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asyapolstyanova · 2 years

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Great Wedding Theme Ideas

Ordinary weddings are out. Every bride want her wedding day to be special after all. Themed weddings are just the thing that ensures that you have a wedding day that is special and personal to you, just as a wedding should be.

Many couples choose to indulge their fantasies by having a wonderland created for themselves on their wedding day. Themes are also popular because a couple may share a particular interest and wish to incorporate that on their special day. If that is just what you are thinking, here are a few tips to plan a beautiful themed wedding that will make you the happiest couple and wow your guests.

Beach Wedding Theme - One of the most popular themes, everyone finds beaches relaxing and romantic. Beach themed weddings are really simple because you can have your wedding at the beach itself or bring the beach indoors.

For your wedding dress, use soft colors akin to the sea - azure blue, soft sea greens or even pearl shades and accessorize with pearls and shell jewelry. For your groom, a casual linen suit would be appropriate or if you want to be festive, team a pair of causal pants with a Hawaiian floral shirt. You can wear flip-flops for shoes or even choose to go barefoot and feel the sand between your toes. Kiss me in Paris is a wedding professional In France. For more information about their service, please see this website & Portfolio : https://kissinparis.com/paris-photoshoot/

The decor can be as varied as the depths of the sea. You can have candles planted into the sand. Or if you are indoors, have tin pails of seashells or a clear glass bowl filled with shells in which you can place a tealight. Have Adirondack chairs to seat your guests and use metallic nets to create a lovely atmosphere.

For wedding favors you can give your guests a "beach in a bottle" favor. Purchase these online or make your own. To make your own, take a decorative clear glass bottle with a stopper and put in some sand and shells and top with baby oil and seal the stopper with wax. Attach a small note to the neck with your names and your wedding date with 'Thank You' to your guests.

Cinderella Wedding Theme - We all dream about a fairytale wedding so why not have a real one? Dress yourself just like Cindy, a wedding gown with a shimmering surface and tulle skirt is very much fairytale like and your groom will be resplendent in a white tuxedo with tails. Why, you can even wear little wings or a tiara.

Engage a horse drawn carriage instead of a car to take you two from the wedding ceremonies, these are a bit hard to find in the city but if you plan your wedding a little away from town you should be able to pull it off.

Have little candles on fiber mushrooms to light up your reception venue. This theme can be made into something really whimsical and elegant if you have a designer thumb. Cinderella wedding favors include carriage candles, fairytale themed place card holders, and glass slipper candles.

Drum-roll please for the hottest wedding trend...

Paris Wedding Theme - If you are a person who admires French chic then consider a Paris themed wedding. What's to love about the city? Start with its quaint cafes, French patisseries with their mouth watering offerings, the Moulin Rouge, perfume, the Eiffel Tower, haute couture, the street side vendors, and watercolors. Maybe all of these make up Paris for you. So duplicate this in your nuptials. Have the hors d'oeuvres as different kinds of wine and cheese with French breads.

A delicate lacy bridal gown with a tight bodice tied on the front or a vintage lace gown is just perfect with pearls and some great perfume. Your hubby can dress in a smart black tuxedo with silver accessories. Have vintage accessories at your tables too. Vintage postcard place cards are a start with fleur-de-lis emblems emblazoned on your tableware and weddings invitations. Have little Eiffel Tower mementos to give your guests as wedding favors and depending on the look you are going for. Have some romantic French ballads playing in the background and you are all set.

Finally, you can incorporate your favorite era (medieval themes are very popular too), a specific color or even a culture (Mexican or even Arabian/Moroccan themes are fantasies that are coming true for many couples), just about anything into your wedding theme. You can easily find a lot many items for such weddings on the internet and also rent certain things. Take in all the aspects of your wedding and tie them in as one with your theme. Just take care not to go overboard and you have a recipe for success.

Kiss me in Paris is a wedding professional In France. For more information about their service, please see this website & Portfolio : https://kissinparis.com/paris-photoshoot/

#wedding #photoshoot #photogram #photograhy #engagement

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wildbeautifuldamned · 3 years

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Fornasetti style doormat living room bed room round carpet yoga mat home décor ebay sagarnuwan

#theme & variation #rug #fornasetti #drum #cloud #crown #bowl #fleu de lei #fleur de lis #theme and variation

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thesuperiorlokiseries · 2 years

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Reflection: Part Five

Air swept past him as he fell—pulled not by the embrace of the Void but the far gentler tug of Naströnd’s gravity. His heart lurched, his blood drumming in his ears as oxygen flooded into his lungs. His seiðr reached out almost on instinct, grasping at the ropes of the air—and then it pulled. A jolt tore through his spine, familiar power flooding his veins as it took hold of every cell in his body. Stretching, twisting, pulling, transforming. What fell was Aesir; what emerged a dragon.

What is the Loki Series Rewrite Project, you ask?

taglist under the cut:

@stellophia

@worstloki

@space-ravioli

@flyingbooks42

@willow-of-stars

@notachair

@wnnbdarklord

@lookimtryingmybest

@nikkoliferrous

@lucianalight

@latent-thoughts

@sundial-at-night

@hydr0phius

@loki-lover-1234

@incurablyromanticsblog

@alwida10

@cphxlja

@stygianchaos

@literally-just-loki

@fleur-de-lies

@amigaytho

@itsnotellen

@eldritchsquared

@neliakey

@avaniesque

@the-constellation-collective

@rorybutnotgilmore

@asubha

@lokikissesmyforehead

@wishwashgetoutamehswamp

@keistance

@tripleyeeet

@drachenkinder

@doctorsherlockmerl

@skullape-blog

@probably-need-sleep27

@ugle-beffus

@murderedbyhomework

@daenerys-and-martell-stan

@silver-lupines

@x-corrupted-angel-x

@hotdogs-frenchfries

@murderedbyhomework

@thewindandthewolves

@lostgreekgod

@doctor-disc0

@leucoratia

#the superior loki series #loki series rewrite project #loki #episode: reflection

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lu-undy · 3 years

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Un-alone, Chapter 3

Here it is!

Was it only the water of the shower?

Non, his tears were mixing with it. His tears, and his blood.

Lucien had only slept for a few hours. When he had come back from the gym, he cried himself to sleep, only to wake up on the carpeted floor of his hotel room, his head and hands on the coffee table, next to the letter.

But now, he was taking a shower.

He couldn't go to the funeral covered in bruises and dried blood. Non. He even thought that he couldn't go to the funeral at all. But he had to. This was his wife that they were putting underground, and he hadn't seen her in years.

Lucien rocked back and forth under the shower head. His eyes were closed and his arms wrapped around himself. He kept bumping his forehead against the tiled wall, a low drumming that gave him the illusion that time was stopping around him, that he could take that time, without it passing, without losing it. His tears did not stop.

He had talked to Marie, sometimes, on the telephone. Whenever his work took him to the United States, he would always stop at a public telephone booth and call the number he knew by heart.

Like a teenager on the phone with their secret lover, he would speak low to her, for no one else to hear, even though the booth was closed and no one paid attention to him. He would lazily play with the phone cord around his gloved finger as he murmured words of love and longing to her.

He would ask how Jérémy was and on the few occasions that it was Jérémy himself who picked the phone, Lucien would freeze, and it would take him a few seconds to clear his throat, collect himself and ask to speak to his mother.

He had heard his son grow over the phone mostly. His voice went from a little boy's to a man's. The first time that Jérémy picked up the phone with a deeper voice, Lucien's eyebrows had jumped.

"Who is this?" He had asked.

"It's Jay." The voice with the Boston accent answered.

Lucien's jaw had dropped.

"Jérémy?" His lips mumbled.

"Yeah, funky accent you got there. Who's this?"

The Frenchman gulped down hard and a trembling hand went to his brow.

"May I speak with your mother, please?"

"Sure… Ma'! Phone's for ya!"

"Hello?" The feminine voice was a delight to the spy's ears.

"Marie?"

"Oh, hey… Jay? Why don't you go out with your friends?"

Lucien waited for a few seconds.

"Yeah, Lulu? Hon'? How are you?"

"Jérémy…" He answered. "His voice…"

"Yeah, he's growin' up. He reminds me of you, in his own little way… Lulu? love, are you here?”

The spy had to look up to swallow back the tears that came to his eyes. His son was becoming a man…!

Last time he held him, the little boy could hardly walk.

And Lucien remembered how he used to feed him, put him to sleep, play with the little blond baby. Ah, putting him to sleep was what Lucien would remember all his life and beyond. There was something of a deeper connection when the lights were out and baby Jérémy looking up at his then much younger father, with his hair still all black. The father would sing to his son and if at first Jérémy would play and laugh with him, soon, the deep and soothing sound of Lucien’s singing would put him to sleep.

“I heard you sing to him.”

“Oui.” Lucien would slip in the bed with the woman who stole him off of the million arms of other, non important women.

“What song is that?”

“A lullaby.”

“Sing it to me.”

“It is not in English, Marie.”

“I know, heard you purr like you do when you sing in French.” She laid her head on his chest and he switched the night lamp off. “So go ahead.”

Lucien looked down at her and smiled.

“Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me.]

Je vais devoir m’en aller.

[I have to go.]

Ne m’oublie pas

[Don’t forget me.]

Tu ne dois pas pleurer.

[You must not cry.]

Même quand je suis très loin de toi,

[Even when I am very far from you,]

Tu restes dans mon coeur

[You remain in my heart.]

Je chante en secret chaque soir

[I sing in secret every night]

Pour que tu n’aies plus peur.

[So that you don’t feel scared]

Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me,]

C’est à regret que je pars.

[It is with regret that I leave.]

Ne m’oublie pas,

[Don’t forget me,]

Quand je chante, tu es dans mes bras.”

[When I sing, you are in my arms.]

He sang it again, translating himself and Marie looked up at him with a distraught smile on her lips.

“We will miss you, hon’.”

“Me too.” He squeezed her tighter and adjusted the blanket on her back to better cover her.

“But we won’t ever forget you.”

Their eyes met and soon, their lips.

Meanwhile, the old Lucien sighed under the continuous flow of the shower, the white noise of it covered his sniffles. He mechanically stopped the water and stepped out.

He readied himself. Black suit and tie, black hat too and assorted, varnished shoes.

He raised his eyes to the mirror and hated the sight. He had nothing against the suit, it did its job, making his cinder hair appear even lighter, the bags under his eyes and his slender cheeks a show of death itself. Non, what he hated was the insult of a man that stared back at him.

Lucien put his gloves on his still bruised knuckles, to hide the misery he now had to, and made his way out without anything in his stomach.

The taxi ride was as silent as it had been since he had learnt the news and jumped into the first plane for Boston. He had left Paris hurriedly, taking only what the letter from the American secret services had told him to.

The flower is withering. Black suit.

Of course, Lucien had trusted Fred with keeping an eye on Marie and Jérémy. But that telegram had killed him. He had wanted to see her before it was too late but Marie's lungs gave up before the Frenchman set a foot in America.

"Here we are, Sir. And I'm sorry for your loss."

The driver's voice cut Lucien's train of thought. He paid what he owed, maybe more, God only knew, and he left. He passed the black wrought iron gates of the cemetery and walked resolutely to the group of people that he did not recognise.

He kept his distance from them all but couldn't help hearing their low chatter.

"Where's her husband?”

“Who?”

“Jay’s dad. Isn't he gonna come? Even for that?"

"I don't know… Jay said his father's dead."

Lucien lowered his hatted head and frowned, exhaling from his nostrils angrily.

"Mary told me it wasn't actually true."

"She lied to him?"

"No, he made this up because he got fed up with people askin' him about his dad."

Lucien looked away but soon, silence fell. The coffin was brought forth and the priest started speaking.

He spoke at length about the courage of this single mother who raised and provided for those children, how she did a formidable job at it despite an absent and cowardly father.

If only they knew…

But where she was going, Mary would still see her boys, her little men. She would still be there for them.

Such nonsense, Lucien was thinking.

Mary was gone. She was dead. She wasn't there anymore with anyone. She wasn't there for Jérémy, she wasn't there for him, she was there for no one!

Lucien thought he'd better get used to the hard truth rather than sugarcoat it with nonsense like that.

Oh.

They started lowering the coffin.

Lucien heard the sniffles, the cries, the muffled tears in Marie's family. He wanted for the whole show to be done with to stay with her, alone.

It lasted quite a while. As he eavesdropped on the conversations, he learnt that some people were family, some were friends, others, neighbours.

They all put flowers down, candles, words on a letter that would crumple under the rain. But they eventually left.

The Frenchman took a few steps forward, coming out of his hiding, and crouched down.

"Marie…"

Words failed him.

"Ma petite fleur."

[My little flower.]

He sniffled.

"I beg you to forgive me." He paused. "I wasn't at your side when you most needed it. I failed you."

Lucien wiped a tear with the back of his gloved hand.

"I failed you as a husband, and I failed myself as a man. I took vows that I did not uphold."

No, Lulu, hon'... We agreed on this. I knew you had to be far for work and you only wanted to protect us. It's ok, it's alright-

"Non." Lucien answered the voice that he could only hear in his head. "Non, it is not alright. I swore, Marie. I swore that I would take care of you from the moment I said 'I do' in front of that priest and until death do us apart. I…"

Had he been alone in his lonely room, he would have gone through yet another fit of sobs, of pulling his hair off his own head, of rocking back and forth like a madman. But he was out in the open and most importantly, he was right in front of the tombstone that shall haunt him from now on.

"Hey! Who the hell're you?! Get the hell out of my Ma's grave!"

Cold sweat. Lucien tapped a button on his watch and his silhouette vanished in a thin cloud of smoke.

"Hey! What the-?!"

The young man stopped, a few feet away from his mother's grave. Unbeknownst to him, his father was standing right in front of him, a hand on his own mouth and tears streaming down his face.

More than twenty years. More than twenty years had passed and he was now seeing his son.

Mon Dieu, he had his mother's kind eyes even though they were red with tears and slightly swollen, he had her gentle gaze, Lucien could see it. The blond boy had grown up and his hair had darkened to be dirty blond now.

He had short hair and seemed uncomfortable in his black suit. Ah, he surely wasn't used to wearing one.

"Jay, you comin'?"

"Yeah, Auntie…"

“Hurry up or I’ll send your brothers!”

Unbeknownst to him, Jérémy was squinting and staring through his very invisible father. He left soon after but Lucien remained, petrified.

That was… Jérémy?

The baby he had held in his arms all those years ago was now a man nearly as tall as him.

He stared at him as he made his way out, following the crowd, his family that surely somehow was Lucien's too. But he had never met them, never talked to them. He knew the names or the existence of a few of them, when Marie would tell him about them.

But both had wanted to keep their private lives very much private. Marie knew her family would never approve of her marrying a stranger. Lucien was the only man to ever treat her as a woman, he knew that, she had told him that. He made her feel taken care of in his hands, even if he was absent most of the time. It was the respect he treated her with that made her cling to him at all costs, he knew it.

When he told her about his job and what he had to do sometimes, she had nodded.

“Do you understand, Marie? I… I cannot be the family man that I should be. My job requires me to… to do unthinkable things that no one else can and… Sometimes, if you knew what I do, you would… You would doubt my feelings for you.”

“No.”

“Pardon?” He had asked in his mother tongue.

“No, Lulu. I know that you love me sincerely. And I love you the same way. I don’t care what your job is. I… I know you love it too and…”

“Marie, I am sorry.”

“No, let me finish.”

He was holding her in his arms, in their bed that morning.

“I had Fred talk to me.”

“Merde…” Lucien mumbled to himself.

[Shit.]

“He explained to me that you were a… a war hero…?”

He sighed, frowned and looked away.

“Is that true?” She insisted and he shook his head.

“Non. I just did what had to be done and what no one else could. It could have been anyone else. I just happened to be there at those times and places where my skills came in handy, nothing more.”

“Pff…” He looked at her and she was smiling. “Fred also said you’d say that. You’re a war hero and certainly, you’re my hero.” She leaned her head on his chest again and left a prude kiss.

“I know this is selfish of me but…”

“But what?” She raised her head to him and he held her hand in his.

“But I wish I could keep you forever, just for myself.” He closed his eyes but soon, he felt her shift on the bed. She lay down and pulled him to lay his head on her chest.

“You say it as if it’s impossible.” She answered.

“I told you. I am away most of the time and this mission is coming to an end soon. I will have to leave.”

“What if we get married?”

Lucien’s eyes couldn’t have snapped wider.

But today, he could hardly keep them open.

“Petite fleur…” He addressed the tombstone, as if Marie could still hear him. “Je suis désolé, mon amour.”

[Little flower… I am sorry, my love.]

Later that day, when he was alone in his room, drinking again, Lucien heard a knock on his door.

“Go to hell.”

“L, it’s me.”

Lucien sighed. He recognised that voice. He stood up from the carpet and opened the door.

“L? Hi…”

Lucien returned to sit on the sofa, the bottle of whiskey hadn’t left his hand.

“What do you want?”

“Just to offer my condolences.” Fred closed the door and came to sit next to his French friend, who took a gulp of the bottle straight. He was still wearing his black attire, although the collar of the shirt was open and the buttons were undone. Seeing his old time colleague so disheveled made Fred frown. "I've never seen you like this before, pal… I thought you were the kind of sailor to have one woman in every harbour…"

Lucien raised dangerously piercing eyes to him. He did not like Fred's comment.

"Sorry. Didn't mean it to sound bad or anythin'. Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“Help me quit.”

“Yeah, you should quit your drinkin’, pal.”

“I did not mean it for the drinking.”

Fred’s eyebrows jumped.

“You wanna quit your job?”

Lucien nodded.

“It killed one too many.” He took a generous gulp of the whiskey that now dripped at the corner of his lips. He wiped the mess with the back of his forearm.

“L, you know you can’t just quit. Besides, I was comin’ to talk to you about it.”

Finally, Lucien raised his eyes to his colleague.

“We got some work to do. Well, you have.” The American got a cigarette pack out of his jacket and offered one to Lucien who winced and shook his head. Instead, the Frenchman went to grab his own cigarette case and let Fred light one for him. “Ah, yeah, you like yours French, eh…”

They puffed on their cigarettes and Fred looked around them.

“Mind if I get myself a glass?”

Lucien motioned him to go ahead. The American went to the mini bar.

“They knew up there that you’d like to retire after this. And if you don't mind me sayin', you and I aren't gettin' any younger. So they’ve sent me to suggest somethin’.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow and watched his friend grab a glass and pour some wine. He squinted to see the label and rolled his eyes, force of habit. As much as Lucien appreciated Fred, his taste in wine left a great deal to be desired…

“They say that you should get someone to work with you.”

“Non.”

“Hold on, let me finish…” The American spy joined his French colleague on the sofa again. “They say you should train a young one to replace you.”

Lucien’s eyebrows twitched.

“Not that they’d manage to fit those big shoes of yours but, y’know, someone to replace you while you go and retire. What would you do? Go back to France, I guess?"

The Frenchman sucked on his cigarette harder as he frowned.

"Non."

"I knew you wouldn't like it so I told them. They're ok to give you an alternative."

Lucien shook the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table and Fred noticed the bruises on his hands.

"You could drop field work completely and train the young ones."

"Pff…" Lucien exhaled the smoke from his cigarette in a long gust. "And where is the choice? Either train one or train them all? Is that the choice that the country that I have lost everything for is giving me now, hm?"

Fred could see his friend's fingers shake. He was mad and barely holding himself back. His chest betrayed his fast and short breathing.

"Seems so. If that's any consolation, I'm trainin' one of them kids too. He isn't bright, hasn't learnt the job like you and I, but he works hard." Fred tapped his cigarette in the ashtray and lay back on the sofa. "They're givin' you a few days to think."

"I should go and kill them." The Frenchman said calmly. "One by one. Start with their loved ones and as they wonder what kind of curse had fallen on them, I would deal with them all."

"You can't get to your Minister of Defense…!" Fred scoffed but the gaze that Lucien gave him made him stop his chuckle sharp. "L…?"

"I could."

"But you won't… Right?"

The Frenchman stood up and went to the door that he opened and held wide.

"Good night to you, Fred."

"L…?"

"I said, good night."

Fred sighed. He walked to the door but didn’t leave yet. He turned to his French colleague and looked him in the eye.

“Don’t do anythin’ you’ll regret, eh?”

Lucien exhaled a bitter sigh of smoke.

“See ya.” Fred left and the Frenchman shut the door.

He came back to his solitude.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

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bashlandry · 3 years

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sebastian ‘bash’ landry: the intro !

welcome the dumbass king himself to king’s head harbor, here’s mr bash.

tw drugs, alcoholism, death, violence, jail, dumbassery

basics

name: sebastian damien landry

nicknames: bash (almost always), seb (but rarely), idiot (regularly)

birthday/age: march 22d, 1991 / thirty

gender/pronouns: cis-male / he, him

sexuality: sadly still a heterosexual

zodiacs: aries ☉ ; gemini ☽ ; sagittarius 🡕

occupation: motorcycle mechanic at crown automotive

hobbies: all types of adventures, his motorcycle, drinking, video games, music (he plays drums and does back up vocals in a not very serious local punk/rock/metal mostly cover band - more info here).

neighbourhood: bayside bluffs, room mates with dominic crown

length of time in king’s head harbor: 15 years

place of birth: new orleans, louisiana (yes boi has a bit of an accent)

height: 6′5″ (195cm)

moral alignment: chaotic neutral.

positive traits: adventurous, kind-hearted, fun-loving, witty, spontaneous, humorous, clever, generous, protective, sweet and caring.

negative traits: troublesome, sarcastic, deceitful, somewhat arrogant, temperamental, impulsive, rebellious, loud, blunt, dishonest, sometimes aggressive and a bit selfish

tattoos: a seven of spades on his left pec (x). an arrow on his left outer forearm (x). the moon cycle on the right side of his torso (x). geometric tattoo on his right outer forearm (x). a wolf on his left shin (x). a fleur de lis on his left upper arm (x). a sloppy drunk tattoo his friend gave him a year after his mother’s death, on his right knee that just says ‘mom’, a wing on his right shoulder that he shares with all robin hood members (x).

scent: cigarette smoke, liquor, citrus, cologne.

background

Grew up just outside of New Orleans with his parents and six siblings, he’s the third (black sheep but they all love him anyway<3). His mother died suddenly when he was 15 years old and the family moved to Crescent Harbor where he repeated his Freshman year in High School before continuing.

He started getting into more trouble, arrested several times and graduated High School behind bars and then..... Continued reckless, bad behavior for the next 12 years anyway.

To some peoples’ surprise he went to College and actually has a Bachelors in Humanities. He’s dumb but not dumb.

Slept around a lot in his teens up until the end of his first year of College when he got chlamydia and got more careful.

Started dating the Blackwood cousin Jamie when he was 21 and they were on and off for four years, Bash going in and out of jail, until she finally left him in 2016 and moved to New York.

Bash set out to change but didn’t succeed and kept living like he always had; going to jail a couple of times, sleeping around somewhat but with protection and disappearing out of town for weeks at a time. He once ended up staying on an island for two weeks because he got super drunk and hopped on the ferry and had no money to get back — and of course he left his phone on the mainland.

In July 2020 he reconnected with LiIy Whittaker, an old High School friend-ish. They ended up hooking up on a boat (that Bash, unknown to Lily, had stolen borrowed from her dad).

They kept hooking up throughout the fall and in October Bash realized he had caught feelings for her and decided to tell her, only he was arrested moments after for 2d degree theft (class c felony) for stealing jewelry from the Whittaker household. He spent two weeks in jail, and found out Ian Whittaker had likely framed him, before Lily helped his sisters bail him out. He was proven innocent and not guilty in November and the same day Lily admitted she had feelings for him too and they started dating.

Has worked several jobs that he’s lost either because he didn’t show or because he was arrested. Between 2018 and 2020 he worked as a bouncer in a town over but was fired in November 2020 after not showing up when he was out on bail for the Whittaker case.

After being fired he went back to dealing like he'd also done between 2015 and 2018 (that time he got out of it because his sister got him a job at the drive-in that he lost after a few months). Lily, his family, and honestly anyone who would like him not to, are not aware he was dealing drugs. Some still do know he was arrested for possesstion (or just that he was arrested) in late June. he was just released on parole and hot a job at Crown Automotives because... He’s friends with Dom duh.

more random shit for no reason so u can skip if u wanna lmao

Suffers with insomnia, probably because of his high alcohol consumption but also anxiety that he won’t really admit to. Went to therapy once after his mother’s death but never continued with it.

The absolute worst at keeping track of his phone and it’s always on silent and either on low battery or just dead. It usually takes him a few days to get back to you if you text or even call. The easiest way to get a hold of him is to visit his apartment and kick on the door or wait for him to get home if he’s not there (u might have to wait a while sometimes tho....).

Has played drums since he was ten years old, starting when he found a drum set in the music room at his Elementary School. At this point he can pretty much play some songs blindfolded. He also started playing guitar at 15 when they moved away from NOLA.

Has slightly bad eyesight but you will rarely see him in glasses, he wears contacts and usually has an extra pair with him in case he’d lose one but can do fine without them if needed.

Used to skateboard a bunch but hasn’t done it much since some time in College.

Has broken a bunch of bones but most notably his nose 3 times, it’s not as straight as Casey’s.

Likes cooking and is pretty good at it. Pasta is the shit.

His motorcycle is an Indian Scout he bought in 2015 and it’s his baby. Before that he had a Suzuki VS 1400 GL Intruder from 2003 that he got in 2010 and sold to get money for the new one. He’s never owned a car butyes, he knows how to drive one.

He doesn’t dance and if he does, it’s not exactly serious.

Smokes Winston Red 100’s.

Criminal record at the bottom of this page (NEEDS TO BE UPDATED DUE TO STATE CHANGE IDK IF THIS CHECKS OUT WITH RHODE ISLAND LAWS JSYK)

Rocks a beard like seen above even though I sometimes use stubble-only gifs.

Despite his unhealthy lifestyle he manages to work out a couple of times a week and he eats.... A lot, because he knows that if he doesn’t he’ll turn into a noodle boy like he was in his teens due to his height.

He has six siblings (in order of birth); Elias, Thea, (Bash), Leona, Dy, Amelia and August (twins).

#intro #➳ ❪ intro ❫#kingshead:intro

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the-literata-letters · 3 years

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reading list - lyrical poetry

CLICK HERE TO ACCESS MY OTHER READING LISTS.

✵ ACTIVELY UPDATING ✵

☐ APOLLINAIRE, Guillaume – Alcools ☐ BAUDELAIRE, Charles – Les Fleurs du Mal ☐ BROOKE, Rupert – "The Soldier" ☐ CALLIMACHUS – Epigrams ☐ du BELLAY, Joachim – Les Regrets ☐ ÉLUARD, Paul – Capitale de la douleur ☐ GARCÍA LORCA, Federico – Romancero gitano ☐ GURNEY, Ivor – "Photographs" ☐ HORACE – Epistles ☐ HORACE – Odes ☐ JUVENAL – Satires ☐ KOMUNYAKAA, Yusef – "Camouflaging the Chimera" ☐ McCRAE, John – "In Flanders Fields" ☐ RILKE, Rainer Maria – Die Sonette an Orpheus ☐ OVID – Ars Amatoria ☐ OWEN, Wilfred – "Dulce et Decorum Est" ☐ PERSE, Saint-John – Amers ☐ PINDAR – The Olympian Odes ☐ PRÉVERT, Jacques – Paroles ☐ ROSSETTI, Christina – "A Dirge" ☐ SEEGER, Alan – "Rendezvous with Death" ☐ STATIUS, Publius Papinius – Silvae ☐ UNATTRIBUTED – Orphic Hymns ☐ WHITMAN, Walt – Drum-Taps ☐ WHITMAN, Walt – Leaves of Grass

POETS

BAUDELAIRE, Charles BUKOWSKI, Charles BYRON, Lord CUMMINGS, E. E. DeE ANGELIS, Milo DICKINSON, Emily ELIOT, T. S. FROST, Robert GINSBERG, Allen HARDY, Thomas HUGHES, Langston HUGO, Victor KEATS, John MILLAY, Edna St. Vincent MIŁOSZ, Czesław MUSSET, Alfred de NERUDA, Pablo PAZ, Octavio PLATH, Sylvia POE, Edgar Allan SAPPHO SEXTON, Anne SHAKESPEARE, William SHELLEY, Percy Bysshe VERLAINE, Paul WHITMAN, Walt WORDSWORTH, William YEATS, W. B. 李白 (Li Bai)

#books #literature #reading list #what to read #poetry #lyrical poetry #academia #give me recommendations

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bashlandrya · 3 years

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sebastian ‘bash’ landry: an updated intro !

since it has been literally like 9 months since i posted his most recent intro, here is a new updated one for anyone who has not kept up with bash’s crazy dumb life. yeet

tw drugs, alcoholism, death, violence, jail, dumbassery

let me say first he’s honestly the worst, he's nice and friendly almost to an annoying extent and it will absolutely be genuine most of the time but at times he only is because he will gain something from it. he lies a shitload but can also be extremely blunt. he’s arrogant and has way too much confidence but deep down probably hates himself. he’s selfish, he’s impulsive and he might punch you if you step on his toes at a bad time. he will make elaborate excuses instead of admitting he did something wrong but has still been in jail a few times because he said ‘yeah i did it lol’ (usually when caught red handed). he also drinks way too much but denies alcoholism and he’s barely changed mentally in over a decade. it is honestly a miracle he’s not dead. ok thanks for coming to my ted trash bash talk. i love this man.

basics

name: sebastian damien landry

nicknames: bash (almost always), seb (but rarely), idiot (regularly)

birthday/age: march 22d, 1991 / thirty

gender/pronouns: cis-male / he, him

sexuality: sadly still a heterosexual

zodiacs: aries ☉ ; gemini ☽ ; sagittarius 🡕

occupation: drug dealer (mostly weed, some cocaine and psychadelics).

hobbies: all types of adventures, his motorcycle, drinking, video games, music (he plays drums and does back up vocals in a not very serious local punk/rock/metal mostly cover band - more info here).

neighbourhood: downtown (apartment tour here)

length of time in crescent harbour: since summer 2009 (12 years)

place of birth: new orleans, louisiana (yes boi has a bit of an accent)

height: 6′5″ (195cm)

moral alignment: chaotic neutral.

positive traits: adventurous, kind-hearted, fun-loving, witty, spontaneous, humorous, clever, generous, protective, sweet and caring.

negative traits: troublesome, sarcastic, deceitful, somewhat arrogant, temperamental, impulsive, rebellious, loud, blunt, dishonest, sometimes aggressive and a bit selfish

tattoos: a seven of spades on his left pec (x). an arrow on his left outer forearm (x). the moon cycle on the right side of his torso (x). geometric tattoo on his right outer forearm (x). a wolf on his left shin (x). aries-inspired ram skull on his upper back (x). a fleur de lis on his left upper arm (x). a sloppy drunk tattoo his friend gave him a year after his mother’s death, on his right knee that just says ‘mom’.

scent: cigarette smoke, liquor, citrus, cologne.

background

Grew up just outside of New Orleans with his parents and six siblings, he’s the third (black sheep but they all love him anyway<3). His mother died suddenly when he was 18 years old and the family moved to Crescent Harbor where he repeated his Senior year in High School.

He started getting into more trouble, arrested several times and graduated High School behind bars and then..... Continued reckless, bad behavior for the next 12 years anyway.

To some peoples’ surprise he went to College and actually has a Bachelors in Humanities. He’s dumb but not dumb.

Slept around a lot in his teens up until his first year of College when he got chlamydia and got more careful.

Started dating the Blackwood cousin Jamie when he was 21 and they were on and off for four years, Bash going in and out of jail, until she finally left him in 2016 and moved to New York.

In July 2020 he reconnected with LiIy Whittaker, an old High School friend-ish. They ended up hooking up on a boat (that Bash, unknown to Lily, had stolen borrowed from her dad).

He was proven innocent and not guilty in November and the same day Lily admitted she had feelings for him too and they started dating.

His mother died in the spring so during the season he drinks more and gets extra reckless and aggressive so he recently wasn’t very nice to some people........ and him and Lily are fighting a bunch at the moment.

more random shit for no reason so u can skip if u wanna lmao

Suffers with insomnia, probably because of his high alcohol consumption but also anxiety that he won’t really admit to. Went to therapy once after his mother’s death but never continued with it.

Has slightly bad eyesight but you will rarely see him in glasses, he wears contacts and usually has an extra pair with him in case he’d lose one. Which he did once when he was drunk and far away from his apartment and had to nagivate home half-blind and tipsy.

Used to skateboard a bunch but hasn’t done it much since some time in College.

Has broken a bunch of bones but most notably his nose 3 times, it’s not as straight as Casey’s.

Likes cooking and is pretty good at it. Pasta is the shit.

He doesn’t dance and if he does, it’s not exactly serious.

Smokes Winston Red 100’s.

Criminal record at the bottom of this page.

Rocks a beard like seen above even though I sometimes use stubble-only gifs.

#i triedmy best to keep this short but oh boy #crescent:intro #intro #this man gives me a such a headache i CANNOT UGH #and i did need to get the trash bash talk off my chest pls get him out of my head lmfaoooo

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presentmic69 · 5 years

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⚜️ PROFILE | █████ ████ ⚜️ Reblogs Appreciated!

⚜️ Basics ⚜️

Real Name: Emily Hart Aliases: Playa, Boss, Buckshot, Relay, Lee, Lyric, President Age: • 12 (SR1) • 14 (SR2) • 15 (SRTT) • 20 (SRIV) • 21 (GOOH) Orientation: Gay AF Gender: Nonbinary Pronouns: She / They Date of Birth: February 17th, 2000 Place of Birth: London, UK

⚜️ Appearance ⚜️

Eyes: Black Hair: Purple (dyed) Height: No Weight: Also No Scars: None Style: Questionable Piercings: • 2x lip rings • 2x eyebrow rings • Nose ring • Whatever the fuck I drew on her ears Tattoos: • Borderlands Siren Tattoos (fullbody) • Saints Fleur-de-lis (neck)

⚜️ Relationships ⚜️

Love Interest: • Matt Miller Ride or Dies: • Johnny Gat • Aisha • Shaundi • Pierce • Lin • Carlos • Asha Friends: • Viola • Kiki • Josh • Oleg • Angel • Benjamin Enemies: • Kinzie (sorta) • Killbane • Daddy Zinyak • Troy • Pretty much every canon enemy in game dont make me list them

⚜️ Trivia ⚜️

• She’s still a WIP • She totally has a punk rock band. • She can sing real good and plays the guitar. • Can also play the drums. • Loves Freckle Bitches like mad. • Calls Bazooms Bazoomies. • Pretends to be bad at things so people assume they can one up her; when really she’s in control the whole damn time. • Unironically watches Nyteblayde. • Is a vidya gaymer. • Tragic Backstory 101: Was kidnapped by the Morningstar when she was 12 and brought to the states; freed by Kiki and Viola. Jumped in a Friendly Fire truck and ended up in Stilwater. • Anyone who knows her real name *cough* Kinzie *cough* pretty much has a timer on their head until the day she takes them out. Well, until the worlds gone to shit and there’s no risk to people knowing said name. In which she tells people in order of trust, and just. Glares at Kinzie a lot. Or something. • Got the nickname Buckshot due to being “the only person to point a shotgun at Johnny Gat and survive it”. • Has a lot of names for some reason. • Has a teddy bear named Atari. • Nobody fucking dies. Nobody. Not Lin, not Carlos, not Aisha or Johnny. Hell, not even Kiki. • Apparently she’s literally a Borderlands Siren despite being in Saints Row. I blame @stilwaterskeeter for that. • I tried to make her the worst Mary Sue self insert self shipping oc possible so people would hate her but people like her too much. • I have so many more facts please ask me about her-

#aj.txt #my art #saints row #saints row oc #saints row boss #self insert #self ship #self shipping #artists on tumblr #owo #feel free to reblog

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music-addiction-disorder · 4 years

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AARON SEWER Cape Disappointment Pastures Of Plenty (2019) Seattle, Washington

Bones for the Catacombs

Lucas lived down on the Left Bank next to the river He slept in a shack with his poor old Mama and his sister The only life he ever knew was right there on La Seine in Paris He got a job diggin’ bones by decree from Louis XVI It said, “The cemetery walls are all overgrown, We gotta move these bones to the catacombs.”

Emma lived across the water with the Right Bank riche Her window looked out on Saints-Innocents Cemetery Every night she watched the wagons carry millions of dead across the city While her Mama cried out, “What a shame, what a sight, what a pity!” But the workers kept diggin’ and liftin’ the stones They gotta move them bones to the catacombs

Emma met Lucas one evening with her friends at Pont Neuf They were smokin’, they were drinkin’, he was dirty and she was looking fit She asked him what he did, he said, “I push bone wagons for a living, And I shouldn’t be talking to a rich girl, please forgive me.” She said, “Sooner or later we all end up alone. You see, we’re all just bones for the catacombs.”

They walked along the Seine holding hands for the rest of the night She knew that is was wrong, but there was something in that poor boy’s eyes She took him to her Mama who cried out, “What a rat! What a sinner!” And Lucas didn’t fare much better with his family ‘cross the river He said, “Hey, sooner or later we’re all going home, Because we’re all just bones for the catacombs.” Fleur-de-Lis… Fleur-de-lis…

By the time it was finished there were six million dead in the tombs And Lucas and Emma had a baby and a house near the Louvre The city soon forgot about the bones stacked up underneath ‘em And kept livin’ and dyin’ and buildin’ and lovin’ and fightin’ And even ol’ Louis up there on his throne Was just more bones for the catacombs From Paris to China, wherever we roam You see, we’re all just bones for the catacombs Fleur-de-Lis… Fleur-de-lis…

acoustic americana rock acoustic-rock americana folk folk rock indie intelligent northwest political seattle singer-songwriter snarky Seattle

PERFORMERS Aaron Semer: vocals; acoustic, electric, and bass guitars; percussion; kazoo Travis Curry: drums Kevin Bean: harmonica, backing vocals Gus Clark: accordion Colin J. Nelson: percussion, backing vocals Charles Wicklander: piano Michael Wohl: electric guitar, backing vocals

Cover painting by Adam Burke/Nightjar Illustration

- necro69mancer -

#aaron semer #bones for the catacombes #cape dissapointment #pastures of plenty #2019 #washington #seatle #rock #americana #folk

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devilsknotrp · 5 years

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Congratulations, Maria! You have been accepted for the role of Abel Hawker (FC Change: Jeremy Irons). Woah. I may be biased, but I was blown away by your interpretation of Abel. He’s a human being made up of dichotomies and you found such a beautiful way to write him. His gentle yet terrifyingly stern manner of speaking, his war hero past, everything is perfect. We cannot wait to see what kind of Mayor your Abel will turn out to be! Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Maria Age: 23 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT Activity estimation: Every other day Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Abel Byron Hawker Age : 05/08/1923 Gender: Male Pronouns: Him/Her Sexuality: Straighter than the Tennessee Line Occupation: Mayor of Devil’s Knot Connection to Victim: Abel Hawker knows pretty much everyone in Devil’s Knot, whether they realise it or not. The same could be said for the Goode’s. Though he never personally interacted much with Brian, Abel certainly positioned himself at the forefront of the search. After all, a Mayor has to take responsibility for the safety of his citizenry. In Abel’s case, he does so by putting pressure on the police on Ms Goode’s behalf. Not that she asked him to, of course. Alibi: According to Abel and members of the Chapter, he attended his regular meeting after church but left early due to a headache and went home. It was, like many evenings, the usual for the Mayor. Faceclaim: Jeremy Irons

WRITING SAMPLE

The Michigan sun poked through the veranda, the soft, not too warm glow basked Mayor Hawker’s face in its orange hue. A curl of smoke cut through the clear blue skies as it wafted from the end of his thickly rolled cigar. He remained like that, leaning on his rocking chair, its long swinging creeks creating a lulling song that he could and had listened to most of his life.

It was his father’s chair, and his father’s father likely sat on something not too dissimilar. Carved from the wood of one of the many red oaks that lined the property, it represented everything the Hawker’s were about. Longevity, home-grown and standing the test of time. He fingers, rough and coarse from the years, ran over the expertly polished arms, just appreciating the craftsmanship as well as the weather.

As he sat, relaxing and looking out, a little song crept into his mind. It drew a slow forming, gentle smile on his lips, his crisp paper-like skin pulling with it. There was no one around, and that was just how he liked it in long afternoons like this. For a moment, he let his eyes closed, heeled shoe clicking against the hardwood of the patio, drumming the beat for an old ditty.

“I loved a girl in Saginaw, Michigan…” His voice was underlined with a faint croak that matched the eek of his chair, the tune rumbling deep in his chest to produce the consummate voice of an older singer.

An image began to form in his mind as he took another deep intake of his cigar. Him and his boys in the brushy fields of Pyongtaek, the beginning to the Korean war stretching out ahead of them. Benny banged his metal mug against the table with all the enthusiasm of Buddy Rich reborn, and Tony clapped completely offbeat as Abel and Ryan started up a song. It wasn’t this one, but that didn’t matter. He could still see them now, their eyes bright and ready to return home as heroes. It wouldn’t take long, after all, it was just some country folks who had caught up with the Russian’s red curtain, that’s what they thought. “The daughter of a wealthy, wealthy man…”

The image of Benny sprawled across the dirt floated up in Abel’s mind as the song continued. His guts had been a pollock-esque splash of reds and browns, glistening in the summer heat. Next to him, Tony was slumped with a bullet hole in the centre of his head.

“But he called me, that son of a Saginaw fisherman…”

And Ryan? Well, Ryan never quite came back right. They found him drowned in the river just two months before the end.

“And not good enough, to claim his daughter’s hand…”

The front gate creaked down the long garden path that led up to the porch, causing Abel to crack an eye open. He pulled the cigar reluctantly from his lips, licking the spot that it had sat on, its warm presence still a ghost against the skin.

“Now I’m up here in Alaska, looking around for gold…”

He continued, a little louder, letting the words drift towards his new guest. The flash of the Sherrif office’s brown uniform was all he needed to see, continuing to idly rock as if he hadn’t noticed anything at all. Only once the visitor was climbing the porch steps did he deign to speak rather than sing away.

“I was startin’ to wonder if you were gonna turn up, my boy.”

The youth was a rookie; it only took one glance to tell. Blonde hair and greener than the fields, the 20-something kid awkwardly grasped his belt and tried to stand straight, but it was evident with the uncertain flicker of his eyes around the large Hawker estate that it was all for show. Abel thought he recognised him, one of those good for nothing kids that got raised on the poorer side of town. Typical that George Adam would give these economic rejects a chance. “Urm…ur…Mayor Hawker, sorry to bother you sir but-”

“Aye, aye, I’m aware boy, you gotta do your due diligence and get the story of what I was doing that night.”

Abel slowly pulled himself off his chair, with all the speed of a seaswept turtle, which was entirely on purpose, as anyone who knew Hawker knows that the Mayor kept himself in good health. He gave the standard ‘ah’ that an old person was expected to give after completing menial physical tasks as if they had climbed the summit of Everest. With a wave, he gestured the kid officer to follow, pushing open his ornately carved front door and shuffling into the Hawker estate.

Estate was a polite word for it. It was a mansion in pretty much every regard, an ancestral home that would immediately put anyone at unease. There was just a vastness to it that put one on the back foot, as they look up at the ceiling that seemed almost as far as the moon, it’s large traditional beamed structure overlaying a pure white paint job. The walls were a half mix of beaming, polished to a shine, wooden panelling and delicate fleur-de-lis sprouting wallpaper that made it feel akin to a royal’s home.

Confronted by a large hallway that could easily fit three people shoulder to shoulder and a long, winding staircase that enticed one to see what the three upper floors held, the rookie police officer did what anyone would have - he froze.

Abel for his part kept walking a little down the way until he glanced over he shoulder, that grin coming out again. It was the full simper that belonged to a man a few decades his junior, but he wore it now just as he had in his youth, the life in it flashing in his eyes like claps of thunder. It that moment, it was as if he filled the space of the whole house, as grand and extensive as it was. “Come on boy, ain’t time for slack jaws, your boss will have your ass if you take too long.”

The cop shook his head free, quickly stepping after his guide. The house on its part kept an eye on the visitor, the walls lined with sprawling quantities of photos, whose subjects stared out to those passing. It went from old sepia constructs that desperately tried to fight the effects of ageing behind their glass windows to much more recent copies, showing the Mayor, his own children and a plethora of grandchildren.

Eventually, they turned into one of the adjourning rooms, revealing a parlour lounge. Abel didn’t waste a moment, his body immediately cut to the side of the room where a tray sat with a collection of alcohol, whiskey duly placed in a decanter. The rookie didn’t even have a chance to speak before the older man was thrusting a delicate crystal tumbler with the perfect amount of ice and bourbon in it.

“Ah..” The officer blinked after what seemed like an age, finally processing what was being offered and responding to it with a gentle shake of his head.

“I’m flattered sir, but I’m duty I can-”

“Hogwash.” Abel cut in. His voice had a sense of power to it, a thick with husky confidence that was at once both honeyed in Michiganian drawl and intense in its strength. It was almost like being hugged and punched at the exact same moment, it winded you, and you found yourself wondering what exactly happened.

“Ain’t your ma told you that it’s rude to refuse what is offered in a man’s home? It’s just one glass, ain’t no one gonna know.” He pressed the glass into the boy’s chest, and let it go, forcing the poor chap to hold it to avoid it following.

Abel turned around to sit on one of his lounge chairs, the movement hiding the sly smirk that drew across his lips. It always was so easy to play people to a fiddle. More often than not, all it took was a level of firmness, confidence that just begged people to question you and say no. Most people fold because humans, by nature, try to escape conflict. It only took fighters like the Hawker patriarch to know how to only bend to your own will.

“Aren’t you having some as well, sir?”

Perched on his old leather chair, Abel gestured at the boy again, his old veiny fingers beckoning him like a lazy puppeteer. He seemed almost like a relaxed king, his chin lifted in what could be confused for an old man trying to adjust his sight but was, in fact, concealed contempt. “Me? Oh no, I’m going on eighty, son, I gotta pick my battles with the booze. So, whatcha gonna ask me?”

Deputy took a sip of the bourbon likely to try to avoid causing offence and cleared his throat awkwardly before drawing closer to the Mayor. “Well sir, I just need to know your whereabouts and actions on the night of Saturday, 5th October.”

“Boy, if I told you about my whole day, we’re gonna be here till morn, how about you just give me some times to work with eh?”

A blush drew across the officer’s cheek, and he took a longer sip of the bourbon, trying to drown out the embarrassment. It was quite the social awkwardness to waste the Mayor’s time after all. “Ah yes well, any time in the afternoon would be helpful, urm, sir.”

“Well, I spend most of my evenings by the church, meetings and such with the local community. Wasn’t any different that way. I was doing an after prayer meeting at the church like I’ve been doing for longer than you’ve probably been alive.” It didn’t seem like a cutting remark, more just a flag clearly planted. It spoke clearly to the situation 'I’ve been doing this for a very long time. Have respect’.

“Yes, of course, sir, I’m sure the group will also confirm that, ah…um…” The poor newbie was struggling on the whole 'interviewing’ process, he juggled between his glass and getting a notepad from his shirt pocket. In what could only be described as an awkward tangle of limbs, the deputy eventually flicked to a page of notes and setting down his glass, he starts to write.

“Did you do anything after that, sir?”

Abel paused. It was just a minutia of movement, a brief hesitation that was entirely missable. He had to think about what he wanted to say for a moment, which was a rarity. “I got a headache, my age you know, soon as you get a whiff of a cold it hits you hard. So I came home early, and just…relaxed.”

“Of course, understandable, sir.” The youngster gave a nervous smile that likely was trying to be charming, though Abel barely gave it the time of day. Took more like cordial social interactions to actual gain his favour. He was at his heart, the sort of man that appreciated action over the frivolity of words.

“What’s your name, boy?”

The deputy blinked, and stared at Abel as if to ask 'me?’. The Mayor just raised a patient brow, a corner of his lips curled in a half-smile to encourage the boy.

“Urm, D-Deputy Roger Turner…sir.”

“Roger, old sorta name that. Did Sherriff Malvo recruit you?” Abel asked his questions with a gracious smile, but his tone was the kind that a police officer may have wielded ironically. It held a profound sense that answering wasn’t optional.

The deputy just nodded, putting his pad away and blinking away like an epiphytic deer in headlights.

“You know, I went to school with the Sherriff. I was older, but I knew him well enough. Still know him.”

Still completely lost on where this is going, the officer just bobbed his head along like a toy being shaken. His eyes were wide-eyed as if the prospect that his boss could know the Mayor well was surprising, even though anyone with even a modicum of a brain would expect it.

“I know, that if he knew one of his deputies, sent here to question me formally in the capacity of his office, decided to stand around and sip my bourbon, he’d fire them quicker than you could say missing kid.” It was said with the clinical cut of a surgeon. A master of the board calling out his checkmate, though Abel had to admit when it came to dimwits like Rogers, it so easy as to be boring.

The penny dropped. No, in fact, it tumbled down with the force of a loosen boulder, and just like that the naive youngster realised the brevity of his mistake. The only thing deputy could offer was a bumbling mess of words. “I well, you, um, I don’t…what?”

“It’s alright, my boy, I ain’t that cruel. I think we can come to an arrangement, make sure you can keep doing your good work. Take a seat.” To say Roger took the seat was being charitable, it was closer to collapse, the heavy browned leather of seat wrapping around him and making him seem like the 'boy’ that Abel had been calling him from the start. He just mutedly nodded, putting himself in the Mayor’s mercy.

The grin came back as Abel sat forward, a cat who had spotted its next meal. His eyes narrowed in conspiratorial slits a that broad smile of a kindly old man could now be seen to be what it actually had been, the deadly visage of a man who was unforgiving in exploiting your weaknesses. A game hunter in sight of prey.

“Now, why don’t you tell me all the hard work ya’ll have been doing. Don’t leave anything out.”

ANYTHING ELSE?

> Abel Hawker is a man of the draft. Not only did he serve in the Second World War upon turning 19 in 1943, but he then went on to make a second draft into the Korean war in his twenties. He’s a man who has killed and be trained to kill, causing violence to be no stranger to him. However, being a soldier has its price. There’s a simmering rage in Abel that’s hidden beneath his advanced age and small-town manners. It takes a lot to unsettle a man whose been in such brutal wars, but if you do, expect to find a hurricane of force that would rival many of Michigan’s infamous tornados.

> The Mayor was a loyal husband while he still had a wife, and can be quite the caring partner back in the days when he bothered with relationships. A sense of loyalty runs deep in him, and it spreads to his family. While he could never truly understand the interracial and liberal relationships that his children took on, he never removed his support (though he did spare a comment or two of opinion on it), because to him, family sticks together, always.

> No one is entirely sure of the source of the Hawker family wealth. It seems to be an accepted part of Devil’s Knot. The sun rises, the snow falls, and the Hawker family are wealthy. Only Abel and his father before him genuinely knows how the fortune was built and continues to be maintained. Make no mistake, the Mayor does not just sit on his inheritance, he grows it, to pass on to his son and his grandchildren. A tree after all, without the right care, only withers.

> The day of Brian Goode’s disappearance, Abel did indeed attend his usual Chapter meeting, he did also leave early. However, the bit he fails to often mention is that he had visitors to his house that evening when his grandson was seemingly long asleep. Man in dark coats and suitcases, who spent quite a few hours speaking to the Mayor about matters not uttered very openly.

> Mayor Hawker is quite the singer. Back in his day, in fact, Abel was part of a travelling band for a few years after the Korean war. It was just a hobby of boys trying to find work (Abel’s father was notoriously frugal), but should someone look hard enough, they may see old photos around Devils Knot of the band’s past shows. Still now, one can often catch him singing an old tune or listening to a recording on his record player. He surprisingly keeps up with more modern music too, but you’d never catch him admitting it. Perhaps in another life, he could have tried at it for real.

#dkaccepted #accepted #abel hawker

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wildbeautifuldamned · 3 years

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Vintage Mid Century Fornasetti Style Italy Fleur De Lis Drum Coaster Plate ebay sm85

fornasetti canape plate or set 8 coasters ebay jogl4951

Vintage Bucciarelli Milano Porcelain Drink Coasters (5) Resistio Con Valor ebay boxslanginpirate

#coaster #drum #bucciarelli #musical instruments #harp #bagpipes #violin #shield #horse #rifle #cow #gun #lyre #plate #key #fleur de lis #fleu de lei #head

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perissologist · 5 years

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ok i’m in a Mood(TM) where i WILL put absolutely anything and everything on this website so i’m gonna force all of you to look at the best thing i’ve ever written in my entire 22 years of life which i’ve just rediscovered on my google docs:

It was hot and dry; nosebleed weather. Lise sat on the terrace of the most popular Mediterranean restaurant in Westminster, holding her body as still as possible so that she wouldn’t sweat in her white wraparound dress. The rookie sat across from her, eyes on the menu. He was even damper than her in his full silk suit, but it was a posh sort of establishment, and he would have looked ridiculous in linen. To their right, the peaks of Parliament rose against the flat sky like castle turrets; beyond that, the Thames glittered deep blue in the rare English sunshine, its filth masked by the light and the distance.

The rookie noticed her looking at him and reached up to adjust his tie. It was automatic, nervous. He was about as green as they got, still carrying the tics of the academy on his coattails and straight into the mission. They had assigned him to her because he was a local, supposedly her key to unlocking the secrets of Europe. She suspected that it was more of a punishment. An unofficial cuff on the head for the antics she’d pulled on her last mission.

“What is it?” the rookie asked. At least he had the sense to keep his voice low. “Am I giving us away?”

Lise forced out a smile. She leaned in and twined her leg with the rookie’s, who immediately turned an amusing shade of beetroot. “Relax, darling,” she purred, in her best London accent. “It’s not often that we get to take lunch together.”

The rookie coughed. He had forgotten their cover, but at least he was a quick learner: His shoulders relaxed under his suit jacket and he reached across the table to take her hand, no fumbling involved. She smiled again, a little more real this time, and nodded when the waiter stopped by their table to ask if they were ready. “I’ll have the lamb and rice, please,” she said. “And a glass of your driest white.”

“The seafood stew for me,” the rookie said.

The waiter jotted down their orders and departed. Lise adjusted her broad-brimmed sunhat over her eyes and checked the entrances, the exits, the rooftops above and below the terrace’s level. She drummed her manicured fingertips against her thigh and watched the rookie sweat across from her. He was so new that she felt older by a decade just looking at him, but in reality they were probably close to the same age. He wasn’t half bad to look at: A thin face with a thin nose, but a sharp jawline and crystal blue eyes to rescue it. When she had first met him, his tawny, curly hair had annoyed her, but now she found it distantly charming. Maybe it was the heat going to her head. She tilted her head at him, sweet. “Tell me your name again.”

“Oh—it’s James,” he said. “James Caleb.”

She made a face. “Two first names? That’s a bit excessive.”

“No—Caleb’s not—”

The waiter arrived with their dishes. Another patron had entered the terrace, guided by the hostess to a singles table by the railing. He was white, fiftyish, square-jawed and a little pink under the skin in the way many white men were when they got to a certain age. He wore a navy suit without a tie and oxfords polished to a precise shine; his white-blond hair was just long enough to pull off a half-decent combover. He sat down at his table and hid his face behind the menu the waiter handed him.

“Sorry, darling, but I think I’ve just spotted an old friend.” Lise pulled the napkin off her lap and rose from her seat. “You don’t mind if I pop over to say hello, do you?”

She was moving across the terrace before the rookie had even turned enough to get a good look at their target, slipping into the empty seat across the table from the man. “I recommend the lamb,” she said, without the accent. “It’s excellent with lemon.”

The man looked up, already working up a scowl. His expression changed when he saw that she was a woman, and attractive. “Pardon me,” he said, with all the oily pleasantry one would expect from a politician, “but do we know each other?”

Lise smiled. “You don’t know me, but I know you, Walter Pipwhite.” In the next second, the barrel of her pistol was pressed against Pipwhite’s knee. He paled as dramatically as if someone had drained the blood out of him. “MP of Chatham and Aylesford, graduate of Cambridge in political economy and Aberdeen in English law, serving a second term in Parliament. Leaking state secrets to black market arms dealers in Austria and Lisbon.” Pipwhite looked as if someone was currently dangling him off Tower Bridge. “You really should keep your affairs in better order, Mr. Pipwhite.”

Pipwhite swallowed. “What do you want?”

Lise sighed. It was so boring when the targets rolled over so easily. Where was the fight? The thrill of the chase? “The name of the head of the operation, please and thank you.”

“I don’t know it,” Pipwhite said. “I only know my contact in the organization. I gave her the information and she verified it. After she confirmed it was good, she passed it on to her boss.”

“And the payments?”

“They were deposited in my accounts under a shell corporation. ‘Nautilus Ltd.’”

With one hand, Lise withdrew a tiny pad of paper and a nub of a pencil from a pocket in her dress, keeping her other hand pressing the pistol to Pipwhite’s knee. She jotted down “Nautilus Ltd” on the pad. “Would you be so kind as to share a description of this contact?”

Pipwhite’s brow furrowed. “White, attractive. Thirty, thirty-five. Thin. French accent. Carried herself like she knew the effect she had on you.”

Lise glared at him. “What is this, a Nicholas Sparks novel? What kind of identifying information is that?”

Pipwhite at least had the decency to flush. “Sorry. Dark hair, gray eyes. Sharpish face. Five-seven, five-eight. I think she had a mole on the left side of her neck.”

“Name?”

“I only knew what her colleagues called her. Fleur de Lis.”

“Pretentious,” Lise muttered, but wrote it down anyway. “Final question. Why’d you do it?”

Pipwhite’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You know,” Lise said. “Betray your country, collaborate with terrorists. Why?”

“I—” Pipwhite frowned, severe, and Lise recognized the excuse forming in his mouth. She sighed loudly, cutting him off.

“Never mind,” she said, and shot him in the chest, under the table.

Pipwhite slumped against the railing. Lise rose and rejoined the rookie at their table. He had half-stood from his chair and was looking at her with wide eyes. “Did you—?”

“How’s your seafood, dear?” Lise asked. She cut into a piece of lamb with her knife and fork and scooped up some of the spiced chutney on the side of her plate. Mm. Fucking delicious.

The rookie folded himself back into his chair with painful slowness. He picked up his fork but didn’t use it. She ate her lamb and let him stare at her for a while. At last, he asked, barely a whisper, “Shouldn’t we leave?”

“No one will notice for a while,” Lise said. “Until then, it’d be a shame to waste this lovely meal, wouldn’t it?”

She sipped her wine. The lunchtime chatter carried on around them; overhead, seagulls circled the Big Ben and swooped between the spokes of the London Eye. The rookie swallowed. He was pale underneath his sunburn. “They told me about you,” he said, low, like he was sharing a secret. “Back at HQ.”

“Oh?” Lise tasted some of her rice. It was great; very fluffy. “What did they tell you?”

“That you’re as insolent as a teenage girl but as bloodthirsty as a Navy SEAL.”

Lise grinned. “Those two qualities are far from contradictory, John.”

“James.” The rookie’s eyes darted towards Pipwhite’s slumped-over form. Lise sighed and took pity on him.

“Your British fretting is very cute, but it’s unnecessary. He’s just asleep.”

The rookie’s eyes locked back onto her. “What?”

“Hydrochlorine tranq dart,” Lise said. “It’s very fast-acting.”

It took a moment, but the tension drained from the rookie’s shoulders. He looked limp with relief. “Oh.” He exhaled, shaky. “Sorry I said you were insolent.”

“And bloodthirsty,” Lise reminded him, smirking.

“Right.”

“Hey,” someone at the next table said, voice rising. “I think that guy passed out.”

“That’s our cue.” Lise stood and tossed a fifty-pound note on the table. The rookie hastened to follow her towards the exit, the waiters rushing in the opposite direction as they hurried towards the unconscious MP. “Just so you know, I never would have killed him here.”

“Of course,” the rookie said.

“It would’ve made getting out of London a nightmare.”

The rookie looked suddenly nervous again. Lise grinned and led him out onto the street. “Alright, Jimbo,” she said. “Which way to St. Pancras station?”

I WILL NEVER TOP THIS SOMEONE GIVE ME A PULITZER FOR THIS

#i wrote this in a fugue state im pretty sure #anyways ive peaked absolutely and completely #i will probably delete this once ive regained my sanity #writing

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sithlordintraining · 6 years

Text

My Dancing Doll [UPDATED]

A/N: Me, the last person who should make a new series when I have 6-7 more chapters of SNA, and God knows how many between TMM and KotN. But here’s a story since I’m starting to regret not going to an HBCU. It’s written for Ben since I did one for Kylo last time and KotN has Matt Feedback is much appreciated, let me know if I should continue. please. IT’S UPDATED AND IT’S BETTER! IT WON’T BE A SERIES JUST A NICE LONG ONE SHOT.

Basically based on this and one of my fave SU Dolls, Ms. Kayla Pittman

“So like that show Bring It?” Ben asked. A chuckle emitted over the phone. “Yes, but not exactly.” Y/N, his best friend told him. “I still can’t believe you moved all the way to Louisiana.” A pout formed on his lips. You chuckled once again: “You’re so dramatic, you choose to move away also, Mr. Harvard.” Ben just rolled his eyes. You two were inseparable and he never thought that even college would pull you guys apart, even if you called or face timed every Sunday, and practically text each other every day. It wasn’t the same for Ben. Hence him flying to Louisiana to pick you up for Thanksgiving so you guys can come home together. So why not invite him to one of your shows. “I can’t believe you’re a dancing doll.” He teased. “Oh my Gosh Ben, it’s not even like that you’ll see and then you’re going to want to come down all the time.” You were a Southern University Dancing Doll, it meant so much to be a part one of the nations most prestigious and famous dance teams. So what was the best way to explain to your rhythmically challenged friend than to make him watch Bring It? “Alright, alright,” Ben huffed. “Well, I can’t wait to see you Dancing Doll.” You let him off the hook with that tease. “Bye Ben, see you next week.”

It was so damn hot in New Orleans, Ben wanted to peel off all his skin. “Jesus Christ,” He wiped the sweat that formed on his forehead. Looking at his phone he had three hours to spare before meeting you, so he would go to the hotel, wash up, and get his ticket from you. But boy did this heat have other plans for him. Settling into his hotel after a nice refreshing shower, the chill from the air conditioner knocked Ben right out. If it wasn’t for the maid’s cart ramming into the wall outside, Ben didn’t know how he would’ve awakened. With sleepy eyes, he looked at his phone was your face illuminated alerting him he had a call. “Hello?” He groggily answered. “Ben, what the fuck are you doing? You’re supposed to be meeting me to get the ticket!” You continued to yell at him, even though you were trying to keep your calm. “M’sorry, shit, shit, shit.” He cursed as he flopped around his room to get himself together. Holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder he listened to you just go off about calling him seventeen times and thirty-six text and being so worried something happened. “Relax, relax sweetheart.” Ben interrupted. “I’ll be there, everything will be fine and focus on your practice. I’ll see you soon, forehead kiss.” He said and you huffed in annoyance. “Forehead kiss,” You grumbled. Every time after you would calm Ben down from his ridiculous tantrums, you would give him a forehead kiss, and vice versa. So now, since you guys were so far apart, the friends just decided to say it. “Alright bye,” He hung up.

The drive to the Superdome was hell! He knew he was definitely going to get cursed out by you. Maybe God had pitied Ben and decided that whatever Y/N had in store for him was far worse and the least he could do was get him there on time. Y/N HATED being late and one of Ben’s famous trait was being late; how’d they become friends, they still don’t know. In her text, she had given Ben directions to sneak in the back where the band was to give him his ticket. He followed it intently, through the sounds of Lil Wayne and Beyonce and the smell of barbecue before he found his destination with a sea of gold and blue. Throughout all the commotion, he could make out specks of jaguar print and he guessed that’s where you would be. He found himself correct as he saw your head popped up. He froze just staring at you because...damn. You looked good. Like yeah, you’re a beautiful girl. But, like damn it had to be a crime for you to look so mature, so...sexy. Your eyes met his and he gulped because even though you were shooting daggers at him, it was so hot. Ben watched his friend saunter over in her gold dance heels and jaguar-spotted cape and he swore he could watch you do that all day. “Ben, it took you long enough!” She said but all Ben could do was open his mouth as he accepted the ticket. He couldn’t stop staring at the way your (y/h/c) curls framed your face giving you that old Hollywood pin-up girl look, the way your black eyeliner winged to give you a mischievous look, while your red lips just played games with his mind. He didn’t realize he was just staring at you until you walked away. “Hey, Hi, Hi,” Ben pulled you into a hug, which confused you. Did he not listen to anything you had just said. “Hi,” You smiled sweetly, which had his brain turning to mush. “I have to go, I have to march in, and I’m already not supposed to be here.” You told him. “But, I want to watch you march in.” Ben put on his best puppy eyes, but it didn’t work. “Ben, stop it. I got you a good seat, now go! You’ll see me from there.” With a sigh, he accepted his defeat and watch you walk away to join your group. He began to shuffle along when he turned back to see you all taking a picture. Your eyes fell on him and you sent a wink his way with a flirtatious smile. Did you just do that or was his mind playing crazy tricks on him?

Ben briskly walked to find his seat in the large stadium with you running and doing other things in his mind. “Shit,” He mumbled under his breath. Never did he ever think he would feel this way about you, Y/N, his best friend. Slumping in his seat, he sighed trying to find the best excuse as to why he was feeling this way. It was just primitive hormonal instinct, he declared. Basic cavemen theory: see pretty lady, mate with pretty lady. Ben shook his head, he didn’t want to mate with you, he’s known you since you were twelve! Even though, everyone spoke about how cute your kids would be. A smile slowly fell to his lips at the thought until the rumble of drums pulled him out of his thoughts as Southern University began to emerge. On the large screen, he could see, who he guessed, was the captain and her somewhat stuck-up expression before panning out to show the others. His brown eyes widened when he saw their outfit. My God they all looked naked! There was no way in hell your dad knew about this, there was no way in hell any of their dads knew about this! It was a bodysuit that looked made it look like they had on silver sequin panties and a large bedazzled fleur de lis covering their torso. The captain began to throw a stand that maneuvered the group out. His eyes frantically searched for you, not knowing if he really wanted to see you or just wanted to see you in that. He groaned, falling into his seat as the crowd stood obscuring his view of you. Through his woes, he glanced to see that they had made it to the stands, doing one last count before sitting down one by one. He watched the screen intently as he still hadn’t seen you. People had begun to sit down so he had a very clear vision. Ben watched Y/N slowly guide her gloved hands down her body, back arching almost inhumanely, as she slowly rolled into a seated position. All the while maintaining eye contact with the camera before a little smirk fell to your lips, causing the crowd to rave at the newcomer who was very much living up to the expectation as the tail. Ben was heated, internally and externally. You basically just eye-fucked a whole stadium, who the fuck does that? Clearly you but, it was the look you had just given him! His brows knitted together as he clenched his fist. He wasn’t mad, is what he told himself. And it was true, he wasn’t mad, he was jealous.

Nor could he concentrate on the game as his eyes kept wandering back to you. The way you were perched up like a pretty Barbie doll or laugh at your friends jokes or make faces at the games. Ben couldn’t just stop watching you, it was as if he was a scientist studying cells or a painter and his muse. With every stand that was thrown, your movements were smooth and effortless. “A true doll,” He had heard someone say. A lot of people had taken interest in you, saying that you were “a perfect pick for the team” that “fit in with the seasoned dolls” and “is able to keep up and still having your own style.” Ben couldn’t help but smile at the compliments that filled his area about you. Plenty of times he wanted to turn and say that the girl they all deemed “Lil’ KP” was his best friend. In a brief moment, your eyes fell over to his section and Ben believed that even from afar you were staring into his soul. A blush began to cover his face at just the thought of you possibly thinking of him the way he recently discovered he thought about you. Simultaneously, a smile graced your lips that had believing that the universe was clearly messing with him. He growled in annoyance as he got up and made his way to the exit. Even though he was outside, he needed some nice, fresh, air-conditioned air. Sitting at one of the concession stands sitting area with the palms of his hands pressed against his eyes. Why was it now that everything had to be like this? Maybe that feeling was always there and you were always there and he found contentment in that. But now, you were miles away in Louisiana, wearing sequins all over your rolling body, with guys who didn’t know how great you are and deserved to be spoiled with food, presents, love, and attention. Much time passed before he decided to go back in. He observed that bands had left and it was much darker. Had he missed the whole game? “Umm, is it over?” He asked a random person. “No Baby, it’s halftime!” The man exclaimed. “They just getting started!” Bidding him thanks he made his way to the seat.

His mind was easily taken off you for a brief moment as he watched Grambling State take over the field. He couldn’t help but think of the big differences between this and the one at Harvard. Now, he knew what they meant by ‘come for the game, stay for halftime’. As his eyes roamed around the illuminated arena, he could definitely see there were more people than there were the first half. The field was clear and the crowd went mad anticipating for what Southern University would bring. The field was clear and the crowd went mad anticipating for what Southern University would bring. The band stepped foot loud and clear onto the field. Ben watched in confusion and amusement because this was far from what he saw at Harvard. The band leader who looked like he could be a British guard hyped the crowd as he flung his body over the field with high kicks and bending backward to land on his hat. The whole look was just enticing and he was impressed at the band's clarity, flow, and how they could execute movements while playing the instruments. Harvard could never. Maybe he should go to HBCU and be that one random white boy. He shook his head; he was pretty sure that he would at least have to have some type of rhythm and Ben could positively admit that after a while, his claps would fall offbeat. “And now ladies and gentlemen put your hands together for the classy, the beautiful Southern University Dancing Dolls!” The girls emerged from the field in a high-cut jaguar printed leotard with a sequined collar choker. “Again with these bodysuits!” Ben grumbled as it took his eyes to adjust to the fast movements that made it harder to find you. “YASSSS LIL’ KP!” The girls next to him screamed. Looking to the far left, he saw your mesmerizing smile. With every kick, turn, and jump he saw those facial expressions that were etched in his mind since the sixth grade. He was so happy for you achieving one of your many dreams and felt so proud to call you his best friend. Keyword: his.

And if you weren’t already killing him with the costumes, after halftime the dancers changed into a more revealing two-piece blue number with sequins and a feathered skirt aka belt because when you bent over he could see how perfect your as-. Ben shook his head, he shouldn’t be checking out his best friend like that. If the outfit wasn’t enough the band was playing songs that called for more sultry movements and once again you were eye-fucking the stadium. Granted you were just being an entertainer, he couldn’t deny that he wanted you to look at him with that look and only him. But what could he say? What would he do? He couldn’t just walk up to you and say “Hey Y/N I think I’m in love with you and I want to be with you forever.” He cringed just thinking how awkward it would be. With a deep sigh, he continued his new hobby: Y/N-watching. You looked so good in each costume, but this one had to be his favorite he pervertedly admitted to himself. Ben had to decide if he would stay quiet or say something.

The game was over and the score was forgotten as he followed the true fans to the back to watch the band march out. And there you were in all your glitter and blue feathers with a tired but very bright smile. With a tightening feeling in his chest, a somber feeling washed over him. How had he overlooked you? Yes, it was cliche to fall for a best friend. But, you were talented, funny, good-looking, intelligent, had a great personality, literally cared about him and cared enough about him to put him in his place. It made him sad that you were always there and he’d only seen you as a best friend. But had he? Thinking back, you were always the first person he wanted to tell good news to, the person he went to to make him feel better, the only person that could tease him to days end without making him mad, the last voice he wanted to hear at night, the sight he wanted to see in every class period, his date for every formal event, basically just always by his side. It was always you. Throughout his internal dialogue, he had missed your smiling face make your way towards him. “BEN!” You jumped and he caught you quickly, arms wrapping tightly around your exposed center. His fingers gently dug into the soft skin causing you to giggle and squirm out of his grip which had him wanting to pull you back in. “Did you like it? Did you enjoy the show?” Y/N asked. “Of course I did, it’s way better than mine. You might have to go up to Cambridge and show them a few things about a halftime show.” Your sweet laugh fell passed through your red lips leaving Ben in a haze. “Did you see me?” Her eyes gleamed up at him as his lips tugged before speaking. “Did I see you? Sweetheart I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You were so beautiful and graceful. Y/N you have to be the most perfect person I’ve ever met.” As Ben began to talk, you slowly started to realize it wasn’t about your dancing, it was about you. “Everything you do is so effortless, even on your bad day, you make it look like a walk in the park. The way you carry yourself is so captivating, just to be in your presence is an honor. And the fact that you always chose me to grace it with just, I mean, I just.” Your smile had faded into a confused frown. “What are you trying to say, Ben?” Your words were slow and calculated, at least that’s how he processed it. “What I’m trying to say is, well, I,” He stammered before throwing all caution to the wind. “Oh fuck it!” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a long-awaited kiss. Everyone cheered and the band began to play ‘Ebony & Ivory’. You pulled away quite embarrassed, hiding your smile in his chest. Deep down you always thought you felt something more for Ben, but you thought of it as just the progression of friendship. But that kiss definitely proved you wrong! “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. Lifting your head, you smiled: “It’s ok, but you still owe me a date.” “I know and we have whole two hours for that.” He chuckled.

Bonus:

“You will not take me on a date on a plane!”

“Think of it as part one.”

“What’s part two?”

“Dinner.”

“Oh hell no, don’t think you can use our families dinner as a date!”

P.s.: Feedback is much appreciated, let me know if I should continue, please. LAZINESS AT IT’S FINEST RIGHT HERE!

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