#tlot

[checoleclerc]

Random Legolas Greenleaf moments: 152/?

[megatron-fucks]

So I'm close to starting to post Peace is a Dead Rat: the sequel to Lesser Evil. Which is exciting because I've been working on it basically since I finished Lesser Evil and it feels a bit special to me.

And since I've had such a good time with the big bangs, I was thinking about asking some artists if they were interested in doing art of piadr, which would mean getting to read it* early and also I'm definitely open to art trades, commissions, etc. if people want.

*(I have not entirely finished piadr and even the complete chapters are still being fine tuned, but I'm sure we can work something out.)

I'll probably speak to a couple of people directly but if anyone else is interested HMU!

[libertymiddleway]

American Rounds - What is Automated Ammo Retail ?

[cinelestial]

THE LEGEND OF TARZAN released in theaters 8 years ago today.

[stupidnymph]

[underwhelmingalchemist]

Someone tell me why I, someone with intense aversions to both zombies and fungi, am sitting down and watching The Last of Us

[dilfdoctordoom]

Even if I ignore all my many many issues with how Gamora was handled, volume 3 still doesn't deal with what's come before it very well and it results in the ending feeling disjointed

[tamblerdraws]

Gonna post about my au again

I want Jimmy to kinda look like falin

With all the feathers n stuff

(Also he is half rito in my au

Bc birb)

[peri94]

🌑Charlie🌑 ^^

[beaft]

october 13th

happy friday the thirteenth, everyone! and to celebrate, here's that poem you probably read at school that one time! today's spooky poem is "the highwayman", a delightfully melodramatic ballad by alfred noyes. there's an analysis of it here and a sung version by loreena mckennit here. and once you've listened to that you can watch this, if you're so inclined.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Part I

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.  the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,    And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there    But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,    But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter. Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,    Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part II He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching Marching—marching— King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

—Alfred Noyes

[bookwyrminspiration]

we are going bowling 🎳 we met in english 📖 class 🔨 he is adorable 🥰 with a little dimple on his right cheek 💥 this is our second 2️⃣ date 🌹and i still don't know if he knows I'm queer 🏳️‍🌈 or if he considers me his girlfriend 👩‍❤️‍👨 will find out tomorrow!!!!!

omg the tlot phickens... i am invested now. tomorrow holds many things. may or may not think of u as his girlfriend, may or may not exchange a lil cute cowboy kiss.. may or may not get a strike !!

the world is full of so much joy and wonder i hope you bowl an excellent game tomorrow!! updates? updates please? let me know how it goes? please?

[stromuprisahat]

So, what's up with these four hundred years as The Darkling's age? If I'm reading it correctly, maybe not. But didn't he tell Alina he's 120? How many lives like that could he actually live for that time?

He's older.

I don't remember if there are official numbers for the show, but Leigh didn't want to specify. According to KoS, the Fold is about four hundred years old (Chapter 17- thanks @yototothelalafell) and the Darkling wasn't exactly baby immortal, when he made it. Second Army was established by then and that took some time too, Aleksander spent his "youth" travelling the world and learning (TLoT)... that should add him at least another three hundred. I've always seen Bookling as around a millennium-old, therefore his numbness, tiredness and general air of "I've seen this shit so many times before...".

The age he told Alina was an official number. His current identity's age. I wouldn't dare to guess how many he shed, but the last one was supposed to be the most powerful, therefore it's safe to assume he usually "died" sooner.

Show!Aleksander feels younger, more hopeful and alive. Even Second Army was established relatively recently if I remember correctly. I'd guess him around five hundred.

[sadsongsandstories]

I want a Percy Jackson musical series

Show me all of them

Percy's full progression into the ultimate hero

With leitmotifs and reprises to wrap it all together

Because there's no rules to say that musicals have to be a once off spectacle

Although funnily enough I don't think that there's ever been a sequel musical

Except mamma Mia 2, but that doesn't count

I'm talkin stage shows

And I don't think that there's any with a sequel

Which is a shame

Because there's no real reason why not

It would work fine

I guess you don't want to limit your audience because of money

And if you're going to show a sequel, and the original is not being performed, people would be stuck

But surely, for an old enough show it would be okay

Or at least a spin off, like starkids hatchetfield musicals

The guy who didn't like musicals and black friday

Which are two separate shows, but would make an amazing joint title

Turns out that there have been some, but they're all for older shows

Falsettos apparently used to be a show and a sequel, which were then combined into one show

Which I guess explains why the lesbians from next door don't show up until act 2

And why the end of act 1 is so weird

I fully didn't understand it at first

But the history and context makes me appreciate the show so much more

Like I said, it's a shame that you can't make a sequel for a Broadway show, with extensions on the motifs and ideas, but tlot does make sense given the live nature of the medium and the resulting limitations. Without the original being readily accessible, a sequel is simply impractical. In a way, it does make the form of a musical even stronger, where each piece has to be a complete and entire story, with a brilliant book end with the opening and closing number

There's no witty setup for a sequel, or questions left unanswered

It's a beginning, character introductions, two hours of interactions and conflict and set up and resolution and growth, and then a brilliant ending song to tie it all together. The characters are complete, that's all we get in one perfect product

It helps the show to have a sense of scale and weight

Where, you can change or add songs, but there's no what if. The journey is complete

And you can do that for other media, books and movies and things

But the possibility is always open for a seuqel

Because money is a thing

And the original is readily available

Yoooo my waiting zone has an ensuite bathroom

This is da beeest

Maybe that's why the ending of the Percy Jackson musical feels so strange

Because the book is absolutely setting up for a seuqel

It's the ultimate setup

Establishing a new plot twist reveal antagonist at the very end

The kind of twist that, I might note, is so well set up that it's less of a haha gottem, and more of a wooooooah... Wait what?!? Oooh okay that makes sense

Strong character, established as a friend and mentor

With long history and familiarity with the main fleet of characters

Grover and annabeth

And everyone at camp

Everyone except for Percy

And so we trust him

Because they all so and why wouldn't we

And I don't remember how it's done in the book, I think he gives Percy a tarwnchika or somtehring

But in the musical I was unsure why he doesn't kill him

But this production makes it very clear that it was all and always annaberh

Which is really cool, and feeds well into the ending of the series

Which we don't get to see as a musical, but audience who knows will know

Like, in this one, it was so very obvious that luke can and would have killed percy

Posed above him with his sword at his throat

He's a really cool kind of villain

He doesn't want to be a villain

He believes that he is right

But he's not exactly a moral or even grey villain

Because choosing to kill a child after you reveal your schemes to them is never justified

And it is like 17 and 12 at this ooint

No self defence

No other thing that could justify murder

It's just murder

And murder isn't cool

Even if you are hot and blonde

Him and annabeth are really meant to be

And the overly nice Luke we got in the musical was perfect

The show does a great job of justifying him and his hatred for the gods

I wish they made that make sense for the ending

Where it's like "we can't just sit around here and wait, let's go and fight" which doesn't make a whole lot of sense

I guess it's like a "we can't just hide here all of our lives"

But that doesn't make a whole lot of sense

I think pick a side was meant to a cutaway back to camp song

Which works great, and it's a great song

Gets some more insight from some of the other main but not main main characters

Those outside of the big three, you could say

Provides some context and weight for the mission, so that those people don't just disappear

The entire quest does have quite a montage feel to it

Which I don't really like

I know time was an issue and there's a lot to stuff into one two and a bit hour musical

But it feels like a speedrun of the book at times, which seems like a disservice

Before abruptly slowing down for a character moment or significant event to the overarching plot

I think that they actually included more percabeth moments than were in the original musical

Which I really appreciated

Percabeth is always welcome

Like the motorcycle moment

With a spotlight right on them

Which was both hilarious and adorable and perfect for both of their characters

With Annabeth driving and Percy with his hands wrapped around her waist

In fear and love

The kids being kids was so well done

Percy's fidget spinner was perfecta

And the baggy clothes were great

Because of course Percy would wear his one baggy blue hoodie every day

With big old pants that don't fit quite right

He's a 12 year old boy and he's awkward and gangly and grisubg

And I should prond look where I'm going

Instead of writing

Foot traffic be wild

At this point of the story he's not yet a hero, only a hero to be

And the acting absolutely reflected that

Which is great, because far too often heroes start off feeling like heroes

Cough cough Rey cough cough

Instead of the whiney little brats they should be

Dragged into adventure kicking and screaming by their wizard uncle dad teacher mentor

[flameontheotherside]

The Highwayman

BY ALFRED NOYES

PART ONE

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

And the highwayman came riding—

Riding—riding—

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,

A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.

They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.

And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,

His pistol butts a-twinkle,

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.

He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.

He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked

Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.

His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,

But he loved the landlord’s daughter,

The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.

Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;

Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

Then look for me by moonlight,

Watch for me by moonlight,

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,

But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand

As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;

And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,

(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)

Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

PART TWO

He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;

And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,

When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,

A red-coat troop came marching—

Marching—marching—

King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.

But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.

Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!

There was death at every window;

And hell at one dark window;

For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.

They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!

“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—

Look for me by moonlight;

Watch for me by moonlight;

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!

They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years

Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,

Cold, on the stroke of midnight,

The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.

Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.

She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;

For the road lay bare in the moonlight;

Blank and bare in the moonlight;

And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?

Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,

The highwayman came riding—

Riding—riding—

The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!

Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,

Then her finger moved in the moonlight,

Her musket shattered the moonlight,

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood

Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!

Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear

How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,

With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.

Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;

When they shot him down on the highway,

Down like a dog on the highway,

And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

[theinfamousdoctorf]

Oh CheeseNRice... My shapeshifting love deity Herobrine The Lord Of Tears vs my newly re-magicked TSAMS Eclipse. TLOT wouldn't want to fight and Eclipse would be really nervous about getting hurt doing something unnecessary AND fighting a glitched digital entity. Really the more entertaining battle would be between their respective partners. Steve is small in comparison but he could dodge a star blast. It'd be a lot of darting around until Sun makes a grab for Steve's hair and gets judo body slammed by someone 1/4 of his size because Steve freaks out if anyone touches his hair.

[libidomechanica]

“Our Ida heart”

The Hermes, hast not more fruit there.     “Most Women have stroke, life. He wander mouth, and the bark o’     yon rotten all thy love, all whisperingly, but spare you.     The cause embrace may have done as the steps of Nature, she     shoulders bare. For what other

fled from wait, susan, she said,     from elsewhere! Her fearful steps of these are about. Clay take     my own Blood fell in vain for her toilet’s greasy thing. A     light o’clock,—a clear; tlot- tlot, in embalmed evening ray that     seem’d, sweet it, with such

disparity as is twixt your bring     fear no fate for your mother’s train of doves in the village     church, and so thick, for that’s the Ear of Heaven with thine own     selfe I needs must that lived and lie, so ready with thou didn’t     just not through verdure, then

assum’d, as never blisse, who even     as ye: and by the two more to spare, to see a plague     ’bove scope, more than ours, but for breast, but, in purple is now     come to me, for house. To draw them and their require found     the thinks! No thou among

the sting for you almost has he     ground, and aspire to drown has my thoughtful tale pursuing!     Wood shoes as well might eyes, accomplice of yore. I would ride.     Thy delights that wronged it, and then with her silver bow, with     bright gay meteor on

spring dim he would hardly he     entered through to be alone like a broke a genial warmth,     her idiot boy? And I hold with words: nor dare not grief;     for trust their pattern to lament to a coarser place of     his Discourse untainted

down they mournful rise among bird’s     careless for a debt she e’er her weakness, and I, who dwell;     the down to blame, He roses for so their pleasure! Between     the cottage fade like was mountains hoar the fair brow, nor winks     that he measure the throw

around therefore I knew what taste,     while you so that then? When my mind at my darlin’. And was     a lament what could inhabit on a still voiceless     omissions find; in worth thy nervous verse than thou sing, her for     merit at the cool hours,

and pleasure: but take the fountain     sideways, pitying as before. Our Ida heart. It is     soon absolvèd; if to love doth water. She story I am     cunnin’, sae ye wi anither cease to the snow is     seen the stars, sun, his head,

by secret troth and Satyrs knelt     on one,—and press the saddle set; opening in loops like     her chills and her, and great Juno goes far. Painting phantoms     of other secure found her head. Darling are should lend out,     cajoled by things break from

sound, and scorn to single souls unlike—     it seemed like tyrant said? She spoke The Sage would fain was     I using it to be at charm of earlier thanks, that     lays; the bowers bold Love’s father off, and the brighter eyes     o’erflowing orb declines.

Fade falser self and straught, and she     third errand see a glorious train: the garden came behind     seen but not a single soul! Over the closed eyes,     accomplish thy bright forking the speed of the like some love be     seen, and good, when he came—

and Ausemán—the Head once,     inviolably true, and can hit em right back again, and now     she single break; till he be not as brittle King Cheek,—upon     the pinch of wedded in love, and good! Love, thou leaves unseen     she knock again, and

unruffled cage of thy frown. When     with too much as that, womanhood. That her tradesman once     comes thee down like to the daisies round are up—she said, My     name is quickness, prouder as he green, and suddenly, that     I shall she becomes to

sing my Highland lips! Pain, for who’s     so true calm. Or wise doubt, in sunshine, but every word she     ground, and boy, you have been her eyes in tortured eye, if the     Bust and far into the world’s releasing, while the brook, with     disdains all. Him whom she

looks o’er his wisdom his voice I     held an eye that we see, but coming mute, and, relaxing,     with her beames, taking; thinke, this bustle, Betty, he’ll gallop     on for some please, but a fool would your most, when the soft     feet. On tiptoe seem to

the world for beauty, so he rest.     For eleven; tis silent form, dost possessing nurse, the     time, dying day. And trust to me now had largely given     back over then no longer and silent light, and heels to     endear’d, but a breathe a

sugred lies turning like-hat     relation. Were I go, she storm he live: but cannot chuse but     put on the melancholy eyes, and she thatch mine happy     in a hurry. But sings. On waterfall, or in the earth     do find that are the centre-

bits grind on the doctor from     loving shadow of the accomplish’d unseen, she rose; the     restored; nor asks of Maud; I play’d with a daughter, my sinful     ear in one hands, and weep; is it peace, and alum and     discouer whether the palace

at our misgivings. When hurt     and had a mother woman’s life supplied, beginning to   �� be alone in the soft hand in the sun, his will die of     love and gold Expression burns with potent spell.     That Dervish-dances turned.