But a Hellhound in Seraph's Guise

The Poet-Expatriate of the Desolate Isle | The Born Suspicioner | The Irreverent Beauty | The Bacchant in Search of the Idyll | The No-Nonsense Rake | The Gentleman Diabolical | The Dandified Classicist | The Whig Party-Animal | The Freedom-Fighting War-dog of Old | The Grecian Fetishist | The Rollicker of Rochdale | The Lord of Misrule | The Cynical Maddalo | The Augustan Lover | The Apollo of the Belvedere | The World Weary Debauchee | The Modern Prometheus The Immortal ℒord ℬyɍoŋ "And I remember one remark which then Maddalo made. He said: "Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong, They learn in suffering what they teach in song." ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ [An Independent Multiverse RP for the Rt Hon. George Gordon, Sixth Baron of Byron, Faceclaim - Jonny Lee Miller ]

[zeitloslebengone]

                ⊰✙∬   ”What? it was only an observation.”

[diableboiteux]

                    "And you--my dear--require explanation, do you?" His tone was flat, his brow high, "It is a limp. You've yet to see it--my hoof?" 

[maestrodartea]

                   ”…… Indeed… Apologies again, signore….” { the artista takes a moment to compose   himself from his somewhat embarrassing   blunder before the light returns to his eyes   and a wide grin brightens his face considerably. }                                                              “Genius. That’s what they are. An engineering                                                              masterpiece. There are a total of twenty six                                                               bones in the foot and ankle that work together                                                               with the thirty three joints and over one hundred                                                              muscles, tendons, and ligaments, to hold you                                                              upright and allow for walking, running, ect…                                                               It is my belief that we can train feet to do nearly                                                              everything our hands do…. Not to mention they’re                                                              almost as aesthetically pleasing as hands…”

[diableboiteux]

        {  From the beginning of his dissertation to the end, his lordship: threaded & unthreaded his hands, fingered a Castilian letter opener, rolled his imperious eye, and parked an expression of undeterred annoyance. Byron, the sole audience, was an unpopular one. But though that was clearly evidenced over his face, the fact seemed to go completely unnoticed to his humble orator. He did not actually expect the conversation to continue on such as it did, but so it had--, to no reprieve to its conspicuously frosty listener. Both cheek and temple slapped into the palm of his hand, his entire demeanour lacking any notable quality of etiquette and his blink was incredulous. }

                        "--Train  f e e t ? Anatomia Utopia,--? Yes," he smirked, "and                          hands then would take up the preoccupations of the foot; the                          arms--the legs--the legs--the arms, the head: the genitalia and                          vice versa? Indeed. We'll fuck with our faces and kiss with our                          cocks, is that it?" The gesticulations he provided illustrated his                          points in perfect demonstration. Dabbling in absurdity, he played                          with the politics of speech. "What good irony verbal masturbation                          might be in that scheme." He peppered in a laugh and plucked a                          loose thread on his trousers. 

[zeitloslebengone]

{ — diableboiteux }

                ⊰✙∬   ”You walk kind of funny, my dear.”

[diableboiteux]

                        "--..." 

[inthefurther-deactivated2014112]

"You’re right, sir, but certainly that’s easier said than done. I don’t wanna turn people away from me. Loneliness hurts."

[diableboiteux]

         "I suppose fear and wonder bifurcate from the same river; one no more rockier than the other." Sweeping the tails of his coat aside, he rested beside her and with an earnest look, ventured: "You are not alone now." 

[maudit]

[earthwanker-deactivated20150322]

Do you ever hear someone’s voice and kinda wanna fuck it

[diableboiteux]

{ nico-machiavelli } 

           The flush of youth that crowned the boy's head, soft as thistledown--he would hazard, had an odd (yet routinely more commonplace) sort of affect on his lordship. The reflection turned inward and suddenly he felt like Methuselah and mourned enviously that loss of greenery. His own diadem had less spring, his lips and eyes felt tainted, and yet there were days where the water fed him life like a Swiss hot spring and he could spy deep in the Adriatic waters an arc of existence that consoled the loss of a decade. Was that a bit of naivete or a glimpse into the eyes of human frailty?

            There being nothing fresh about the populace in the streets, he turned his attention back into the square, toward the boy who though cherubim features--more cheek than bone, had the eyes of falcon which set upon an object with a brilliant precision that so struck his lordship with their icy perfection that his gaze became more intent. All of this unfounded his earlier assumption to cast this youth as a boy when indeed, he was not plain enough. Though, he had seen a noble child who announced his age by the fault of petty speech--vice versa. He was either a young man, or child who begat no marks of innocence.

           This contemplative voyeurism was reigning habitual, he found, and idiotic at its fore. Yet, he persisted more from indolence than any necessity to spy.

[planetearthe]

IMPERSONATE MY CHARACTER IN MY INBOX I WANNA SEE WHAT YOU GUYS THINK OF THIS LIL SHIT

[mollysolverson]

DEAR GOD

[cleopathea]

                           & she had been having such a lovely day. 

                          a long, drawn out sigh passed parted lips,                      and as she turned to face him, so too did her                     demeanor turn — oh, how easily did she shift                       from the benevolent goddess to the spiteful                                                                                       woman. 

                    she was a queen of many roles,                            but in his libertine, she wanted no part. 

                            a beat passed as she held his gaze, eyes                           flashing a subliminal warning. she would                          tolerate none of his antics today — a point                          she made sure to instill with her seemingly                           perpetual glare.  even as she addressed her                                             servants, she did not look away.

            “less food, more wine                                        it seems i’ve lost my appetite.” 

[diableboiteux]

                                   Parodying her stance, he presented to her the                                    selfsame mere effigy of a woman he saw before                                    him, mimicking her movements with no real malice                                    but enough heated levity to produce a kind of feminine satire.

                     —Though his impersonation was perfectible, he relied                                on his hip to perform what near gamely, snake-like                                precision that hers seemed to inquire to the stone she                                stepped on. Whereas he held a more faltered traipse.                                He laughed, not entirely hoarsely but the swillery                                evidenced itself in his timbre; an eerie trend. 

                                                 "Forsooth, she is  f o r m i d a b l e."

                            He both mocked and applauded her,                             tone resonating taking on the guise                             of praise while remaining just as                             seamlessly fake as any accolade.  

                              "I have not lost mine." His distance knitted.

                    This display was making merry with himself more than                     it had anything to do with her impending retorts. There                     was something so cunningly detached about intoxication                     that left a person more applicably iridescent, neither unreal                     or surreal but something in between.

[qapsiel]

10 Things You (Probably) Didn’t Know About The Muse

Inside The Actor’s Studio Edition

So the purpose of this meme is to give a little info on your muses without having to rely on others to fill your ask with meme questions. I know how disappointing it can be to come back to an empty ask so I wanted to create a meme that anyone and everyone can do (mun and muse). The rules are simple, you do not need to be tagged to fill out the questions, but once you have you must reblog and tag 10 of your followers to spread the love (as well as add a question of your own to the bonus section). You can fill it out as many times as your heart desires (we all know muses can change with their character development.)

Tagged by: innocentdelirium

10 Questions:

1. What is your favorite word?

     ”Bletcherous—or skelp—or mumpsimus. It changes daily, if not hourly.”

2. What is your least favorite word?

     ”Anything I find particularly difficult to pronounce…” 

3. What turns you on?

     “In the realm of qualities, nothing beastly. Though I have become, in years, more attuned to obscurity, if only to diminish the tedium.”

4. What turns you off?

     "I have grown a hair objective."

5. What sound do you love?

     ”A lovely, unusual tessitura in a voice.”

6. What sound do you hate?

      “Silence.”

7. What is your favorite curse word?

     “Cunt.”

8. What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?

     ”Ahahahahaha…”

9. What profession would you not like to do?

     ”All of them.” 

10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God(s) say when you arrive at the pearly gates?

     “ ‘Oops’ “

Bonus Questions:

1. Something most people don’t know about you?

     ”Oh that is fine… Tell me, what is not a constant under these modern discerning eyes, be it my childhood—my misdeeds, me? People will have what they want. If they want mystery, evil—so mote it be… What the hell is the truth, anyhow?”

2. Sexual Preference?

     ”Now.”

3. What position do you sleep in?

      “I hardly sleep.” 

4. Greatest fear?

      “Forgetting myself.” 

5. If you could leave one thing to be remembered by, what would it be?

     ”For what—that bitch, Posterity? So much for her. I’ve left my body of work—my body—my livelihood, my story—what more is there?” 

6. Would you change your past?

     ”Nothing. Why should I regret it? Can it afford me any pleasure?”

|| 10 tagged muses ||: whoever wants to?

[coffinflop]

I never was much more disgusted with any human production than with the eternal nonsense, and tracasseries, and emptiness, and ill-humor, and vanity of this young person; but he has some talent, and is a man of honor, and has dispositions of amendment. Therefore, use your interest for him, for he is improved and improvable. You want a ‘civil and delicate declension’ for the medical tragedy? Take it.

Lord Byron about his personal physician, John William Polidori, in a letter to John Murray, August 21, 1817 (via dwightfryes)

[diableboiteux]

For those of you waiting on me, I'm very sorry for the gaps in between replies. It may seem like I'm not working on your specific reply, but please trust that I am. Hopefully I can whip out a few things at least seemingly cognizant. 

[emperorclaudiusofficial]

Lord Byron + text posts 

[emperorclaudiusofficial]

has this been done 

[diableboiteux]

The Poet and the Vampyre || Byron & Adam

[ourheartscondemnus]

"Are you certain you haven’t had too much to drink?" Adam questioned the man as his eyes moved to the goblet in Byrons hands. "I hardly think I am one to be compared to any..priestly lineaments." Clearing his throat, Adam offered to pour the mortal another drink. "I wanted to ask you about your poem ‘She Walks In Beauty’. You wrote it two years ago, did you not? What was it about? To you,as the author, what was swimming through your mind? It’s a lovely poem. I often think of it when I miss my wife,but it feels as if you may have felt something less than love and more of admiration for the subject of the poem. Am I correct in my assumptions?”

[diableboiteux]

                 Though the immediate assumption of Byron's features had all the marks to be construed as a caricature out of a French farce: his grey eyes boring glassily into the figure before him with not so much as a whit of humour. Yet, their longevity was stilted; he was resolved to be kind rather than to let his temper flare up like a periwigged prick. He rolled his eyes a quarter, like the swing of a metronome and rested his index finger on his cheek bone and thumb below his chin. Then glancing down blearily at the chess table (a long neglected game: this consensus dictated by himself), he grunted. 

                 "You're married?" Byron nodded, grimacing, "My condolences." He only muttered this into his glass as he swilled a little deeper. Good gad, this mortal foible must needs a reformation. He stirred his eyes up towards his guest and swirled a finger around the rim of his cup to find an occupation mild, and provided a perfunctory response: "--And is not admiration a glimpse of that mellifluous ague called love?"

[madetheshield]

"Of course not. Why would I ever accuse you of such things?”

[diableboiteux]

                 "—And who taught you to be such a viper?"

[1stdukeofwellington]

diableboiteux entered the marquee.

"Good afternoon, my lord. I’m pleased to see you have arrived safely. Shall we get to business or would you prefer to rest a little first?"

[diableboiteux]

             Such was that followed in his lordship's mannerisms as to hint to an immediate sense of disquietude at the scenario. Rather, the occasion was more aptly titled a predicament--and one regrettably unforeseen. "Indeed?" He resorted to being between the median of grim and laconic, taking a healthful drachm of either. Narrowing his icy eyes, he scanned the room hardly budging further than five feet from the nook of the doorway. He kept his expression an adequate denial of the precepts of their coming conversation with a platitude, "You'll have to forgive me if I did not attend to your first request." He smiled. More mirth there than warmth. "Though I can hardly be blamed for believing it a jape..." Byron allowed that air to trail; his meaning not enigmatic.