I imagine the sex.
The rattle of it,
His & Hers,
seams full of light,
heavy with it,
curving their bodies
like swans necks,
his fingers, before,
the same fingers,
on a different body,
open as a subway
skin on skin on skin,
on foggy windows,
into every shadow,
the same fingers, before,
pulling her throat strings,
into litanies of
greedy prayers, before,
not mine, before,
the grime of them,
furious with it,
Fanfic Oswald: He looked absolutely gorgeous; the rising sun filtering through the curtains and warming his porcelain pale skin…making his hair shimmer lightly and his freckles stand out, dusted like stars upon his cheeks and shoulders. His long, dark eyelashes fluttered soft against his cheekbones and his hair fanned out like a halo on the pillow. The blanket lay across his hips, showing off his pale chest and lean biceps…and that long, swan-like neck. He was the picture of beauty and elegance. Royalty.
into the great hall, you were greeted with a sea of giggling girls and
apprehensive looking boys, clutching envelopes, ranging in colours from, red to
pink to delicately decorated, to plain white. A little confused you made your
way to your table, plopping yourself down, and grabbing a slice of toast as the
rack floated by, adding a generous spread of marmalade.
were just about to bite into the delicious breakfast, when an owl dropped a
piece of parchment on your plate. That was odd, you had already written to your
parents this week.
to panic, you hurriedly picked up the letter, only for your worry to ebb away
as you realised that the parchment was folded extremely neatly, into the shape
of a swan.
the swans neck in cramped handwriting, was written, ‘open me, please.’ Still
utterly bewildered, you had drawn the attention of a handful of younger girls. It
seemed a shame to spoil such a lovely piece of craftsmanship, nevertheless you
did as the swan asked, and began to unfurl it with cautious fingers.
recognised that spidery handwriting, the owner of it sat next to you in potions,
a faint smile tugging at your lips at the thought of newt spending hours poring
over this piece of parchment. Your smile only grew wider as you read, the beautiful words.
were positively beaming as you searched the hufflepuff table, looking for a
particular mess of auburn curls.
couldn’t find that curly mop anywhere in the great hall. Disappointment filled
your chest, as you checked your watch, there wasn’t time to look for him elsewhere,
as you hurried your way to charms.
from the beautiful letter floating through your mind, as you impatiently
drummed your fingers on the desk, the clock seemingly standing still, as you
waited for your potions class, at the end of the school day.
potions came around. As you headed down to the chilled dungeons, nerves began
to build in your stomach. The beautiful letter, might not have even been from
newt, after all the person hadn’t signed their name, you only had the handwriting
to go on. Could it possibly be that your besotted brain was playing tricks on you?
warily made your way to your stool beside newt , taking several deep calming
breaths. “Are you alright? You look a bit pale’ his brow furrowed with concern,
‘I’m alright, just a long day.’ You reassured him, as the professor began the lesson.
You however were far more interested in the handwriting of the boy by your
began to flutter in your stomach, as you checked the curve of each and every letter
that he scribbled down. Newt must have felt your starring, as he looked up from
his work, a slight smile at the corner of his full lips. A twinkle in his eyes,
as he saw your own giddy smile.
have terrible handwriting you know.’ You teased a little flirtatiously, “not so
bad that you couldn’t read my letter. I hope you liked the swan.’ He teased
back. Both of your smiles wider than they had been before, as newt’s cheeks flushed.
gently placed your hand on his, where it sat on your shared desk, before he intertwined
your fingers together.
listen to me, daughter
there will be four types of boys
you will come across that will
sting your heartbeat:
I. he will only reek of you in the
moonlight, and shamelessly wash
you off in the morning. he will
come as a prophet
preaching his ways with
a mouth seamlessly full
of light curving his body
into the sides of your
hipbones like swans bend
their necks. he will conjoin his
knuckles into the palms of your
hands while shoving his teeth
down your throat trying to savor
you. a beast that will try to pry
your thighs wide to fit his anatomy
in between. he will have hopes of
harvesting the honey out of you.
tell him, there was no sweetness
left for him. do not sell the raw
honey stored in the beehives
of your womb.
II. the one in which his suit will
be perfectly pressed
and you are obsessed with
his ability to relax with you in
shamelessly eating ice cream
on the couch. he will be rough
skinned that makes the sweetness
have the ability to prosper in his
vacancy. but you will not touch the
fireworks lightning your tongue.
for the kisses stampeded into your
delicate cheeks will not taste
as genuine as your mothers.
III. then there is the one that
feels like he’s cracking your
heart like he does a pomegranate
with his bare hands.
he will be the left over particles
of fruit beneath your finger nails.
the sugar stains smeared all over
your lips. he will be the
only mercy you will pray
for in a beautiful war.
though he will have blood
on his hands too many times
that I will constantly warn you
about the heartbreaker ready
to stick daggers into you like
IV. this one will be different
you will see him and his brown
eyes will hit your body like a
season the one that touches your
skin as if you are spun gold.
his voice alone will shake you
it will be the echo that carves
flowers in the spineless.
he will have plucked every poem
that has ever touched your lips
and write new lines of poetry
into the roots of you
into the breath of the parts where
colorful wings roam
a place where your wild
It always bugged me when paleoartists give large Ornithopods scrawny swan necks, instead of thicker, horse necks. What about you? Which do you think was more plausible?
Definitely thicker necks.
We do have some soft-tissue evidence for it – “Leonardo” the mummified Brachylophosaurus gives us an idea of the minimum neck outline and musculature. “Horse-like” is actually a decent comparison in terms of general shape!
I had slumped through a few years, Living as a man, in a fine suit, with My hands always in my pockets. I was A gentleman, cute, casual, easy. My Tie was always loose, untied, about My swan-neck. Then, in a moment Of inspiration, I decided to become Louise Brooks. It took only a few deft Touches to make me girl again. Now My fine calves are on the display and I kick-step onto the dance floor as the Jazz rhythms send me dizzy. My pencil Dress finds me slender. My knees bop. My bob flips and swishes about my pale, Boy-thinking face. I am grace, between, A touch of lace, a swing of the hips, Crimson shock of lips. Now I rule the world.
I can’t believe what I just found out, I pretty much ran home to write this post. Or well… kicked the train so it would move faster. When Neal is back in his father’s Castle during the 3rd season, he finds the key chain he stole for Emma.
Neal: “A necklace, it was Emma’s. It was supposed to represent our life together. I don’t know how it survived the trip.” Belle: “Because, it was born out of true love.”
True Love, right? This key chain is associated with True Love. So I took a closer look at it and thought to myself they could have gone for a more elegant design when suddenly instead of a swan, I noticed two distinct shapes. The swan’s neck looks like a lion’s tail and the body looks like a scorpion’s claw. So I decided to check the Zodiac signs for our characters. Emma’s on the cusp between Libra and Scorpio, so Scorpio seemed right. Then the only indicator we have for Henry’s birthday is a password Regina once used, which would indeed make him a Leo. So I thought, nice, Neal did give Emma her True Love, Henry, nice symbol… until I realized the waterline may also be a symbol. I checked Neal and he’s an Aries, not Aquarius, the water bearer, it’s not even a water sign. And then I remembered this thing of beauty.
The waterline! Regina’s an Aquarius! I may or may not have made very, very special noises that I hope I will never ever make again when making this particular discovery. Let’s just summarize, the True Love key chain binds the Leo, the Scorpio and the Aquarius together.
Why go through the trouble of making such a genius design if it’s not going to be important? If Swan Mills family finding True Love with each other isn’t what this show is about? Why does the list of hints pointing at this beautiful family keep growing?
Black, Bold, BEAUTIFUL
She was black as the darkest night
I’m talking Jesus black
She was like God in human form
Cept I had no urge to worship her
My curiosity leaned more toward appreciation for what art is supposed to be..
Here she was a real life F**K YOU to everything we thought beauty was.
She was black, bold, and beautiful.
Her hair was not straight, it was as wooly as Jesus’s.
Her eyes were not blue, they were as brown as the earth’s richest soil that held the Next Adam.
Her skin as smooth as the sea just before a storm.
I stood their appreciating her, watching her affect the world around her without even knowing.
Her neck was Swan like, her lips full, soft, inviting
Her body was to die for
Her smile was like seeing the sun set for first time over the horizon
I loved her on sight
She must have felt my thoughts because she looked at me
Right in my eyes
Smiled and said I love you too brother
All rights reserved to Thomas C. Ross for Ross Publications.
Author of Cracks in my Palms, A Light Shines through Darkness & No Limits by Ross.
That night, the stars had fled and clung to her form– fabric swathed to lithe limbs was sheer, with necessary portions covered through the threading of gems the hue of champagne; beneath the right light, she shines. The alcohol consumed has long since diluted the ichor of floret veins, slender digits manicured pale having not spent a moment of the party without a drink curled to her grasp. Thus, it is intoxication who dangles the whispered notions of a man of flames nestled somewhere within the maze, and its the haunting promise of such prompting her depart from the cluster of bodies and towards it’s entrance.
Her palm comes in contact with one nearby, a swan-neck swivelling in her newfound company’s direction, a mouthful of diamonds visible: “Come, into the lion’s mouth we go.”