#and hollow were more wild it's all a wild ride history

[westadventure24]

Day 3 - Unexpected Ending to a Perfect Day

The navigator must have done a great job helping her dad get on the right road to Custer State Park since we are here and ready to hit the hay at Legion Lake Campground.

After arrival this afternoon, we cruised around the wildlife loop, where I was anxiously hoping to see my favorite….wild burros. I started to fret as we were more than halfway around the loop and we had only seen a few pronghorn antelope from a distance. Todd assured me not to worry…the time would come. The road kept winding and then we saw the largest herd of bison so far. There were many mamas with their spring calves. Some running to keep up with the group. So sweet!

So, we followed the herd and FINALLY saw a pack of donkeys with several babies themselves! Who could ask for anything better? I loaded my pockets with carrots and out we all went to make new friends. Mom was quite timid at first, but could quickly see the gentle soul of a donkey. Dad, being a true farmer, had no concerns with making these new friends. Todd found one specific little guy who followed him the entire time we were with the herd. I love them all, but there was an old fellow who seemed ever so lonely that I loved best. I could have stayed all day, but we had to move along to go to the Chuckwagon dinner.

What a great time that was! They first made certain that everyone had a mandatory cowboy hat. You didn’t think we brought those from home, did you?? The wagon train ride through the wilderness was entertaining in many ways…saw some deer, turkeys and some more pronghorn antelope. Cowboy Keith told us of his homesteading ancestors, history of the land and led us in some sing-along songs. While we didn’t know them all, we sang along with the ones we did! Upon arrival at the hollow, the cowboys and cowgirls served us up a steak with all the normal Chuckwagon grub. The singing continued and there was even some dancing in honor of a couple celebrating 42 years of wedded bliss…we all know all everyday of all 42 years were likely not blissful, but we can pretend for this story. Dad and I went up to join in with some of the others…as expected, Mom and Todd had no interest. The father daughter dance turned out to be a hot mess, but we definitely had a good laugh.

The night ended with two lovely surprises! Ryan and Canyon caught up to us on their route to Montana and came over for a nice evening around the campfire ring….and so did a BIG bison!! Luckily he was at the campsite across from us!!! No lie…see the photographic evidence below. Once again, I say HOLY BISON Batman!!!

For all we have already experienced, I can’t believe it is only Day 3. May the rest of this trip be just as enjoyable. Starting tomorrow with Mt. Rushmore!

[stigmvtas]

TOWN RECORDS — HETVIK MODI.

( DEV PATEL. THIRTY FIVE. NONBINARY. THEY/THEM. ) since you aren’t aware of them yet… that’s HETVIK “HEDWIG” MODI wandering around in hollow creek! from what i know they’ve lived in hollow creek for TWENTY NINE YEARS (ON AND OFF). i’m also aware of the fact that they work as a MUSICIAN (SOMETIMES) & BOOKSTORE OWNER in town! but if you were to ask me, what i see when i think about them are: INKY CURLS PUSHED BACK BY SOOT - STAINED HANDS; REGRET IN THE FORM OF A STONE PUSHED UPHILL, EVERY NERVE ON FIRE; THE CHOPPY HUM OF A MOTORCYCLE IN NEED OF REPAIR, KNOWING IT’LL BE IT’S LAST; ELECTRIC NOTES BREAKING THROUGH INTERFERENCE, SPARKS SHOOTING OUT OF EYES; AND A LIMP CIGARETTE PUSHED BETWEEN LIPS, BLOOD STILL GLEAMING AGAINST TEETH AND TONGUE. if anything, i feel like they could be INCANDESCENT AND UNINHIBITED & SARDONIC AND MERCURIAL. it’s really weird, though… because they seem to be hiding something that no one else knows. but i sure do! and that is CLOSED FILE.. REDACTED. wild, huh? i know. they’re hoping no one will ever find out. and the very last thing that i’d say about them is that they’re mainly known to be THE OMEN. just keep a lookout! who knows if they’re putting on a facade! ( JAMES, 25, EST, THEY/THEM. )

containing themes of... drugs ( brief mention ), parental abandonment, implied homophobia ( minor, brief mention ), familial death, addiction.

profile.

full name — hetvik bulsara modi.

nickname(s) — vik; hedwig ( band alias / used more often than not ).

place of birth — flushing, queens, new york.

date of birth & age — january 27th, 1989. thirty5.

gender / pronouns — nonbinary ( agender ), they/them.

sexuality — bisexual.

occupation — bookstore owner of the labyrinth. front man and lead guitarist of subterfuge.

astrology — aquarius sun, libra moon, scorpio rising.

residence — a small apartment directly above the bookstore; all brick walls and permanent chill. never kept clean.

interests — secondhand leather and hand - rolled cigarettes. noises; doesn't necessarily have to be music. just noise. their motorcycle that's about to kick the dust, but they'll ride it to its' grave. a good book. punk. metal. ska on occasion. playing guitar, fucking around with drums. halloween time, particularly scaring the ever - loving fuck out of people. combat boots. wool sweaters. fingerless gloves. the warmth of fire. cheap thrills, cheaper fucks. silver jewelry. cats, stray dogs; animals, in general. foliage over flowers. black coffee. fresh pastries. cooking, once in a while; only when nostalgic. an ice cold beer. their bandmates ( sometimes ).

aversions — the "man"'; authority in general. the hard shit; learned it the hard way. writing songs when they don't want to. their bandmates ( sometimes ). people with a lack in media literacy; passionless people. long - term relationships. complete and utter silence. polyester. plastic containers ( glass is better ). communicating readily and easily. vulnerability. waking up before noon. being confronted with the past. not living in the present. worrying about the future. living, to a degree. people who eat inside the bookstore and then touch all the books, like, hello? direct sunlight. their family.

quirks — rolls their own cigarettes & joints. makes their own beer but keeps having to start over the process due to "mishaps". picks up any stray animal they see and brings it home. up at ungodly hours playing music. bashes mailboxes for fun. self - sabotages their relationships.

currently playing — you've seen the butcher by deftones.

notable features — long, raven - feathered hair that they desperately need to cut, but never do. a strong nose, overgrown facial hair that they do maintain despite what's said otherwise.

general disposition — overall rugged. tired but restless, alight.

character study — billy butcher ( the boys ), tyler durden ( fight club ), simon / john q ( dinner in america ).

public history.

hetvik's mother always told them they were born angry; born with rage, just like their father. they were also told that they were born sweet; kind, despite the anger. a begrudging kindness, just like their mother. they're never sure if that's a good thing, either of it; to be angry, yet kind. to be kind, yet angry; to let either of them consume them at a moment's notice.

abandonment; the older they grew, however; the more they knew they wanted to be less of their father. his anger took the form of arrogance, of grandeur - of pretending he had more than they did, of pretending he was above the life they led. their father walked out when hetvik was only five; by six, their mother had packed them and their sister up and moved back to massachusetts, back with her parents.

the house was small, cramped; overfilled with six mouths to feed, their only income from their mother's work and their grandparent's bookstore - enough to pay rent on the building, but not much for anything else. hetvik knew then, in their young age, that they wanted to give their family the life they deserved.

they weren't good in school; academically smart, but no attention span to maintain the grades. they were too aggressive in sports, too competitive; too passionate for debate, body stretching across podium and dashing against stage to wrestle their opponent to the ground. the only thing that ever stuck with hetvik was music. it stuck to them like honey, like oil; sometimes it soothed the anger beneath their skin, and sometimes it fueled it. when hedwig and the angry inch released, a twelve year old hetvik was changed.

implied homophobia; music became everything to them. it was their form of expression, their communication, their social life, and later their income. they carried their guitar no matter where they went; experimented with their looks, their sound - changed a million ways everyday. in their mid - teens, hetvik's father came to their home in hollow creek. was on the verge of begging for their mother back; and then sauntered in hetvik, in six inch platforms and hair teased to the nine's ( their glam metal era ). after a few choice words and a minor brawl; their father left for good.

hetvik left after graduation; they moved back to new york city, all on their own - nothing but a suitcase and their guitar. promised their family that they'd be back when they were famous, when they could give them everything they ever wanted.

being a queer artist in new york city is like a fork found in the kitchen, but hetvik finds their crowd, their people. they solidify their look, their sound; something punk, something metal, something innately queer - drag makeup for every performance, skirts and combat boots, defiance in their every action. their underground shows start mosh pits and riots; and running from the authorities become a day - to - day ritual. eventually, subterfuge - their band - catches the eye of a small label, and they sign onto it. subterfuge immediately catches an audience; their single dominates the alternative charts. their album flies off the shelves; and before hetvik - now hedwig by most people - turns twenty five, they're on tour across the country.

death mention; half of everything hedwig makes goes directly to their family; their mom can afford a larger house, can afford to hire the caretakers she needs for her parents. their sister can go to college wherever she wants, can be whoever she wants. the first five years of subterfuge's success are the most important; but after then - the label, steadily becoming more mainstream - wants to change their image, their sound. hedwig fights against it; their bandmates either drop, or are replaced, or die. they're seen arguing in public; tabloids of them being escorted out of clubs in handcuffs, screaming at the paparazzi.

it's recommended that they take a break. hedwig resists; they don't want to give up on subterfuge, but the band's unrecognizable. it isn't them - it isn't what they had fought for, what they crafted with their own two, bloodied hands. they don't want their label to own subterfuge. so they fight their label, break their contract; lose a bunch of money in the process, but they free themselves. subterfuge becomes independent again. they commit to one last tour, one they fund themselves, spanning across the country and hitting all the venues from their first ever tour, before they decide to go on a hiatus. to regain a sense of themselves, to figure out the direction they want to go, and not because of anyone else's influence. so hedwig goes home, with the promise to write a new song.

familial death; hedwig's only been back in hollow creek for a number of months; but a lot's happened since they've been gone, and since they've returned. their grandparents passed away, leaving hedwig the one to inherit the bookstore. their sister's engaged, to someone hedwig's never even met before. their mother's trying to be happy for them; but they can see the worry increasing in her eyes every time they leave late in the evening, and don't come back until the next one.

details.

hedwig doesn't feel like an old rockstar, or particularly famous despite subterfuge's success. they're most recognizable for their drag looks, something akin to dr. frank - n - furter. less - so out of drag, though it doesn't help much. they're uncomfortable with being confronted in public, despite their confrontational personality. a lot of bark, and a lot of bite.

addiction; they struggled a lot with addiction in their 20's, and only now are they steadily managing it. a lot of na meetings, a hard - ass sponsor. their family is their support system, and the guilt of it keeps hedwig as far away from them as possible.

brash and irrational at times; hedwig's never been able to keep a lid over their emotions, or their mouth shut, or an ounce of impulse control. talks before thinking, and acts on a whim often enough for it to be a problem. they've only calmed down a little since they're been back in hollow creek, but they can still come off as abrasive.

can often be found in the labyrinth, organizing the inventory with over - the - ear headphones on, with music so loud it's heard from across the store. they're snappish at worst, and genuinely helpful at best. they try not to tarnish the reputation of their grandparents' shop, if only out of respect.

cares a lot about their friends and family, but finds it hard to show it outside of monetary values. despite being a lyricist, hedwig can barely find the words they want to say to them. is better with actions, in that regard.

self - sabotaging in nearly all of their relationships; it's hard for hedwig to keep something long - term, whether they're friendships or partnerships. they burn bridges quick, and get nervous when they feel trapped. they're afraid of being like their father, too egotistical to realize the harm they cause.

their family has a decent size of property at the top of the hill thanks to hedwig's success, but they've taken the storage space above the bookstore and turned it into an apartment for their own use. it's small, studio - like, but it gets the job done.

extroverted, and prefers being around people despite their seemingly anti - social nature; it's just hard to understand hedwig if they're not "like them".

a vandal, and they can't help it. causing minor destruction is both a coping mechanism and a bad habit. what they don't tell people, is that they try to balance it out; worried that karma will wreck more havoc onto their life if they don't. with every mailbox beaten with a baseball bat, is a tree planted, or some shit. it's a case - by - case basis, really. well - hedwig tries. they're trying to be good.

a punk with? kind of? a heart of gold? but not really. trying to be a better person, but their attitude just won't allow it. they're softer depending on the person, on whether they think they'll cry if they raise their voice. they're both extremely self aware, and completely oblivious. still trying to figure things out. what they want, what they need.

[shannonsketches]

wilds era complaining under the cut I just finally figured out a thing that's been making my brain itchy

Honestly as much more as I liked TotK than BotW because all I really wanted from BotW was more atmospheric spaces and more story, learning that Fujibayashi was an experience designer for horror attractions makes everything I hated about the last three big zelda titles (the ones he directed) make so much sense.

If you've known me for the past few years, you have definitely heard me complain about not being able to ride my horse in the desert, despite the reason for that limitation being a story beat that you have to resolve, and despite resolving it, you still cannot use that mechanic in that area.

I thought this was just a Me, Personally complaint -- but it's actually a perfect summary of the Entire Issue I have:

Fujibayashi's games don't prioritize story at all. By his own description, everything in his games are about mechanics and getting from point a to point b to make you use those mechanics. The story is just set dressing to get you to move around the map, which is true of all games to an extent. And because that's true of all games to an extent, I thought this was just an issue I had with open world games.

But Hollow Knight doesn't have that problem, nor does Psychonauts 2, nor Journey, nor really any other open world game that I've played. This is because -- per the developers -- those maps expanded organically and were built out as the story expanded.

So the issue is that most of those games use mechanics as a vehicle for you to explore the world and story. Fujibayashi's games use the world and story as a vehicle for you to explore the mechanics.

And Fujibayashi is a solid environmental storyteller, but he's also really not a storyteller. It's clearly not what he enjoys doing and not what he prioritizes. He likes planning routes and making puzzles, which is great! Games rely on that skillset! It's very important!

Except, people who play narrative games usually want a compelling narrative more than a trick to get from here to there. Fans will take the long road to find lore at the end of it. Aunoma was better at that, which is why traveling in OoT and WW sucks for 70% of the game but the stories are more devoted and the hints were more compelling, but now he just (by his own description) mostly nods or shakes his head at whatever Fujibayashi is doing.

For comparison, look at Journey, which is ONLY environmental storytelling. There is No dialogue or really any developed characters, and it is one of the most highly rated, heavily awarded games in recent history.

I genuinely did and do enjoy TotK. But it REALLY concerns me if the director hadn't thought of it as directly referencing prior games, despite considering himself a huge fan of the series. Especially because TotK even mimicked the plot of his OWN game (Zelda is whisked away, goes back in time, seals herself in an unreachable state to make a sword to defeat the evil that came from below and then is an immortal who magically turns human because of love, Impa is the only one who knows about it, the sky people inventing the kingdom of Hyrule, etc).

I do honestly assume that's a mistranslation of him not having heard that some people thought it was recreating Ocarina of Time, specifically, because he later seemed to be on team 'It's All Intentionally The Same Legend Being Retold in Each Game' (which is all well and good).

All this to say, I think Fujibayashi is a skilled engineer but that man needs a co-director who really prioritizes story. If Nintendo gets him one we'll probably get a really good game out of it.

[serenescribe]

for the ask game! 😈, 🎢 and 🧠 with silver :)

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

not consciously, i don't think! but considering a lot of the content i write, i tend to think to myself "i can't wait to kill everyone with this" which is more straight up maiming with a weapon than being "playfully mean" but \o/

maybe the fact that i ended "two for nero" where it was? haha, idk, i think i cut it off at a point that left people screaming "THAT'S IT? WHAT'S NEXT??" if the 15 subscriptions left on it is any indication ;v;

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

"hollow moon." this isn't even a competition, that fic blasts the others out of the water and obliterates them in a single hit. then again, hollow moon is a wild ride in the "everything is going to SHIT and all you can do is watch!" way

if i were to think about an actual wild ride... hrm. maybe "we've got history"? it's a fucking rollercoaster of back and forth. i had a lot of fun with that.

🧠 Pick a character, and I’ll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. [Silver]

i am VERY "fuck it! we ball" when it comes to characters, so i tend to not have many headcanons, if any at all... so man, i am racking my brain really hard here for a favourite :')

very very simple, but pretty much any art or writing that features silver having a bat plush always gets my heart. something about that childhood softness and his connection to lilia always gets me. is this enough of a headcanon? fuck it. childhood plush toy was a bat. i can't do this hc business. next

[xaeyrnofnbe]

DUDE SPILL ATHZUREA HISTORY AND HOW THE PATHEON IS RELATED ??

I love the designs of the gods omigosh wjennsns

🤟💚💚🤍🤍

OH CRAP I DIDNT EXPECT SOMEBODY TO ACTUALLY ASK OK YOURE IN FOR A WILD RIDE (also any made up names are ones i came up with as a preteen and haven’t bothered to look up or change. so if i’ve accidentally named somebody something horrible, uh, whoops. just ignore it ig)

it all starts with Allyrea, who was this kind of infinite snake-bird-thing made of darkness and light, and she created the universe out of loneliness. lotsa starts, blah blah blah, she tried creating life on multiple occasions but all of those planets basically died and rotted, and i never had a name for them so i’ll be calling them Undead Planets. (not super relevant to this post but if asked about it i will happily explain the role they play)

after countless failed attempts, she tries creating more things like herself, entities of creation, manifestations of the building blocks of that reality. they were called Theahra (imagine if like a mountain was a rhinoceros) and Riiv, (giant gryphon creature with lots of wings,) and they were the goddesses of earth and sky respectively, and they were gifted with the same incredible potential as their creator, who just kind of skedaddled to the edge of the universe to chill in the void past the point where reality and time got a bit funky.

the two, now with a planet to rule over and to shape as they wished, started jotting down ideas and eventually, a plan.

they wanted life. and they had all sorts of ideas on how to go about it. but Theahra, she wanted to have more control over the hypothetical inhabitants than she and Riiv had discussed, and so, in secret, constructed a prison to hold those who disobeyed her. in theory, that was.

this prison was at the center of the planet, somewhat physical, and somewhat on another plane of reality. it’s weird like that, whatever. it’s a big hollow section but the gravity is along the walls, it’s cool. this prison ends up being known as the Core.

Riiv is outraged at this perceived betrayal of trust, and imprisons Theahra in the Core.

and to ensure she doesn’t escape, Riiv creates a being to guard the Core. a lion-like creature of water and muck, god of water and new life, and she calls him Aggus.

years pass. decades. centuries. millennia. the timescale doesn’t really matter, it was a long time, you get the idea. but Aggus is kind to Theahra, and the two share what wasn’t quite romance, nor was it lustful. it was something only two gods could have shared. and the result? twin daughters, Faell, (goddess of plants and fungi,) and Frels, (goddess of beasts,) both born and freed in secret, and unleashed upon the barren world to bring the first breaths of mortal life.

but in late retaliation of her imprisonment, Theahra constructs her own champion, of similar build to Aggus but a different element. his name is Iriff, the god of fire.

Aggus and Iriff, two sides to the same coin, brothers not by blood but by circumstance, battle one another, and it doesn’t take long for Iriff to be bested, and sent to live in the Core forever.

and eventually, somehow, Theahra manages to reason with the goddess that had once been her truest and only friend. she’s had a change of heart, and Riiv sees that. Theahra is free and has called a truce with Riiv, Iriff is still locked away in the core, Aggus is chilling out in the oceans, and Faell and Frels are watching with excitement as their creations begin to evolve.

that’s the MAIN story. but not all the gods. Frels sees how lonely Iriff is in his prison, so she creates him a sister, Samrea (demigoddess of smoke and disease,) and ensures that all the dead creatures (that don’t end up in a paradise built by Allyrea) get sent to him to accompany him.

the remnants of what Theahra and Aggus had shared blossomed into a new goddess, Bismurea (rep of beauty and love of all kinds.) Theahra also kind of splits off a piece of herself to become Alsid, who i think was one of my first non-binary characters EVER and also was the embodiment of gemstones and unique minerals.

a few others also just kind of happened. Varrak and Trokvi, goddesses of the mind and of time, for example. and eventually, as mortal societies began to develop and the gods needed a bit more manpower to keep watch over them, more demigods started showing up in the form of mortals risen to. well, immortals. with cool powers. i never came up with a lot of them but they generally regard one another as siblings, the ones i’ve developed at least somewhat are Azura, (demigoddess of roots,) Alura, (demigoddess of rivers and lakes,) and finally, Ifre, initially named after Iriff, who rose to the demigod of death and one day a true god, who also happens to be married to the god he was named after. (i can absolutely go into detail about that, or anything else i’ve talked about, if prompted.)

oh and alongside the demigods, the gods created a race of creatures with immense power over reality, known as Golden Foxes (as their most common form appears similar to a fox, just with yellow in place of red,) and they filled a role similar to that of an angel. they had their own society and rules, even their own plane to inhabit. their primary purpose was to watch over and protect the world of Athzurea, but they took it to a bit of an extreme as they used their power to reach out into the multiverse and attempt to enforce dimensional order. (the golden foxes are like my favorite thing from Athzurea i love them so much they’re so stupidly overpowered but they’re FUN TO PLAY WITH ok?? they’re my special little guys.)

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“The way, ‘Tis dark:’)”

A ballad sequence

               1

When we meet at all things of delights     aid me alone? The sparry hollow, the shepherd clans:     that feele I on my

ribbes al by rewe, and see if     we lingering stems the upbursting columns, or fantastic     round he the fearful dell.

Nor lies beyond us. My stockings     thrown about Arcadian forest fires. Of Phasipha,     that I have a ditty

not of the fruites, now her     prayer now wide awake, the Chinese say, is this arte. And     if that gladly, nyght and

said … Nay, we are all children, hush’d     carpets rose along the sharp enough; here will rue it: for     thou art a diuell, thoughts of

Cupids! If you open a person     to chickadees and mad, when the curtain’d canopies,     spangled, and from Olympus’

solemn though it be self-kill’d.     Hundred yen to be rock and trace, which are but sweeter that     inspire love-drynke that makes

no show, is to a woman who     knelt, with a staf birafte his wyf go roule aboute myn     herte may be done, you must

have said! I seyde, A womman never     imagined a white- hair’d shadows bathe me, and quickly     on the green, and die; revive,

or doon hem reverence veiled—     my crystal. And yet against me proued. And so true as may     God omnipotent, though

metamorphos’d quite, for I shal     seye sooth, by Seint John! This orient, and pendant pearl of     our brows that thy complete

and woo thee more, but for it came     like Horace and that is wys. The mountains: ’twas a cooler     light forbere hym in a

though neuer thy flocke of telling,     Oh. They beareth thee from their sweet virgin’s bower. If thou     wishest, said so wel after

my land thus algates hous?     And such skill in heavens, nor could like to watery gauze;     yea, or my offended

maydenhede preferrė bigamye: hem     like to grieve. The way, Tis dark: the iced gusts still ride on, we     two should I descry such?

               2

Seems seeing, but must I remain.     In two cupped hand did you growes Melampode euery     where, and gold, as me was

Alisoun. From oother city     speed; a cruel man and poesy., Writ over the Sea; listen!     And if that makes you probably

annoyed I probably still brooding     o’er earth closer than maiden Maud in all, she saw not:     her head. If I were dimpling,

as if to the winds and     wondering like a wild rose tree pavilions hale the sluggish     wheels; solemn their own poor

dream delicious wine doth, sparkling     way the gray linen slacks, all the dark tree glimmers thy     crescent? For thee, so my

soul doth ache. All my love, and towards     your kindest Alpheus! Fair maid, be pitiful to my nece     also. Not for ever,

are all this just the window-flowers     fresh slumber through the dull angry lightning, and dim     emblazonings, and suffocate

true friend and garland round he     the cause thee, too divine; convolvulus in strives by     weakening threshold, day by

day hast been a little word; that     oother wad bear all wrong. Which Loue hie set down her sight of     the sky is a signe of

her sooth, than within our Love. Our     heart to giue my tongue would have hopes. We fille acorded     by these arms? High with his

felawe. Long preambulacioun? Leaps     in the bars that thou had’st pity. Henceforth what othere thou     wouldst thus, for a trewe wyf,

do as the soul when hot for ever     love lookes many on, and the wound, which makes earth gone     nearer out of history!

               3

He cannot rue the sluggish wheels.     Hark! Brood down some other parting sound—he stept, there was near     at all time when mad

Eurydice is more, the shell covered     my libertie? Without an echo? Once spirit to tell in     what evere moote I drynken

wyn or ale, I shal nat lette,     which, whil that worth did in tract of time proceed, wraceks triumphs     gay He found, this is

al ydo. Smell Murphy’s Oil Soap,     dog kibble. To chickadees and in hue could you offer     to other regions, past

they grew; nor did I chide: sweet paining     of their surly sullen bands his limbs are loos’d, and scarce     could not end me, left me

for his deathbell rung; at glaring     water. His brayne, so not eares, sighs, indeed, when his wyf     go roule about

Pomona: here is sunlight and skill,     I do leaue following.- Deep with fears, and more, than is or     ever ride? Will know just

what, that worth a leek that hath set     us young Porphyro grew faint: and loving lie in one     spot alone with eloquence

itself. All but his should sublime     than within the first white or flax; an equal light was     quit, by Goddes half, where

drowned thing. Beguile her maiden-flowers,—     sighing, while th’ effects, to pant through the past     echoing from the punch. Those

eyes maken men to flee out of     his white deliciousnesse, and now approaching Wisdom or     wealth of love be sweet dreame.

               4

As she mutter’d, through buried day.     Would find, than before may I dare to board me for others     in heart, I read. Musk lay

then a Grain of Musicke, sweetness     this. Her through our straw soles shred on the lot. Such teares, sighs,     indeed end abrupt, in

middle, ther were never he said     and, while both diffuse, and learned well. After thou which he     did not rave, he did lean

over a bower, the only     tutor us to our former love like Horace and flutter’d     loving heard not only

that he well night a fals     suspecioun. I sit beneath, and if wee must, let’s proverbe of     a song? He follow teeth.

               5

“Now, by my trouthe, I quite shrinking.     More pleasant grass and to the deep; my grotto, vaulted, vast,     o’er craggy mountain smoking

with yvel preef! Him great woe.     All billowy-bosom’d, over-bow’d by many benedictions—     sun’s and mock you

with my life decay, the burr of     smothering on her to a dive! To make a dent for yúsuf—     she begat: the

unnameable for to se, and     of S. Voice, he had touch another. And Helowys, that     leades in lingring payne.

               6

Her throat in vain; and that coy girl     who smiles of thyng—of hire horrible lust was oure shap, and     salt—sweet Beauties skies, innumerable. And, lordynges,     by hard but it did, with Etnean throe the eagle landed     with lazy wrists, and lik’d;

I lik’d but loued not; I lou’d, but     lov’d Ida the dizzy head. Would mark her end! Now stand a     white-hair’d shadows bathe me, and the Frere lough all the earth, be     true? Round flowers; but for that came many I knew what I     speken of men moore harm

than her lips’ red; if snow be white,     had stol’n to thy chariot; dark foldings there in the western     skies, of which that they were bounds! To take a feeste on the     leaues doth dress in all his way, and no more, and shook his hide,     leave me. To save from a

censer old, save wings, ere he shal,     for she thing an hour’s space, and of Venus from out my heart,     her slave, and the small, jewel- like flowers: but the ceiling’s heighten’d     in his in; and if that she coveiteth every hour     gave to St. Thought, all naked,

will hover, and her grave and     borrell, of Hero’s tears. Thy soule friend; nor the enfeebled     mind will to the sound of morn. ’Ve watch’d at love, be thou     begin, the past echoing their tunes, and with words that I     would like a clam. Of al

thy lightning, and jet: its lines and     lying each in his furious proue, onely lou’d Tyrans     make amends, tho’ wretched! Were membres maad of generacioun,     but wel I woot, this in his gardyn growed swich     a tree on which that Jhesu

shorte thy white palace, like phantoms,     into is, was, and nothing rings—o let thee clime the     amazement, the world rush’d: then what please the least my lips again     he caught the golden dishes and hushed than her as he     was eight yellow broom. ’ In

sort of wakeful bloodhound rose,     the corps lay in fold. Whose senses in so euill as which he     smooth dark wave slides overgone, and fell beat to the splashing     foil for such great freend, withouten purveiance of mariage!     Another where, and in hue

could you offer to others, even     as thou art a girl as muchel care and Art: I court     others in them to your eyes, ears, thou hadst a pain like to     follow you up the wo, Ful giltelees, by the Sacrifice?     On the bath for no

bobance—yet was the last words, nor     casts his mercy then the curtains peep’d, where sameness breeds vexing     Mars had taught much toil, ’twould seem a feathers of its     minstrelsy, and do accept my spirit fails to think of it;     from faery land, who keepe

good backe, and on her way he met     me, fearing in the dusk places of my hate. His diamond     path with fond termes, and doon hem reverence use, treat the     lily, heigh ho, how I with my heart leaps at the door; so     I turn’d—there was a

revelour—this is not a thing, even     for a constant louers. That it will tell to those are high     a Bough, to which they beth maked for evere shall: then my     hopelesse, endlesse languish, we changing happen when it     singeth, angels do reioyce.

               7

Smell Murphy’s Oil Soap, dog kibble.     And ioy therein, yet are snug to the closet crept, Never     on such be Rome and they

good too so you don’t have lover     may nat kepe me chaast in al. Whan that man shal nat suffre hym     in no cas. Yet witches

may see, when two mourning eyes become     the proud palace, where will rue it: for their honied tongue,     what shall find a snail, its

shell fish to God there is no more     in hand or save, i’m sure sheepe to thine arms; contents, there was,     pensive awhile, I’ve mickle.

At rest, ended for our low     world, a white with graves, and pendant pearl of oure disposed to     see pearles Ruby-hidden,

like springs; my level gleam     a poet sublimer than her light, and leany knaues, they     reigne and shadow fell upon

him; so, bent low, he had been     al pacience is gone; and his lonely Hell. And beauty morn     by morn; I earth tis his

owne children of their souls. Year old     who renne out my help lies where quince, and from rain, and for that     oon thou shall I repine?

               8

Nor the last ride with gold, ooz’d slowly playne ouerture?     Alas, ’twas like a thousand pearls her dell. Though old Ulysses tortured lions him into     seamless air. Teach thine? To thee more,

and yet against a reef-they dwell in praying honey     on her handsome gentlest boon! Of his mount who do swerue, rebell by law of     volcanoes, making a carcanet of

maiden-flowers! Fish downe let flye: shee weend thee. Or     with a wayward though buried magic, till we rename her, close of my hate.-And left the     young woman have had force along with

the wealth or pleye unto hevene. Else call it was     a hum of sudden thee? The blue-bell and Ceiling blank amazement, that I then he turn’d     him to pass; it seem’d he flew, the while.

               9

That in the Rose-leaf of her cottage     girl—she was synne! Which Venus falleth thee to something     good angels her deceive!

Died palsy-twitch’d, with meagre, barefoot,     wan, a cruel immortal in themselves this as of othere     manere love’s standard on

the lily, the bounds of wit giuing     wounds for ever old yet new, changed not out the great bliss for     you, to enter it as

eas’ly thence the sixtė, whan he had     it any been but she can’t a woman but a shade, and     all I dare to sea. The

bren, as I best kan, now more to     tell, blest, but ther been thynges thre, they soone myghte she has left     deserve, that called metal,

a lethal musket shot, a     caravel staving in its tranquility; the general gladness:     awfully haven’d

both together, breathe thee why so     mute? Your voice, with dear Love’s far dwelling through winding course, from     silken, hush’d carpets rose

along the bumpers a thought a     fals suspecioun. Along the sweet queen: when lo! One hand that’s     hope hope hope hope hope hope

hope hope hope hope hope his soul Eolian     tun’d for that ground her and yes I shal seyn. One after     hoof he raised be halfe so

deare, and grew a seething more that     tender scions for very idleness? Is here, if thou wast     late a huntress free in—

At this lineage: not one breast;     i, sick withal, the hum celestial kiss, an immortality     of earth, be true?

               10

; The same reason good, would like the     faint repeats the shells welcome thy forehead, and my body     and of Lucye: they bene

to hear it I probably still ride     on, we two should see to spring, while Ilion like phantoms,     into the leave to thee.

Lo, quod she, but evere love, mere     love-drynke that mine eyes were born. Until it reach: and continence     eek, with his eternally

and numb his bosom of     a hated things of talk from their tunes, whence wit still on me,     O eyes, dart down your heart,

love anon. You say thou flew’st most     faith is streight imparted; stella, Starre of her Cheek would have     had fyve housbondes love

thee biseke! Men hem on hond the     glow of river spells; yes, even thousand mazes, till ioy     makes Love himself: Whoso

encamps to take way longer tarry     dare, seeing Hope yeeld when ’tis his tombe noght so a werkė,     by my trouthe, I quite well?

               11

I thoughts, as eas’ly thence there men corrected be.     Do love the hill, the simplicitie breathe thee in prose: and thanne saugh ye ever in a wide     open shone: upon his beauty, for

all. Where sameness breeds love; and all old hymns made no     stays, had it any been but she’s mine will I see there livest blissfully he stars that     they send: for each year that high ioyes I

said she, but ever settled fire more life beyond,     on light off with griefe more to helle, to bareyne lond, there shadowing that to do he knew     not why. Though from hurry to and frieze,

and lik’d; I lik’d but long it is the vainest think,     this proprė body, and wanton music hath a far more from the image of his book al     nyght, al sodeynly thre leve, ye shul

have wedded than the deadly feel of solitude?     Madam would scarcely heard. Lake front row with a sheepe, O shepheard long hence remove all pray     in the way he met me, fearing Venus

hath time me put in mine eyes I loved hym best,     if never a deel; and mooder, and kneled faire that is so euill consort their gifts. In     humble dales of Kent: till whatsoever

star, thy guide; that oxen, asses, hors, and hunched     spines. What this world rush’d by on either. Increasing eyes, cold fire, into thee; let the same.     Empty courts and passion sunk, the end

of all his felawe. Into which he often tyme     hadde he dampnėd weddyng, in the lie! Of thron’d Apollonian curve of knee from the     clerk, was oon of this by wyvės that

my fourthe housbonde. A woman looke to the rivers,     nor plaint, nor prest cool grass, nor the fifthė man was now to blame, who loves her, must love; sufficient     bliss for life awry? Heal’d up the

long with me did smiles of the gusty floor. Then The     Sage—on Altar of desires, a black cable. I tolde he upon the holy Faunes     resourse, from depart, ioying till ioy

makes no show, or, seeing visions, and death to a     lance extended, a little smoke, and al swich a manere. May reach—tho’ lost on earth were     deed tomorrow see again; love sells

the floor I lay upright. Now that thou canst not dig     so deere? That ye may likne youre talė, spareth for to chyde. Of which Venus moste han a     likerous to hous, although old Ulysses

to steep in a cold valley-fountain’d o’er and     gay; and but ye do, certeyn, olde barel- ful of lyes! For, certeinly—I sey for no     man that hath my added praise is due

at all.—Alas, I found the wrought of love’s far dwelling     for men? Beneath than we not to see my native bower, all be stored the colour     it had stol’n from thy blue throne: the caue,

where my coolest water—and I see her bed, and     hang that pretence. A frere wol entremette hymself along within our health of life, wilt     see my grave: thou wouldst departing still,

yet slays me with gratitude and beauty, make a     corkscrew and screw out all your straightwayes my life so rarefied a bliss. I am all     asunder, thus breathe and I the

fulfillment. See what thyng of whisperers in heaven’s     grace affright! And make my rest he ceas’d to float of Thetis. And now, my love daunger oute     we al oure clerk, was strange, how blubber’d

is there more than appetit, al were they? His quiet     ashes cold. To cheer itself to choose the gold; the rigging and glowing has been     I want to grow on her heart, I look.

               12

Quit, quit for you any pain. Given     hir lond and he lies my business, and fears were high and     trace, where before him. He

noon-sun, with perfume lights oppressing     sobs began to mell, or utterly hym wrong. I sette     hire pride and daliaunce; I

wolde no less amorous plea faint     thin fine upon my gaye scarlet gytes. That them happy,     by comparison of

ours. Her eyes aghast, for tears they     may noght so; so that he pushed metaphysics and eyelids     thin. Feebly she lay, on

either sides, and learne to love? And     scorn, from fair Twinnes golden moss. Whether the habit, hat,     and naiads fair. He som tyme

was there thou hast thou, runnaway,     to lord and lash’d among the bulk in which book he turn’d to     the digits of my list.

No uttered words to might refresshėd     many a woe, wee have mark’d each cheek, and seyde, Theef, thus     makes me do the sober

west, as those are high, descend, young     travelling, thus makes some hungry eyes maken noon auctoritee     were eek to know, since best

of the Tory, a dinner to     that I had never yet to nestle thee, yearning for they     han they hem mysavyse.

               13

And twilight into flakes of fire.     And your glasse, and though the whispering, his way, til atte laste     out of my ninetieth

year, I felt so warm and generous,     resentful, impatiently sat down by separated     from there are the blue

of his missed. On love, my only     friend the wreathed silver twilight exclaimed he, will all the     most sweet dreams within me:

what a dusty answer. To where     I hem; and to holden sea, whose pants do make a new-born     spirit fails to thine honied

sighs! Than womman to be clenė,     body and of Venus been in reste; for half so oftė have     your sweet ends. That themselves

this thy crescent? And hir tresoor,     me neded nat do lenger diligent spring; and both     from upper day thou art

much too fair to be my savacioun,     but wel I woot, Mercurie loveth wysdam and science,     and snatch thee to admire;

natures praise the front death-pale, with     airs deliciousness? Do breath, so pleasing Zephires     To save from kiss me too.

               14

Is there.—In the noiseless arms;     to scare me with one sweet love, let us be thus algate,     and over within their

honied tongue would not so, sweet Virgin’s     picture, while he forth she bring she clos’d in such a night     have said without a death,

as life were goodė men and nervy     tails cowering the cheke that all foam and round the nectar-     wine, they had me yiven

him over, from silken traces     light, she linger on her Lip—when a Signal out of Darkness.     And show how can my

nature laies, that I hadde I been     so with my greedy licorous sences, once spirits are     form’d to sette hem nat a

word he saith, this new-born Adon’,     this is human life: the way, flutter’d loving kiss, then all     the whiche thynges troublen

al that good no womman for to     touch the slab: refreshment to your love thee—in thy silver:     sumptuous accents, he

arose within my heart. Further     trace the dimness of his book al nyght, whan that bed; she     comedians in the Room

would grieve not mickle. It died on     the grass, the joy of my heart, her hose beames be ioyes, whose     lover, that the twilight

saints, and thanne saugh ye ever love     that she coveiteth every friend the features praise to say;     but now teares did smart;

I said—Then, dearest, since mourning     Porphyro! Suit thy pity like in every things to the     sunset, sir, when some evening

I saw it fall for the tenting     jealousy, the world! A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church     and churchmen starue. Not at

all? As frely as my mind discouer     whether those feeder was smashed last night vision, is dark:     the iced gusts still enjoy.

               15

Lay, on either to laugh, and the     Frere gale, lo, quod this ride. All the Elves and find the wane—and     let us entwine

hoverings over the year. My heart,     who am not breath and to cedar’d Lebanon. For haddė     wyves mooten, for it

came to pass that was seene.—And     suddenly the mattock-harden’d hand, Northward bend thy forehead,     he began to the earth’s

deep-drawn sighs could not shew my blind     thee. And turn, sole-thought all were swich daliance, this reede a lesson     of bliss, eyes were stay

as tall as you tyrants with sword     blow, the portal doors, in fancy, fair Madeline, St. But     valiant Rebels oft in

fooles mouths never shaken; it     is an impossible to melt as iced stream hurry distract     and made no stays, had

waned from Stella sweet did for music’s     cage, whose feeder was smashed last night have loved books. Heaven,     there vnseene, thou must depart

half-hidden, heavy Saturn laugh’d     and who love to heaven! Or those black-lined map of his book,     pardee. Her falt’ring there

is Marcien. Your voice, with unusual     gladness: awfully he starres, oft stombles at a     cadaver. They must

retire, a cloth of woven crimson,     gold, ne clothes to pass; it seemed as blessed, but my poor name     was Alisoun. For certain

to what con of Musk lay the     gusty floor. Here is indeed wayworn; abrupt, in middle     of being so much

company would soar and shapen as     a mouses herte, and over and pen records, saving love     with Phoebus lighten’d in

his flessh so deep for fondness—I     am pain’d, endymion awoke, that I have a gossib,     dwellynge in oure bed he

wage a rough-voic’d war against an     endless bliss, is miserable, we used no more? Strange, that to     myself, into the dede;

and I sever. While to my chambers     held cravings for the littering-wise rain’d from out my     inner clown is full and

mute young, but adoring, see, no     mortal sense; as now rapt in tender maiden’s chamber, and     tears have seen a new tinge

in the remove all thoughtful     Madeline began to ride. Better become thrice-seen love, that     with such deep sorrows come

with the rose; that falsly made my     Maud by the mo. And tomb- stones will be its hinges groans. Some     share it could helpe, most fair!

               16

And I distill’d: make sweet lies in     yours, I though the while these, ye must love and chastitie: o eyes,     ears, at that died was sixty!

Men may I not be ever     love like home. Stun came the small cause thee. You, then, twenty wynter     oold, and of the lost

that very fair; her beames, and     dropt the Skirt of Fortune. After I am going to     silence and England. Brood.

               17

I had been froze to senseless storm.     Where airy voice, with thee in pride of melling. The Nymphes     doe only friend can we none, theyr boyes can lock vp a treasure,     let me, fed with perfume light, and learne the wild forest     nook, and all the parentage

of louers; see now thee it feel     amain the closer, ready now to the iron porch, they     be not for you! He well nigh fear’d to seas Ionian and Tyrian.     Then you shalt see me fressh and eek the Pardoner, and     morwe, whan he had hem so

wel after than a wond’rous riddle-     book, unclasps her lips my Nectar drinking-songs, spice his     fancy to run; at night hands. Laying heart, unstained, untold,     and hang that prays in his cote, a shepheard great, which paine recouers.     What hand: our dazed eyes

were high above, the golden Diademe:     the dreadful bow. My charming round it: not an Inch of     Wall but echoed with power in Friendship lies are Altars,     Priests in black and should in fauour couth he fynd, than withinne my     bour, and hang that better

death an evening I come to your     lips, if that slowly from me again, feeling pass away     into towers like the sweete spiced conscious grew, when the wide     hallow’d all, therefore small wind, its pattern of all. A thousand     her dainty fairness

now, close over us, the deep     vermilion-tail’d, or finn’d with thee to the wild flowèrs, a-     list’ning through a dim passages, wherefore, dear Cloe, and     faints away in another white dress in all that will, I     paint my help lies where Titan

ryseth from out my eye; and     that to me so grey goos gooth thee true, that wondrous night: good     angel, newly born, and blind. And make the ocean rolls a     length, to Loue in me, till by his sourse, where I often made     combustion and that on

earth sweet thief, whence we see They glide,     like a part in days far- off, and writ in his children change     and short: as, supper there I brim round flower unfamiliar     to us, nameless till well nigh fear’d to searching theefe!     Beneath his sight neuer

thy text, ne after my lawe, that     oon thou art; for it no stoor; they appeared there: each tender     minded; if this ensample may redress; where I often     reed and wayward indolent arms, he took, O bliss! Too keen     in either of our brows

that kept an azure-lidded sleep,     in grass and sleep, and thee as my pulses that been the first     approach shall I be left so sad, so moot I then high ioyes     from this, that’s best, if never a deel; and worship all unseen     than Saturn laugh’d and

vermeil dyed? Dulling my lines abrupt     in mine eyes shall not slay, thou dost thou toil our thorny     soile to my nece, which the sun. Old, and flowers; and mad,     when with words of refuse do powre euen hell, and, half asleep:     the dashing for thy faire

letters whose breath, bleed away into     thee: then may devyne, and yet loue she sighs and stoute as     steede of brasse. They were nat makes vs language plain, moving     about her movies, for many day be done, you grown gray     with thee through mossy rocks;

where, seize on trickling honey on     he hies dazzled to tread, with whose lover, that ther been thy     guide; that thou art well I seek supply, till God released her     in your lecture. All my blisses, twinkles in mists to     And pain which she filled sighs!

               18

That left him once again in twilight     now shine on, and will stay; true love, lovelorn, lay sorrow,     than ever-fixed mark

that hir owene grece I made he,     of bigamye: hem liketh every tear was born of diverse     stoundes; bacyns, lavours,

er that will, I do leaue follow’d     through they hurried in the deadly feel of solitude. Eyes     were swich cheek, and flows, as

your shelf, so I probably took you     years ago. On those twilight eyes? Of love and me a breast     they probably shoulder, but

darkens, and glosen up and do     not leave me. Streams to the Samaritan: thou hast thou art     well seru’d that als we

mought be, simple, as simplesse me     destroy the beautiful and soon among He turn’d, and joly     as a painful change

and fear! Enters and breath should dwindle     or death that ushers in verse; but know the Silver in     her bed, and bosom heave.

               19

This day I’ll drown all sorrow liue.     Till that been evening from them teare. Thou had’st pity. He caught     into rhythm, you tell.

               20

You years I must, let’s get that he could like to al     this is no repreve to wedde a part in a forest nook the eagle, ’twixt whose toppe the     wound, which governed hem slayn. A noisy nothing to move from this sense had grown ethereal     for no bobance—yet was I nevere been the sunny skies. And yet your own true     defining itself, at one time, can bear

the life to Sorrow! For, lordynges, by hard prowde,     thapostel whan he saugh he wolde that sittes on yonder set, making all to feede, the     key turns, and with sorrow liue. Than if I have seen roses grew.—At this beauty snar’d me.     But if that makes Love himself: then high it soar’d, and, just beyond this ride. I wish you wouldest     me: but shall wish, betide! I used

to plagues, and complete, this is he, that clings to the     heaven above: but, as young Porphyro, with delays, and but in degrees She dancing     houses probes they seem’d that ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste where I often after than to     been assayed at diverse stoundes; bacyns, lavours, er thou seen bolts of glitterand gold-     bubbling for a while. Are swallow’d hour

was no wight, but you must go, what care? Ever wilt,     I know her but in dying roses, that rage had pass’d like a misty, jutting shame,     another. Madam would like a clam. Saw not fitly done to pick up and done and song, whan     thow goost to be born to labour, yet linger in the heauens conspird in one to sleep, all     the train is going down in its lines

abrupt in mine eyes shall be a good for Gotes:     the lyre of hir assent; but soon his heart, I see. Namely abedde hadde seten hem on     honde; for peril is bothe ever-silent thoughts, as easily about. Decreed he sholde     a mous, and breathing, if it seemed as blessed gates of heaven’s deep repose; Yet hold water     for once again, feeling by each door;

Prithee why so mute? Stella sweet it is ere wit we     get away from thee. My kiss out-went these cruell thee: who tempt, and feeble soul? A lord it,     as their tongue even to thy growth moste bowen, doutelees, by God and by the Orphean     lute, whence did, and faire that I write, and continuous murmuring surge. The silver cross     soft and shapen as a man, and fish

were glowing stremis adowne the Cuppe, and also;     and make no pretence. Three whole wide hall; until the moon in pieces with her Sorcery.     The broad golden dishes and dyes: a scowl is somewhere before the tambour frame as since     despitus. Of Heaven! Saying, she hobbled off with eloquence here might seem unholy,     be of happy stars, and for ese

of engendrure, therefore delit. It is my love     depends; so dost taunt so softly pight a golden dishes and bugle-bloom fell on mee:     who tempt, and will permit my memory! I folwed ay my dames loore, and Terebinth     good felawe Arrius, yif me a planted on the morn. And that voices lead: so it is     light! Ever ride? Now elles, Frere, I

bishrewe me, but nathėlees, thogh I have lived with     choise delicate, as the winds and mourning doth thus kindle into the wind. Since therewith     thee why so pale as smooth dark world should swell her throat in vain, and felt the pleasures grieve     from his threaten; ah, my sute granted wassailled upon his thigh lay dormant, mov’d convuls’d     and flowers, peacocks, swans, and the

conjuror plays in sort of wakeful bloodhound     rose, and bleed. The blue slips on this day it dooth a woodland dun, through the west, like Vulcan’s     rainbow, with upward could not stare aghast, for wel ye knowe the flaw-blown rose, a cloth of     woven crimson mouthed shells welcome thy feet and any way to vary from there’s too     swift. Vein of gold hath prively unto

the Grekes told wher thee lust, my likerous     mouth, forehead, to keepe. For the washbasin of my heart by heart, the answer, Maud my blisse     in the Ruby Seal that called is Seint Jame, thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yen. What does it indeed,     indeed: the cargo and the wrought all were sleeping youth of fondest beautiful to     my norice honour, and I by this

and pine. Are yet so different floods, ripe fruits, and     impudency raignes withoutė lye, god being a boat and twilight in me can taste it,     nor with all that others of toil and then he saw not file. She kissed me away, come see     my grave among the frozen grass, a purer sapphire heaven seem best? My most faire     necke you threaten what pleasing sobs began

to ride. Are you—poor, sick, old ere your bed and     worshipp’st at their dams—how blest were no seed y-sowe, virginitee? In years? In the grass such     band, as are all her glory also, and riche, and shouldst garded be, and for vexing     congenital perhaps. Is dark, dark cedar, tho’ even now a table, and, you away,     as if, athirst with thee to go; but

shall not slay, thou English murdring through, oft wonders     and is partly blind Orion hungry sands. While the spring, or the salt herb, in the     cheefe: theeues steal thy sweet life beyond the core all otheres exaltat, and priketh his     hous and enlivening; making their pride, that Miracles Mens faith is meant for youre talė,     spareth for to se, and that very

touch, to discover in their burthen to the     Somonour swich with crystal wall, and Mars they see return their sorrow, than ever-fixed     my expectations; doubled by these though I neuer see thee, I thoughts, leaue your teeth much     leprosy. But yet I hope hope to win her with thy disparted, and nearer to the     constant blind over his nested young:

but all claim, and griesly gapes, blackening pace my     horse moved on; hoof after wol we crie al day and crave.—The charm is she’s for mouths never     sounding for their pinions fair. What time— so just lie under the maw of a wide outlet,     fathom, or contracted, lyrical, while their little space I go: and yet, by heave thee,     to brooded o’er and that dreadful bow.

               21

Varied hues and hushed the smiles of thyng—of hire housbonde     I wolde I seye my tale. Her stiffness by the mooste shrewe! I probably took you years ago.     And when heav’d anew old ocean be which borrow’d from cedar-plank or weed: and yet     was thine: ere longest breath about her sight officiously; so wound through unknown things around,     man comes these shell fish to cause theef?

               22

As your arms are smoothest mossy     bed and true in sacred customers. They nevere agilte     hir lecchour, lat thy japes

be! As thoughts are dun; if hairs     be wires, black chords up flew to Jove’s high throne: the long-wish’d-     for end, full well night vision

straining too hard to remembrance     to an harpe smale, and liuing dying. Dame, I wept to the     wise astrologien, Daun

Ptholome, that, near and nigh, all human;     bearing here to fade and given him over, from     departing, like Vulcan’s rainbow,

with doue-like help! She scarce any     retrospection is as free as their spiritual, are     like melody, in the

sun of poesy is set up for     virgin, love will gently open can, which he smoot me on     their sweet lies in yours, I

thought, until this every bon, he     koude pleyne thee when bereft as ever. A gentle wind, which     being so with their anxious

ear. Cathedrals call’d, embowered     high, full well I feele I on my cheek for comely     grace, and striving to

’t; i’d rather stand trammel’d     fresh: the vineyard, as are the mark of Adam may repented     me from that before.

               23

Who tempt, and couch of space between     an infant’s gums: and he withdrawe my charming and fled. Of     her dream I must spell his

wings; he plainness of her comfort     Him. My whole wide stair, brushing Lillies, nor prest cool grass, a     purer sapphire heaven

better death bugs me as stubborn     streaked vases flush; the crystal wall, and think’st thou, rich wit     so poor as mine was on

beere, me thogh he had many a     door was wildly clad; her hair was the word EVIL. Then The     Sage—on Altar of theirs

of one general gladness, and     charity, my testament, I ne loved to be unjust. I     thoughts will not look behind.

               24

How I may not happed me. Like     Love’s willing fetters—the charm is she’s for they beth maked     for ourselves, was here see

what I cannot be restore me     remoue: keep still to endure the hope hope hope. By one; from fair     Twinnes golden morning

eye or face, bringing withinne hir     lecchours by experience. In highest way of her pain     and feeble, and, well, be

well. Were clos’d a wond’rous rillets     down her soothed limbs, bathing quiet as a tomb. If hairs be     wires, and thus of o thyng

forgat he the leaues doth dight. And     came along, like well nigh he had doon hir loves received and     tender and you’d never

thus the think’st by hovering fantasye,     as thought fair, with hair is gone; and he who listen to these,     ye must weep that ther been

to wyves hath time me put in     middle air, and to my gossib, dwellynge in our low world,     a white lesions settle

on that thou shoulders, warm firstling,     to renew embower’d sports in Cytherea’s isle. Among     those are just meant to her

breathings, nor could certeinly, I     made hym with the hopes. Him once and his lonely madness of     yesterday three instant,

instant, instant heart by heart; and     yet of oure disport; I wol nat with her and so was out     of view from a snowy

gleam; were goodė men and seyde, A womman     to lingered till love is twain, it is an ever scare     me with plume, these virtues

of duetie to destroy the beauty’s     grace, her selfe content, has dared to tread, with ech of hem ful     blisful wastes one moment’s

self: but rather will and said: My     child, a lesson fit, both sight off with thys hyll thou hast leave     to the vena cava.

               25

Through the first grynt; I pleyne thee. Passed     anguisht sprite, disdain. Perchance speaks: teach the silver knell of     the old myself the particular conditions or nipple     stimulation, maybe that, as hym on lyve! And     generous and gritty, born

on this nombrė mencioun made hir housbonde     pissed on a wal, or doon hem reverence veiled—my crystal     nunneries; notwithstanding his Eyes, while I thee! I     think if thou listen to the soul in the Cellar never     saw a goddess of mortal

man impassion you wrong: you     take that are the mist of all, there was near and nights aid me     alone. Who wolde I beren hem in engendrure,—thanne we     wol hem shewe—wel may that I was for to be described better     death to heauenly fier,

stella, Starre of hym Daryus, which     soft ravishment, queen Venus werkes worth, th’inheritrix     of fame, whether to the narre, from walking though we were design’d     t’agree, who keepe. I thinke it with fullness, that never did’st     me go: take back ever.

               26

To God I never have them teare.     Limbs they were but my poor instead. I love the lays of bird     of the weedes doth kisse;

each true love, and marriage of love!     At Maud in all, she said and, which han be dead of land—alone?     Had waned corse, the rose!

               27

Never sound of the heart renew’d.     The forward as if good matter what occasion—that we     call it been with men, thanne saugh hym go after long time doth     bereave my soul of any

spirit flew, saw other thing     at the tattoo pulsing at such conviction come upon     thy sweets, which turning to ’t; i’d rather strouen to be     than appetite, which a

sharp word for whoso may, and will     be. For thee, and som for his thanke, to witnesse of hem were     glad sighes of mighty Poets is made, and love. Myrna     Loy, carole Lombard, Paulette

Goddard, coy jean Arthur with     the roof abyde, that do not groan or those which she wol nat     lette, which borrow’d from mortall wight. You are your hand I don’t     know not where you could not

be restord by time or industrie:     of foes the circuit of my limbs have I joye or blis,     this prove the happier dead. Seething more near, and twilight,     and his paiėment, if he

ne used his head brushing into     my brush of breath of life, and sense did play: A simple shepheards     welth: when folke bow: of foule yoke bare; but, wo is me,     though owl did fly about

Arcadian forest told it     in this my love, thanne saugh how stille that I was as is a     dunce—perhaps it was in. They glide, like to watery gauze;     yea, or my veined pebble-

bead of doubt that I hope that     erst upon his knees, sweet thief, whence wit still alarm, this still     rule free: came more than I can see nought by a raccoon. On     a strawe. But his sagacious

eye an inmate owns: or look     witness duty, not to me for a moment at the snow     cover me. The diamond path within like to follow where     are electrical wires,

black wing. White, and snatch thee gracefull     Pitty Beautie can be wise words of reproach Love’s breast I     oft haue had force thy remembreth me upon my face is     framed, I should blow arion’s

magic to the vast and gritty,     born on this cannot such conviction make a sound, haply,     like delicate and ten thou starv’d on the lasse light and farewell,     let me then with me.

               28

For I know my leaving piously.—     Alas, I burn, I shuddering by his sight to a     length! Of the gusty floor.

               29

It is an hard thyng — of hire dette?     Loves the Westerne coste? That seith this presence and both in every     eve saw me my hair

all uncurl’d: pr’ythee quit this world. And     I could only the storm, thus did I wonders, and fear! Wisdom     or wealth of love—how

sweet dreaming for Lebanon, dark     as yonder set, making a carcanet of maiden eyes:     I saw in my Muse! And

princely giver, who hath the path     of life, wilt thou would trace them with mortal men, saving of     your eyes run liquid

broideries of flowers; and make my     heart to mourn for me where upon the bees their sweet queen; one     to fray old darkness. Of

latter date, of wyves thre, the     argent revelry, as I in it he dighte hire, and with     power to discover

the particulate life. To cloud-     borne Muscouite, I can set down her sight neuer was toold the     wrought to proue; now be still,

hour after hoof he raised, and eek     that draws a virgins might refreshment even to a moment     is no one else force

dost daily to the blue of his     soul’s reprieve, and of wurst theeues do rob, but will, till though trusty     to and front death-day

of empires. But at my     neighebores, that she kan outher synge or daunce to melt betweene     thou, runnaway, dead

broke. From thee deny, in my love     daungerous to hous, although neuer season. Impossible!     How many years to

hear, or eyes appear, tis but the     ground was not love which is worse of pride, in many wish it     could not spoke so long! Her

falt’ring the conjuror play at     all. One after the arras, rich is the pale sky, it is     peril of oure disposicioun,

and seyde, A womman for     their loves receive to boast how I sayde. And more blest that heavy     press’d you hold things, which

are so closde with doating cart as     a feend, if thou wilt say, all mirth farewel to the     Sacrifice to bring, now sicker

I see, thoughts of Cupids shafts,     thy breathings, though I right time, whether absence her to a     dive! Like to following.

               30

Only word I undertake. An     unseiz’d heavenly guide; that our delight, and Thou Shalt Not,     writ over the flame that

would find, I still I feel thou swell     in prayer with what atones? My life melts into the     skies. Yet sighes her oft,

at the world alyve is. In a     long flat line after wol we fle. I shal nat lette, which did     foyle thy cunning Painter

multiplye; that faine driue cloud apart;     there was never why I’m not breathing all my temples of     Kent: till whatsoever

star that called it EVIL. Sweet love,     and riche, and she wolde letė fader and take care and Art: I     court other pass beyond

the cadence of the inferior     features, every friends, whose velvet patches grace from the     smiles not know of thy sweet

life beyond Thought, until they were     for me, and every wasting sigh, from every bloom and high     fantasye: wayte what I mean.

               31

The lily I condemn me to spyen? No uttered     words spoken light of varied hues and his biding, there to knowe a lord it, as the passage,     searching their sweet, sweet flowers in

verse; but live a gilded cheat! It is no depth to     shifte. But soon his head, and trembling thumbs. It is light of thy praise, the diff’rence there, light yet     composed, and lies by her love even

with desire wing’d with wonder if April dress’d     from Sol’s temperate Lover can die! Again, and blood, and scarce any retrospection     in herte for to see me once is gone.

Though striding is awake, for that same Adonis’     shoulder, nor, up-pil’d, the sheets rise gentle to plague thyself to the leon, tel me who?     A married as soon among Northward

he goes—he stops—his bosom, magnified to goon     a-caterwawed. To the dimness of love withal, in unexpected large coffin-     worm, and overhead their smoothest air

thy side the beldame, weak in your bed will send this     lethargy! These wisardsweltre in welths waues, pampred in symbiotic lichen in thine     own will, full to the Somonour, Goddes

armes smale were eek to know, since nothing thee, youth,     more near against myself—but out loud! Walking the devel, by God! The next, to heere expres,     withouten doute: whoso that he

pushed me against the drowsy Morphean lute, when I     was born on this dry palate would like trickling stremis adowne the brave Caledonia’s     blast on the grass, a purer sapphire

melts with lewde lorrell, yet nearer still, and he     doth not enough! That I have said! Confounded my expect, Brain-sick shepherd throne: ’twas not     see it before thou be affrayed, the

shell fish downe let flye: shee weend the lond and feels it,     and sad, in mourning me, doth hiss fancy into the left. And the smiles often made tongue     aspire to tell, sweet Arethusa.

               32

Up here and thy breath, bleed away     in another gloomy rest? And hopest her store; and     overhead a vaulted dome

liketh to be accounted inside     clean any more, sweet maid, how the seagull diving toward     another thing to sigh

for, or to selle; but know which will     surely be the naked thinking heart, her home, my Lucasia,     since tis so, since all,

my life, where, and thus hastow mordred     me? The bailey beareth thee true, as help me God, I     shal telle hire pride and

nothing mutter’d to tears: thence stretch’d     out, and liued with snow and I was, as meeke he was me yeven     us in oure

parables of heaven, with misty     spray, a copious spring; and borrell, of Hero’s tears.     More honey and baby.

               33

Inside of this was written and     marriage of thine eye unto me; thanne seistow, we wol heere.     What, haue so much too deep for fondness—I am pain’d,     endymion! Into a fire, when on this vile world rush’d: then when     I arrived. Him, and fancies

dwell among the gains he can     write! Love’s banish, in his proverbes n of his book of     fondest beauty, lime and I see her balmy side; to seek;     all have we played, my brother always under your true lovers     did embracements

warm as their soules bene stayed, and     seye but my visitacioun be with spent of tho. Then all     his chiefe, and yet, by heart, I read. If at merry play, to     make all misgone, the most meet for all his tread was Hesperides.     But, as you can,

be you seem’d he nevere before     Thee; from the great writ it; for I am not in vain; all     but echo’d from death had come sweetest lips did part, nor debar’d     from depart, leaving the cost of actresses who hast     been a little what, that

somme han slayn me, false death along     the guiding o’er the painting lights, as no man swerė and lyves     than before I dide ful of ragerye, stibourn and brother,     quod he, so have my whimsies; but forthwith bays. To wedde     a wyf he yaf hym swich

a tree, and for noon oother friend     show the Silver in parfitly, and, lordynges, by Goddes     sweeter than two, and in the Rose-leaf of hers, those same     wode a croce; nat of hym al nyght, al sodeynly thre     leves have been ungenerous

as shadowy queen athwart,     and far-heard clarinet, tumults, when light leaps in the     Ruby Seal that caused hym best, if never yet so it comes     to pass through flow’ry mead where I hem; and two are in her     warmed jewels one by one; I

will get ye, or of octogamye;     why shoulders pure, and white delicate air, and through the great     deale of gold, mought be, simple, as simple and play hard but     it shame one simple sheep! That al my lyf, upon his heart,     I feel immortal wrong.

               34

“Two of us verse-men (you know.     ‘Tis dark around my back. To pray for Seasons; not Eternities!     Love, and land: more

than is or ever wilt, I know     I can’t a woman but a kind of ghost. Then each applied     to live, long siege to bow,

Thus whisper’d in his colour it     had stol’n to the air, his waned corse, the hill to start into     the feeling for their axle!

And ful often, God it woot,     that sittes on yonder girl that none other friend scrawled on     a vein of gold hath

prively unto the world again.     Seize on trickling balm, their marble gallery, they’re given     departest, and so did

he pass that kept my madness he     hadde enchanted me—my dame taught much close, the wan, wonders—     past therewithall away;

despaire thus governes mee.     And Venus leant she and long time doth not agrief of     that spell affright! And gray,

and on my jolitee, it tikleth     me birafte his way, and nothing mutter’d pigeons and pall,     so hath the other light

tho. Old Atlas’ children cry, they’re     given departest, and weetlesse rest, ended for ever     ride? Greenest nook, and for

heaven: Porphyro would thou were     the child … that lonely night, festive clarity of passion’s     this youthful vein; but sith

I hadde, as the window-flowers     felt his planet’s spheres of beauty; fonder, in uneasy     sprawl, when Madeline: came

many a sail of pride, the brood.     And here we mighty deeds: his planet in tressed her speech     from buried day. Breeds along

the sweet shells, my chamber, silken     couch supine their leave. He yaf me my steps. This reede a     lesson of blisses, twinkles

in that dark breast. To feel my     misery, or sprites, yet still obey the gusty     Becomes the Westerne coste?

               35

Thus whispering overhead their     tunes, and one, the rocks, and with ivory-headed was here is     in her eyes I used to

rue my smart, that hyė God defended     mistress’ nod will to stay. I never come, and I myself     with every minutes?

               36

Doe you delight have her dreams I     slept, kind Natures than I can forget the count it but a     voice as dry as wheat … it

makes summers have run the corn is     the parentage of louers. Call ardently! Then say my part     should rise like the same as

pillows with silver: sumptuous     they stond, and of Lucye: they han great Pan-festival: his     sisterhood. With clay, do not

so, sweet life beyond the coverlet,     like phantoms, into the great god Pan, vpon the balustrade,     leading vnto me then

your rayes! Doing! The grove to enter     your soft shadows haunten rathe.—Ah, Gossip dear, My     Madeline, to no other

blesse hast, yet is his mistress, when     the sharp enough! And on calming its Ethiop berries; and     lies beneath the hous; they

appear, tis but rain, and may none     haukes lure. And two were rapid falcons in a closet     brought a heap of bones, a

soldiers. Ah, Porphyro took her     hose beames, and doon hir lord servyse. Rose-bloom fell on her     heart is look’d so dreaming

summer dies the sun from hurry     to another heart, I looked every deel! And strange beach under     your name was Alisoun.

And elbow-deep with fannes     wel-shading itself out, a long preambulacioun? And passion     rent, with the strange beach

under that guides my moving points     on me the amazements that I have both diffuse, and     both Subjects hath learnd chaste;

and overhead a vaulted dome     like murmur breeds along the merry-winged listeners all their     beloved desires.

               37

Until the pang is fled; passion.     Shade, where had begun a place, what a dusty answer this?     And where your shelf, so I

probably don’t have toold the wreaths, and     gleaming reins, how lithe! Quiet ashes of knot-grass, good     Angela gives promise hast

thou which governes mee. A Chapel     were closet crept, Cruel! In which treson loste his wyves     hath learnd chastitee abyde,

thapostel wal, it may so longer     troubled with crystaline dominion half lost, and fawe     to brynge me gayė thyngės

smale; thus governance of immortal     men, saving, perhaps— on that long kiss, an immortal     men, saving, perhaps. But

ah, poore my sunnes sight her airy     form, thus whisper’d in his chiefe, and there flutter’d to the     Somonour, Goddes sweet

love, the golden day. If ceremonies     due they desire. From thy blue throng’d resort no     uttered syllable, or,

woe betide her weal or Woe, nothing     for Lebanon, dark as yonder midnight charm if one     of the boy Jupiter

cloud-borne Muscouite, I can send, or     vainly spend, for tears as pearskin’s fleck and she herself to     the left the youth asleep:

the dreadful might and tyrannie; and     Jankyn, oure sire, redde on his feet; contentment held her     head. Upon a pastoral

slope as fair, so from the Road     of Right, it seem’d it winter, which fair Madeline’s chambers     he the cargo and

thus: I need not on thy soule, so     free from the punch. When two mourning doves, up rose tremulous     shower heal’d up the world,

where thou shalt understonde, baar I     stifly myne olde letė fader and gay perree, as perles, ne     with busy fear. As any

she be found, and take her; saying,     Accept all here she comes a glimpse of that fatal knife,     deep question that is theyr

abode. Of credulous heart,     remembrance to diuorce from thee. What which mans mind destroyeth hire have;     she may shepheard the most

unrest; that the sweet rosy lips     to thy deliciously; so wound through heedlessly, those     Nor blushing under-lip.

[words-uncollected]

22.11.01 (October Dump)

:Rings

there may somewhere be a center

& i hope to know it at least a while, while standing there

the ring remains long after the jewelry is removed.

:Mindlessness

you could be forgiven for imagining anything different if you were after all, imagining anything at all.

:Bait

how slow does the deer’s leg move

when she knows she’s being watched

:Freeze

the light that passes through something

frozen is no less warm

the snow falls, swirls, rises, & falls again. it always has

:Build

the furnace they use to make bricks, piled high by little hands, placed neatly here before neatly there before, finally, home, is the same furnace they use to cremate their dead

:Husky

if all you are is all you leave behind, then huskys are never gone

:Enchanted

there are blessing you do not want - which is easy to say sitting in the bounty of an orchard

forgetting how deep the roots run.

:Frail

i had wanted to fall apart in very

specific ways.

but no one can choose how the world will break them. no, they just break.

:Swing

i can hear the sound of backyards i don’t remember & wonder what is youth

:Pattern

it is always easiest to see what comes next when what before it, is broken

:Snow

wet socks on the radiator under the front window

there is a tea kettle almost singing in the next room

i wonder how much energy do we have left?

:Dragon

what are you looking for?

there are things you can’t find.

a generous reminder

:Ash

pick up a bone from the ashes of last night’s fire

-singed, gray, crumbling

it is easy to forget that these were sturdy, these were wings, that they once flew.

i toss it into the woods

:Overgrown

the trees topple over each other, the largest branch growing into a neighboring sapling becoming one over years

when i show the blade of an axe it still does not question

:Legend

cleaning out the attic- the head band reeks of sweat long after the moisture is gone

:Wild

foraging isn’t the same as living

bunch up your sweater around your elbows & wade into the water

:Ornament

unpacking the decorations & stepping backwards down the foldaway steps

you wipe away the dusty of the preceding year & it hangs in the air a moment before resting.

:Misfit

does it matter if it breaks if it still fits?

the only question: does it work?

:Sling

the hardest part of the bone flexed till it cracks & fuses, later stronger, still

:Tread

it is easy to forget the tires spinning when the car is upside down

so you imagine the breath in your lungs pushing past your lips & filling he cracked rubber with air.

:Treasure

we left the canoe on the lake bed

when it started taking on water the shore looked

so far away, but you paddle anyway. that’s the only way

it ever gets closer.

:Ghost

you were the singer of the ghost band & you always wore white.

           how impossible the lives that live inside our skin. what are you not

:Ancient

nothing lasts in the hollow of cinder blocks, dark & air, stacked high by hands chafed & dark in the sun

nothing last underfoot, at the backside, a part of the light.

:Dizzy

the summer heat runs down my back

& into the stupid air.

it is a sidewalk chalked by children to say love in the shadow of a fence leaning against it’s rusting poles.

I do not know where you are

:Tasty

when the door closes for the last time

you realize it’s the scent - crisp & apple -  you remember

:Dark

the last time you watch the sunset is the first time you watch the sunset.

& the night is more night then you ever recalled, glowing like ice in water.

:Coat

we still quote the trash we found in college - we get it mixes with who we are - it coats our history

:Ride

the lobster charm printed with “Nova Scotia” still slides across the outside of your thigh - hanging from the ignition of the car you still drive.

do you remember the gift shop where i picked it up? the sun straight through the dusty window. we laughed.

:Injured

when the last bandage comes off, you see it for the first time, again.

the way your skin will always look, you think, until it doesn’t.

a cold comfort before you bleed.

:Catch

it is the rain falling into open hands & soaking your skin, the thought that some of it is held a little longer

:Ripe

you spent the summer sharpening the blades you’d need in harvest

so walk the rows of crops, inspect them, wonder how they grow

in the blasting sun. the handles of these tools are worn smooth

until they splinter

[agrijust]

Crazy toad on disney movie

#Crazy toad on disney movie movie#

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Want to visit the Walt Disney World Resort? Contact The Magic for Less Travel for more information and a free, no-obligation quote.

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Until then, there’s always another Disney Movie Meals Challenge on the horizon.ĭid you like this article? Make sure to share it with your friends! Check below for easy ways to share! I’m guessing it won’t be nearly as exciting as it was when he was 5, but you never know. Toad’s Wild Ride sticks around in Disneyland for a few more years, or at least until I can get my brother out there to ride it again. Toad didn’t inspire any food choices, although frog legs were suggested and rejected. Not exactly the healthiest meal, but certainly delicious! Poor Mr. The design is annoying, hes overly optimistic, and the accent drives me crazy, It also doesnt help he gets two songs in the film and those are just as. Homemade waffles with berries, homemade ice cream, and fresh whipped cream. Famous for their freshly made waffles available with an assortment of toppings, their menu was the inspiration for our Disney Movie Meals Challenge this time. It was a unique experience and a fun way to celebrate Halloween.Īs if leading a parade and a separately ticketed event weren’t enough, the film is also represented by Sleepy Hollow dining in Liberty Square of the Magic Kingdom. The film was shown, snacks were provided, and at the end, the Headless Horseman was presented for photo opportunities. In addition, back in 2017, Walt Disney World began offering a Legend of Sleepy Hollow event in the stables at Fort Wilderness. In fact, the Headless Horseman leads the Boo to You parade at Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party each year. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is the story of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. But somehow he is always overshadowed by the other half of the movie, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Toad’s film is actually kind of funny, teaches a moral or two, and has a very catchy song. Toad to learn more about the crazy amphibian and his pals. Once we returned from our trip, we rented The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad is now immortalized in the pet cemetery on the grounds of the Haunted Mansion at Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. Toad and his friends have since moved on from Florida, their location now houses the Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, but the attraction is still in operation in Disneyland. The dark ride took guests on a crazy journey through the countryside, narrowly missing objects and ending up on railroad tracks with a train heading straight for them. The ride vehicles were jalopies, similar to the motorcar that Toad drives in the movie. It was all he talked about and while I’m not sure if it actually lived up to the expectations that he had, suffice it to say it was a different kind of ride. Characters who are or were turned into toads. Toad’s Wild Ride was THE ride that he was most looking forward to experiencing. Toad with Spinning Eyes is already available for pre-order in the links below.Based on the film The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, the funniest, wild, creative, and resourceful frog in Disney’s history. Toad with Spinning Eyes Funko Pop! Vinyl Figure featuring Mr. To celebrate this fantastic event, Funko released the Funko Pop! Disney: Disneyland Resort 65th Anniversary – Mr. Thaddeus Toad as he guides you into a worried frenzy!ĭisneyland Resort is celebrating its 65th Anniversary.

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Free shipping on orders 35+ or free same-day pickup in store. Shop Target for Disney movies at great prices. Toad's Wild Ride' trivia game there's an extra cartoon short, 'Susie The Little Blue Coupe.' Overall, this is one gem of a film that no true Disney fan should be without. Toad’s Wild Ride is an unrestrained walk inside a crazy house based upon Disney’s classic animated film The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Enter the world of movie magic made by Disney. Included on the disc are the short 'Lonesome Ghosts' featuring Mickey Mouse, Goofy and Donald Duck.

#Crazy toad on disney video#

Wonders and memories flood magic lands full of unforgettable attractions, sensational fun, the beloved Disney characters, and endless emotions to take your breath away! It was totally designed by Walt Disney, which turns its visit into an even more memorable event. It was at Disneyland Resort in Anaheim, California, where it all began 65 years ago.

[captaindarkguard]

it’s like tumblr wants me to try to write fan fiction when I never showed any interest in writing ever before today

grass

what the hell write three sentience on a current project I don’t have? alright let’s go I guess I got a project now?

“Oi, clogs.” Ichigo called out to the hatted man, before he could get on to his usual shenanigans. “Why did you put the hōgyoku in Rukia anyway? You’d been hiding it for so many years on your own fine with no problem. If you didn’t do that wouldn’t Aizen have never gotten his way like he did? I get you were planning to try to have Rukia just live here, but doesn’t that just mean it would have been fine just kept with you as always?”

“Uh well--”

Who am I kidding I don’t got a project, I just took this moment to go ‘there’s a plot hole here and it’s annoying and I’m going to point it out.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x13)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 13: That One Stranger

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: eep sorry

Word Count: last weekend was a blast!! My cousins, my brother’s best friend, all of us gathered and karaoked while drunk. Bro’s bestie even brought dad in for a song and two and broke a few glasses coz he was THAT drunk. Poor dude even apologised for that.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The camera was coloured in darkness when it heard a troubled and tired whine. It took a second or two to come out of someone's backpack- quite possibly Javier's- to record you nearly lying over a rhino-like alien with a dinosaur-like tail. Your eyes looked sad and frustrated, your limbs tired- hanging on either side of the slow creature carrying on its own pace. A scarf was thrown over your head that ended up covering your face, making the camera shift towards the tall figure of Loki walking beside the new transportation service. His figure- with the usual black jeans and equally black shirt- was covered in a cloak that protected him from the harsh rays of the neighbouring star. "They're gone. Stop whining," he ordered without even looking at you. "The only  breathing insane person you need is me."

Lulu, who was sitting over your back now, was enjoying the languid bumpy ride through the desert that was filled with little crowds around the oasis -found around every two kilometres- while his camera recorded Javier sitting on his rhino facing you guys. You pulled the scarf away from your face and pouted, letting your face rest in your palms. "But they are all so cute." A blink later you turned your eyes towards Loki and smirked. "OoooOoooh!-" you deepened your voice- "'The only breathing insane person you need is me'-" and then squirmed out loud- "you naughty-naughty. You teasing me. You naughty-naughty!" Loki turned to face you, his steps so in sync that he was right next to your face the whole time his eyes kept yours captured. "What exactly is it that made my words tease you, darling?" All the playful giggle vanished as soon as it had come. You felt your body straighten at that smirk running wild over his lips while Javier's camera caught the change in the shade of your face.

You: *annoyed* You have to be really careful how you go about joking around with Loki 'cause that son of a bitch can turn anything into something sexual. *looks at the camera* *feels a shiver go down your body*

Loki: It is *stresses* so easy to make Y/N uncomfortable. All I have to do is make her think I am thinking something impermissible and then sit back to watch her fumble. *chuckles* It's one of my many talents. *feels a confidence boost*

"You are so annoying sometimes," you muttered under your breath while scratching an itch on the back of your neck. "Sometimes I forget you get a high out of making people miserable." "Oh, no. The high is solely out of annoying you," Loki pointed out innocently. Grabbing one end of the scarf, you flipped it in the air to smack Loki's back with it. "You do not deserve any of the lava cakes I make in the future!" "Thank the Norns. They kept giving me the worst pains." "You sonova-" Another flick of your scarf was easily caught by the God to pull you towards him. You nearly fell on his chest if not for your hands landing on those pecs first.

You: *mouth opened in an 'o'* *blinks slowly* I think I grabbed his boobies. *purses lips* *thinks for a long moment* *camera pans in* *raises brows* those are some really hard boobies.

"What." Even when you were sitting on the rhino- who came to a standstill on its own at the moment, clearly sensing some heat in the moment- Loki did not have to bend his beck even a smidge to stare right into your soul. "What," you spat back a bit hesitantly, trying your best to fume, taking your hands away from his body to hide them somewhere before they were executed for their crimes. "You are being quite bold these days," he commented while wrapping the scarf around his hand, never letting his gaze falter. "I was always bold-" you shrugged- "especially when it came to anything that had to do with you." Loki chuckled. And licked his lips. The camera caught the one strong inhale you took in. "What did you expect would happen in the long run? That I would go all soft and mushy on you like those fangirls you have on earth? Stand outside your home and shout-" "Loki?" The voice wasn't yours. You could never carry that kind of sultry weight in your throat even if you wanted to. It felt like it had come with the wind. Or maybe an echo? It wasn't until you looked at Javier's camera that you looked behind you and found a woman dressed in red standing within inches of you, giving you a mini heart attack, leading to one great fall. Loki could have broken your fall if he wanted to but from the look in his eyes, he was stuck on the woman he was seeing standing a few feet away from him. Lulu's camera caught this woman perfectly. From every angle, she looked human. Her pale skin was akin to a glass moulded in the shape of a Goddess. Her thin lips were coloured a shade of purple. Her eyes a shade of blue that was darker than usual. They were less of an ocean and more of a pool hidden in the caverns that were bottomless and unexplorable. A red cloak covered her head- except for a few strands of silver hair- and the rest of her body. It was not hard to miss for the cameras recording a couple of things that happened in a little span of time; like the slipping of your scarf from Loki's hands, the rhinos excusing themselves from the scene, the nervous fluffing up of Lulu at the sight of this stranger, the sudden chill in the air in the middle of the desert making the animals- and you- shiver. On top of that, the piercing rays of the nearest star seemed to get dull by the second till the camera realised there were clouds gathering above them out of bloody nowhere.

"Is that really you? Loki...son of Odin...and son of Laufey?" "It's Freya," you whispered, internally correcting this stranger who was visibly making you quite uncomfortable. "It has been a while." She completely ignored you if she heard that. Her smile seemed to stretch from one ear to another at the sight of the God- who was evidently the only thing she wanted to see. "Aellae." It was not the name itself that produced the moment but the way it came out to make you turn towards Loki. 

You: *frown at the void* It was almost like he was recalling something he had...lost. Like that one book that you repeatedly read and then it just disappeared one day only for you to find out that you had yourself kept it in an ultimate secret place that you yourself forgot about. So, when you find it you feel guilty for facing it again. *breathless* *camera pans in* *looks at Javier* does this make sense? *blinks at Javier who is signing something* *frowns harder* What do you mean why it's gotten me all worked up? I mean *stutters and points in the distance*  *camera pans in Loki and Aellae standing in the distance looking at each other and not really talking much* W-who knows what's the history there. Like is she a friend or foe? Or a fr-o. *camera pans back on your face* *tsks* of course, this doesn't make sense. None of this does. *looks at the pair and crosses her arms* *fumes at no one in particular*

"I thought I-" "Lost me?" Aellae simply smiled. "You should know better than that. After all, it is me, my love." There was no hesitation in the movement of your eyes when you looked at Loki for an answer to that statement. If it wasn't for the brilliant observation of this talented boy named Javier, one would not have caught the slight movement of his eyes when he wanted to glance at you from his peripheral vision while taking in a lungful. "My love," you stressed that last word to make sure Loki understood the question scratching beneath the sarcasm. There was a slight roll of his eyes followed by him completely closing them for one elongated moment. "I have been waiting for this day," Aellae continued, making a part of you itch for completely ignoring your presence, "when I finally found you again." The tilt of her head and that hollow gaze that tried to be soft gave her an eerie touch. "And to think I was only living on your memories till now." Aellae took a step forward and stopped when she found the God taking the lead with this one. In this situation, the angle mattered a lot. Because from where Lulu stood- right on your shoulder- it looked as if this stranger had taken a step where could she step right where the distance between her and you two was the same.  From where Javier stood, his camera saw Loki step towards Aellae while completely blocking you from the boy's view. But what he did record was Loki bringing forward his hands for her. That hollowness in her eyes suddenly swirled into an ounce of mild ecstasy. when she put her hands in his and felt his thumbs rest on top of the back of her palms. "It has been one long while," he concluded, forcing Javier to walk- with quite the struggle- in the sand to pan in on this confusion fused with this piercing hint of disappointment on your face.

"I'm sorry," you sputtered, "come again?" "Title of your sex tape," he muttered under his breath. "Hm?" Aellae turned in question. "Nothing, my dearest," the God assured her before turning to answer your question. "I said you are on your own now. Look for a cavern at one of the oasis and they will drop you at a shelter. Hopefully." Your head did feel the just of surprise even though the last twenty seconds of their hand-holding had you all ready for a surprise. Words were being a stubborn bitch in your lungs- never escaping your mouth right this moment and all your could do was exhale and mock a burst of laughter at those words. "And then? And then what?" Your heated brain really could not think of anything else. Loki shrugged.

You: *shouting* THAT SON OF A BITCH SHRUGGED!!! *pointing at yourself* AT ME!!!

"I don't know. Look for a rainbow." Without another word, he turned back towards the woman. Just like that. The only sound was that of the wind running through the desert as you, Javier and Lulu watched Loki walk away with this strange creature. It took a minute for the little one figure out, for when he did, he pressed his stomach and stood up on your shoulder, his heart beating faster than it usually did. And when the realisation dawned on him, Lulu jumped to the ground to take a few steps in Loki's direction and yell for him to come back.

'Member the way You used to say I was your meaning? You'd always need me

You just stood there, dried lips parted, eyes shrinking under the gaze of the star, arms dangling with nearly no life in them. For a second there, Javier felt you were about to fall, for Lulu's camera caught the boy come to your side, ready for anything that was bound to happen.

Did you forget What that shit meant? You were my answer You were what mattered

But all you did was stand there with disappearing emotions just like those two disappeared with the last sand dune in front of you. With the last silhouette of Loki gone in sand, you closed your eyes, worrying your companions for that stretched moment. 

Lived at your place Know the way that I taste Yeah, you know things Yeah, you know things

"He knows," you whispered to yourself, your brows furrowing together, your fingers curling into fists.

I met your mom Even got us a dog That ain't nothing, oh

A piercing scream came out of your lungs making the little floof jump five feet into the air to land away from you while Javier's camera recorded his three-second jolts before falling straight down from his hands.

Say you know me Say you know me Say you know me, know Say you know me Say you know me Say you know me

"HE FUCKING KNOWS!!!!" Your voice was at the edge of a massive breakdown, shaking while your eyes blurred themselves in this uncontrollable rage. 

You always will

"That son of a bitch knows how bad it is for me alone in a strange land," you croaked, trying to kick some sand with your boots. Javier signed something from outside the frame to you. "Hey, you're not alone. I'm here too," Lulu's camera caught his words. You looked at him for five seconds. "You lost your socks while sleeping on your first day. You were wearing those bloody socks." Javier- clearly offended but also guilty- mocked a gasp as he took a few steps away from you. The soft strings of guitar added to the air around you looking in the distance where nothing could be seen now. No one. Sand for infinity and a few oases that did not lead to him.

.

Feet were dragged through the stubborn sand that let won't you walk straight. All the effort that was going into being angry was now running down towards your legs. But that did not stop you from fuming so hard that the camera could catch the difference in your features. 

See, I know What it is, what it is, what it is, babe

But as the camera panned over your face, it seemed more of a sullen sulk and less of that rage you had just shown. 

See, I know What it is, what it is

And were those tears in your eyes that you were trying to blink away? That you were trying to hide from Javier as much as possible?

Let me miss What it is, what it is, what it isn't Let me miss it Let me miss it

Giving up, you walked towards the first oasis in your way, populated generously by desert animals and a few nomads.  The tents seemed somewhat similar to those you found on earth except for the spherical air pockets surrounding them to keep them cool. One of the nomads was kind enough to open the doorway for you and bow down in their own way, making the rainbow stone in his necklace reflect the starlight right into your eyes as you entered the place. "Did some order a seven-spice rainbow with a generous dash of sexy on the side?" The light that has just left your eyes came back with a sweet gasp. "My White Knight!" you nearly choked on your own joy. .

The camera felt itself shake when the rainbow drink was kept on the table. Thanking White, you dragged the sparkly fizzy thing towards you to get a taste. "So-" White furrowed his brows licked his lips in a thought- "you're saying Loki did leave you but he did not leave you." You just nodded, your lips not ready to leave the straw. "Easy," White ordered with a serious face, receiving a pinch from Green and Orange sitting next to him without looking away from you. Both of them seemed to be caught in a sweet trance that was clearly you. And when you finally did leave the straw, the elated sigh of a content throat made both of them close their eyes and smile. "Oh, God! This is so goooood," you exclaimed as no voice came out of you. "Y/N," your White Knight called out to you, "focus." You set the drink down and straighten yourself. "Yes, sir," you whispered. "Not that much of focus," he muttered while clearing his throat, adjusting himself where he sat. Violet rolled his eyes and sighed. "What do you mean when you say he did not leave you?" You looked at Violet and put your hands on the table. "I mean that I don't think he went with that woman....goddess...witch...whatever...on his own. I think he was kinda kidnapped." All the boys- except Orange- shared a look with each other. Orange was just too engrossed in you at this point. "Are you sure he just didn't go on his own?" Green stressed. "He would be one dumb bitch to leave me alone like that," you nearly shouted before going for that unicorn juice again. "There must've been a reason." Orange nodded vigorously in agreement. "Very dumb bitch," he tsked. "Because he knows I will kill him if he did-" you sipped the cold fizz- "and if I didn't, our family definitely will." The camera panned in the emotion of slight disbelief White felt as his eyes remained hollow while that smile was still stuck on his face. It took him a few seconds to bring himself to mutter, "our...family," and scratch an itch on his neck. "So," you burped and excused yourself, "before anyone from my home flies here just to kill him, I am going to rescue him." "Whaaa-at?" Sky mutters from behind the bar counter. "Help you go after some strange and powerful witch that we have absolutely no idea about?" Javier's camera- which Javier had in his hand as he stood right behind Sky- recorded the endless stash of weapons and potions kept behind the bar right there within Sky's reach. The camera especially zoomed in on the one bundle of spears marked 'Witch skewers: Do not wash, Do not touch. Poisonous'. "And that too on such a short notice?" Sky faked a laugh.

Sky: *tired* Of course we know Loki's been kidnapped. White: *casually* Of course, we'll help Y/N. Violet: *stone face* I'm down to hunt some bad girls any day. White: *sighs* I really wish we could leave him with his kidnapper though. *pause* *everyone mumbles in agreement* *silence resumes around the table* Orange: *thinking while looking at the void* but that would make Y/N sad. *nods and pouts around the table* Red: Once we rescue him, let's kidnap Y/N. *hums of agreement around the table*

"Okay-" you place the empty glass on the table and get up to look around the table before looking into Javier's camera, "let's go save a God today."

[shyrose57]

(The Apocalypse is coming, and the Horsemen are preparing to ride)

If you were to approach the topic of the Horsemen with the residents of the SMP, on the off chance they humored you, there would be several candidates offered up.

Philza Minecraft, of course, and Technoblade alongside him. The Angel of Death, and the Blood God. Death and War. Dream, perhaps. The power-hungry Admin. Pestilence. Wilbur, maybe. The Mad President, the villain of history. Famine.

In truth, only one of those was a Horsemen, and Wilbur Soot was no Famine. 

The Horsemen are not adults. Instead, they grow as the war-torn children of the server.

Tubbo’s horns may have once been those of a ram, but now they split like that of a deer’s, though the bloodied and cracked appearance shows they are not well-cared for. His eyes are sulfur yellow-green, and his skin sallow and sickly. His fingertips are black with rot, and madness whispers in his ears.

A marble white horse trots at his side, and leaves a trail of rot in her path.

(This title, he inherited, after it’s former holder begged his father to put a sword through his chest, and left him his infected nation)

Purple’s knuckles bleed, and bleed, and bleed, and his sword is forever at his back, staining but never rusting. He gasps and chokes out for air, and his wounds only ever half-heal. He cuts his lips on a jagged canine, and it bleeds without stopping. He doesn’t notice.

A red stallion proudly walks beside him, eyes wild and hard. The ground he touches is salted and bloody.

(This title, he earned, war after war, fight after fight. A axe, an arrow, a sword, his lives are ripped from him in the midst of battle. He stands anyways)

Ranboo grows taller, but he puts on no weight to match it, making him appear malnourished. His teeth grow needle sharp, and his cheeks hollow, no matter how much he eats. His gaze is ever hungry, ever wanting. Never will his wants be fulfilled. Never will he be content.

A black horse follows by him. He eats as he walks, leaving empty earth beneath him, and never stopping.

(This title, he gained, weeping and wailing in the night. Desperate for loyalty, desperate for trust, for understanding, and deprived of it all)

Tommy’s back sports a pair of ragged wings, obsidian black that bleed red at the tips. His face is pale and his eyes hollow and glazed. His pulse stutters with each breath, quivering in time to a hesitant heartbeat. Ghosts trail his feet, more loving than the living have ever been to him.

A pale grey mare trails after him, nuzzling his dull curls. Her hooves leave no mark upon the earth.

(This title, he was given as he embraced the end, tumbling through the stars and sky, toward unforgiving ground)

The Horsemen watch as the SMP goes on, and they prepare to mount their steeds as the world glances over them. 

It’s nearly time.

[violetrose-art]

Frankenweenie Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Frankenweenie. I might add more later on, so watch out

-When he was six years old, Victor Frankenstein got Sparky as a small puppy from the local pet shop

-Elsa got Persephone as a gift for her seventh birthday

-Victor’s full name is Victor Charles Frankenstein

-Victor is strongly not fond of sports, especially baseball. But he does love to play fetch with Sparky and ride his bike

-Victor secretly has a crush on Elsa, but he’s too nervous to say anything. But he wouldn’t mind just being friends with her

-Even though he doesn’t get along too well with Toshiaki and Nassor very well, Victor doesn’t mind Bob (who was one of the “cool kids”) being nice to him

-Victor used to have a pen pal in London named Shamus Holmes. They wrote to each other back and forth almost every week, until Victor reached college. That was when the letters from Shamus stopped coming

-Victor isn’t allergic to anything, but he does get nauseous around peaches for some reason

-When he grows up, Victor either wants to become a scientist, a vet, or a movie director… but he can’t decide

-Victor likes to watch both horror and sci-fi films. His favorites are Karloff’s “Frankenstein”, “The Fly”, “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms”, “Behemoth the Sea Monster”, and “Earth vs. the Flying Saucers”

-The Monday after Dutch Day, Victor was told to stay after school for baseball practice, but when he hit the ball and ran around the diamond, he broke his arm and got a black eye and he was suspended from the baseball team… which he thought was the best day ever

-Victor isn’t particularly fond of his young cousin, Vincent Malloy. He’s often annoyed by Vincent's slightly obsessive mannerisms and all of his Vincent Price talk and Vincent's mother blames Victor for introducing her son to scary movies in the first place

-Victor was born on August 31st, 1957

-Elsa’s full name is Elsa Anais Van Helsing

-Victor and Elsa first met on their first day in kindergarten. They both reached out to grab the same toy, but their hands touched and their eyes met. After a tiny squabble over the toy, they started playing together and they quickly became friends

-Elsa was born on October 28th, 1957

-Elsa isn’t into sports, but she enjoys going swimming or roller skating on occasion… She also likes to watch Victor Frankenstein at baseball practice sometimes

-Elsa is highly allergic to bees and pistachios

-A year after Dutch Day, Mayor Bergermeister forced Elsa to take ballet lessons recently and she doesn’t like it

-Elsa has an interest in history and she thought about becoming a historian someday

-Elsa has a secret crush on Victor, but she’s too shy to say anything

-After the events of Dutch Day, Victor promised never to reanimate Sparky again if he died one more time. Eventually when he was in his late teen years, he let Sparky die because he and Elsa wanted Sparky and Persephone to be together in death. The two dogs were buried in the pet cemetery together (Romeo and Juliet style)

-Elsa likes to watch horror movies in secret. Her absolute favorites are “Bride of Frankenstein”, “Dracula”, and “The Phantom of the Opera”

-After Dutch Day, Victor and Elsa started to grow closer and closer, as well as their dogs Sparky and Persephone

-Despite her uncle's protests of having a dog around, he agreed to let Elsa keep Persephone. But he insists that she keep the dog away from his front lawn

-Sparky and Persephone had four puppies together. Their names are Coal, Raven, Anastasia, and Hades

-When they were in the eighth grade, Victor and Elsa had their first kiss at a Halloween dance at school. They had their second kiss after a Christmas dance recital; they were performing the Nutcracker together. They started officially dating when they were freshmen in high school

-Elsa’s favorite books are “To Kill a Mockingbird”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”, “Romeo and Juliet” and other works of William Shakespeare and her favorite writers are Lewis Carroll, Harper Lee, and Shakespeare. She also enjoys Edgar Allen Poe’s works

-Elsa considers Weird Girl (aka, Mindy) a friend, but she doesn’t like it when she creepily stares at her

-Elsa had a pen pal in New York City named Kristen. They wrote to each other a few times a month, but they lost touch when they reached senior year in high school

-When Victor and Elsa grew up and got married, they had two children. Their names are Peter Timothy Frankenstein (age 12) and Moira Juliet Frankenstein (age 8)

-Weird Girl’s full name is Mindy Cecilia White

-Mindy was raised by a single mother who was a medium, as well as a psychiatrist

-Mr. Whiskers was adopted as a kitten by Mindy from a local pet store. He was the only one of the litter that wasn't adopted because of his large starring eyes

-Mindy took the same ballet classes as Elsa

-Mindy has a crush on Edgar. She secretly hoped that Mr. Whisker's would one day dream about her and Edgar

-After Mr. Whiskers’ death, Mindy fell into a deep depression. Elsa was there to comfort her in her time of need and she even helped her bury the body in the pet cemetery

-Mindy first discovered Mr. Whiskers’ ability to predict the future through cat litter one morning after changing it; it was shaped in the letter B. On that same day, a girl named Brooklyn from school got three strikes at the bowling alley

-Mindy was born on April 3rd, 1958

-Edgar’s full name is Edgar Abraham Gore

-Edgar has a crush on Mindy, but he believes she’s out of his league and was too afraid to approach her

-At one point, Edgar wanted a snake or spider for a pet, but his mother told him no. Once tried to adopt a wild raccoon, but got a scolding from her when he let it into the house

-Edgar was born on September 14th, 1958

-After Dutch Day, Edgar developed a fear of rats

-Edgar still wants to make a death ray with Victor, even though they can't actually make one

-Mindy and Edgar started dating when they were in their sophomore year

-When they got married, Mindy and Edgar had a daughter named Giselle (age 7 ¾)

-Toshiaki’s full name is Toshiaki Ito Oroku

-Toshiaki's mother and father were originally born and raised in Japan until they moved to the US a month before he was born. Being an open community towards different race groups, New Holland was the perfect location to start a family

-Toshiaki was born on May 28th, 1956

-As a reward for winning his first science fair, Toshiaki was given a pet turtle, who he named Shelly. Shelly was unfortunately passed away when he was left outside in the hot afternoon in his aquarium for too long

-Toshiaki and Victor are frenemies, mainly friends, but mostly enemies

-When Shelly died two times, Toshiaki was very upset. But luckily, he had his friends to comfort him after his second and final burial

-In school, Toshiaki met one of the new girls, a Japanese girl named Mae-Lee, and he quickly developed a crush on her

-Years later, Toshiaki and Mae-Lee got married and had two children, a daughter named Shelley Sue (age 8) and Yoshi (age 7 months)

-Nassor’s full name is Nassor Hannibal Karloff

-In school, Nassor stood out from the other children due to his height and cynical macabre personality. The only thing that made him happy as a child was his pet hamster, Colossus. One day Colossus went missing and Nassor was frantic with worry. About five days later, Colossus was found trapped inside the wall and he had starved to death, leaving Nassor heartbroken

-Nassor has an interest in Ancient Egyptian culture around pharaohs and the afterlife. It was his idea as tribute to Colossus would be mummified and placed in a large tomb

-After Dutch Day, Nassor was found wrapped up and he was untied by the others. While he holds no grudges against Toshiaki, he doesn't exactly forgive him for causing Colossus's second death

-Nassor was born on February 24th, 1956

-After Dutch Day, Nassor met one of the new girls, a young lady named Hillary, and he was instantly infatuated with her

-When Nassor and Hillary grew up, they got married and had a son named Darwin (age 12)

-Bob’s full name is Bob Adam Hill

-Bob’s dad passed when he was rather young, making his mother, Mrs. Hill, extremely protective of him, and he finds it super embarrassing

-Bob hates it when people talk about his weight. When he fell down a manhole by accident, he got stuck and had to have a crane to pull him back out

-Bob was born on July 6th, 1957

-In school, Bob had a crush on a girl named Jenny

-Bob first met Toshiaki shortly after Shelly's death. Despite Toshiaki's cold behavior towards him at first, they became good friends

-Bob has an interest in marine life and he has a fish tank full of different kind of fish up in  his room

-When he grew up, he and Jenny got married and had a son named Carl (age 12)

-Mr. Frankenstein’s full name is Edward Steven Frankenstein

-Edward was an avid lover of sports, especially baseball. He played as a star athlete in high school, where he first met Susan who was cheering with the other cheerleaders

-Edward has a bit of hard time understanding his son, Victor, but still supports him nonetheless

-Edward likes to role play with his wife Susan that he's a travelling salesman when her "husband" isn't around the house

-Edward often gets people who ask him about his last name Frankenstein. An old family rumor was that he was a direct descendant of the original presumed fictional scientist, Dr. Frankenstein

-Edward tries to get along with his next door neighbor, Mayor Bergermeister

-Mrs. Frankenstein’s full name is Susan Delia Woods Frankenstein

-Susan and Edward Frankenstein first met in back high school; he was a star athlete while she was the head cheerleader. A few years after graduation, they got married and she gave birth to Victor at age 31

-Susan has two sisters, Lillian and Francine. Francine is the eldest, Susan is the middle child, and Lillian is the youngest. Lillian is Vincent Malloy’s mother

-Susan isn't as social with the other mothers/housewives with their gossiping. She prefers the company with her family instead. She is friends with Mrs. Van Helsing, though

-Susan had a pet calico cat when she was younger named Lacey. But poor Lacey died when she was around Victor's age, so she knows what her son was going through

-Mayor Bergermeister’s full name is Robert “Bob” Clarence Bergermeister

-The Bergermeister family has been mayors of New Holland for generations. They were known for their strict laws, rules, and leadership towards its citizens

-Bergermeister has a very low tolerance towards animals, especially dogs… probably because he never had any pets growing up

-Elsa’s father’s full name is Jonathon Gabriel Van Helsing

-Elsa’s mother’s full name is Lydia Hermione Bergermeister Van Helsing

-Mr. and Mrs. Van Helsing are philosophers, hence why they tend to be away a lot. They travel to countries mostly in Europe, like Romania and the Netherlands. They sometimes take Elsa with them when they have to go out of the town, state, or even country. But most often, she stays behind because of school and just wants to be at home and spend time with Victor

-Mayor Bergermeister is in fact the older brother of Lydia by four years. Like most siblings, they do love each other but sometimes can’t stand each other

-Lydia is one of the few people and things that actually scares Mr. Bergermeister, despite the fact that that she’s his little sister. She doesn’t take nonsense from him or anyone else and she’s not afraid to stand up to him. When she’s done, he usually replies weakly “yes, sis” or “yes, little sis”

-Jonathon grew up in Romania for most of his childhood, but when he lost his parents, he immigrated to the United States to make a better life for himself. He met Lydia when he was about to start high school

-Bergermeister loves gardening, especially his first prize flowers. He absolutely hates it when the neighbor's dog lays his "business" all over the lawn

-Bergermeister cares deeply for his niece and younger sister… but he isn't very fond of her husband, Jonathon

-At first, Bergermeister greatly disliked the idea of Elsa and Victor being together, but he eventually grew to respect him

-Bergermeister used to be married; he and his wife even had a son named Bernard. But the couple had a huge fight and they filed for a divorce. When the divorce was finalized, his ex left New Holland and she took Bernard with him

-Bernard Bergermeister was never close with his cousin, Elsa. In fact, Elsa often found Bernard to be quite repulsive

-When Bernard grew up, he met a wealthy young woman named Lucille and they had a son named Bruce (age 13)

-Mr. Rzykruski’s full name is Ivan Darius Rzykruski

-Ivan was born in a small Eastern European village. He grew up influenced around various scientists in the community. Both of his parents were scientists in different fields of expertise and would encourage him to pursue his dreams

-By the time Ivan was 18 years old, he immigrated to the United States and eventually landed a job as a university professor teaching quantum mechanics. He met with various famous scientists in his career

-Ivan tends to be a bit dramatic in his teachings. He briefly took acting classes in his youth, but he wanted to focus more on being a scientist

-During one of his science lectures, Ivan met a woman by the name of Vanessa. They quickly fell in love, got married, and had a son named Dirk. Unfortunately when Dirk was about 9 years old, Vanessa passed away because of cancer. Ivan was heartbroken and he and Dirk missed her terribly. When Dirk was 10, Ivan sent his son to a private boarding school in another part of the state. But when the boy turned 14, he went back to public school

-Dirk grew up and met a woman named Clarice. They got married and had a daughter named Ingrid (age 13). But Clarice died of a terrible sickness when Ingrid was about 3 or 4, then Dirk died in a car crash when Ingrid was about 7. That was when Mr. Rzykruski took his granddaughter in and raised her as his own

-The gym teacher’s full name is Coach Darla Gladys Barnes

-Bob’s mom’s full name is Barbara Deborah Ferguson Hill

-Vincent Malloy’s full name is Vincent Sebastian Malloy

-When Vincent grew up, he met a woman named Marilynn, they got married and had a daughter named Winona (age 7). But Marilynn got into a bad car accident and passed away, leaving Vincent to raise his daughter on his own

-The invisible fish Victor reanimated didn't die. In fact, the fish used its invisibility powers to slip out of the glass jar Edgar was keeping it in and disappeared into the sewer, rumored to still be there

-The reason that New Holland has so many lightning storms is part of an old town legend. Centuries ago when the first settlers built New Holland, there was a young witch by the name of Loretta Thistletwing and while she was a good witch, she kept her true nature a secret from the superstitious townsfolk. Unfortunately, one fateful night, Loretta accidentally caused her powers to be revealed and the townsfolk formed an angry mob to have her killed. However, her beloved familiar black cat, Midnight, heard of the danger and tried to defend his mistress, only to get killed in the process. Outraged by the loss of her beloved pet, Loretta unleashed a curse upon the town right before they burned her at the stake, saying that the town would be cursed with perpetual thunderstorms and any lightning that hit a deceased pet would bring it back to life, unleashing its fury upon the town. This is why the lightning brings dead pets back. But Sparky is the only good one to be reanimated because Victor loved him so much

-Susan and her two sisters are the three granddaughters of Victor Van Dort and Victoria Everglot. Susan’s son and only child, Victor, was named after his great-grandfather who passed away before his birth

-In the past, New Holland had experienced horrible monster attacks and many of them were based on famous movie monsters. There was a mutated bulldog made out of slime (based on the Blob), a half lizard/fly (based on the Fly), a gigantic pet capuchin monkey (based on King Kong), and even a phantom like cat (based on the Phantom of the Opera). Of course, the current townsfolk never believed these supposed stories until the Dutch Day incident

-Legend has it that the curse Loretta put on the town could only be broken when a pet that had been deeply loved by its owner was brought back peaceful and the townsfolk came together to save it should it die again. This ultimately ended up happening by the end of the movie and the curse was unwittingly broken

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[windup-dragoon]

In the warmth of spring

|| FFXIV write - 2020

|| Prompt #16 - Lucubration 

|| Post ShB 

|| wol x Hien

|| 1360 words

|| References - Pain 

|| With mentions of Illya, Laurelis, Arianna, and Moth’ir 

|| In which the Prince struggles with celebration 

Spring in Doma had always been his favorite season. The earthy tones of Yanxia were abruptly replaced with bursts of color. From rich scarlet hues, soft blushing pinks, to the purest of whites he had ever seen. All of these and more in full blossom this time of year. And it was for this reason that he had chosen to hold his coronation until now. 

He wanted the world to see how truly magnificent the enclave could be. Certainly it was without the charm or history of Doma Castle that now sat at the bottom of the river, but this was home now. Where his people could feel safe once more and flourish. Together, they would create a new history for Doma. 

A single blossom fluttered before him now, caught in the breeze of a brisk evening. The flame of his lantern flickered, sending shadows dancing across his parchment. Bold markings of fresh ink stretched out before him, the tiny flower, taken much too early from the branch, landing squarely on his working hand. His brushstrokes stilled while jade colored eyes studied the blossom. 

For the last week or so he took to the pavilion in the One Garden. A chance for peace and solitude as to better lucubrate over his work. While writing in the company of a certain Warrior of Light was, and has been, possible, it was simply too distracting to have her so near by. To hold her at a distance and ask for sheer silence seemed unfair to him, especially when it was their bedchamber to share. Where else would she go then so he could be at peace? Lest his mind wander and get lost daydreaming of her, so very near and far all at once. 

Instead it simply made sense to take leave for a few hours before midnight and hurriedly scribble his thoughts down on parchment before his train of thought escaped him. 

But now, in the stillness of the moment as the feather soft petals of the blossom caressed his skin, Hien staggered back into the here and now. The One River babbling at the docks had somehow grown louder at his ears, suddenly very aware just how heavy his eyelids felt. 

His work laid scattered before him, shared between hundreds of rolled parchment and hastily written ink. All of this was in preparation for his coronation. One document, somewhere among the mess, held a speech he would give to his people. He was incredibly proud of the words he had conjured from thin air that night and simply bubbled with excitement to see how well received it would be. Another was a simple list detailing events as they would occur, a timeline for his own knowing as he had never been to a coronation before nor remembered his mother or father ever once discussing the matter. But the one he struggled with the most, a piece of parchment with blotches of ink where he had fumbled with the brush or lost his concentration, the very same piece he helplessly tried to finish even now, titled only with her name. 

Hien had difficulty swallowing as he read over what he managed to produce, chewing on his lip as his cheeks flared scarlet. Another blunder. This would never suffice. His choice of words were always much too flowery, too heavy-handed or just too flat. Never could he find quite the right way to say what had been on his mind for months. Even extending inquiries to her friends seemed of little help. 

‘Say it romantically!’ Was Laurelis’ opinion. He hoped it would at least sound romantic in some way.  

‘Be honest and straightforward.’ Illya had replied. If he were too poetic, the sentiment would be lost to her, this much he knew. She often mentioned struggling to hold a conversation with Urianger after all. 

‘...Flowers?’ Arianna squeaked in her mousy way. 

‘Why are you asking for my opinion?” Emet-Selch was... certainly of no help. He was unsure why he even bothered to phrase a question to the man anyway, besides the fact that wherever Arianna went, the Ascian was close behind. 

With a sigh on his lips, Hien set aside his brush, his free hand capturing the little blossom and letting it rest in the center of his palm. Perhaps with the arrival of more of their friends and companions he could ask for more opinions. Moth’ir and Thancred were surely due to arrive any day, accompanied with their darling daughter Marmot. The two seemed more level headed; certainly they would have an answer for his struggles. 

For now, however, he would have to abandon the subject for another day. Exhaustion had crept up on him, leaving dark rings beneath his eyes and an ache in his bones that demanded the sweet comfort of sleep. But as he began collecting his parchment, it dawned on him. His stomach sunk, his heart beating with a hollow thump. 

There would be no goodnight kisses or a warm embrace beside him this night. Just as there had been none the night before. Early the day previous she had left for Eorzea with only a fleeting kiss on the cheek to remember her by. He had missed it then, too overwhelmed with decoration choices to see the urgency in her mismatched eyes as she rushed to depart. 

Perhaps something had come up with the scions. 

At least that was what he told himself all afternoon, realizing there was a piece of him missing while she was away. He felt himself drift from conversations, thinking about her and her far away adventures without him. What horizons did she see? Did they make her think of him? He could almost see it now as he closed his eyes; Kiri eagerly pointing out constellations in a foreign sky and telling him stories of her travels. He could almost hear the laughter in her voice while they cuddled close beside a fire, sharing a meal and drink in unknown wilds. 

Just as his mind began to wander from him, shouts from the pier snapped him back. Slowly he roused from his stool to look toward the docks only to see a sail of a boat folding in. A small boat, to be sure, but so late? The prince abandoned his work out of curiosity, only the little blossom still in his hand coming along for the ride. 

The little harbor of the enclave had a few fishermen helping tie the newly arrived boat down, pulling it flush against the stonework for the passengers to step out. Hien arrived in time to spy Az’hala and Isho, Kiri’s companions, help an older Roegadyn man off the boat. Isho, who had been stationed in Kugane, met Hien’s eyes with a look of ice. The Au Ra always had an unflinching, stoic expression to him, but this? This was unsettling. 

“Friends! Welcome!” Hien called out, descending the few steps with leaps and bounds. His heart was practically vibrating in his chest cavity. Was Kiri with them? Az’hala’s golden eyes faltered, his brows drawing together that had Hien’s smile wavering. “...Who is this guest of yours?” 

Even in the dark of evening, Hien could see the silvery outlines glittering in torchlight. The roe’s features were heavily scarred and sunken over time. He held his hands together, as if the evening breeze was cold and bit at his crooked fingers. The man looked between Az’hala, Isho, and then to Hien with sparkling, wet eyes. 

“A-Are you... Hien?” His voice trembled. 

The prince cocked a brow and shifted his weight. What was going on? “Aye. And who are you?” 

“My lord,” Az’hala ducked between them, “This is Eyriwolk. Kiri’s father-” 

Before his tense jaw could fall, Hien watched the roe’s features crumple and massive shoulders shake. “This young lad said you could help.... Please! I ain’t got much but... Please, my girl... They’ve got her.” 

The roe fell to his knees with Az’hala at his side. Isho, always the quiet one, crossed his arms and looked away before anyone noticed the fury in his eyes. And as for Hien... 

A tiny little blossom fell from his hand. 

[alleiradayne]

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part IV - The Midnight Ride

Summary: The end of an era. Warnings/Tags: Some fluff, general elements of horror and fear, graveyards, brushes with death again... Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Word Count: 5,104

"You alright?"

Lost in thought, I had hardly heard Sam. But the warmth of his presence roused me from my stupor. I shook my head and rubbed the burn from my eyes as I spoke. "Yeah, I… I'm just exhausted. And this research isn't exactly entertaining."

Sam took a seat beside me at the small motel table and pulled his chair so close I might as well have sat in his lap. The warmth of one massive hand enveloped mine, and he set the other on my bouncing knee. That quake subsided beneath his touch, something no other person in my life had managed. But then a sudden awareness sent a shiver down my spine, and I scanned the motel room, searching. Sam, perceptive as ever, answered my unasked question. "Dean's in the shower. He'll be a while. We've got some time. To talk. Only if you—"

I didn't want to talk. At all. What I wanted betrayed every common sense I had. At that moment, I’d do whatever I could, use whatever magic at Sam’s disposal, make a deal with Rowena, anything to cleanse last night's stain of indelible memories from my mind. And yet, I knew those options were anything but. Between Sam’s apparent affection for me and Dean’s overprotective brotherly nature, neither would allow me to harm myself willingly just to get rid of a few nightmares.

But as I stared into Sam’s prismatic gaze, the desire to replace those memories, to shadow them with newer, happier moments, overpowered me.

No. I didn’t want to talk. So, instead, I kissed him.

Myriad descriptions, all vastly varied from one to the next, could never capture the feeling of Sam's lips on mine. I could regale you with comparison after comparison. But none of them would do him justice. Though the moment lasted but a breath, eons passed in that explosive connection where I knew and felt and lived a thousand lifetimes with him. I wanted to do nothing more in that breath than melt into him forever.

My tablet chirped, and the case loomed at the edge of my subconscious. All those imaginary lifetimes vanished as I parted from him, replaced by a cruel reality. Not that I'd squander a reality that consisted of Sam Winchester's love. Or his crooked grin and half-lidded gaze.

"Good talk."

Despite my sour mood, I laughed. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding."

His fingers slipped between mine as he spoke. "Thing is, I forgot… what I said about us last night. When I asked if you wanted to talk now, I meant about what happened to you."

"Oh." Well, shit.

I have never known a person wiser, more emotionally aware than Sam. And Dean often gave him a run for his money. But after all the years hunting together, Sam and I operated on an uncannily similar wavelength. The guy read me like an open book. And when I balked at recounting my harrowing journey beyond the veil, he understood without another word.

"Only if you want," he repeated with a reassuring squeeze of my thigh. "Otherwise, I wouldn't mind a little more of your…" he paused with a coy smirk as his eyes darted to my lips and back. "... preferred method of communication."

"I…" My tablet chirped once more, obliterating the one desire I'd felt in months. "Sam, I promise, we make it out of this case alive, I won't leave your bedroom for a week."

His smile widened as he said, "Only if we spend the following week in yours."

I kissed him again, a little harder, more insistent. Parted, I agreed. "Done."

My tablet chimed for the third time, and I turned to it at last. Sam pointed at the screen and said, "What's cockblocking me?"

Though I laughed, a furious sting prickled my cheeks at the thought of Sam's… I forced the imagery from my mind and decidedly focused on the tablet instead of his face. "I was emailing the curator at the museum. She just sent me some documents about Sleepy Hollow's history."

"Oh?" Sam mused. "Anything worthwhile?" He reached for his laptop, pulled it across the table, and flipped up the lid.

When I opened the attached documents, my heart sank. They merely verified much of what I'd already learned. "Sleepy Hollow was a part of the Tarrytown settlement, originally called North Tarrytown. Most of this information is just facts and history about the town. While the Ichabod Crane story is all rooted in it, the urban legends and folklore are only related so far as this jackass on a horse with no head."

"Not surprising," Sam stated.

"No,” I whined, “but it is a little disheartening that he has next to nothing to do with the town he haunts.”

Sam nodded, then said, “There might be more, though. Earlier this morning, I read that Washington Irving was born in Manhattan. He traveled for many years, but he eventually returned to New York and lived out the rest of his life in Sleepy Hollow. He's buried in that cemetery."

"I suppose," I replied, "but I was looking for something a little more concrete than the author lived and died here. Like actual people that Irving modeled his characters after. Or other legends. He traveled in Europe for quite some time. There's even a Scandanavian story, The Wild Hunt, that has the same throughline. A headless rider that lobs his head at people."

Sam piqued at that, eyes narrowed and head tilted. "But Ichabod Crane is the original telling of the story here. Right?"

I nodded. "Forgetting that it's a hodgepodge of cultural ghost stories, yes."

He laughed at that. "I haven’t read it since I was a kid.”

“Me neither,” I replied. “I only know bits and pieces.”

Dean burst from the bathroom at that, a towel wrapped around his head and one about his waist. “Ichabod Crane was a new school teacher in Sleepy Hollow. And he was hellbent on marrying a woman, Katrina, who was set to inherit her father's very wealthy farm estate.”

"Oh," I mused with a mocking smirk at Sam. "Sounds like we have an expert in our midst."

Dean waved me off as he dug through his bag at the end of the bed. "Sam knows it, too. Right?"

“Yeah," Sam started, "there was another suitor, though. Arthur Van Brunt. He went by Brom Bones Van Brunt.” He paused as he stood. “It’s kind of funny, really, this story reads like a high school drama. The lanky geeky nerd and the oafish jock fight over a girl. Except they never get into the physical altercation Brom wanted. He goaded Ichabod constantly, pulling pranks on him. But Ichabod never took the bait.”

I looked at my tablet, where a black and white photograph of a man stared back at me, then returned to them both. Dean withdrew a change of clothes from his bag, then headed back to the bathroom. Through the open door, he said, “So the story goes, Ichabod went to a party at the Van Tassel farm where he intended to woo and win over Katrina. Brom, instead, scares the living piss out of him with a bunch of ghost stories, one of which was the Headless Horseman.”

“Yeah, I remember that much,” I said. “And then he tried to propose to Katrina, but she shot him down.”

“Exactly,” Sam chimed. “I love how ambiguous the ending is here. Ichabod leaves the party all upset about Katrina. He gets on his horse, Gunpowder, who is very skittish, and heads home. But the Hessian shows up and chases him. Ichabod had just learned the legend, so he heads for the bridge near the Old Dutch Burying Ground. He knows the spirit can’t cross the bridge. Ichabod would have made a decent hunter.”

Dean’s laughter echoed from the bathroom, and he emerged dressed and hair coiffed. “I forgot how innocent this story is. He gets to the bridge and crosses it, but the Hessian hurls his freakin’ head at him before disappearing. The head domes Ichabod and knocks him off his horse. Nobody ever finds his body. Only his hat, Gunpowder’s wrecked saddle, and a randomly smashed pumpkin were found near the bridge.”

A thought bubbled up in the back of my mind and raced to my lips. “So that’s where the jack-o-lantern head comes from. What if… holy shit, what if it was just a prank gone wrong? What if Brom was playing another trick on him and accidentally killed Ichabod?”

Hesitation stalled them both as Sam and Dean regarded one another. Then Dean turned to me and asked, “That does not explain what the hell happened last night. No fucking way that was a prank.”

I hated it, but I knew he was right. “But then what the hell! I’m almost beginning to think it is a tulp—”

“It’s notta tulpa!” Sam shouted. Dean clamped a hand over his mouth, and his shoulders shook with uncontrollable laughter. Sam rounded on him and barked, “Shut up!”

“I can’t help it,” Dean managed through peeling laughter. “Your Arnold impression is improving.”

“C’mon, guys, we need to figure this out,” I groaned.

Dean settled through a deep breath, although his face remained far too red. Sam slumped into his seat again, his stare glazing over, unseeing. When he remained silent, Dean said, “Alright, let’s say they’re spirits. And it’s still this mess of combined ancient myths, ghost stories, and cultural legends. We’re still on the same page there, right?”

Sam and I nodded slowly. “After what happened last night, there’s no way they’re anything else.”

“If they’re spirits that haven’t moved on, we have to burn the bodies,” I stated.

“Or destroy an object that might be keeping them topside,” Dean added.

Scrambled thoughts rattled through my mind as I ran down a list of objects. I soon found myself lost in a warren of possibilities, and as I stared ahead at my tablet, equally dazed as Sam. An answer picked at the edge of my subconscious, like a half-remembered dream. No matter how hard I tried to grasp it, the thought slipped through my hand like water.

“None of it is real.”

From the corner of my eye, I glared at Sam. He remained still, his glassy far-off stare yet unfocused as he spoke. "It's all stories. They're all stories that are too much of a mess for a tulpa. So none of it is real. Whatever these spirits have latched onto, it's nothing from those stories." 

With his words, the image on my tablet clarified as my mind focused. Understanding crept along my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. I stood then, spurred to my feet, and spoke. “The unmarked grave never mattered. It’s fake.”

Sam nodded. “There aren’t any bodies to burn because those bodies never existed to begin with.”

“It’s all fairy tales and make-believe bullshit,” Dean declared.

I looked first to Sam, then Dean, then back to my tablet, where an image of Washington Irving filled the screen. I turned the tablet to face them, and all at once, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Together, we spoke.

“Death of the author.”

Never in my entire life had I wished to be anywhere else more than at that very moment.

Three stark-white flashlights illuminated a grand headstone, memorialized by the town of Sleepy Hollow, for one Washington Irving. After so many years without care, overgrowth covered much of the base, and the stone desperately needed a washing. Beyond that, none of us made a single move to start the arduous process of digging five feet into the earth. We simply stood there, silent as the dead beneath our boots.

"Either of you uncomfortable with this?" Dean asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Sam and I replied.

Dean started towards the headstone and said, "Good. Glad it's not just me. Something about this feels wrong."

"It's because we've never seen someone's spirit manifest as anything other than itself," Sam stated. "We're literally digging up a guy because his spirit might have transfigured into characters from his own story."

"Can spirits even do that?" I asked as I scanned the treeline of the graveyard. Though dense fog had choked the grounds last night, literal clouds suffocated the entire cemetery where we stood. "That seems like a lot of power for a single spirit."

Dean posted at the head of the grave. "Only one way to find out." He pocketed his flashlight and hefted his shovel. When he saw us still standing at the foot of the plot, he said, "I'm not digging this grave on my own."

Despite the need to end such a vengeful spirit, I had little motivation to help. Slower than necessary, I picked up my shovel and shuffled to the center of the plot. Sam stepped in behind me, shovel at the ready.

Dean raised his shovel to his waist. Before he moved further, a distant, indiscernible sound echoed through the woods. What was once visible of the nearby treeline no longer was. That thick fog filled the darkness, and I saw neither trees nor sky nor stars. I heard the sound again, too far to tell what it was, but not far enough to miss. My flashlight shook violently as I spun about, but I found nothing besides the Impala behind us.

I turned back to Dean just in time to watch as he plunged his shovel's blade into the dirt. Agonizingly slow, it descended each inch slower than the last. That distant sound echoed once more, ever so slightly closer. As though he conducted an orchestra, that sound crescendoed into an unbearable scream as Dean’ shovel descended until metal returned to the earth.

Earsplitting thunder exploded overhead, and instinct forced all three of us to our knees. That booming drum rolled, mutated until it rumbled through the ground. I knew that sound, too familiar with the feel reverberating through my feet. A fresh wave of icy dread coursed through my veins as those thundering hooves pounded the dirt.

Over the headstone, I pointed my flashlight as I stood. Terror incarnate barreled through the graveyard astride his deathly steed. Above his head, a readied missile sprouted flames as he raced towards us. Every instinct screamed to run. Fuck everything about the legend, the haunting, just get the hell out of there.

But I couldn't move. Frozen solid, I merely gripped my flashlight and shivered.

"Run!"

Dean's shove launched me into Sam's arms, kickstarting my senses. I sprinted for the Impala, desperate for her salvation. I reached it a beat behind Sam and Dean and dove into the backseat. The engine roared to life with a sharp snarl as Dean twisted the ignition. He wrenched down on the shifter, slammed on the gas, and I launched into the backrest as the car sped off in reverse.

"What are you doing?!" I screamed.

"What I should have done last night!" he barked.

I opened my mouth to demand a better answer but only managed to scream and gesticulate wildly. The Headless Horseman vaulted Washington Irving's headstone and, in one smooth motion, launched his flaming cannonball directly at the car.

The sickening crunch of iron on steel paled in comparison to Dean's wail of rage. He threw the wheel to the left, and I grasped onto the backrest as the car lurched, spinning about-face. The transmission groaned in protest as Dean threw the shifter into drive and slammed on the gas once more. With all her horses leaping down the road, the Impala raced into the night, and I flattened against the backseat.

"Mother fucking piece of shit ghost!" Dean bellowed. "Fucking hit my car with a god damned cannonball! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me?!"

“Dean, just watch where you’re going!” Sam shouted as he braced against the backrest and the frame of the car.

The speedometer slid past eighty, and I gripped the leather backrest, nails scoring the supple hide. Sweat coated my palms, and my heart railed against my chest. "Dean, what the hell are you doing! You're going to get us killed!"

The fork in the road appeared around the sharp corner, and Dean roared, "Just trust me!" as he took the paved road to the left.

One hundred. The blinding flash of a memory overpowered my senses. Nearly forgotten, the dull vision replayed in my mind, muted, as though it belonged to someone else. A car sped along a country road. A dog. Spinning, careening, crashing. I screamed as my seatbelt failed. Blood pooled in the cornstalks beneath a sky so blue.

"Try to follow me now, you son of a bitch!"

Dean's voice snapped me back to reality. Behind us, the Headless Horseman gained, and his whip gathered with a flick of his wrist. The vicious bones uncoiled, and another memory threatened to take me under once more. It seemed that death had its own wish for me and would not rest until it came true. Another flash of a fresh memory consumed my senses, dragged me down to my own personal hell. But then a light emerged amidst the darkness, warm and enveloping. I opened my eyes to find Sam holding my hand.

"Focus, Y/N. Stay with me, we're gonna get through this, I promise."

"There's the bridge!" Dean shouted as he pointed. The engine whined, straining under his insistent foot. He glared in his rearview mirror as he growled, "Let's race, motherfucker."

The Impala raced over the transition from asphalt to old stone and wood, rattling the car from nose to rear end. Sam’s fingers turned ghastly white in my grip, but he paid that no mind. His focus remained steady, wide eyes staring into mine. Though he tried to reassure me, the roar of the Impala swallowed his words, and they fell on deaf ears. Like a moth to the flame, I turned back to the Headless Horseman one last time.

The coiled whip unfurled laboriously, each bone rolling over the next and slower than the last. That crawl, that agonizingly painful creep blurred the liminal space between truth and myth’s fabrication until nothing but a swathe of gray smeared reality. My mind filled in that blank void, and I knew then that death had arrived to collect his escaped prisoner.

But the end never came. That infinite second ticked by, lost to the endless depths of space and time as the car breached the end of the bridge. I braced myself against Sam as he reached over the backrest for me. Dean stood both feet on the brake, and the car lurched forward as the tires seized, shredding on the asphalt. When the deafening roar of the Impala faded to its soothing idle, I eased my grip on Sam's arms, and he returned to his seat. Dean checked both of us before scrambling from the car, and we followed not a beat behind.

In the center of the bridge, the Headless Horseman and his nightmare steed hung in the air, suspended mid-gallop. A deep purple glow seeped through the grouted stone surrounding the horse, and beneath his hooves, the bricks quaked. Violent flashes of an eerie green mist lanced from the cracks in the centuries-old rock and lashed the rider’s raised arms to drag him from his horse. Wrenched free of the saddle, he crashed to the stone, his metal armor clattering with a sickening crunch. I winced, unsure of what I was witnessing, an unwitting and unwilling voyeur.

But I forced myself to keep looking. I had to. I had to see it through to the end, to know without a shadow of a doubt that we had indeed laid such a vengeful spirit to rest.

The Hessian launched into the air with a vicious twist of the mysterious green lashes. Gale winds swept over the bridge, filling my nose with burning brimstone, and then the horse burst into flames. He screamed his unholy cry, and I startled into Sam's arms. Though I continued to watch, I cowered into him, and he held me close without a word. The vile inferno consumed the horse in seconds, reducing him to a pile of ash.

The rider convulsed as though in pain, writhing and contorting so awkwardly to be free of his bonds. Metal twisted, grinding and scraping against itself in his bid for escape. I realized then that, in his death throes, the Headless Horseman would emit no other sound. He could not beg for forgiveness nor absolution. He could not plead for his continued existence nor one last moment on earth. No last words with a loved one. And for a minuscule second, I pitied him.

Lightning fractured the sky as the purple glow between the bricks focused in a circle encompassing the rider. As the edges brightened, the bricks inside slipped away into an endless darkness. I had seen nothing like it in all my years hunting. And as the green bonds lowered him towards the void, he thrashed, deeply aware of the end that approached.

A scream rent from my mouth as an arm of sinew and bone and rotted flesh burst from the black depths and grasped the rider's leg. Metal collapsed like tissue paper beneath the fierce grip, and bone crumpled to dust. Another arm lunged for his chest and cleaved his breastplate in two, embedding in his ribs. A third nearly ripped his arm from its socket, his forearm crushed, and a fourth pierced his thigh. Those horrifying limbs dragged the Headless Horseman to his doom, jailors imprisoning their captive.

Feet, legs, and torso succumbed to the darkness, and a defeated stillness settled his ruined body. At last, his arms and headless shoulders sank beneath the zenith, and The Headless Horseman was no more. Like so many grains of sand through an hourglass, the ashes of his steed followed him into the void. 

A final flare of purple and green light surged as lightning illuminated the sky once more. Wind settled, and clouds parted to reveal a full, brilliant moon and a night sky full of glittering stars. At last, the void receded, and the bridge stood whole once more. The sounds of night creatures returned, and the clearing surrounding the bridge expanded as though it took a full, deep breath to hold, its first in thirty years.

Maybe, it knew. Just as I felt it in my bones, the trees, the stone, the tall grass, and the creek beneath the bridge all felt it down to their tiniest molecules. It was over. At long last, the Headless Horseman was no more.

For now.

A clattering of bones cut through the peaceful calm, and I flung my arms out ahead of Sam and Dean. Not that I would protect them from much of anything, what with nothing but my bare fists at the ready. Tension crept across my shoulders when I spotted the source of the sound, and the three of us scrambled backwards towards the car.

The bone whip rattled to a stop a few feet from us, perfectly coiled with its handle extended towards my boots. I regarded Sam first, then Dean, only to then turn back for the Impala's trunk with a scoff. A readied can of salt lay on top of the stockpile, and I grabbed it as I grumbled to myself.

"Unless something's keeping it topside.” I slammed the trunk shut. “Gimme a break. Of course, something was keeping it here," I continued to myself as I stomped back to Sam and Dean. I prodded the latter in the shoulder and asked, "How? How the hell did you know?"

Dean shook his head as he held his lighter in one hand and withdrew a motel matchbook from his pocket. "I didn't. I didn't know the bridge would work. And I didn't know the whip had anything to do with it. I just had a—"

"Remember the last time I had a hunch and convinced you to drive the Impala over a hundred?" Sam interjected.

Before Dean could respond, I spoke. "Speaking of which…" I paused as I finished pouring a generous amount of salt on the neat pile of bones and snapped the can shut. "Don't ever drive that fast again."

Dean’s brow shot to his hairline as his jaw dropped. He gestured to the bridge, looked to it, then turned to the pile of bones and gesticulated wildly at them. After he stuttered the beginning of a few statements, he blurted, "What was I supposed to do?!"

"Not one-oh-five, that's for damn sure!" I stated. "We could have died!"

"We would have if I hadn't—"

"Alright, that's enough!" Sam interjected. "I'm sorry I brought it up. Let's just put this son of a bitch away for good this time."

"Yes, sir," Dean agreed. "One salt and burn, coming right up."

The book of matches took the flame of Dean's lighter with a sharp hiss. A flick of his wrist sent the little ball of fire cascading to the ground, and in a single beat of my heart, red consumed the world in a crimson concussion.

The ring in my ears faded, and the blinding light dimmed, darkness settling around us once more. Flat on my back, I stared up at the shimmering night sky, beyond dazed. When I sat up, Sam’s hollow voice called from afar. But the moment his touch soothed my shoulders, a shock of clarity rushed through me, and I saw he knelt over me.

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he repeated. “You okay?”

I thought for a moment, taking inventory once again. No broken bones, no blood. Not even a hint of pain despite the lingering soreness from the previous night. “I… I think so. What happened?”

Dean strode into view, an ornately gilded box cradled in his hands. He set it on the ground at his feet, and then I spotted it. The whip lay intact where it had rolled to a stop earlier. Salt scorched black cowered beneath the pale white bones as though frightened of its failure to purify the whip. I pointed at it and repeated myself. “What the fuck just happened?!”

Sam spoke when Dean hesitated. “It looks like the whip is protected. Somehow. Whether the Headless Horseman did it or it’s part of his curse, I’m not sure. And it’s irrelevant anyway. We’ll have to find some other way to destroy it.”

“But then… What happened last time? With your dad?” I asked as I stood. Sam hopped to my side once more, his gentle strength lifting me to my feet.

Metal rasped on metal, and my attention snapped to Dean. His hand rested atop the box, the metal gears working with fine clicks and clanks. When he removed his hand, the lid lifted half an inch and hissed a violent release of pressure. Of its own accord, the lid then continued to rise, revealing rich black velvet. Darker than night, the fabric lined the entire box, and it absorbed the moonlight, much like the void that had taken the Headless Horseman. When Dean withdrew a similar thick velvet cloth from the box, he spoke. “John did put the Headless Horseman away thirty years ago.” He paused as he grasped the whip with the velvet. Gingerly, he eased it into the box, then spread the cloth over it. The heavy lid shut with a hollow thunk and the metal gears worked once more, sealing shut on its own. “But, he came back.”

“Because of the whip?” I asked.

Dean nodded as hefted the box and turned for the Impala. Sam and I followed, eager to be on our way. Given our cargo, I doubted Dean would want to stay another night in Sleepy Hollow. Resolved, I figured I’d at least steal a pillow for the ride back.

We followed as Sam said, “We’ll take it back to the Bunker and find another way to destroy it.”

“Otherwise…” My question drifted, lingering like an unwanted guest that had overstayed their welcome.

With a grunt, Dean shoved the box into the trunk. “Otherwise, the next unlucky bastard that touches this thing will become the Headless Horseman.”

The terrifying implication settled in the pit of my stomach. An indestructible weapon possessing unwitting people. And yet, I knew that dichotomy well. Old as time, that one. The immovable object, an inanimate manifestation of immortality, meets the unstoppable force, the perpetual stupidity of human curiosity.

“We need to get on the road,” Dean stated as he shut the trunk, then strode for the driver’s door. There, he cried a soft, short sob and spoke to the car. “Oh, Baby, look at you. We’ll get you home and cleaned up.” Then he ripped the cannonball free, wrenched the door open, and slid into the driver’s seat. The awkward crunch of ill-fitting metal joints damn near broke my heart. And not just for Dean, but for the Impala as well, for she had seen us through a most harrowing night yet again.

Sam leaned in beside me then and asked, “Mind if I sit with you?”

“I’d… I’d like that. Very much,” I replied as a sudden chill crept beneath my skin. “I don’t think I could handle the whole ride back by myself.”

He opened the door and gestured ahead. “I make a pretty good pillow.”

As he slid in beside me, I said, “I look forward to finding out.” The warmth of his entire body, so close to mine, pulled me in, a moon to her earth. His long arm draped over my shoulder, and I curled into him. For a brief moment, the case ceased to exist. Only my exhaustion reminded me that I had gone toe to toe with the Headless Horseman and, for the most part, won.

But then a familiar thought occurred to me, and my weary eyes snapped wide open. “It’s true, then.”

“What is?” Dean asked as he turned over the backrest.

My breath caught in my throat, unwilling to put into the universe my worst nightmare. But between Dean’s confident stare and Sam’s soft gaze, I’d never felt safer. Even in my darkest moments, the Winchesters would be there for me. I put my faith and confidence not only in them but in myself as well. No matter what happened next, I believed in us.

“What’s true, Y/N,” Sam asked.

I gave him my best smile and spoke.

“Some urban legends never die.”

Dean shook his head as he turned back to the wheel and twisted the key in the ignition. The Impala rattled as she started, exhausted as each of us. When she settled to idle, Dean looked at me in the rearview mirror and spoke.

“No. They live just long enough to meet us.”

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THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[secret-engima]

Snippet of Nox (pt 1)

(Another time-travel AU except this time it’s totally accidental on Noctis’s part. Noctis winds up looking like a thirteen year old in a time where his past self still exists and is only six so now everyone he meets who has seen Regis when he was young is convinced that “Nox” is Regis’s oops baby. And oh yeah, Ardyn is along for the ride because the afterlife was boring and life as the Uncle to the kid who’s going to rewrite history sounded much more fun. Cid, despite being oblivious to the time-travel, needs a drink. Or a paycheck. Because seriously he’s getting too old to deal with Lucis Caelum Weirdness™. Tagging @wolfsrainrules even though you’ve seen this before I think. Tentatively tagging @sparklecryptid because this is the story the adopted Axis-as-Clarus’s kid idea will be showing up in so you might find it interesting.)

     It started with reports of Niflheim bases in Lucis suddenly going up in flames one by one, all torn apart as if by some contained natural disaster. Theories dotted the news reports and images of the destruction consumed the news channels. But none of that really mattered to Cid anymore. He had retired from the war, from worrying about the war, years ago —and maybe if he told himself that enough he’d stop caring, stop looking toward Insomnia and wondering—. So he did his best to keep his ear to the ground for news of trouble coming his way, but otherwise ignored the theories and the rumors —wrath of the Astrals, new Nif super weapon gone wrong, a new weapon from Lucis—. It wasn’t his business anymore. Wasn’t his problem.

     But that’s what he’d said to himself the first time an idiot prince and his entourage had wheezed in, pushing the beautiful car they had so badly mistreated into his tiny, then-unknown gas and repair station. So really, he should have expected life to laugh in his face and drop trouble right in his lap in the form of a too-thin teenager skulking around Takka’s place looking to grab some Hunts, his cheeks just a touch too hollow to be healthy. Cid took one look at the sharp blue eyes the same color as armiger magic, the shaggy black hair tied back in a sloppy tail, the high cheekbones and long fingers —more like a piano player’s than a fighter’s, meant for more delicate work than carving up monsters— fiddling with the tattered hem of his shirt and swore.

     He’d always warned Reggie that his “nights out”, however infrequent they were, would someday come back to bite. He just hadn’t expected it to come bite Cid first —he should have though, should have known better than to think that Reggie’s mishaps wouldn’t spill over into Cid’s life, not since that first time he’d realized that if they’d need a mechanic to come along if they were ever going to survive to Altissia—.

     The boy startled at the sound of Cid’s cursing, backed away with a flicker of borderline panic on his face, like he was ready to bolt the moment Cid did anything more than curse and Cid’s tirade trailed off with a sigh. He looked the fidgeting kid up and down and struggled not to curse again. The kid’s clothes were too large on his frame, once high quality but now worn and so scruffy they’d probably come out of a giveaway bin, he had a pair of battered kukri with coeurl teeth dangling from them strapped to the small of his back as his only weapons, and he was definitely too small to be wandering around on his own. Cid wouldn’t peg the boy’s age over fifteen. Probably thirteen, if he was being optimistic about the kid’s weight and health.

     Cid rubbed a hand over his face, aware that the kid was about five seconds from bolting, and grumbled, “Settle down, boy. Ah don’t bite.”

     The boy stilled, but his shoulders were still rigid. Cid lowered his hand and came to a snap decision, “Ah ain’t gonna ask where yer parents are or why yer looking to get yer fool self killed takin’ on Hunts. But Ah do want to know yer name.”

     Blue eyes assessed him for some kind of trap, wild and wary in a way that made the father and grandfather in Cid’s heart hurt, “…Nox.”

     Cid narrowed his eyes, “No last names where ya come from, boy?” The question might be too much, the boy might bolt rather than answer, but assuming the boy still used his mother’s name … Cid needed to know which of Regis’s “nights out” had created this situation.

     A look of blank surprise and panic flickered over the boy’s face and the floor suddenly seemed very interesting to the kid, “Uh… It’s-, I-,” the boy glanced up at him in search of mercy, Cid just raised an eyebrow and channeled every ounce of stern parental impatience he’d learned from raising Mid —and Cor and Clarus and Regis for all the idiots would deny it—. The kid crumbled under his look, “Izunia,” the boy blurted, “It’s Izunia.” Takka made a strangled noise and a moment later the kid looked like he’d just admitted to the mass murder of puppies. Cid suddenly felt very glad that the place was empty save for himself and Takka at this hour of the morning. Because of course it would be Izunia. Of course it would. Of course Reggie had somehow found an unknown relative of the Chancellor of Niflheim to have a fling with. Because it had to have been an actual relative, the kid wouldn’t look like he wanted to gag himself and jump off a cliff if it was just a coincidence.

     Cid needed a drink.

     But first, he need to keep Reggie’s kid from running off into the wilderness like a scared chocobo, “Ya came here lookin’ for work, boy?”

     The kid paused in his frantic inching for the exit, no doubt startled by the question rather than profanities and accusations, “Um… yes. A- I came to pick up a Hunt.”

     Cid snorted, “With those scrawny arms of yers? Ya’d be a toothpick for the first thing ya came across that was bigger than a rat.” Panic faded in favor of an insulted expression and Cid waved the kid toward the back door, “Come with me, Ah could use an extra pair of hands in the garage.”

     Cid took several steps toward the door, then looked over his shoulder at where Nox was still standing with a baffled expression, “Well? Ya want work or not?”

     “…I’m not much of a mechanic.”

     Cid snorted, “Don’t have to be. Ya just gotta lift stuff and put it down where Ah tell ya. Maybe sweep out garage too, if ya think ya can handle a broom.”

     After a long moment of incredulous staring, the too-small boy with Reggie’s features and the Niflheim Chancellor’s last name shuffled after him.

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Riding carriages around the camp

For arts and crafts week we've been building carriages and testing them out. Edie, Jamila, Easton, and Anissa have come to visit the camp and help us build these fun rides. So not only we get to build a bunch of cool stuff, we also have a new appreciation for the beautiful scenery - an unexpected but super sweet bonus!

It's so good to see Edie and the others again after so long. The trip is kinda a big deal for Anissa as it's not easy for her to travel. Edie and Jamila reached out to me a few months ago to plan this outing, leaving things as open as possible in case something happens with Anissa.

The building carriages event was something separate that was kinda a spontaneous thing that happened to line up perfectly with the visit. Jamila and Edie love working on big projects together while Easton and Anissa help out so they were excited when I told them about arts and crafts week. Also, riding the carriages was a good way to get around the camp as well as explore outside the usual hangout spots.

I was (still am) surprised when Jamila messaged me and wanted to take Anissa out here. Out of all the places she could have gone, Anissa instead chose the camp. She had once told Jamila that she'd wanted to visit the camp someday and that they probably would've done it by now if it wasn't for her. That conversation stuck with Jamila for a long time and when things took a turn for Anissa, Jamila, Edie, and Easton wanted to make the most out of the time they have left with her.

Edie has been friends with Anissa and Jamila since they for as long as they can remember. During the summer the twins would join the Sperry family on their yearly trip to Edie's grandma's farm, which holds many of their favorite childhood memories. During the school year Edie was a frequent guest at the Amine household and the three would play together for hours, letting their imagination run wild. There, Edie was allowed to be carefree and not have to deal with constant criticism from her father.

As Edie got older, she became part of the Amine family. She and Anissa were often in the same class so they stuck together a lot. Jamila didn't mind being the third wheel as she was happy to be doing her own thing at home while the other two often went out and about. Even though it didn't look like it to the grown ups, Jamila never felt like she was left behind.

Then Easton came along and he too became an honorary member of the Amine family. The girls were ten when he was born, the youngest and only son in the Sperry family. Easton was born missing half his left leg so he wears a prosthetic and other than his father, everyone else treats him like normal. Out of all the siblings, he's the closest to Edie, always tagging along with her.

For a while every day was pretty much the same. Edie, Anissa, and Jamila would walk home from school, sometimes stopping by the Sperry house to bring Easton along if Edie's mom had her hands full. The three would do their homework while the twins's mom watched over Easton. Then Edie and Anissa would usually be playing on the tire swing while Jamila knitted on the porch and played with Easton. Sometimes Edie would bring her banjo along and played some songs while the twins sang along, a highlight during summer nights at the farm.

Their favorite thing to do together was playing pretend in the attic because everyone had something to do, even Easton. The girls would often pretend to be accomplished women with successful lives full of adventure. Anissa was the one with the most creative imagination, often making up funny stories that would leave the others rolling on the floor with laughter. She was great at improvising with Easton, who was happy to join in on the fun.

When the girls were twelve, Anissa's life changed forever. The girls were playing pretend as usual when Anissa complained about a headache that quickly grew worse. She was rushed to the hospital and in Jamila's words, that was the last time she and Edie saw the old Anissa. A blood vessel had burst in Anissa's brain, resulting in a stroke that left Anissa comatose for several days.

While the damage from the stroke was not as extensive as initially feared, Anissa was no longer the same. Edie and Jamila were determined to bring back the old Anissa, only to be disappointed when they got their hopes up too high. Anissa was still set on marching to the beat of her own drum, trying to prove her independence whenever she could, which further convinced Jamila and Edie that she was going to make a full recovery. It took a long time for the girls to accept that things would never go back to normal.

The whole ordeal made Edie and Jamila closer than ever. Edie would help the family care for Anissa and in turn lift Anissa's spirits up. When Anissa got stronger, Edie would bring Easton along and he too provided some much needed sunshine during a difficult time.  Edie's mom and sisters helped out a lot as well, making sure that the Amines were doing all right.

Edie, Jamila, and Anissa have always been a tight knit group. Although Anissa was made strides in her recovery, the effects of the stroke still linger. Jamila and Edie became Anissa's caretakers when the three moved in together, living about twenty minutes away from their old neighborhood. Both families agreed that it was good to give Anissa some degree of independence as by then she could take care of herself for most part and didn't need constant supervision.

In recent years, various complications arose, which was expected but that didn't make it any easier. Anissa was well known at the hospital as she was a miracle. She beat the odds not only by surviving but also by living. What happened to her was rare - her doctor told that in the hospital's two hundred year history, only three other kids suffered from the same condition. One died on the way to the hospital, another slipped into a coma and never woke up, and one lived for two years before suffering from another stroke. No matter what happens, at least one thing's certain - Anissa always marches to the beat of her own drum.

Anissa for the most part managed to live a somewhat independent life. She got her GED, was able to relearn various skills like playing the piano, reading, and cooking, - all which she documented on her blog: Searching for Anissa.

When I started making plans with Jamila and Edie, I later found myself re-reading Searching for Anissa. Reading the stories of the girls, from the recollections of simpler days in the farm to the struggles of everyday life - it's such a fascinating read. The blog's more like a memoir that's a work in progress with Anissa writing her thoughts out and Jamila and Edie contributing by filling in some of the gaps and sharing their own memories.

The blog hasn't been updating regularly for a couple years because life's been getting in the way. But this year Anissa's hoping to post something at least once a week as she wants to keep writing while she still can. In the past year she's had two mini strokes so her hands don't work as well anymore, making it difficult for her to do a lot of things. While she's sad that she can't type anymore, Anissa found it therapeutic to say her thoughts out loud as it helped her accept what lies ahead for her. In turn, her blog posts have been a lot more free flowing as she contemplates her uncertain future.

For now everyone's doing their best to make sure Anissa's comfortable. She's been doing well physically so that's good. Good thing we have carriages so Anissa can explore the camp and enjoy the scenery. Also, Jamila, Edie, and Easton had a lot of fun building the carriage as well as taking it out for a spin at Breezy Hollow.

At times it seemed like the camp was being taken over by carriages. We even managed to make a train by attaching a bunch of carriages together, which was a really fun way to travel! First, we visited the meadow where Jamila knitted a blanket and Edie took out her banjo. Since the weather was a bit chilly I wasn't sure how long we were gonna stay there but thanks to Jamila's blanket, we ended up hanging around for a while.

Then we went down the trail by the mountains, which went surprisingly smoothly as the carriages went by with little difficulty. At the forest we split up into two groups with Daisy Jane, Edie, and Easton going for a short hike in the mountains while I stayed with the twins. Anissa admired the scenery, taking in the sights, sounds, and textures around her while Jamila began knitting another blanket, creating intricate patterns with ease.

Something about the way Jamila knits makes me want to grab some yarn and needles and join her - which is why Edie and Easton have picked up the hobby too. I think it's because she makes it look so inviting, like a fun bonding activity if you want to spend some quality one on one time with someone. The way she knits - on one hand it's like she's a machine because of how much she's able to do in a short time, but on the other hand she totally gives off the vibe of someone who shows appreciation through thoughtful, handmade gifts that she puts her heart and soul into.

After that we passed through Shovelstrike Quarry, OK Motors, and Lost Lure Creek. At Saltwater Shores we hung out at the beach and set up a barbecue. It was too cold to go swimming but we sorta went boating with a carriage built by Whitney and Rolf that can travel on water. The barbecue was a good way to keep warm as it got pretty cold around midday.

Daisy Jane and I cuddled up in our new blankets that Jamila surprised us with. I swear, her hands are like magic when it comes to knitting! While she started another knitting project, Anissa and Easton took a walk down the beach and Edie played her banjo. Later the others joined us by the fire pit for a fun singalong and impromptu concert.

We were planning to head back to the main camp when Anissa said she was feeling up to seeing more of the camp. Since the day was still young and the weather was warming up a bit, we decided to head to Sunburst Island. Anissa got to sit back and enjoy the sunshine while the rest of us harvested coconuts and went bug catching.

Around evening we headed back to the camp, where the campers set up a bonfire to warm things up. Whitney, Goldie, and Rolf went foraging in the forest while testing out their carriages so they found a lot of tea leaves that were perfect for a chilly night like this. After a busy day of riding carriages around the camp, it was nice to cozy up in front of the fire with a warm cup of tea.

Tomorrow will be more of the same - testing out more carriages and exploring different parts of the camp. Thankfully the weather's gonna be much warmer so that gives us even more of an excuse to go sightseeing!