#weirdsome

[joejoeba]

i just remembered how many gold ships there are in JoJo like it truly does not get more wild. Every one hits in some wild offshoot bullseye

[washwashgalaxy]

THE STYLISH BREAK-UP

THE STYLISH BREAK-UP In my heart the voice rings; The end of our love is treason. The big charges life brings Whatever may be the reason That made love like bird to fly out of turrets Has made us the guilty emotional illiterates. The darkly shadowiness In the house that is painted With our unhappiness Is what bargains we rented. In the weirdsome probabilities hanging, We remain like such sad…

[justpracticingwritingalittle]

Nikomach Underking 1

The Underking has mickel to set their mind upon, but one that most needs their moodyhide are days of bean and bead. The Sun must shine on all alike.  Underking Nikomach did not hold in his heart a love for these (happenings). In his youth, he often snuck away to the bathhouse, or off into the wilds with like-minded eþlings to drink sooþesmilk or smoke dreambloom. But much had changed since then. He had seen much in his stays at each Luffordry, from his nights sneaking into Orkoy and Deetu lands when he could. He had bathed with eþlings in [Orstopoly], drank sooþe with the aTier, and dreamed alongside the Latly of the Fen Geitboer. The World was Wide, wider than many knew. It was only a few years now that Nikomach had known and understood its weirdsome ways. The Sun must shine on all alike.

So, Underking Nikomach stood on the steps of the Highest [Four Flat] at the head of the Odefare, where once the Sunly Kings laid themselves upon the Fire so they may feed the Sun who now feeds the World. This was no longer done, but many beasts would face the fire today, (and some willing Wolves, to join the Fiery Heer of Sun Soul of Kings, the very soul that Nikomach shared and would one day join upon his death. His shoon (?) were of drake scale, and his robe of redly silks with scarves and sashes of Paupuroati purple, baubles of dangling sunstone. Upon his jaw were swrthy (?) inks, to fill what was not covered by the Helm (Mask?) of Rising Sun, a gold sheet (?) helm covering half his face, topped with three rays of gold running up into the sky.  Behind him was this years Houselfee: 70 oxen, 70 torfling, 7 tourtooth, 70 stores of meal, 70 goats, 70 stores of fruit and root, all to be burnt to Sun’s Brinny Halls so he might stay chiefest among (gods? souls?). Many folk of Cunningseat were ‘round the fire to sing songs to the Great Light of the World, Bower’s caring lover, Earthmother’s (wary? watchful?) son. Many gathered to receive Sun’s Blessings, that he may lay a hand upon them, or take notice in their plight. But the Sun shines on all alike, or so he was told.

He sang, as he used to sing to many bedfellows... Warmth upon nebb Let it be! Let it be! Light to lead Bloom Let it be! Let it be! Shine upon shim Let it be! Let it be!

He would keep singing, down the Odefare, as his own Soul’s housel followed behind. 

[von-threesomes-blog]

Are you happy

[aquaticwonder]

You're awesome.

thank you

[er-ect]

I miss your reblogs!

I’ve been so inactive lately I know.  Lettin everyone down