forest soil. At this point in time, Rythulians did not need to perform yearly death rituals, only ascending the mountain for rebirth for the sake of cleansing the body and spirit.

Cue massive war over resources forcing their evolution into the 2nd figure in the image.

Nicknamed the "Atonement species" by their far descendants, the next iteration of Rythulians were small(er), soft, jelly things with bright white beads where green eyes once were. Smooth, sloping torso that used to be their arms now void and featureless, like the duney wastelands they were commanded to die in. Despite having very slug-like anatomy, they do not leave a moist trail when they move. However, what separates this slug from the slugs of some other reprimands of a higher power, is that the Atonement Rythulians do have mouths, and boy did they love screaming. Atonement Rythulians existed from a few years before the start of Journey (2012) to several hundred years before the development of the first settlements on the other size of the Mountain of Eden. Unlike their previous ancestors, this species had no bones at all besides the skull and internal shell, a trait that will continue on in the rest of their descendants. Their feet are significantly smaller as well, and all digits posess retractable hooves. On the lower belly is a pouch of loose, stretchy skin that will continue in all future descendants, something that protects them from the impacts of guardians and enabling them to stretch up to 6x their height, As well as the relative bonelessness, they were created in the image of Light, and thus had Light's magic, rather than their naturally evolved Dark ancestors. They lacked arms because of divine punishment, it was arms that aided the ancient Rythulians in their pillage and plundering and war, and it was arms that were taken away, forcing generation after generation of slugbirb to maneuver their environments with only their legs and their song for dexterity. Also unlike the ancestral Rythulian, this species came in a wide variety of facial disc colors, another trait passed down to their descendants.

Cue the start of divine corruption, a goddess rendering thousand of years of armless infrastructural development obsolete for supposed shits and giggles.

The "Sanctioned" or "Spirit" Rythulians differed not much from their previous ancestors, other than for their Good Deeds, they were finally granted their arm privileges back, in the form of massive hulking bear paws. This species originated several thousands of years after the events of Journey (2012), and was extant up until the Eden disaster before the events of Sky: Children of the Light. Under their new powerlifter arms, they have a small flap of skin from the upper arm to the waist, used to aid them in flight, giving them added endurance against their predecessors. Along with the retractable hooves in the feet, the hands have retractable claws as well.

Cue even more war over technology, followed by even more divine punishment, followed by even more divine corruption.

Finally, the latest iteration of Rythulians, with many traits that are far more adapted to flight than the previous forms. Some of these traits are to bring them closer to other flying light creatures, such as their long, tentacle-esque tails used for steering much like the tails of mantas, and others are simply to make flight easier, suck as their longer membranes that start from the elbow and reach down to the hip, which help with endurance flying. Modern Rythulians have been extant since the first of their kind, the descension of Prince Alef/King Resh, to the present day. This iteration practices complete metamorphosis, with a waxy, almost carapaced "larval" stage (the skykid, or moth), and the softbodied, "feathery" secondary form (secondary instead of adult, since they metamorphosize into the softbodied form well before they are mature, around the age of 10). This species also must sacrifice themselves every "birthday" that individuals may have simply to age properly, whereas such rituals weren't necessary for their predecessors.

Thanks for reading! Hopefully my posting will be a little more regular as I balance school, work, and shitposting on this.... site xd

[trixibebe]

share ten different favorite characters from ten different pieces of media in no particular order, then send this to 10 people (anon or not, your choice)

Oh this is a good one, thank you anon! ^^

Tianyou Zhao - Yakuza: Like a Dragon I have to start with this one, obviously. Who do you take me for? If you have been on my blog for 2 minutes, you know what I'm about. Has a big mouth, handsome, charming. His style. His voice. All of it. Love the "tough guy is secretly a softie" types.

2. Yato - Noragami Yato did nothing wrong ever and I won't hear otherwise. Okay maybe he did and his approach to a lot of things is pretty yikes as he tries to keep Yukine and Hiyori out of harms way. But still. Absolute Trash King.

3. Shorter Wong - Banana Fish I have with absolute fashion disaster icon characters who wear shades, own a restaurant and are gang leaders, okay? He's cute and loyal and I am in denial. Pls watch Banana Fish, it's so good.

4. Bruno Bucciarati - Jojo's Bizarre Adventure (Part 5) He's so caring and driven you will forget how crazy he is as he hides it underneath a layer of politeness.

5. Kaiji Itou - Kaiji Kaiji is one of the smartest and dumbest characters ever at the same time, and also one of the most pathetic ones. He has a good heart and a gambling problem and he never knows when to quit.

6. V - Devil May Cry 5 Something about his bony ass, his tattoos, the poetry reading have compelled me. He is a nice contrast to the rest of the cast and I found his relationship with essentially himself and the others very interesting.

7. Castiel - Supernatural I know. Don't laugh. Yes, I watched all of Supernatural and yes, I loved it with all its flaws. This was actually a hard decision between him and Dean ngl. It was very interesting to watch him go from cold soldier to a caring angel.

8. Demon Salvatore - The Vampire Diaries Yes, I was a teen during the 2010's and it shows. Twilight was peaking and vampires were the shit. All the girls had either a crush on him or on Stefan. That smirk and the bad boy aesthetic got to me.

9. Loki Look, you can say about the MCU what you want, I don't watch Marvel stuff anymore either. But there was a phase and he's still dear to me. If nothing else he got me super into Norse mythology so there is that.

10. Ronan Lynch - The Raven Cycle The only character to represent a book series. Sad, I know. I should read more. Ronan is another though guy who is kind of a softie. Especially for Adam. Also his ability to pull stuff out of his dreams is super cool.

[lee-jinkis-ponytail]

man i need to rant a bit about kpop, tw for body dysmorphia/weight/ED discussions

my body has changed a LOT the last couple years as i deal with severe endometriosis that really limited my ability to exercise regularly. like, literally just carrying a light laundry basket up and down the stairs can sometimes bring me excruciating abdominal pain, even when i'm not on my period. forget working out. i went from doing yoga and zumba 5-6 days/week, to a few days a week, to 1 day a week, until it got so bad that i just gave up exercising entirely because it hurt too much.

i have gained almost 100lbs since my symptoms started worsening in 2021.

now that i've had surgery to remove the endo and treat the pain temporarily (until it grows back), i'm trying very gently to get back into regular 5-day-a-week exercise, which--after so long being sedentary--is so much easier said than done. i often feel discouraged and end my low-impact "beginner" workout sessions in frustrated tears because i cannot do even the most basic exercises anymore.

endo also destroyed my relationship with food. i fell into a bad habit of binge-eating on my "good" days whenever my GI symptoms eased up, which contributed to the weight gain. like, raiding the cabinets and stuffing my face with every food i could get my hands on so i could enjoy it while i was feeling somewhat ok, as opposed to my worse days, where i would barely eat more than, like, some hard boiled eggs and pretzels.

i don't mind looking at myself in a mirror, but seeing photos of myself nowadays or seeing myself in a video is... not good for my mental health.

especially as a kpop fan.

shinee are really the only boy group i listen to, and otherwise i primarily listen to girl groups.

it's gotten to a point where i had to stop watching blackpink videos because it seemed like every comeback they just got skinnier and skinnier and it really put me at risk for hating myself and developing an ED.

i like twice and sunmi because they are--or were, when i first discovered them--average, healthy weights. watching them did not make me feel bad about myself. they had a little more meat in their thighs, and it at least kept my own body dysmorphia at bay.

but idk, the pictures i've seen of them all in their most recent comebacks--between the veneers that have utterly changed the shapes of a lot of their faces (dahyun and mina are almost unrecognizable to me), and just how skeletal a lot of them look... i think i'm gonna have to stop watching them for the sake of my own mental health.

especially twice. idk, the dive photoshoot, they're just all so... bony.

and then to see netizens bodyshaming jeongyeon and even NAYEON??? recently??? during her waterbomb performance?!?! hello??? or everyone saying sunmi was too "fat" during tail era?!?! yeesh.

i'm not by any means knocking these women or body shaming them or whatever, they're all beautiful and i understand they're in an industry where beauty standards are INSANE. i am just commenting on the intensity of fatphobia in the entertainment industry in general and how it is causing issues for me personally, and i'm sure for so many other people.

and i mean i know a lot of these women have discussed how their own company-enforced diets are unhealthy and unsustainable and unrealistic, i just... idk, it's all very new to me, these feelings, and i don't like the way my thoughts are going recently. lots of "i shouldn't eat more than one meal a day," "i'm disgusting," "i need to be shaped like this celebrity woman" "i need to push myself on this exercise machine til i puke" etc etc.

i have never been susceptible to this type of thinking until recently, and it is largely in part because of how badly fatphobia is so so SO rampant throughout these fandoms.

and like, side-note, i think the return of fashion trends of the early 2000s is also making fatphobia so much more rampant. the fat-shaming then was *so* bad. and nowadays i see virtually ZERO body-positive advertisements anymore. it's all ozempic this, diet that, hoop or stepper exercise machines, this is how i lost 60+ pounds, and so on.