#he is dead and gone lady/he is dead and gone/at his head a grass-green turf/at his heels a stone

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

thinking about ophelia’s songs,, something about her singing while going mad makes me feel some type of way,,, there is an emotion that can be felt through song in a way it can’t through speech,,,, idk idk but the scene(s) are living in my brain.

[beef-stew-art]

"He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone." ~ William Shakespeare, Hamlet

[onwritingfairytales]

How should I your true love know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff

And his sandal shoon.

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf

At his heels a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,

Larded with sweet flowers.

Which bewept to the grave did not go

With true-love showers.

—Ophelia’s Song, William Shakespeare, Hamlet

[artist unknown]

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Today in Tolkien - March 7th

Today we have three different groups on the way to Minas Tirith, plus Frodo and Sam in Ithilien meeting Faramir.

Théoden the Rohirrim, and Merry are riding slowly from Helm’s Deep to Dunharrow via the mountains.

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the Dúnedain finish their ride across the plains to Edoras, arriving in Dunharrow at sunset. (This is only a day after Gandalf left Edoras.) Éowyn welcomes them and they tell her of the battle of Helm’s Deep over dinner, to her delight. Aragorn tells her he means to take the Paths of the Dead, and she advises against it, thinking it suicide. Later that night, she asks to go with him, and he refuses.

Eowyn: All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can rude and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.

Aragorn: What do you fear, lady?

Eowyn: A cage. To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.

I am, unsurprisingly, 100% on Eowyn’s side here. Her later dicussions with Faramir go better because they’re both recuperating and he’s saying “this waiting is something we need to accept” rather than “waiting behind is something you need to accept, while I go off to battle.”

Gandalf and Pippin continue their journey on Shadowfax; in the night of the 7th-8th, now in the province of Anórien in norther Gondor, they see the beacons of Gondor lit. Three riders pass them; this is likely Hirgon, errand-rider of Gondor, bearing the Red Arrow to Théoden to seek aid. We get a mention of how the timelines match up: Pippin wondered where Frodo was, and if he was already in Mordor, or if he was dead; and he did not know that Frodo from far away [at the Forbidden Pool of Henneth Annûn] looked on the same moon as it set beyond Gondor ere the coming of the day.

Frodo and Sam today enter Ithilien, walking through the night and into the early morning. Tolkien really likes plants: I’ve bolded them all.

All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress, and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs...Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing.

...Many great trees grew there, planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a riot of careless descendants; and groves and thickets there were of tamarisk and pungent terebinth, of olive and of bay; and there were junipers and myrtles; and thymes that grew in bushes, or with their woody creeping stems mantled in deep tapestries the hidden stones; sages of many kinds putting forth blue flowers, or red, or pale green; and marjorams and new-sprouting parsleys, and many herbs of forms and scents beyond the garden-lore of Sam. The grots and rocky walls were already starred with saxifrages and stonecrops. Primeroles and anemones were awake in the filbert-brakes; and asphodel and many lily-flowers nodded their half-opened heads in the grass.

Other mentions include mosses and rose-brambles, iris-swords and water-lilies, briar and eglantine and trailing clematis.

The events of the day cover three chapters: “Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit,” “The Window on the West,” and “The Forbidden Pool.” Gollum catches rabbits, Sam makes rabbit stew in the morning, the Rangers of Ithilien find them due to Sam’s fire, Faramir speaks with Frodo, the Rangers ambush and fight a battle against the Haradrim, Sam sees an Oliphaunt, Frodo and Famair talk longer, the hobbit are brought to Henneth Annûn, Sam lets slip about the Ring, and Faramir shows his quality. In the night Gollum comes to the forbidden pool, and Frodo rescues/captures him to save his life. There’s far too much to describe in detail here, so I’m just going to highlight one of my favourite Sam lines:

“[Are they] Elves?” said a third [of the Rangers of Ithilien], doubtfully.

“Nay! Not Elves,” said the fourth [Faramir], the tallest, and as it appeared the chief among them. “Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days. And Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so ‘tis said.”

“Meaning we’re not, I take you,” said Sam. “Thank you kindly.”

[storiesforallfandoms]

running lines ~ machine gun kell

word count: 876

request?: yes!

“The actor!Reader imagine reminded me of a dream I had where MGK was reciting Hamlet in my bedroom, could you maybe write something on that? (like, he's overheard the reader - who's playing Hamlet - reciting their lines so much that he knows them) I'm sure whatever you come up with would be awesome! (Female or unspecified reader if you can?)”

(i hope it’s okay that the reader is gonna be playing ophelia instead!)

description: after listening to his girlfriend practice so often, colson starts to learn her lines as well, and is able to help her run her lines

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

Getting the role of Ophelia was the opportunity of a lifetime for me. It was my first starring role, and Hamlet was such an iconic play. I knew I couldn’t fuck this up. It was either do great or jeopardize my career before it even really started.

Due to this, I rehearsed basically every waking hour. I stared at the script until my eyes couldn’t focus anymore, but even then Colson would have to take it from me and force me to sleep.

The week before the play, I was sat in bed yet again, reading over my lines for the millionth time. The paper was ripped from my hands. I pouted up at Colson as he held my scrip away from me.

“Babe, please, I gotta practice,” I begged him, holding my hand out for my script.

“You’ve been practicing for weeks, babe, you need sleep,” he told me.

“I’ll sleep tomorrow night, just let me read through once more tonight.”

Colson sighed and shook his head at me. “I’ll make a deal with you: we run your lines for one scene. If you mess any of them up at all, I’ll let you read over for an hour. If you don’t, then you don’t look at the script for the rest of the week.”

I sighed. I wanted to say no, but I knew actually running my lines would help with my memorization. This could help more than just reading the words from the page.

“Fine,” I said. “You can start from - ”

“Ah, ah,” he cut me off. “I get to pick the scene.

I was sure he’d pick some random scene with little Ophelia lines. I didn’t think Colson even really knew the play all that well. So when he said, “Act four, scene five”, I felt my mouth fall open.

“We can't do that scene, Ophelia barley has any lines in that scene.”

“Actually, I know Ophelia has many lines, and most of them are singing.” Before I could ask, he responded, “I’ve heard you reading your lines so often I basically know them now, too.”

I wanted to argue but I knew there was no backing out. I knew Colson would hold this over me if I did. The singing scene was the one I was least excited for, but I knew I had to do it in front of a crowd eventually. Might as well start in front of someone I was most comfortable with.

I was confused as Colson put the script aside. He gestured to me. “Say your first line, I’ll follow your lead.”

I sighed and took a deep breath. I felt my heart beginning to thud against my chest. It was the first time I had recited my lines without my script, and even though I knew Colson would never judge me if I got my lines wrong, I still couldn’t help but feel nervous. If I didn’t have these lines memorized after reading them for so long I didn’t know what I would do.

“Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?” I recited.

To my surprise, Colson responded with, “How now, Ophelia?”

He gave me a cocky look and I couldn’t help but be impressed.

One of my singing lines was the response to this, so I took another deep breath and began to sing in a low voice, “How should I your true-love know from another one? By his cockle hat and staff and his sandal shoon.”

“You have to sing louder than that,” he told me, “but I’ll take it. Next line, Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?”

With more confidence, I responded to this, “Say you? Nay, pray you mark. He is dead and gone, lady, he is dead and gone, at his head a grass-green turf, at his heels a stone. O ho!”

We went like this for a while, reciting the lines back and forth to one another. After some time, I felt more confident in my singing, although that didn’t last too long either. I also felt more confident with my voice acting and began to use the voice I had planned for the play. Even Colson had gotten so into it that he was using a silly voice as well.

I hadn’t realized we had reached the end of the scene until I watched Colson, expectantly, waiting for the next line to be said. He smiled at me, brightly.

“You did it,” he said. “You got through the whole scene, and you didn’t even realize you had.”

My eyes widened as I realized. “Oh my God, I did!”

“And remember what this means.”

I playfully rolled my eyes before lunging at Colson. I caught him off guard and managed to push him over on the bed. He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close to him.

“You’re going to be great in this play,” he assured me. “You’re going to kick ass, and I’ll be there front row on your opening night, closing night, and all nights I can get to in between.”

I smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I love you so much, Colson.”

He smiled back and kissed the top of my head. “I love you, too, my Ophelia.”

I’m sorry it’s so short, but I hope you like it!

[cowthropologist]

.

[makerof150papermasks]

Hamlet Mariofied Act 4 Scene 5

Bolded names refer to the Mario characters playing the roles. The character role names remain the same in the context of the play and its dialogue.

Luigi = Horatio

Peach = Gertrude

Boom-Boom = 1st Gentleman

Wendy = Ophelia

Bowser = Claudius

Koopa the Quick = Messenger

Larry = Laertes

Act IV, Scene 5

Elsinore. A room in the Castle.

Enter Luigi, Peach, and Boom-Boom. Cue Pipe Maze tune.

Peach. I will not speak with her.

Boom-Boom. She is importunate, indeed distract.

Her mood will needs be pitied.

Peach. What would she have?

 Boom-Boom. She speaks much of her father; says she hears

There's tricks i' th' world, and hems, and beats her heart;

Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,

That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing,

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

 The hearers to collection; they aim at it,

And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;

Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them,

Indeed would make one think there might be thought,

Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.

 Luigi. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew

Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.

Peach. Let her come in.

[Exit Boom-Boom.]

[Aside] To my sick soul (as sin's true nature is)

 Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss.

So full of artless jealousy is guilt

It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.

Enter Wendy, distracted. Music screeches to a halt.

Wendy. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?

 Peach. How now, Ophelia?

Wendy. [sings]

How should I your true-love know

From another one?

By his cockle bat and' staff

 And his sandal shoon.

Peach. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?

Wendy. Say you? Nay, pray You mark.

Sings with Story Box Music from Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island playing in the background. He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

 At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

O, ho!

Peach. Nay, but Ophelia-

Wendy. Pray you mark.

 [Sings] White his shroud as the mountain snow-

Enter Bowser.

Peach. Alas, look here, my lord!

Wendy. [Sings]

Larded all with sweet flowers;

 Which bewept to the grave did not go

With true-love showers.

Bowser. How do you, pretty lady?

Wendy. Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter.

Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at

 your table!

Bowser. Conceit upon her father.

Wendy. Pray let's have no words of this; but when they ask, you what

it means, say you this:

[Sings] To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,

 All in the morning bedtime,

And I a maid at your window,

To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es

And dupp'd the chamber door,

 Let in the maid, that out a maid

Never departed more.

Bowser. Pretty Ophelia!

Wendy. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't!

[Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity,

 Alack, and fie for shame!

Young men will do't if they come to't

By Cock, they are to blame.

Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me,

You promis'd me to wed.'

 He answers:

'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun,

An thou hadst not come to my bed.'

Bowser. How long hath she been thus?

Wendy. I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot

choose but weep to think they would lay him i' th' cold ground.

My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you for your good

counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet

ladies. Good night, good night. Exit

Bowser. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you.

 [Exit Luigi.]

O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs

All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude,

When sorrows come, they come not single spies.

But in battalions! First, her father slain;

 Next, your son gone, and he most violent author

Of his own just remove; the people muddied,

Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers

For good Polonius' death, and we have done but greenly

In hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia

 Divided from herself and her fair judgment,

Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts;

Last, and as much containing as all these,

Her brother is in secret come from France;

Feeds on his wonder, keeps, himself in clouds,

 And wants not buzzers to infect his ear

With pestilent speeches of his father's death,

Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd,

Will nothing stick our person to arraign

In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this,

Like to a murd'ring piece, in many places

Give me superfluous death. A noise within.

Peach. Alack, what noise is this?

Bowser. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door.

[Enter Koopa the Quick.]

 What is the matter?

Koopa. Save Yourself, my lord:

The ocean, overpeering of his list,

Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste

Than Young Laertes, in a riotous head,

 O'erbears Your offices. The rabble call him lord;

And, as the world were now but to begin,

Antiquity forgot, custom not known,

The ratifiers and props of every word,

They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!'

 Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds,

'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!'

A noise within.

Peach. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!

O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs!

 Bowser. The doors are broke.

Enter Larry with others.

Larry. Where is this king?- Sirs, staid you all without.

All. No, let's come in!

Larry. I pray you give me leave.

 All. We will, we will!

Larry. I thank you. Keep the door. [Exeunt his Followers.]

O thou vile king,

Give me my father!

Peach. Calmly, good Laertes.

 Larry. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard;

Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot

Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows

Of my true mother.

Bowser. What is the cause, Laertes,

 That thy rebellion looks so giantlike?

Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person.

There's such divinity doth hedge a king

That treason can but peep to what it would,

Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes,

 Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude.

Speak, man.

Larry. Where is my father?

Bowser. Dead.

Peach. But not by him!

 Bowser. Let him demand his fill.

Larry. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with:

To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil

Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit!

I dare damnation. To this point I stand,

 That both the world, I give to negligence,

Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd

Most throughly for my father.

Bowser. Who shall stay you?

Larry. My will, not all the world!

 And for my means, I'll husband them so well

They shall go far with little.

Bowser. Good Laertes,

If you desire to know the certainty

Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge

 That sweepstake you will draw both friend and foe,

Winner and loser?

Larry. None but his enemies.

Bowser. Will you know them then?

Larry. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms

 And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,

Repast them with my blood.

Bowser. Why, now You speak

Like a good child and a true gentleman.

That I am guiltless of your father's death,

 And am most sensibly in grief for it,

It shall as level to your judgment pierce

As day does to your eye.

A noise within: 'Let her come in.'

Larry. How now? What noise is that?

 [Enter Wendy.]

O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt

Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!

By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight

Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!

 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!

O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits

Should be as mortal as an old man's life?

Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,

It sends some precious instance of itself

 After the thing it loves.

Wendy. [sings]

They bore him barefac'd on the bier

(Hey non nony, nony, hey nony)

And in his grave rain'd many a tear.

 Fare you well, my dove!

Larry. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,

It could not move thus.

Wendy. You must sing 'A-down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.' O,

how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his

 master's daughter.

Larry. This nothing's more than matter.

Wendy. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love,

remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts.

Larry. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted.

 Wendy. There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you,

and here's some for me. We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays.

O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I

would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father

died. They say he made a good end.

 [Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.

Larry. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,

She turns to favour and to prettiness.

Wendy. [sings]

And will he not come again?

 And will he not come again?

No, no, he is dead;

Go to thy deathbed;

He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow,

 All flaxen was his poll.

He is gone, he is gone,

And we cast away moan.

God 'a'mercy on his soul!

And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi' you.

 Exit.

Larry. Do you see this, O God?

Bowser. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,

Or you deny me right. Go but apart,

Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,

 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me.

If by direct or by collateral hand

They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give,

Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours,

To you in satisfaction; but if not,

 Be you content to lend your patience to us,

And we shall jointly labour with your soul

To give it due content.

Larry. Let this be so.

His means of death, his obscure funeral-

 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones,

No noble rite nor formal ostentation,-

Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,

That I must call't in question.

Bowser. So you shall;

 And where th' offence is let the great axe fall.

I pray you go with me.

Exeunt

[allofzephrina]

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

Hamlet, Act IV, Scene v

[hectordominguez]

“He is dead and gone, lady, / He is dead and gone. / At his head a grass-green turf, / At his heels a stone.” - Ophelia

Hamlet (4.5.29-32)

Ophelia loses her mind. Always a kick reading Shakespeare’s characters reacting to each other especially when one has gone mad, or are accusing each other.

[matchstickforyourmuse]

A fantasy prompt for 'green' plz?

Certainly! What a delightful request!(Only now, going back up to add this little response, do I realize that you asked for ‘a prompt’, and not a million. Oops.)I hope you like these. They’re a bit wordy- I got carried away. But they’re prompts nonetheless! If you would like some shorter, more to-the-point prompts without as much context-content, or whatever you want to call the lengthy bits of writing, pray tell! Or, if you just want more/less of one kind of prompt (more dialogue, less setting, etc.), or if you just want more prompts in general, I’d be happy to write you up a dozen more.

________

- - -‘Blood of Tree’, they called it. A swirling mass in a jar that bowed and dipped and swayed to some silent waltz, luminescent with some brilliant, strange force. It gushed about in oozy rivulets one moment, and then kept aloft the next in a foggy murmur of a cloud, and then it would sit on the bottom of the glass in shattered fractals, jagged and wickedly sharp. I always thought the name was silly. It deserved its own name. It didn’t need to be compared to anything. Heck, it couldn’t be compared to anything.

- - -“They aren’t pixies,” the troll whispered. Fear fluttered over his eyes like some maddened moth. “Just keep your trap shut, and we’ll get out of this alive.” And it was then that I saw one of the shrieking creatures. Wee claws curling around the stone corner, a hissing warble, followed by another mind-stabbing scream. Verdant scales and the coiled muscles of an adder, lanced through with voidish black, the intensity matched only by their eyes. Oh, the eyes….

- - -The dull thrum that came from the marsh was deafening for some, but a lullaby to others. I used to tell my kids that it was the tupelo trees singing. That, if they listened closely enough, they could hear the crickets and the frogs harmonizing to try to brighten their sepulchral melody, but to no avail. They mourned for the slow world, the one full of moss and jewelish dragonflies and sweet dreams. The one that had been replaced with smoke and spilled business and the bustle of aching feet. I told them that they just didn’t understand the change. And I told them that that was okay. Because none of us did, really. We just didn’t talk about it quite as often nor quite as loudly as they did.

- - -The elf’s sigh was explanation enough. But he clarified anyways. “Here, they can’t get us.” I looked around at the mismatched tables and chairs. The threadbare rugs mixed with the plush carpets and the faux-fur bathmats that had been shoved under stools so they wouldn’t scratch up the floors. The walls, covered in paintings and claw scores and hand-drawn pictures and toddler scribbles and one or two scorch marks from when they still had stoves. And then I looked at the people. Despite the circumstances, they were smiling. Despite what was out there, they looked…. They looked happy. Even the kids weren’t crying, despite the bandages being wrapped around their wounds, despite the acrid smell of the old candles. These…. These people. They were far from home. And, heck, they were with other species that, on any other given day, they probably would’ve been trying to rip the heads off of. But no. It was calm. And it was…. It was good. “Here,” he continued, with a trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “we can heal.”

- - - “The creature will be the death of me,” the Lady sighed, delicately placing her elbow unto the table so she could properly lean her chin upon it. “He’s a genie, m'Lady,” a servant reminded, her voice choked with giggles. “He can’t kill.”They both turned their heads to the gaudy spirit, festooned in a garb of eye-straining greens and polished emeralds and parrot-feathers, his cape whirling as he turned on his heel to accept yet another noble’s quail-eating challenge. (They both had to duck to avoid being clobbered with his stein of ale.)“I know. I just wish I could kill him.” She cocked an eyebrow as she watched the grease and ginger-sauce in his beard simply whuhff away the moment it drizzled down. “He knows perfectly well what I wished for. But he’s just finding one loophole after another. I have half a mind to dismiss him.”“You wouldn’t…! I mean…. With all due respect, m'Lady! The genie is… an animal, surely. Riddled with crudity and a vile tongue. But what he’s brought to the courts surely outweighs the burden, m'Lady?”

- - -“You’re telling me you’ve never heard of Dragon’s Grog?” The vampire grinned, leaning against the wall as plumes of smoke lazed upwards to meet the haze of the city air. The neon sign above us flicked colorful shadows over his face. “Man, that’s not right. It’s perfect for everything. A night on the town. Weddings. Funerals. Parties. Any day that ends in a Y.” Somewhere in the distance, a Quik-O-Rail buzzed on its tracks. A single vwooiiiiif, and it was gone. He flashed his fangs once more before he slipped his headphones from around his neck up and over his ears. It seemed as though I could hear the blare of his electric, upbeat jam before he even hit ‘play’.

- - -“I’ll always remember the story of when the sea switched places with the moorlands,” my grandmother hummed, wiping her knife on the edge of the tablecloth. “Back when the pheasants and the rabbits slipped through the heather like fingers through hair. The breeze would tussle the grasses, and the flowers would dance reels with the mighty winds.” As she said this, she flipped the fish over and began cleaning the other side. I winced at the stench. “But sometimes, it was still. Absolutely, perfectly still. No rippling, no swaying, no nothing. Just… solace. Butterflies playing their strange little games, and sunbeams embracing the Earth. Birdsong was the only thing that broke the silence.”I smiled, and looked out the window. A chuckle escaped. The fields were roiling again, moving up and down as they swelled with the force of the Earth-tide. Even within the safety of the house, I could hear rocks grinding and turf ripping and mending itself back together, mounds of soil cascading and ebbing away until they were replaced with the dusky emerald of the surface-moor. Rabbits and pheasants running on that? And silence? It was a surreal notion. Now she was probably going to say that fish, somehow, swam on the ocean. I laughed again.

- - - It was more of a slime, now. Probably. She didn’t dare turn on the light, for the fear that it would bear some semblance to the moon… What a silly thought. Was she going mad? It didn’t work like that, it didn’t-…. No. No, there was no risking anything. She dipped the glass stirring-rod in the sludge again. Fizzing. Popping. But no shattering. Good, good. She picked up the flask, and squinted hard- had she used too much silver? It was more metallic than anything. It was supposed to be green. Venom-green. That’s what… That’s what it was supposed to be. Darn it all, she didn’t have the time for this! How late was it? She couldn’t just remake the whole bloody thing! A cure was a cure. It wasn’t art. It wasn’t supposed to be pretty. It was just supposed to work. This was it. This was what she had been waiting for. The consequences of impurity be cursed! Oh, Lycaon almighty! THIS WAS IT! Slamming her fist on the cold table, she threw her head back, and began to drink.

- - - The butterfly was made of pale, thin pieces of interlocked jade. Stiff wings clinked against one another as it fluttered clumsily about the office. But then freaking Steven just had to see it. Without missing a beat, he grabbed his miniature stapler, and lobbed it over his cubicle’s wall, hitting his target dead-on. Upon impact, the insect shattered, and a fine, glittering dust arose, only to be sucked up by the ceiling vents. “You’re a jerk,” someone cried from halfway across the room.

- - -The dinghy lurched upwards again. We could hear the cringe-worthy scrapes of her spines on the bottom of our boat, each moment annunciated by a sharp whump as one ended and the other started. Unbroken scales began rising to one side, and then the other… a terrible, sickening shade of seafoam that reminded me a little bit too much of home. “It’s been too long.” My old voice took a chance to appear before I could catch it.“You heard our call. You heard it thrice. And only now, seven years adrift, do you come to our aid.” Whatever the meaning behind the distorted shrieks that issued from the spray there was, I did not listen. I was far too gone to have cared. “Leave. Your excuses harbor nothing.”

- - - “What part of ‘He’s sleeping’ don’t you understand?” The little dryad looked up at her with a tearful snort. “You can’t… For goodness’ sakes. You can’t wake up a non-magical tree. It’s nothing to cry about. He’s not dead, he’s not ignoring you. He’s just sleeping.” Apparently, the explanation didn’t do much in terms of making things better. The creature rubbed vigorously at her eyes with a downturned wrist before leaping forward to wrap her short arms (the best she could) around the slender trunk of the birch tree. The racking sobs came a moment later. The woman sighed. “For the love of…. Just stop, okay? You’re being ridiculous.”

- - -The air was close here. Stitches of silence had been sewn into his tongue, and he dared not disturb the resting realm. The pines, as vigilant as ever, kissed the clouds with their crowns- or, rather, the other way around. He could not see their end. He could, however, see the clouds. The height of their trunks seemed to rival the length of a giant’s sprint. (The only that kept him from believing that he had fallen to the stature of a dormouse was the trace amount of ferns that crouched about the heaps of root. And even then….) After another mile had passed, the man sat down, swept his cloak about his legs, and slumped against his satchel. The daylight had taken a rather unexpected leave. With a twitch of his lips, he felt agog as he turned his eyes above. The man’s breath came slow and swift all at once. This was what he came for. To see this.The slate clouds had gone, replaced by a great, coarse mass of charcoal brown. It fell and rose in time, before it began away, the Earth trembling as it made for the horizon. Ever-so-slowly, day returned, slipping around the belly of the beast like water over a bowl. Less than ten feet away, the bone-shaking step of an ebony hoof fell. (It had to be twice as large as any inn he’d ever seen.) Of all of his years, this marked only the second time that he had seen one of the elk of the Foraoise Mhór.

~

[opheliaofengland]

He is dead and gone, lady.

He is dead and gone,

At his head a grass green turf,

At his heels a stone.

Oh ho!

[bluewitching-archive]

Holy cow what's this productive streak? Here's a sneaky peek of a... bizzare, moody land mermaid, for a real cool thing I've been working on for a while. ("He is dead and gone, lady, he is dead and gone; at his head a grass-green turf, at his heels a stone.")

[gees-west]

How should I your true love know    From another one? By his cockle hat and staff,    And his sandal shoon. He is dead and gone, lady,    He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf,    At his heels a stone. White his shroud as the mountain snow,    Larded with sweet flowers, Which bewept to the grave did go    With true-love showers.

[lisaepugh]

Before, After, Before

 From a loving mother to her MVP. I miss you, baby.

He is dead and gone lady. He is dead and gone. At his head a grass green turf. At his heels a stone — William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 5

Before sunset, they found him. A small shape in a pond. They worked on him for ages, Hoping he would respond.

After sunset, they moved him To a new place of care. They tried their best to revive him. With…

[silentaddictions-blog1]

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone. —William Shakespeare Hamlet (ca. 1599)