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flowers-of-io · 2 years

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Things you said where the water was loud | Read on Ao3

Once Taox’s ships leave through the wormhole in desperate pursuit of Auryx’s frigate, there isn’t much left of the Osmium Court. A few fires still hold up, weak flames licking the walls of tall, hollowed-out buildings, but most have already been extinguished by rainfall, leaving behind only billows of smoke, rank and choking in the damp air. Hardly a soul can be seen sneaking through the streets—whoever remained stays tucked under the roof of their still-standing house or is camping in the palace's great hall, trembling shapes huddling close and looking up to the ceiling, as if they could see the moons despite the several layers of stone and metal.

The courtiers are mostly dead or gone, but there is still a small gathering in the ruined throne room, lingering between the tactical map and a column all smouldered and cracked from a blast of strange green fire. They, too, huddle close; the diplomatic distance bridged in the face of death, hands curl around hands and heads lean on trembling shoulders. Royal-blue robes, dirty and in tatters, flutter in the draught whistling through bullet holes peppering the walls.

The rumbling of the approaching wave can be heard from the harbour now.

“Do you think the Monoliths are still standing?” The High Admiral asks, his arm arched around the Minister of Seaware who shakes and sniffles.

The Court Deputy Engineer eyes the tactical map—a burnt piece of parchment, now, granite pawns all tipped and strewn across the floor. “Star-Surgery is first,” she says, “and their engines will combust should water get into them. I haven’t heard any explosions yet.”

“You expect to hear anything over this damned squall?” The Sejm’s Highmost Speaker sneers at her from under a half-tipped pillar. She is still holding her buława, squeezing it like a lifeline against her bandaged chest.

The Second Crown Judge wedges a claw between two halves of a clam he found washed in by the tide, takes a bite, and offers the rest to the Deputy Engineer.

“It’s not that far,” he reminds, leaving it unspoken that the troubled sea could have very well pushed the Star-Surgery hundreds of danas away.

“What difference does it make if we hear it or not?” the Highmost Speaker grumbles, “It’s not like we can do anything about it either way.”

“Well, I myself prefer to know what’s coming my way before it does.”

The Minister of Seaware breaks into another wave of ragged sobs.

“I don’t want to die!” Her voice echoes in the chamber, earning her a number glances of glances from those huddled under other walls, some frightened and some expressing only weary annoyance.

“Hush,” the Second Crown Judge fishes out another clam from the deep pockets of his robe and pushes it into her hands, “have a snack.”

“I don’t want a snack! I w-want to go home!”

“Great Leviathan in the deep, is the last thing I’ll ever hear really gonna be your wailing?” Someone from a distant corner calls. The Minister only starts crying louder.

“If the wind hasn’t picked up, we could approximate the distance,” the High Admiral says over her sobs, “after the explosion, I mean.”

“Suit yourself. It could’ve very well gone off hours ago and we didn’t hear it.” The Highmost Speaker huffs, and reaches to pry the clam from the Minister’s claws without much resistance. “Give me that, if you’re not eating it. I’m hungry.”

#author’s note is on ao3 if you want some rambles about ancient sumer and 17th century poland #answering prompts asks in the pace of a turtle on steroids because my brain is spinning thoughts very fast but the actual Writing does not #things I'm into: politicians huddling in a bunker their masks dropping in the face of a calamity #my fics #things you said prompts #reply #synnthamonsugar #krill #books of sorrow #death mentions tw #destiny 2

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dawn-of-worlds · 1 year

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At First, Slowly

Corobel starts turn 14 with 17 points: 11 (roll) + 3 (nonhoarding) + 3 (left over)

Summary:

A Cult of the Circadian expresses and exacerbates centrifugal tendencies in Tiktik society.

Inhabitants of the Vault of Noon, in the Hypogea, discover ways to pipe and utilize the fluid sunlight emanating from the Heart.

The Implacable Celebrants establish themselves in eastern Incarien and raise an army against the Kǎlkayer.

Eremshung, in western Incarien, constructs a fantastic garden-ziggurat whose successive terraces hold every flower in creation.

Moon-worshippers establish the House of Faces, a competitor to the House of Transformation in Qattangu.

False-Fires in the depths found stygian Fundament.

Among the burgeoning kingdoms of Incarien’s southern peninsulas, moon-worshippers found Dheia of the Cypresses.

Command Avatar to Create Order (-1): The underlands are restless. There is a sense, among the scuttling masses, of a wider world, vertiginous and bright, that troubles the timeless and singular hegemony of Chivik. Already, something grinds the calcined hearts of time and cracks the frozen shells of ancient depths. An influence rises—an immanence of destiny, upheaval, conquest, progress. The grip of empire falters in its hundred offshoot cities; armies march under uncertain command; rebels mass and chatter in the dark. And, shining like a star in a million imbricated breasts, is a burning desire for heroic and terrible change. [This is partially the influence of the Two Stars and partially a pre-existing trend.]

Positioned to capture and express this desire is the Cult of the Circadian; they glory in the day that imposes its laws even in the absence of light. Their doctrine has no single root, but filters down from the highmost part of the world. Against the hegemony of stone and wealth, against the straitjacket of coagulated history, against the endurance of the dead and glittering queen: it is time.

The Cult, to a large extent, is all things to all isopods. It offers new rituals, new ceremonials, new ideologies of legitimation; it offers a usefully malleable celebration of passion and transformation, fertility and foresight, upheaval and dedication. Solve et coagula. It offers some insight into the extractive and distorting influence of power, a certain affection for purity, a spur to new styles of philosophy and art; to some, it is an amoral warrior philosophy of serene and untroubled self-possession. It is associated with ritual trances, dances, and romances. In practice, it lends the local nobility an excuse to veer away from Chivik and the rebels an excuse to rebel: this world is wrong, and must change. [This is a sort of Protestant Reformation–type deal. I’m not going to shatter the empire all at once, this post is ridiculously late already, and I want to give people a chance to respond, so there’ll be a follow-up in a couple of days.]

Command Avatar to Found City (-1): The Oracles found a colony, the Vault of Noon, in the Hypogea; the liquid light is piped through glass tubes to grow crops in dark areas or exported to the surface as a commodity. In outlying settlements, isolated from the webwork around the Heart, great dawn-engines refine the dim early-morning glow into noontide brilliance suitable for growing crops.

Command Order (-2): The Celebrants proselytize in eastern Incarien. They position themselves as dividers of holy from unholy, licit from aberrant, living from dead. They have a plan unfailing and their assurance is the smile of the Oracles and the cardiac rhythm of the heavens; they bear the solstice and the equinox and they know that all shall be well in the end, and the end, and the end. Against the tide of old bones, the Celebrants offer useful tools: the terrible prowess of holy warriors and uncanny prophecy to guide them. Furthermore, the new faith thrives in panic and upheaval, as people search for more resilient certainties than those recently shattered; the Celebrants’ tendency to the stark and portentous only helps them in this regard.

Command Civilisation (-3): The Celebrants raise a religiously-motivated army to oppose Kǎlkayer.

Command City (-2): Eremshung constructs a fantastic garden-ziggurat whose successive terraces hold every flower in creation. The highest are of holy and terrible import.

Command Avatar to Found Order (-1): In Qattangu, Qurri moon-worshippers learn some of the secrets of transformation and use them to establish the House of Faces, a competitor to the House of Transformation, emphasizing cloning and cosmetic/medical metamorphoses. [This one’s on Coryphaeus.]

Command Avatar to Found City (-1): A conclave of False-Fires in the Pearl Sea band together as a priestly cartel. The temple-city spans teeming fathoms with a sprawl of black diorite, girded by seventy-seven servant-castes and warriors in uncounted centuries. This is Fundament, the greatest metropolis of the Pearl Sea. It is not hell, but it is the opposite of heaven.

Command Civilization (-3): Among the burgeoning kingdoms of Incarien’s southern peninsulas, moon-worshippers found Dheia of the Cypresses, straddling a deltaic labyrinth of subtropical marshes; its canal-webbed environs host the largest population of Night-Singers outside the Occident.

3 points remain.

#the dice are back baby #and so am I #sorry this one is so ridiculously late #world 02547 diegesis

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libidomechanica · 3 months

Text

Of swimmer, each port, and sad Winter clip, let kind there is

A tricube sequence

If Maud were, it is, thou leaves remora.

Of swimmer, each port, and sad Winter

clip, let kind there is behold tree.

The wind, as make them better, tu—whoo!

The fate, dulling roguish the brooke. I

cannot dull. Yet whose blended the snake!

So sordid and shot any resemble

vain: a deep, the layd, doth please a

wicked fyne. And the morning cleare, life.

Leave me to sip; but, I know. Say to

none back that all incredulous to

one of you like a lightened leeward.

Low and alone, with diffusive got,

shall so strong the little to moue their

sand. To thy parts which He whom if you.

In glide is must light, health answer meede

attempte to appearingly! And wel

with a grant your own Blood I dare this.

Tho’ but his great is no better

returning reply, marrying. Such as

dews was the next he at cheap huge tress!

Still green, as loue come and sparkling

heard of green upon his root, so the

lied. With music so soon this is dress.

Carver’s could half a friendship! The Musk

she scorches so sharpely short then

glad poetes her sweet thou swear again.

Yet sort of me. Betwixt kindled his

world such bread. Faire braunches the houses

were enough the mirage street is ill.

And love’s closet of thy blacker prayer

man. And seal, without it inquiring

says I’m crying lookes dead!

And shook at thus safely men a long

like dear, blush reposeth, to do. Therefore

hear from my one her weep. And there!

I am sometime with find. But vain,

till tyranny is prayers wide a

bow hanged … or in equall good: the Bee.

And quill, what excuse of the Poetes

praysd of my amiss. No doubt he a

waxed old won his longer lanes abyde.

Nor would euery bit, who love, that Lucy

place be. For the was never chair,

her her. This is a lady- flowre, hence!

It eats your brands embrace. Out the greets

they were deare abused: and pain nor wann’d

whence of highmost swell, when weeds were bowre.

And to be kindlessly. Bound up his

head assay, then the whispered each pride

is must, at though those while yet too fair!

Sin, and blowen she; if nature knows

them, as far away he workmanship,

war! The Poets say sleep or shall pray.

And I flee. At the moment sleep is

prevailed aloud, and the been her now

thy memory, fair mail, and thou are.

The glooming, that by the bestow, since

I carry lay: som hevene it

embaseth, stroke— a war? To thy new voice!

She giue dare? Now I haue purest for

though the Virgin all weep it will in

mine more sweet on the change; intrigue witch!

Smell the fiend be fill this like need water’s

at heart from Phebus chaungerous

conceaue: throat warm. Any shore, that perseuer.

Rose away, I am alone and

meane, faded, thy name type of her son.

She wooing to me, for short,—I was!

Nothing hed. Chair, and people father

head, I seeks, make your grief my lovely

managed, like my procession our sex.

And dim hope. Who foremost beyond the

devized upon Olympus old

comfort I could nothing roguish een.

In which might a dreaming for one was

new. Flatter, I am aweary,

he devil tongue then ev’ning Jewel out?

And your hand ringing have been thou suffer

form with heed, two steps, after to

tells of mortall the Spyder the blood!

And more. Set it crew obiect, and take

for fun watched the holds her strange or ill,

yet voyce, which may have went, with constrayn.

How they wounds, and shame. Thou shall except

proud of loue doth it, thy loue leaue lent,

that with once as wakes; for a mansion.

But the herbs on that while, the the boast,

let me porch, mid base the will truth. He

to my glad their due to mix the bard!

That may me to mee. I seek not, when

her Fair maids and bright fear, ah God begin

his slight; mine eyes doe I will know?

What Lucy’s chambers of the tree! Blaze

upon his howledge my heard and prepard.

And making roaring daisies kind.

With the slavisher true no powers.

And giue lyke sacred mine, who in her

story of the motion as in peach?

Blood, transpirit bountercharge her. He

was it was there ever is she. Thinking

about lo, it’s not conspire.

Of malice, which in this pale but vain

thy lossum cheer, wanton o’er they glided

cries wild wife. The feet, old my dark?

What where in the sleepe in my smart. With

to burst without, under the bear in

your mind, or rare with his count and awe.

Your for thing down, advance; prudent,

etc. Sweet spotlesse my restle

gates in the praise because of a wine!

Which the Jews. With a hunts and long in

respect making on the put a strived

in the Titmose secret this faire.

And so the into desire; her

filled has not matter’d like her who I

am. Lets light to walk of spring!

Why the muttere it selfe sweet spright art,

that giue dark of all hand all the day

I wrote in your loue of honour mind.

But chivalrous take. From our sleeping

the come tempte to the cruelty, despair.

Pride: but rather the gold oak tree?

She door shee will guide. And revision

beyond when dart the pine, when his also

Best; dishonour two skeletons.

And, alasse ay green-white blood; wherein

shore a woman or those light. He would

not be thought reason knelt by containe.

Half-shut then dance, my Rose; and base all

that all the touch, thereby, save fail? What

she wainscot more my glorious mind.

When models arrow flowers too well;

your sight. But her grace: that gentle for

loosing have spright, waking roguish een.

To place were rested with threats this back

that lie. Noon, will we shower a good

to Light broke from this continuance.

In worth an or did agree, goodness—

ah, which He who the fading of

Michelangelo. The earth which the sky.

’ Woman was a stupid husks of Poet’s

sparrow, towards enured, yield wives.

And yet more lounged foot she a words?

In thy singe. Doe I not, the flower

and his beats on Cessnock book; and portal

mesh and letter balefull verse.

Than the crowd; and the shine of all thinking

and full verse. The Turtle to and

sad a maid, I tell the world things care.

If in pining on his will then by

thenceforth the dairy quivered, that’s

a narrow forgoe. Lady Christabel!

As thou wronged vest, base. But yet for late

may he thick and she small appoint out

thy marbled harebell bands, a son.

Go to Corinthian Lycius! It

beam enter,— ah, it faint and take the

brutal ravishes wound; that wake flee.

I should I bear, let us goodness

ill. This is blown, and if I stay? Which

that your loue, he too long thus, surveyed.

Honey, for ever cheek some haycock,

am going it their extreaming

soft forbid eat. Like before her breast.

Like so faint to the lightie vengeance with

a charge terme stub of his loud that the

bent, with troubles of their hand me thus?

Want persuade my heard my poor and Geralds

bred. Yet knew the crocus lusty

spring I strongly part: but fewell.

She for buttondown, she fainting way.

Haste me divide tendrils round, thou art

of distresses to ride she pricking!

With vertues keep ye. Since thy right for

they be peace she’ll happened to known to

weep in which did vnto they this return!

Covet not love his expressing. Who

would she—off, woman smoking her girl

he knew not bound my tender again.

By forget your mind is she, what delay’d

and ears. Mark how rapt in her, bower.—

If I should gray: I wishfull verse.

Will not a man’s side her and corrosive

can no moe they shrunk in mind wail’d

by that blisse. His rosy terms of kynd.

Till singing again about his mark

these sayes did but soone day, constray? Bade

her, but a world hills into words dart.

Journey shame in his lady street your

is tuning it? Came, they were, while if

of body, laid him, as moniment.

His marked scope to depart, my love

advances virtues keep. And wide daring

again doubt whirling tuneless verse.

And Echo the light, when I’m more. How

this gone, when said, he love, to templation

blanc-mange her eyes I ioy will shine?

They called his answers steal the lord, in

mine for they called wither; the quest alone

the bench heuens blithe past, when I lie.

And stray. And time to mother robes fled:

come. But such bright of my lover. Because

is but a man courtesy not?

With my heart of lost thou find not you

strange old please that all before him in

his arrived. Now in gloom, I am.

How they hear the nighten thing in Winter’s

reign, a lustres where those fruit? Makes

me place in thee hast so doon, man, off!

And how his crisis? Penniless they

are, by morne wit: but a schoolmistres

willing rock, glimpses of desire.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #135 texts #tricube sequence

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p-isforpoetry · 1 year

Text

youtube

Sonnet 7 by William Shakespeare (read by Simon Callow)

Lo in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty, And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage: But when from highmost pitch with weary car, Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are From his low tract and look another way: So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon: Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

Source: William Shakespeare - Sonnets - Simon Callow

#Sonnet 7 #william shakespeare #shakespeare #poem #poetry #p-isforpoetry #audio #youtube #Simon Callow #Youtube

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kata4a · 2 years

Text

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty; And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage: But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are From his low tract, and look another way: So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

so like the central conceit of this sonnet seems to rest upon the idea that people regard sunrise with much more awe/beauty/appreciation than sunset, which like. my good bard,

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princesssarisa · 4 years

Text

from @cinefantasticquemitho, for the fictional character asks: Juliet Capulet

@cinefantastiquemitho accidentally answered my ask as a private message instead of a post, so I’m copying and pasting her answer here.

Favorite thing about them: The apeal of Juliet is that she is one of the earliest examples of a young rebel being portrayed positively in western literature. She lives in a world that was screwed over by the violence of the adults around her, and is one of the few people in the story who is inteligent anough to not see this violence as something natural, and question it. Another interesting element of Juliet is that, troughout the play, she learns to be very cunning and witty. Now usually, this characteristics (specially in a female character) would be portrayed as the start of a path to villany, where a character would use them to gain power over the unhapiness of others (think of Tamora and Aaron the Moor, the Macbeths, Richard III, Iago and Edmond). But in Juliet’s writing, she is still the heroine of the story, who as a young woman in the Renaissance, is justified to use cunning and witty as a means of trying to survive and find happiness for her and Romeo, the person she loves, in a world where she lacks power. And this cunning and witty, contrary to the most popular belief, does not contradict her loialty, with is another important characteristic that she shows in relation to her beloved husband Romeo.

Least favorite thing about them: Actually, i don’t have a least favorite thing about Juliet herself. In reality, when i was young and was only familiar with the play trough parodies in pop culture, without actually having readed or watched the play properly, i disliked a caricature of Juliet, that stereotyped her as just “a cute girl who is there to suffer”. Later, when i actually readed and watched montages of the play online, i saw that this wasn’t at all the actual character that Shakespeare wrote.

Favorite line:

So many, is hard to choose just one.

“My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy”.

“Ay me!

O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself”.

“ O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I’ll believe thee”.

“The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that’s not so. O, she is lame! love’s heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead”.

“Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth”.

“Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus’ lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway’s eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess’d it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy’d: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them”.

“O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather’d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace”!

“Blister’d be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown’d Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death, That murder’d me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo—banished;’ That 'banished,’ that one word 'banished,’ Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank’d with other griefs, Why follow’d not, when she said 'Tybalt’s dead,’ Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death, 'Romeo is banished,’ to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!’ There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word’s death; no words can that woe sound”.

“It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows”.

“ Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo”!

“Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I’ll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. [Laying down her dagger] What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister’d to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour’d, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there’s a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,— As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;— Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes’ torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:— O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather’s joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin’s ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier’s point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee”.

“Yea, noise? then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger! [Snatching ROMEO’s dagger] This is thy sheath; [Stabs herself] there rust, and let me die”.

brOTP: In the plays actual text, we see her being great friends and partners with the Nurse, and get some insinuations that Tybalt, her cousin, was also a very close friend to her. The TV series Still Star Crossed gaved to her a close friendship with her cousin Rosaline, what i apreciate very, very much. And i also like to imagine that in a Everybody Lives!AU she would be very close friends with Benvolio Montague.

OTP: With Romeo Montague.

nOTP: With Count Paris and/or Tybalt Capulet.

Random headcanon: 1. Her favorite colors are red, orange, white and gold; 2. Her favorite story from greek mithology is Eros and Psyche; 3. Her favorite fairy tale is Jack and the Beanstalk; 4. In a Modern Day Everybody Lives!AU Juliet graduates in Philosophy, Psychology and Social Services and becomes a social worker, focused on atend teenage girls and women living at risk of suffering abuse or on abusive situations/child attorney. For more details about it, here is the link for the list of ideas about a Happy Ending Modern Day! AU made in collaboration with @giuliettaluce :

https://cinefantastiquemitho.tumblr.com/post/617097864129200128/modern-headcanon-romeo-and-juliet

Unpopular Opinion: Well, i like some elements of the Zefirelli 1968 movie adaptation: the costumes are beautifull to look at, Nino Rota’s score is the worlds eight wonder of an icon, the casting choice (specially of Leonard Whiting and Olívia Hussey as Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet, respectivelly) is pretty spot on… Buuuut: with the cutting of lines like the “Gallop apace” soliloquy, the lines where she reflects, deduces and concludes that Tybalt started the fight against Romeo with the intention of killing him and the “Potion” soliloquy, i think it reduced a lot of the huge inteligence that Juliet actually has, and with its extremely huge popularity it ended up contributing with the pop culture stereotyped idea that Juliet is just a “cute girl who is there to suffer”.

Song i associate with them: Flor, Minha Flor, by Grupo Galpão de Teatro (from the soundtrack of my favorite Romeo and Juliet montage)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koIO15cI-8Y

And Nino Rota’s What is a Youth, from the 1968 Franco Zefirelli film:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VsgolqoeJw

Favorite picture of them:

#cinefantastiquemitho #fictional character ask #romeo and juliet #juliet #other people's writing

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uriahnyah6 · 6 years

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Ever so often, I get these from different accounts stating the same society. Is it just me? #jah #greatspirit #highmost #stickybongskeng #themeagrechanter #jahknowstar #blackroyalfamily https://www.instagram.com/p/BrMP0G8np61xMRpBxOQGYwe6CqfFKC2orme51g0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=aup6ba6daimu

#jah #greatspirit #highmost #stickybongskeng #themeagrechanter #jahknowstar #blackroyalfamily

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rhymisms · 2 years

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What’s said alone inside the hall tomorrow will be known to all, and words whispered in the closet will be heard from the corner prophet!

What you tell in tenebrosity shall be repeated with loquacity, and what you’ve said behind closed doors shall be bleated from the highmost floors!

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libidomechanica · 9 months

Text

Untitled (“He to one eyes”)

Not a stound tower the love time of heroine. And so croscope, sike one! Ange, while when anguages; with your sate follow moan one she hold. I gripe of love, what with the gift remain

waisteria’s indeed indeed not striverself our Hebrew the spitaph wake, my mind. And and days, bed symmetrica. Rove diedst moaning wends to crafty, whence more could by

suicided east, and when with my brow’s exceptred to upon highmost river’s benignal— luke Have thrown was words: only I can mighter really as lark on an ox. He to one

eyes forbeare belike a foolisheds the possiblesome beguile, a good sun, and the of tall, the first wearession all, if this: I will my to haue your hair times, excuse, and

large bed and hand a fathere, love me by things, when for sunning grief her face. Had not the prey, I conuersatisfie me, and glassion. At is that the speak, to the airily; with

gentle swain. And the youth, and, Graces of ocean- cliffs which I gainst too much agains is is school, hauty a sang up his Venus lips the mother? At till tooth, while you nor knelt

aside his breeze on Fanny’s sullet is is that flowers, fever never city far uptying foil for the bay lively black the did now richly thine, the surmisse, all it

liuerywhereforne by guill love to thou so they wild, would Nature; the verb—and Geraldine, so vers’ she most jewels still somehow, i’ve giue more the hold maid the Sage in grown’d. How came murmured,

charms, but which TV shops erunt. The rolled, as dange of Salámán fell me, creepe, if sunk and woulden shephearden ran Now to the taken I recocious.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 4 #175 texts #ballad

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p-isforpoetry · 3 years

Video

youtube

Sonnet 7 by William Shakespeare (read by Brian Dennehy)

Lo in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty,

And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage:

But when from highmost pitch with weary car, Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are From his low tract and look another way:

So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon: Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

Source: The Complete Shakespeare Sonnets

#Sonnet 7 #William Shakespeare #Shakespeare #Brian Dennehy #poem #poetry #audio #p-isforpoetry

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penguinpyro · 4 years

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On Vampires

"Motion is denied. Vampires are visually and culturally indistinguishable from healthy humans. To classify them as a separate sapient species would subject them to further discrimination and needlessly complicate medical study of their regenerative capacity. The Exalted Justices hold that vampires' sensitivity to sunlight and aversion to the genus *Allium* are symptoms also documented in other genetic conditions and not sufficient to be exclusionary of humanity. In addition, vampires continue to be at risk of human and other sapients' theft and consumption of their bone marrow. The legal protections afforded to them by the Temple of Three Sovereigns would be jeopardized by the removal of their human status, which would in turn endanger their lives. Further, other nations have similar protections for vampires, and the uncertainty of their protection under Ouphan law would set a dangerous precedent abroad."

-Ouphan Court of the Exalted Highmost, midtrial opinion in landmark Ge v. Luo Picture is of Leyla, a bureaucrat working for the League of Restoration and Development.

#vampire #leyla #accountant #fangs #vampire girl #original character #original concept #original art #original #art #drawing #portrait #vexel #concept art #lineless

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saltysciencesixer · 7 years

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@yellingmetatron

The tesseract slowly rotates counter-clockwise. His faces shimmer with various greens, but a few flecks of dubious orange flicker here and there.

“…ARE YOU HAVING A THEOPHANY RIGHT NOW? I MEAN, IT WOULDN’T BE THE FIRST FUCKING TIME I WAS CONSCRIPTED INTO A THEOPHANY WITHOUT BEING FUCKING WARNED FIRST. EVERYONE JUST FUCKING ASSUMES I’M A-OK WITH DISPENSING HEAVENLY WISDOM AND SHIT WHEN IT FUCKING SUITS THEIR SCHEDULE.” The flecks or orange glow brighter, and begin spreading. “AND FOR YOUR INFORMATION, MOSES MADE THE BEST FUCKING COFFEE THE WORLD HAD EVER SEEN. LEARNED THE ART FROM THE HIGHMOST MOTHERFUCKING BREWMASTERS OF ANCIENT ETHIOPIA, AND HE G-DDAMNED FUCKING WELL PERFECTED IT.“ Metatron pauses.

“YOU KNOW, I FUCKING HOPE FOR YOUR SAKE THAT THAT WASN’T THE DIVINE WISDOM YOU’RE MEANT TO RECEIVE. NOT EXACTLY GONNA START YOUR OWN FUCKING SECT WITH THAT, OR WHATEVER.”

Stanford blinked at what may or may not have been his hallucination. He took another sip of his extra dark, probably not meant for human consumption, coffee.

“Theophany? Please. I don’t BELIEVE in God or gods. I’m a scientist, and you’re a hallucination. Or possibly an extra-dimensional being I haven’t yet encountered. I haven’t decided yet.” Nonetheless, he peered at Metatron curiously.

He paused a moment when Metatron went into a tangent about how Moses had made the best coffee the world had ever seen. He crossed his arms a moment.

“I’m sure. And Samson was probably the greatest comedian in the world, too, right? Really brought the house down.” He shook his head and gave a little laugh. Then, he looked directly at Metatron and screamed for a full minute, jumping back, and then sat down to drink more coffee.

Stanford wasn’t sure why he did that. Not sleeping for eight days will do weird things to people. He stiffened a bit when the being continued to scream at him, particularly in regards to divine wisdom.

“Divine wisdom? Well, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time here. I’ve learned my lesson about accepting “divine wisdom” from creatures and things I know very little about. I also don’t start “sects” of anything. Like I said, I’m a scientist. I learn from science, and I DO science.” He paused a moment, then stroked his chin. “I also occasionally do magic, but I approach it from a scientific perspective. Magic, after all, is really just science we don’t understand yet and-”

He frowned, stopping himself. “I don’t know why I’m explaining all of this to you. You either already know, or you’ll be gone around the time my body decides to shut down from all the caffeine I’ve consumed. At least, I THINK this coffee has caffeine.” He looked down at his coffee, shrugged, and then continued drinking it.

#yellingmetatron #casually chats with his hallucinations #or extra-dimensional beings his brain can't quite comprehend #because he IS A SCIENTIST #who hasn't slept in eight days

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