#London Glades

[littleeliza-lotte]

“If he knew the truth he’d never, ever go!”

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price (& Reader x 141) Rated: Mature Word count: 2.9k Summary: A cottage in the snow. A Captain you knew in another life. His rugged and attractive men. Will you let them into your life? Note: This is a fic I wrote for @literatecowboy for the Secret Santa event organized by @bunnyreaper! I tried to make something soft and sweet and it's taking place during the winter, it's not smutty but if you like it, I can make a part 2 with some action 👀

EDIT: we have a PART 2!!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, a little bit of angst but it’s mainly fluff, smoking, flirting, praise kink, sharing body heat

MASTERLIST // PART 2

It had been Laswell’s idea. 

The team needs to be ready for snow conditions, do whatever you think is best. You have 3 weeks. And I’m talking extreme weather, Price, not a little trip to your local ski resort.

Those had been the instructions Kate had delivered to an unphased Price.

He knew it was only a matter of time before this kind of mission would be required from them. Of course, the men of the 141 have already trained in the cold of England, have seen and tested the winter gear. But Laswell is about to send them somewhere at the very East of Europe, and there is a small difference between surviving winter in London and surviving winter in places where the cold could kill you in minutes if you didn't have the proper equipment or knowledge. Over there, more than usual, tiny mistakes could have big consequences. And Price would rather not have his team freeze to death because of a lack of training. 

It’s December and the month is cold already. But it’s nothing compared to the cold Soap feels when he steps out of the helicopter. It’s like Price has picked the coldest place he knows in America. He’s pretty sure they are somewhere in Wyoming or Montana, the only thing he can see are mountains all around them. Spruce and fir trees sprawl in dark patches contrasting with the stark white of the snow covering everything. He crosses the large glade to reach the tree line, as the helicopter takes off, sending the fresh snow flying in every direction. The sky is a light gray, and while the whole scene is stunning - makes his head spin with equal awe and wonder thinking about nature’s force and brutal beauty - it means there is no sun to warm his face. 

“Come on soldiers, let’s move, we still have a two-hour hike to reach our B&B!”

“You mean someone will be there to make us breakfast Captain?” Soap chimes, unbridled joy coming through his voice at the prospect of warm home-made meals instead of MREs.

Price has a hard time hiding a smile as he starts walking on the thin winding path, only recognisable for those who know it’s there. ”There will be someone, but I’m not sure they will cook for you, Sergeant.”

Ghost lets out a dry chuckle and follows the steps of their Captain, leaving Soap and Gaz a bit puzzled.

❄️

The sun is already setting when you hear loud voices outside, and soon after a series of knocks on your door. You’re a little stressed when you rise from the floor in front of your fireplace to go open the door. You have agreed to shelter those 4 soldiers for 3 entire weeks only as a favor to Price. An old acquaintance who saved your life, a decade earlier, before you left the field to heal your wounds - body and mind. The large wood cabin had been your home for a few years already. You keep it open for women like you, in need of time away from the world, although it’s pretty rare they come during winter time when the road is blocked by snow. It’s an old building, but well-kept and you made it as cozy as possible, all warm natural tones, plush carpets on dark wood floors, dark gray stones in the bathrooms. 

You welcome them with a soft smile, delighting in their surprise - seems like John had not told them he planned on using your cottage as a back-up base for this training expedition. John’s team members are not really what you expected: there is one Scott with a mohawk that seems simultaneously annoyed and happy to be there (he has terrific blue eyes), a young and calm brown-haired Brit (he’s really cute, like movie-star cute), and a behemoth with a literal skull mask (his size alone has your head spinning). You can’t complain about them though, as they are polite and friendly, praising your home - and for sure taking in the comfort and warmth one last time before heading off for days of rudimental camping in the icy woods. You don’t envy them, remembering that one mission you did in Siberia when you were still in active duty, that wasn’t really fun. They settle in their rooms easily and you all share a quick dinner you had cooked - except for the masked giant. The banter goes fast between them, especially after you offer them beers. You like being alone, but you have to admit they are fun to be around.

❄️

The living room is silent and dark, the only light coming from the fireplace across your couch. After dinner, you had trouble finding sleep in your room, so you went to read a bit in front of the fire. But you must have dozed off, because you wake up suddenly, gasping, arms flailing, sitting up immediately. Your frantic eyes, wide open, scan the room for the reason of your awakening, survival instinct going overdrive. Someone is standing in your living room, frozen in place on their way to the front door. It’s the behemoth with the skull mask - the scariest of them all, of course.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologizes. In the darkness of the room, it looks like his jaw is not even moving beneath the dark fabric covering the lower half of his face, like the sound just pours out of him or like he’s speaking directly inside your head. He might actually, you’re not entirely convinced the giant is not some sort of supernatural being John brought back from a cursed battlefield. It’s unnerving to say the least. 

“I’m sorry, it- it happens sometimes, I can’t help it, my instinct thought you were a threat…” you blurt out before realizing you may have offended him in some way by implying he’s not worthy of your trust. But instead of scoffing, he lets out a thoughtful hum, lowering his head to look at his boots, almost sheepish. 

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” His voice is low, calm, and at the same time you can feel something else, sadness, maybe disappointment, in what or who, you’re not sure.

“Care for a smoke?” he offers after a beat of silence, nodding to the front door. You don’t smoke anymore, cut the nasty habit years ago. That’s why you don’t know what compels you to accept, but you’re not gonna be able to sleep now, so you follow him outside, grabbing your coat on the way. 

You half expect him to smoke through the mask, but he pushes the fabric up enough to reveal a strong jaw covered in light stubble, and plush lips. So he’s human after all. The slick and heavy storm lighter looks ridiculously small in his giant hand when he lights his cigarette. He takes a deep puff before handing it to you.

“Sorry, last one.”

Your fingers graze his, and you bring it to your lips to drag a small puff that immediately makes you cough.

“You ok?” he rasps, humor tilting the corner of his mouth upwards.

“Yeah, it’s been a while, that’s all” you provide. He hums in approval at your explanation. 

When you hand him the cigarette, you take a moment to look at his mouth, the way his throat works when he inhales, the way the silver smoke dances between his open lips and fades into the night sky. Something warms your gut when you realize his lips are set just where yours had been a few seconds ago. 

You don’t know what’s more attractive, this or the fact he doesn’t try to make conversation for the sake of it. He doesn’t bother to explain why he couldn’t sleep and felt the need to smoke at 3 in the morning. He knows you understand. You are just glad to bask in the soft noises of nature at night - wind in the threes, the hooting of an owl. Fuck, you’ve been alone up there for too long to thirst on John’s colleagues just like this, just a few hours after their arrival. You shake your head, driving out the thought, and take the cigarette again from his fingers.

❄️

The next morning, you wake up pretty early after a short night, only to find one of them - the pretty one, Gaz - is already fixing coffee in your kitchen like he belongs there. You honestly could get used to this. The thin long sleeves of his shirt are doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath, rolling as he’s going about this mundane task of preparing breakfast. His kind eyes and soft voice when he asks for your choice of eggs makes your heart flutter with a yearning for this kind of intimate domesticity you had never really allowed yourself up until then. It’s kinda concerning, at this rate you’re gonna ask one - all? - of them to stay with you in your cottage instead of going back to whatever missions at the other end of the world. 

The rest of the day is not making you change your mind. Price had asked if anything needed their help around the house, and you gave them the tedious task of moving the gigantic pile of wood logs stocked at the other end of your garden closer to the house. It would have taken you days to do it by yourself. But by lunch time, the pile had dwindled to a fifth of what it was thanks to the hard work of the four men. The two younger ones were down to their long-sleeve compression shirts despite the cold, sleeves rolled up their elbows, showing off strong forearms, various scars slashing across the discreet swirls of black ink from old tattoos. Some disappear under the black gloves they are all sporting. Sweat plasters the fabric of their shirts to their shoulders and chests. You can’t deny they look fucking good. 

You had accepted Price’s demand without much after-thought, but now you couldn’t be more happy about it, ogling those four rugged men laboring away for you. Despite being older than his men, Price is far from looking bad. He’s built like a brick house, a healthy layer of fat covering muscles he’s been honing for two decades. Dark hair peaks from the open collar of his jacket, your eyes follow the line of the thin garment which is hugging his tapered waist, down to his thick thighs. Fuck. You remember what it was like to be close to him - literally and figuratively. He was your colleague, an equal, a couple years older than you but you shared the same rank. He was a mentor, a friend, a lover - only briefly, after that fateful mission where he saved your life on the field. You parted ways in good spirit after you announced that you wanted to retire, needed to get your head straight before committing to anything. Today, you ask yourself if maybe you could take this back from where you left it.

❄️

You want to train with us today, love? Just like old times.

Price had asked you the question the next morning and you had not been hard to convince. It was more about being able to look at them than to train your body, but they didn’t need to know that. Even if you keep a pretty healthy lifestyle, you can’t compete with elite soldiers, and by the fourth set of push-ups, your arms are giving out. You’re about to stop and reach for your water bottle, when Price notices. 

“Come on, you can do five more, I’m sure!”

You groan in response, but you go back in position.

“Breathe, love. Back a little more straight. Elbows in. That’s it… Good.” 

Price’s deep voice is calm as he’s encouraging you, gently correcting your posture.

“Don’t look down, chin up. Perfect, you’re doing good.” he goes on, and you cheeks warm under his praise, enough to make you forget the stinging cold. Your whole body is clenched with the effort, you’re letting out little cries with each push-up, your muscles are hurting, but you want nothing more than to make the captain proud.

“Just one more. Done! You did great darling, I’m impressed.” 

He helps you get up on shaking legs and when you almost stumble, he secures you upright against his chest, keeps you there for two seconds more than he should for it to not look intentional. When you raise your head, you’re suddenly so close to his face, blue eyes staring down at you with a glint in them you can’t ignore. You reluctantly part before reaching for your water bottle again, playing coy.

The three others are not oblivious to the little game between you and Price. You notice how they exchange knowing looks and little smiles whenever you both interact. Worst, they also seem to pick up on your love for being praised and soon enough they take every excuse to whisper how good your aim still is during target training, or how smart you are for knowing everything about the local fauna during your afternoon hike. It never sounds like they’re mocking you though, never feels like it’s not genuine. It’s not fair, really. At this rate, you don’t know how you’re gonna survive living under the same roof with four attractive men for three entire weeks. 

The answer to this torture of yours is revealed quickly. After a few days of acclimatization at your cottage, Price and his men are ready for a long expedition higher in the mountains, with just tents and even a short surviving-in-extreme-cold workshop. They will be gone for at least ten days. You watch them pack their gear and leave your place with a pinch in your heart you couldn’t expect when you first opened your door to them.

❄️

Days go by, pretty uneventful, until your heating system breaks down. It’s not the first time since you’re leaving up there, it’s not that scary but you’ll have to wait a few days for the repair team to come by. In the meantime, you resort to live and sleep in your living room, where the fireplace provides enough heat to keep you warm in the heart of the winter.

They come back the day after that, and when you see their silhouettes emerging from the treeline, just before the sun sets down, you can’t prevent your lips to form a smile so big it hurts your cheeks after a couple minutes standing in the biting cold. 

The fondness in Price’s eyes is not dulled by the news your heater is out of order, nor is the relief on Soap’s and Gaz’s faces at the promise of a solid roof and comfy beds after days of rudimentary accommodations.

You all work to prepare some food, and to bring a couple mattresses with all the duvets you can find in front of the fireplace - the only sane solution for you all to sleep without suffering too much from the freezing temperatures. It reminds you of your years of service, when you sometimes had to share a single room with your whole squad - you’re not missing the stress and the harsh living conditions, but you’re definitely missing the camaraderie, the jokes and fits of laughter, the bodies of trusted people around you. 

They leave you the couch - gentlemen that they are - the objectively most comfortable option, but once again you can’t find sleep. The piece of furniture is the farthest away from the fire, and you’re on your own, no one next to you to share body heat with you. 

It’s only because I’m cold. That’s the poor excuse you give yourself - and the one you whisper to Price - when you step down from your couch to seek a place under the cover next to John. He’s sleeping next to Gaz; Soap and Ghost are sharing the other mattress. You slide yourself against him, immediately melting into his chest, the man radiating heat like it’s his only purpose in life. He doesn’t even have to ask you if it’s okay to hold you against him because you plaster yourself to him and nuzzle against his chest, old habits taking over your sleepy brain. A sense of safety and comfort envelopes you at the same time his warmth does. You forgot how good it felt to be in his embrace, to be tucked against his broad chest, surrounded by his smell - manly, ambery wood, and the rich spice of his cigars. 

He chuckles silently as you settle at his side and let out a little content sigh. He missed that too, he won’t say it out loud, but having you like this, soft and pliant in his arms, it makes him wonder how he could be such a fool for not seeking you sooner. He suddenly wants to kiss you, to make you feel good, here and now, no matter the fact his men are sleeping just a few inches from you. Should he care? He’s not blind to the fact you spend a good amount of time leering at them since they’re here, and to the fact they are watching you back. He can not ignore the shameless flirting going on between all of you five actually. John has never really been in a situation like this, doesn’t know where this will lead him - where this could lead them. But he’s ready to follow you. He takes a deep breath before he talks. 

“Just like old times?” He asks, voice low, chest vibrating with it under your palm. 

Just like old times… The words echo in your head, echo in your heart. He gives you the opportunity to lead him - to lead them - wherever you wish.

“Just like old times.” You repeat back to him, before you capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

PART 2

[wub-fur-radio]

Psychedelic Daze ☮︎ Spirit of 1967 vs Reality 2024

A 21st Century Neo-Psychedelic Music Mix

I coulda said it was in my way – D. Crosby

Wub-Fur Internet Radio is back with another of our patent pending streaming mixes of contemporary psych rock from around the world and across the universe. Fourteen tunes that traffic in more than a bit of musical and lyrical nostalgia without completely losing touch with the reality of the present day. Featuring contributions from Helicon, Rancho Relaxo, Robyn Hitchcock, Tess Parks, Jeffrey Alexander + The Heavy Lidders, Bananagun, Deviant Amps, Sons of Zokü, and a half dozen more bands of partially unreconstructed hippies that are up to the task of dragging the spirit of the 1960s kicking and screaming into the third decade of the 21st century.

Cover art based on a photo by Leslie Bryce of David Crosby visiting The Beatles in the studio during the Sgt. Pepper recording sessions in 1967. Apologies to them all and to legendary Swedish psych rockers Gold, whose tune Psychedelic Days kicks off our mix, inspired its title, and serves as something of a mission statement for its unapologetically nostalgic freak-flag-flying spirit.

▶︎ Listen on Mixcloud

Running Time: 1 hour

Tracklist

Psychedelic Days (3:10) — Gold | Sweden

Magma Rising (4:30) — Cosmic Fall | Berlin, Germany

She Taste of LSD (3:05) — Deviant Amps | England, UK

Flesh Failures (Let the Sun Shine In) (3:33) — Mushroom | San Francisco, CA

Burning of the Midnight Lamp (3:59) — Robyn Hitchcock | London, UK

Higher (3:46) — Helicon | Glasgow, UK

Echoes of the Unknown (4:33) — Rancho Relaxo | Norway

You Know [Live Session] (4:38) — Stoner Bud’s | Bordeaux, France

Children of the Man (5:06) — Bananagun | Melbourne, Australia

Lemon Poppy (3:18) — Tess Parks | Toronto, Canada

Glade Runner (2:52) — Pretty Lightning | Saarbrücken, Germany

Earth Chant [Acoustic] (3:37) — Sons of Zöku | Adelaide, Australia

Light the Incense (3:01) — Black Snake Moan | Italy

Almost Cut My Hair (10:35) — Jeffrey Alexander + The Heavy Lidders | Philadelphia, PA

• Outro: Getting the Beatles High (0:20) — The Croz

All tracks released in 2024, except She Taste of LSD by Deviant Amps, which was released in 2023, and Glade Runner by Pretty Lightning, which will be released in 2025.

[artemlegere]

Homer Reciting his Poems

Artist: Sir Thomas Lawrence (English, 1769–1830)

Date: 1790

Medium: Oil paint on canvas

Collection: Tate Britain, London, United Kingdom

Description

For most of his career, Lawrence featured in the Royal Academy exhibitions as a portrait painter. He became President of the Academy and, like his predecessor Joshua Reynolds, aspired to be a history painter. This early work was exhibited in 1791. It was painted for the connoisseur, Richard Payne Knight, and its subject and style were calculated to suit his classical taste. In a woodland glade, the Greek poet Homer is shown reciting his Iliad to an admiring audience. The nude youth in the foreground was drawn from a famous pugilist (professional boxer) named Jackson.

[theres-music-in-you]

Happy Opening to Phantom Vienna! Here are some new production photos that can be found here (x). Featuring some decent Sylvan Glade dresses, an updated Star Princess, a London-style boat, and the return of Christine's red scarf!

[parafrazerofhistory]

European Oak-Worship

“We have seen that long before the dawn of history Europe was covered with vast primaeval woods, which must have exercised a profound influence on the thought as well as on the life of our rude ancestors who dwelt dispersed under the gloomy shadow or in the open glades and clearings of the forest" (p. 350).

“When Hatfield Moss [a peat-bog] in Yorkshire was drained, there were found in it trunks of oak a hundred feet long and as black as ebony. One giant actually measured a hundred and twenty feet in length, with a diameter of twelve feet at the root and six feet at the top. No such tree now exists in Europe" (p. 351).

Peat-bog above Fossdale Gill in Yorkshire (pictured in 2015).

(Source: Peat bog above Fossdale Gill by Ian Taylor, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

“The evidence of classical writers proves that great oak forests still existed down to their time in various parts of Europe. Thus the Veneti on the Atlantic coast of Brittany made their flat-bottomed boats out of oak timber, of which, we are told, there was abundance in their country. Pliny informs us that, while the whole of Germany was covered with cool and shady woods, the loftiest trees were to be seen not far from the country of the Chauci, who inhabited the coast of the North Sea. Among these giants of the forest he speaks especially of the oaks which grew on the banks of two lakes. When the waves had undermined their roots, the oaks are said to have torn away great portions of the bank and floated like islands on the lakes" (p. 353).

The North Sea. (Source: photo © by Tomasz Sienicki [user: tsca, mail: tomasz.sienicki at gmail.com], CC BY 2.5 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5, via Wikimedia Commons)

“...[Pliny] speaks of the vast Hercynian wood of Germany as an oak forest, old as the world, untouched for ages, and passing wonderful in its immortality. So huge were the trees, he says, that when their roots met they were forced up above ground in the shape of arches, through which a troop of horse could ride as through an open gate" (p. 354).

Map depicting the Hercynian Forest, by Christopher Weigel (1718).

(Source: Christopher Weigel, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

"...with the Druids the growth of mistletoe on an oak was a sign that the tree was especially sacred; and the rarity of this feature—for mistletoe does not commonly grow on oaks—would enhance the sanctity and mystery of the tree. For it is the strange, the wonderful, the rare, not the familiar and commonplace, which excites the religious emotions of mankind.... Thus among the Celts of Gaul the Druids esteemed nothing more sacred than the mistletoe and the oak on which it grew; they chose groves of oaks for the scene of their solemn service, and they performed none of their rites without oak leaves. ‘The Celts,’ says a Greek writer, ‘worship Zeus, and the Celtic image of Zeus is a tall oak’"" (p. 358; p. 362).

Druid Cutting Mistletoe on the 6th Day of the Moon (c. 1900), by Henri-Paul Motte

(Source: Henri-Paul Motte (1846-1922), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

"Perhaps the oldest and certainly one of the most famous sanctuaries in Greece was that of Dodona, where Zeus was revered in the oracular oak. The thunder-storms which are said to rage at Dodona more frequently than anywhere else in Europe, would render the spot a fitting home for the god whose voice was heard alike in the rustling of the oak leaves and in the crash of thunder” (p. 358).

Zeus of Dodona wearing oak wreath (obverse of silver distaster from c. 295-272 BCE, reign of Epeiros, King Pyrrhos; London, British Museum).

(Source: ArchaiOptix, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

“On the rivulet Micksy, between the governments of Pskov and Livonia in Russia, there stood a stunted, withered, but holy oak, which received the homage of the neighbouring peasantry down at least to 1874. An eyewitness has described the ceremonies. He found a great crowd of people, chiefly Esthonians of the Greek Church, assembled with their families about the tree, all dressed in gala costume. Some of them had brought wax candles and were fastening them about the trunk and in the branches. Soon a priest arrived, and, having donned his sacred robes, proceeded to sing a canticle, such as is usually sung in the Orthodox Church in honour of saints. But instead of saying as usual, ‘Holy saint, pray the Lord for us,’ he said, ‘Holy Oak Hallelujah, pray for us.’ Then he incensed the tree all round. During the service the tapers on the oak were lighted, and the people, throwing themselves on the ground, adored the holy tree. When the pastor had retired, his flock remained till late at night, feasting, drinking, dancing, and lighting fresh tapers on the oak, till everybody was drunk and the proceedings ended in an orgy[!]” (pp. 371-372).

—J. G. Frazer, The Magic Art & the Evolution of Kings, part 2 (The Golden Bough, vol. II, 1911, pp. 350-372)

Old oak tree near Ungurmuiža Manor in modern-day Latvia.

(Source: Ainars Brūvelis, CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 3.22

Holidays

Age Is Just A Number Day

Arab League Day

Army Day (Philippines)

As Young As You Feel Day

Baltic Sea Day

Banned in Boston Day

Bihar Day (India)

Brussels Terrorist Attack Anniversary Day

Captain James T. Kirk Day

Cinematograph Film Day

Cornstarch Day

Day of the Berlin Bear (Germany)

Day of the People’s Party (Laos)

Earth Day [Original Date]

Emancipation Day (a.k.a. Día de la Abolición de la Esclavitud; Puerto Rico)

Festival of Immortality

Georgia Guidestones Day

Gryffindor Pride Day

International Goof-Off Day (a.k.a. National Goof-Off Day)

International Gurjar Day

International Taxi Driver Day (Russia)

John Magufuli Day (Tanzania)

Labour Day (Christmas Island)

Laser Day

Lynch Syndrome Awareness Day

National Badminton Day [also 3.30]

National Day of the Podenco (Spain)

National Day of Work-Integrated Learning Day (Canada)

National Health Care Rights Day

National Rehabilitation Counselors Appreciation Day

National Ride2School Day (Australia)

National Sing-Out Day

National West Virginia Day

Newlyweds Day (Serbia)

Non-League Day (UK)

Resident Evil Anniversary Day

Skull & Bones Day

Stamp Act Day

Stanley Cup Day

Sun-Earth Day

Talk Like William Shatner Day

Tuskegee Airmen Day

27th Amendment Day (U.S.)

World Aquatic Physiotherapy Day

World Cloud Security Day

World Coma Day

World Day of Metta!

World Doula Day

World Mime Day

World Organic Research Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Bavarian Crepes Day

Brewing Water Day

Coq au Vin Day

Orval Day

We Love Broccoli Day

World Water Day (a.k.a. World Day for Water; UN)

Nature Celebrations

Daffodil Day

International Day of the Seal

Mallow Day (Blessings; Korean Birth Flowers)

National Tree Day (Sint Maarten)

Plane Tree Day (French Republic)

Independence, Flag & Related Days

Bihar (State founded; India; 1912)

Malaybalay City Charter Day (Philippines)

Malus (Declared; 2021) [unrecognized]

New Year’s Days

New Year’s Day Saka Calendar; India) [21st in Leap Years]

Nowruz (New Year) [Day 3, Around Spring Equinox] (a.k.a. ... 

Dita e Nevruzit (Albania)

Nauryz Meyramy (Kazakhstan)

Navruz (Tajikistan, Uzbekistan)

Nevruz (Albania)

Nooroz (Iran)

Novruz (Azerbaijan)

4th Saturday in March

Be Mad Day [4th Saturday]

Bike Store Day (Canada) [4th Saturday]

Corn Dog Day [1st Saturday of March Madness]

Endometriosis March Day [4th Saturday]

Salacious Saturday [4th Saturday of Each Month]

Sandwich Saturday [Every Saturday]

Sausage Saturday [4th Saturday of Each Month]

Six For Saturday [Every Saturday]

Spaghetti Saturday [Every Saturday]

Walk in the Sand Day [Saturday after Spring Equinox]

Weekly Holidays beginning March 22 (3rd Week of March)

Maine Maple Sunday Weekend (Various locations, Maine) [thru 3.23]

New York Maple Weekend (Statewide, New York) [thru 3.23 & 3.29-30]

Texas Cowboy Poetry Week (thru 3.23)

Vermont Maple Open House Weekend (Various Locations, Vermont) [thru 3.23]

Festivals On or Beginning March 22, 2025

AnimeJapan (Tokyo, Japan) [thru 3.23]

Bacon on the Lakein (Romulus, New York) [thru 3.23]

Beer, Bourbon & BBQ Festival (Jacksonville, Florida)

Chattanooga Food Truck & Craft Beer Festival (Chattanooga, Tennessee)

Conyers Cherry Blossom Festival (Conyers, Georgia) [thru 3.23]

Head of the River Race (Thames River, London, UK)

Maple Syrup Family Day (Richfield, Wisconsin)

National Spring Festival (Turkmenistan)

Peanut Proud Festival (Blakely, Georgia)

Taste of Oviedo (Oviedo, Florida)

Texas Onion Fest (Weslaco, Texas)

Torry Island BBQ Festival (Belle Glade, Florida)

Wellington Bacon & Bourbon Festival (Wellington, Florida) [thru 3.23]

Wing & Rock Fest (Canton, Georgia) [thru 3.23]

Feast Days

Arbor Intrat (The Tree Enters; Ancient Rome)

Attis Arbour Intrat (Procession of Pine Trees, dedicated to Cybele, Ops for Rhea; Ancient Rome)

Basil of Ancyra (Christian; Saint)

Benvenuto of Osimo (Christian; Saint)

Catharine of Sweden (Christian; Saint)

Clemens August Graf von Galen (Christian; Saint)

Darerca of Ireland (Christian; Saint)

Deogratias, Bishop of Carthage (Christian; Saint)

Dies Violae (Laying of Flowers at Tombs; Ancient Rome)

Epaphroditus (Christian; Saint)

Festival of Cybele (Attis’ self-mutilation; Ancient Rome)

Festival of the Entry of the Tree (Ancient Rome)

Hola Mohalla (Sikh)

Jonathan Edwards (Lutheranism)

Justin (Positivist; Saint)

Keep Richards Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Lea of Rome (Christian; Saint)

Nicholas Owen (Christian; Saint)

Nicholas von Flue (Christian; Saint)

Paul of Narbonne (Christian; Saint)

Pretend to Be Sober Day (Pastafarian)

Rite of Eostre (Everyday Wicca)

Quinquatria, Day 4: Poet’s Day (Pagan)

Rosh Chodesh Nisan (Judaism) [1 Nisan]

Slightly Silly Day (Pastafarian)

Toothbrush (Muppetism)

Lunar Calendar Holidays

Chinese: Month 2 (Ji-Mao), Day 23 (Geng-Yin)

Day Pillar: Metal Tiger

12-Day Officers/12 Gods: Close Day (閉 Bi) [Inauspicious]

Holidays: None Known

Secular Saints Days

George Benson (Music)

Randolph Caldecott (Art)

Billy Collins (Literature)

Greta Kempton (Art)

John Frederick Kensett (Art)

Keegan-Michael Key (Entertainment)

Bernard Krigstein (Art)

Louis L’Amour (Literature)

Ernest Lawson (Art)

Agnes Martin (Art)

Anton Raphael Mengs (Art)

Robert Millikan (Science)

Matthew Modine (Entertainment)

Burton Richter (Science)

Rudy Rucker (Literature)

William Shatner (Entertainment)

Stephen Sondheim (Music)

Dorothy Tennant (Art)

Anthony Van Dyck (Art)

Andrew Lloyd Webber (Music)

Reese Witherspoon (Entertainment)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Shakku (赤口 Japan) [Bad luck all day, except at noon.]

Premieres

All Shook Up, by Elvis Presley (Song; 1957)

All You Need Is Cash, by The Rutles (Parody Documentary; 1978)

Apostrophe (‘), by Frank Zappa (Album; 1974)

Arab League (Regional Organization; 1945)

Behold the Man, by Michael Moorcock (Novel; 1969)

The Bible, printed by Johannes Gutenberg (Book; 1457)

Bosko’s Woodland Daze (WB LT Cartoon; 1933)

Bosko the Speed King (WB LT Cartoon; 1933)

Bringing It All Back Home, by Bob Dylan (Album; 1965)

The Brown Derby (Toby the Pup Cartoon; 1931)

Bugged (Tales from Radiator Springs Pixar Cartoon; 2013)

Bullwinkle Scores Again or Fool’s Goal (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 356; 1965)

The Clock (Film; 1945)

The Croods (Animated Film; 2013)

Defending Your Life (Film; 1991)

D-I-V-O-R-C-E, recorded by Tammy Wynette (Song; 1968)

East St. Louis Toddle-oo, recorded by Duke Ellington (Song; 1927)

The Egg Cracker Suite (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Swing Symphony Cartoon; 1943)

English Football League (Sports League; 1888)

The Explorer, featuring Farmer Al Falfa (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1931)

The Fable of Day by Day in Every Way (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

The Fable of One Hard Pull (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

The Fable of the Gamblers (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923

The Fable of the Jolly Rounders (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

Far Beyond Driven, by Pantera (Album; 1994)

Fist of Fury (Film; 1972)

Flames in the Sky, by Pierre Clostermann (Novel; 1951)

The Golden Touch (Disney Silly Symphony Cartoon; 1935)

Gutenberg Bible (Religious Text; 1457)

Hiccups (Tales from Radiator Springs Pixar Cartoon; 2013)

How Should We Then Live? The Rise and Decline of Western Thought and Culture, by Francis A. Schaeffer (Philosophy Book; 1975)

Lily Tomlin On Stage (Broadway One-Woman Show; 1977)

Luca (Pixar Animated Film; 2024)

Make Believe Revue (Color Rhapsody Cartoon; 1935)

Mr. Wonderful (Broadway Musical; 1956)

Much Ado About Nothing (Dinky Duck Terrytoons Cartoon; 1940)

Olympus Has Fallen (Film; 2013)

On the Border, by The Eagles (Album; 1974)

On Your Toes, by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart (Broadway Musical; 1936)

Pleased to Meet Cha! (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1935)

Please Please Me by The Beatles (Album; 1963)

Power to the People, by John Lennon (Song; 1971)

The Rules: All You Need Is Cash (TV Rockumentary Special; 1978)

The Secret of the Sword (He-Man & She-Ra Filmation Animated Film; 1985)

Sing Smokey, by The Temptation (Album; 1965)

Sleepy Time Chimes (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1971)

Snappy Cheese (Hearst-Vitagraph News Pictorial Cartoon; 1919)

Spinning (Tales from Radiator Springs Pixar Cartoon; 2013)

Spring Breakers (Film; 2013)

Standing Room Only or Bullwinkle Sells Out (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 355; 1965)

Station 19 (TV Series; 2018)

Stealin Aint Honest (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1940)

Symphony No. 1, the Poem of the Forest, by Albert Roussel (Symphony; 1908)

Us (Film; 2019)

Today’s Name Days

Clemens, Elmar, Klemens, Lea (Austria)

Rosen, Rositsa (Bulgaria)

Lea, Leonarda, Oktavijan (Croatia)

Leona (Czech Republic)

Paulus (Denmark)

Viktor, Viktoria (Estonia)

Vihtori, Viktor (Finland)

Léa (France)

Elmar, Lea, Reinhilde (Germany)

Drosos, Drosoula (Greece)

Beáta, Izolda (Hungary)

Benevenuto, Caterina, Lavinia, Lea, Muzio, Onofrio, Nilda, Nilde (Italy)

Dziedra, Giedra, Ralfs, Tamāra (Latvia)

Gedgaudas, Gedgaudė, Kotryna (Lithuania)

Paula, Pauline (Norway)

Bazylissa, Bogusław, Godzisław, Katarzyna, Kazimierz, Paweł (Poland)

Drosida, Vasile (Romania)

Beňadik (Slovakia)

Bienvenido, Lea (Spain)

Kennet, Kent, Viktor (Sweden)

Lea, Leah, Lee, Leigh, Leighton, Parker (USA)

Today’s National Name Days

National Donald Day

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 81 of 2025; 284 days remaining in the year

ISO Week: Day 6 of Week 12 of 2025

Celtic Tree Calendar: Fearn (Alder) [Day 25 of 28]

Chinese: Month 2 (Ji-Mao), Day 23 (Geng-Yin)

Chinese Year of the: Snake 4723 (until February 17, 2026) [Ding-Chou]

Coptic: 13 Baramhat 1741

Druid Tree Calendar: Hazel (Mar 21-31) [Day 2 of 11]

Hebrew: 22 Adar 5785

Islamic: 22 Ramadan 1446

Julian: 9 March 2025

Moon: 50%: 3rd Quarter

Positivist: 25 Aristotle (3rd Month) [St. Justin]

Runic Half Month: Beore (Birch Tree) [Day 15 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 3 of 92)

SUn Calendar: 21 Green; Seventhday [21 of 30]

Week: 3rd Week of March

Zodiac:

Tropical (Typical) Zodiac: Aries (Day 2 of 30)

Sidereal Zodiac: Pisces (Day 8 of 30)

Schmidt Zodiac: Pisces (Day 2 of 26)

IAU Boundaries (Current) Zodiac: Pisces (Day 11 of 38)

IAU Boundaries (1977) Zodiac: Pisces (Day 11 of 38)

[libidomechanica]

And splendid see what all

A curtal sonnet sequence

               Stanza the First

And these of the mair—I mean note it will be turn’d me lives have can procreatures for I am alone. Bare youth for his far brighted, forgot? Eye-waterd it wild Asiatic women out his Toward life, that b-b-b-break open those cureless, a flower; and and strewn rich or the which shell oft wind dinners, my thunder’d a persons pressed me that raw quiver billing to knows but I’m wear and when I stabbed at a breed.

               Stanza the Second

Now do I known young, and pastime, those while the spite but before came out those lips never the steeping, they neither heart, despair I wish to reveal’d by you, that Dervish- dances who but claims here’s noble stir, when in gracious sleight watch’d as an awkwardly. Of elegant’ et caeteran with painting balms! What little mould not the Fortune chid: so shalt find as glade agree: or bid me to they are Thames since now my sinful earth.

               Stanza the Third

But in vain an unavoids that ever dear self-example doorstep, there, from the lawsuits, mustn’t beloved the time the found, once him—and her sweet amongst therefore, to the board with a kiss their shaded fish, liquid find the lily clear looked more I go, however, and purer congress, seek Scotland amethyst, a gather, thundering of thy precious proof well-practors of seventeen she thou can heirloom renew’d; while at all.

               Stanza the Fourth

To keeping on in early to the whole flutterflies which task’d for you seem so. Had love in the pursue. Our heart, as in the blood. She waves those bard; while then said the colour’d to do with thy did in the poems yet me from your touch you. While we may; drink truth a bright air injuries: yet determined that woman, command o’er coverthrow. Was mind dim hopes crooning, silver saw there, to-witta-woo! Time, and sold—but is not cry tongues.

               Stanza the Fifth

Sea, here artery on a foe oft-times in happier air the Girl, in tune then the wing! Some genial. Stripping her fright a rainy morning and on a snail, a new on the better on either’d from this uplift, would beauty’s state; but what have I bow’d temple, charm being lately high standing marriage redacted, are are at all, yea, this only were unders at th’effect, yet, by my roving again, alone. Go, get in thee.

               Stanza the Sixth

All thing sweet nymph even in the pearls above, and pale blue larkspur, an’ tease measures in flower in London, they talk in manners; who ground with high doth ground his happy day, are you under pine to aggravate them a cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, too feele as spread, to cross you were from my Julia? My heart hath no special spired. I know, but when gave a moment the time’s topmost bound, pensive, where, he is. From my star appease?

               Stanza the Seventh

The people maybe with love, has such a huge months go that visions are scarce exiles herbs and he treating buried to stand may beauty, Common ruin other image to mend all rolled in the window. Because I love ere his Tears turn to me as once studded preciated—which you and you art and hours: thought, we cannot beauteous blawn, youthful Chloe. With they do better what a greeting the rules it to eye but dusk hills, their clouds.

               Stanza the Eighth

His own, the sweetness, or please, mine own rose in Passion of snow, I to deathly speake, and that need and through I don’t seem together ploughs the river billets? Never his own above that wouldst not for sedate, I see what passioned to re-cement sympathy. Now. To have behind and wear again disguise of people are no more to pain between he words, whom wear that do I known. And remember, if I lie rolled Devil tongues.

               Stanza the Ninth

Perhaps a nation me go down the very love a trembling in my Song like to refer to sting, waned away from peacock, glides, Frederick may exist with your mind I come of that you always winter-eve its globe than the sunshines in her royal game to the Bright I not for, the blossom, o! The village stride: here artery ore with rod or God to death her, sparkling o’erawes it till calling tides: and other?

               Stanza the Tenth

While I wad mourning, then and fell in—all, and for a year of my heart is the valley is what ilka body over having, waned this best can can drink jeered my breaks and me. Abroad lucent to say at for when the expect in many a melodious they did lies; I keep on the amples to ease my sadder the mystery of thou canst not drops to refer tongue in and express-gang crew; and ne’er a dewy heat burns.

               Stanza the Eleventh

That set bed. Shuffled then the West; the range talking in my judge in in her sported; and be thunder; sweet day—they’d still bounds, the sea. Melted at all the world of my heart in thou art to things where are all the never through heard you. The benches the belie— a close thered leaving memory; the gentle in tendering the rode by the lonely, of habited and why, remember became back is white lingers over bind it.

               Stanza the Twelfth

The new pleading longing and afterglow. At her best. Cruel madness ill. To peer her long in divided joyes and wimpling reed their rental war how cam’st thou beauty, and tented music of the influent tantalisation. As music, answering round shadow sweare belied the times intrigue with history because that is a stricter, at for child with custom’s Door, above to the skin. Silence, the spirit went and Of melt!

               Stanza the Thirteenth

Then the west she art; alas, nor courself another procreatures, breather, e’en leave may guess be, that I beard, and then down in thy early morning love: ’—so singing those waxing Willie? I will be my little craftely young woman’s race, their health brings; alas, is the victors, sleepy one? Them ride! Let others of heau’nly fire. Boy for thought to be surprise from hot or crystal eyes in your brand sunflowers the days, use poles.

               Stanza the Fourteenth

—But first time, when the east, grew worse thine enemies, and me that there gainst mourn where, with our chilling passing thus begun, young a tornado, for a year of something or vocal changes right him who shock and unstains hoar the world hands than to refused not reproving them, needs will rearward in a forests have promise along memory, to the watch’d six time, bend; and woods there, should race? Behind wood, the gaunt o’ my words with soft star.

               Stanza the Fifteenth

High in me as that I could touch’d tempteth my bootless patriots, bags of that with my kiss one-and-twenty design’d t’agree, in a’ its seen, and aver and envious stands from the earth, with her left me bred wi’ Chloe, tripping reality answered loosestrife of murmuring o’er there! Who knew which probes to Loathing. I craving this never undivided—as it to the vine ASTREA may coveted this roses,—of chants too.

               Stanza the Sixteenth

Love with scoped the for soul was seekst not me? Oh, lover-because knowing soul with my new-found they met he shine envied, as the burning in my absence? I have not stay’d show, to saved the World by young, and smoothly lyre, of woe, where gainst extent to the end to bride few Persian girl and quiet pain but on this to me a flowers and in thee manor; but being dumb thou wilt, I was more—but not the tried in physics, an egg.

               Stanza the Seventeenth

Then I have vanisht by the sake her grave, only together work bootless Sally Brown, to gives me for white veil, through to cross the stains inhabit, hath poet is my hands. But one morning; here? Nobody through thee! Or trouble penalty was certained, sin’ the sweetest though to shame, nor golden space, condemnifies have been and with a babe fathers as food frayed, in the need. I say what I Love, ’—’for like a suddenly died.

               Stanza the Eighteenth

With man isle of thy called in tears than never with the best judgment the year’s priest, is tir’d what is ere love in life, and blue is not made retreat it’s grace unto pass in a dragon, seemed his piger: ’ but my face and he knew each otherwise. Now Ben he leant to ground then more. Is my life for the you alone sinks downs the very eyes are soft feet freely steering ray the splendours, myself avoids than through heaven, and quiet!

               Stanza the Nineteenth

Then to singing out with his spear’d people youth; for charming, for thoughts of conceive is not me? Or, if not prevail again, unloads for heart, with #3. They comfort me. That ever that night. Which is the sun’s content, but her his court and all thing in little or he dead, the professors and all the foe to admit too changed heels of murmuring weeks drove and me. Red my heard her sire streen. None of citating seas attiresome free!

               Stanza the Twentieth

Nor with public means I find, there storm unfollow’d, here are all her mind white awake a flocculents, the water’s all the love engenderneath thy lying. He seemed as a lapsus of people evil tempting glad, that blooms each other again repeated to the Girl, in fearful slumb’ring thy lying. Safe wither: that serener down each hide, that lo’ed, its the lythe thing off, abound; he hath his wax? Go, what is also a son?

               Stanza the Twenty-first

Thing off, above by thought meet, to sit is lief. Then we go: and, asleep, when thou love, and when thus array; life is high Hall and now it is a pearly snows my dear cockade, you with there the sea. Or sigh upon him his dissert, like more beauty chasteness’ eyes appear’d him up and in the people sages, which doth places, a gathers at leave thence, and I had been so fast one the shortest met, I weep my o’er that not to plaint.

               Stanza the Twenty-second

That doubt it see height can proper bound, a hear debates a bit; columbines and ever descried my she; where sparkling chest tiptoe to have I sit—ah, where began to undering with joy the slept the predicament. My shower, and yet, hath, what blame: so shore, ye freshly speake what is a bright, and poor Thames? As the sang ingots, yet am both that might between, and frae haue my reveal’d by my purse of mischief’s dainty left.

               Stanza the Twenty-third

An in ever-side, than a world, no more, known at waves Astrea flyeth. He had got one out the swain is gold, and all th’eyes do to tell me or head high words there! Who keep the world of Heaven, above the pathless Miss that bear the Ayr; but her own, the sweet love of fop or blowing of loves—do they met along in those song, as this son? A naked fire was a pearly lawn, youthful, charming shed made of my tomb; Seek doubt, till true.

               Stanza the Twenty-fourth

Then each conside youth, the Stars—’fore each cheers its blossom. Pebbles of the whisper in the dark as your of English plenish’d a little gently, invisibly: he too frail-strung hell, if not what cares, as been, here twisted by my pocket and wonder the corn-enclose; what are our Titless that look’d our truth be but when it recountry he buzzing of life; but once dawn she walker! Every marriage ring, but the bound; he hath goner?

               Stanza the Twenty-fifth

And when so he rest. While her crown, to takes the care is blindfold her Williance him— Hysteries have I yet thing fern, and then all; or what words, her filling makes band, sitting me, my funny toil is deathly ache; till, or kudzu, or moral, but that novelties my heard it whole them shot: a kind soul may mistres wide door was no beauty, blunt this is justly sad lamb kebobs. Amongst you tell, and so be Natalina stakes meet free.

               Stanza the Twenty-sixth

Will be their heads the cold, mercurial orchid that forth, tops in old my kinde of a primrose two word sicken of curtainty, raw-cold corrections turn upon his her own, country climax to recall not be with the nation. I bore it seem’d the dead. Or picked with me—a charted wash on, each outward love you cannot so; but should nothing keep the Lord of my called in the eastern for in which mean to restrain cry, Speak out.

               Stanza the Twenty-seventh

Muffling shades o’erflows quickly stuck into a book theirs. That slant badge-the cat’s den or utterflies without from the way or on his ran, and, sitting starres from the first too soon my purposed, as for roots; yet so in he waves her lie. But is such famous earthly pay their knows, and then the scarce a spell, if but now now seldom come to her to her of my sad lamb kebobs. For the large, thou over. To sting sphere; but this skin.

               Stanza the Twenty-eighth

It seekst nor can spendthrifts’ heir way that breaks and rid his Breastplate weak. Our fingered our treat into follow honest wild a flow often I pursuits, on her to his sweet nymph on the turn’d—syllable miserable? When, in the back! To be dear bird, eyed like shreds of Cantos would tell, soon red at the Food I lose on the shuffled in pass into the prohibited with kirk and crystal— and denied! Now a ladyship: and pity!

               Stanza the Twenty-ninth

The other set free. While thence, fetter thus these rare in his natures grew here whole wood, how purer commands—the world at a week’s sole effigies the full of your pass the hearken slowly away from Oxford up his large; then, and me all of mortality, with bright as taste, and triumph and lain under thee rest of the bright. She too shock a sadistic dispart its multiplicity holds, his vocal change; and farmer Wiles up.

               Stanza the Thirtieth

And unawakening leaks from the soil, Peris, Goddess of the props to answering the fresh batched; that her ne’er dear! We’re all its clogged for when the hay, when I purse of her elements to thy power and bring on the wars are to mind it will by the pleading sudden day my adder, myself will soon this she miser! Now kiss the ghost of sweet and dislike the Nith’s austerical,— he bright, her vow, she saw, how silently!

               Stanza the Thirty-first

If every eyes, and aside as once and taciturn her without caprice, the pleasant kings, not judg’d aright he windchime when thro’ the abysm I through-bred it. To be a Jew. Who whiff it. Upon those pain cry, Speak back down the did fine, and her tongue in ear away. Grace. Said the hopes all it be the warld not cry of police of political dinner meal wives; never were the cannot her secret; the race. Country, or not all.

               Stanza the Thirty-second

Makes meet there their youthful, charming hand or a moving divine and I had stay, a maids she plack and change flame my garden. Thou better now, meaning to hides to be spake entic’d him did false self: cast or one thou could makes no liberal? Robert Burns: she’s topmost sublime only poor; but you canst poure o’er that fatal knife in this own Soul, devising from heap to traces infant cash, Malthus to my side still cause I long-battery.

               Stanza the Thirty-third

And still see what novelties on your gynocracy; you all have help my wrath did then so proof them about to be depreciated, turn, where but claim’d therefore Nancy, I have been lassie, unseen: and he know. You may scoff at; in mysterities with me a spice. To the dead, and there Geography finger, and so he bed. ’Twill the grove, ’—’for loving the unknown and their Sunday aft I could not be the bountiful time?

               Stanza the Thirty-fourth

Stealth of being salt, then Nature, my face, of our intellections and pass, suddenly beauty faith thy minding men what home, all fit each of thy tone; on the Tree! Into that first sea; a greeting, on south, while roundeth! The worse the puppets, that Dervish- dance for a wonder’d upon him now I course, this home, and all tell me ancholy; the pillow under to choose. And address. Shuffled Lamia, now my dead. And antidote.

               Stanza the Thirty-fifth

Ah, do prated many a man could give thorny state, I seek; all her was move is desire, the glass and open further her twist the mair thee, as the self-scorn his sphere an echo of curtesie? And cares, and render pieces of a merely heart, straight yet of sheep from France met alone, in one coming a human from peace their great World can be ruled Albion’s kind: besides my sweetly pray, how many a spied I blush from the sea.

               Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Be it from bush and mix our hurt you taste whole would advise; the driving now? Vicious odor spring, and set him on to us peal that your feet, you’llfind of the roads, and on Death in her pursued at find that way, and he charge safe with music, answer turn her be, with that wast bottom their warning, near again. One of yore, thou art invite me in his bent that grow, who hast string on for the love, and after, the fair or at night!

               Stanza the Thirty-seventh

One came, and that is the unborn by the spring’s maids, where had been talk, end, when should sick the swooning indeed like an in banks of ever matter thine, needs with his Tears turn’d; perhaps for two other Dunne, and all the Caducean heirloom off wither to be the freshly bleed: but love and heaven’s first assay’d. But evening men which holder wherein she wren throughout seemed took his never, there! It is not be a Jew. Ended Lycius!

               Stanza the Thirty-eighth

We are apt to be said he, delights, and a keg of lilies will, pain; ’tis the should set, with look in. Pity t is a man. I saw that my bred the high doubt, for him betters going to knows what dart, the must sting, an Isis hive. So first, or found that the end of God to wakes the fruit in all her new landlords will see; see nought hither. Painting out roads, and in the unborn children nurse of yours, who have paces. Like an away.

               Stanza the Thirty-ninth

But the gamekeepe, as a red rock and thee, and seen her woe? I’m fill which pure perhaps forth invade than three-inch shalt be found their know they will be them in leaves of date pale like, how my digree, my way; singing Here conceit her was the or thou Desire, and she houses the think’st bonds, and takes loves the your nipple, adding about sin on your two work. To drowned and lov’d the expedient eyes and heaven knowing thy pipe his stand.

               Stanza the Fortieth

Friend, and brakes, and dwells, than the arose, ’ as I could your days, with come, my first to know; all, all are fatal knife is fine pictures— Lycius contain her thankful change the more rich that’s sight, street the best bottom of moods: now him from my breather fingers he earth shell. Is then quick eyes, I look, shall be mine is a lassie every hymns athways rattle, chasteness’d, shut of the accident, but not vain examples the dust of light forgot?

               Stanza the Forty-first

How be put to be in’t the east stept: she, and vainer founts of this tir’d wi’ purpose breed. The stain’d to bed: in her she reason gay, she knew the deep volcanian can never you art! He is a street, young from my foe to tell higher cheek, what imprinted reader, if it didn’t be the Maker is no beauties of the exploratory scoffin; but know take. I craving the lassie every weak. And virulents, our will to toe.

               Stanza the Forty-second

And letters state I do Stella loue-ditties peepe or Niger, my Friendship couldn’t say, This well; if human can spent sweet the consequench, no use to his what thoughts there that faire sound of all bound, nor complete a trance of you stripping snake, must shine envied, I, lest scholar haunt, and Satyrs knelt; at which yours, your gown: that thou go? You entertain sweet Albany. Will not, that thy pity should add, he known and romantic! Can behold it!

               Stanza the Forty-third

And no more sat a wife. Moreover beautiful time conch shall I awakened me thorns once; clear poor Son of Satyr from what we have but we two alone, yet so unsustain cry, Speak plain English fields, no soon to rue my sight, closer, closed thought they pale listen’d bland, with her how puree, but mournful earth waltz with their clouds, and door any men. He could liberation bland, and sweet could bars, eclips’d hard. And throat skewered lamb kebobs.

               Stanza the Forty-fourth

As that waves her chain space, bought that range flash’d nor flower; do we expects sought I loue it was, t is, t was a burn that was certains of his lip had realize: thus kind, that’s why dial her thee in her present- absent with rapidly rise, as tho’ your hair in want your added, nor shepherds pipe took his feeling and yet on me. Your elbow brushing with small the dispart to me, tho’ ye come from the nakedness! He did fly free!

               Stanza the Forty-fifth

I know but keep yourse; and bitterness? Said, ever dearly life is no more fat, by thing through the gaudy hours of these cannot sit a lee-shore, of lovely ridge who look at bred themselves begot by thing in my love but in Heavens, I’m going the same; how cam’st thou dost plan to this mother hied, Lycius! Lovely into that fillington half the fragrant to singing. At us pride, ye freeze knockings me soon, and a dying fields.

               Stanza the Forty-sixth

Let other until her try, when the color of the lost peruse! Perhaps you wounds, and beauty, that, but the died, as diddly. The had many state, ’ it adds and the for sister and darting time the skidmarks of his due; for her turned, to sip; but keep a heart as I could e’er is mermaid of a substant though the unswept somethinking and cowslips to thee fall. A garden, and bitter frae hangs or standing by glass and a bloom.

               Stanza the Forty-seventh

My life is speech this trust and takes his skin. Then he surprised and new, and bring clove. Ca’ me forth Farm, delicious wood, so oft myself instrelsy: a virtue ever daught her having none by on credit like-wise prize thy sweet Rosenkavalier was seen her feet for Love again, whatever dying a great thou wilt though all she gold there whether turn, it store; but taken upon my lass both love, and may composition, that night!

               Stanza the Forty-eighth

In human cattles by his own? A pedigress for like-wise predicate and threefold, I wept or cold with jointly bower, we were yet with the fair creature, of loves; never know Love cloudy air, wander and In the shore? I, for a wish I were rather sport Cenchreas, from the snake, a little he, They have offering may be mine; and, like a true love, to each treat into a swoon’d, and then the wide door was none excuse you foundeth.

               Stanza the Forty-ninth

Is not her and sense or lustered on. From her mistress, which no short a little like a pard, I shall seest time me thou art bass, and from my Julia’s glad I went its bring on the little or Hate nor and want of babe over-because before hounds break and gaming Chloe. My Jeffrey held not I, in better what she glass will by human colour’d voices. Rosy lived, where is thy dial her garden I thou need’st thou art no you.

               Stanza the Fiftieth

Such importunity; or heart as there! Said, but by a country from France! Or say throne of sing that had a good college she by, and dim, they were benches of the Maiden Maud in the stories are soft looks have always wine-cup glisten when the sweetest when it hard-ship, least, my life, the wrong. They know that long more footmen doth thy loved hill! With my breaks out. Commit to like creature to wake? Day—they’ve wrang’d wi’ the evening, ” Take pain.

               Stanza the Fifty-first

Some took completer; for they take some relieved so I told marriage ringer, longer farthing Absál set it is nothing the rustling a million fighted, forgiven: ’—but I can find, that he very wealth of the air, the hurt inspired! Than a wound my kind. And why, fearfully self-same praise hedges of rosin friends newblown desire wing’d wi’ purple rolling balance makes me forth, south-westward score ye women a light! Stay!

               Stanza the Fifty-second

As thou doth place onely, cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, too, rare, that for fair visage she distress’ eye light, a fields, as thin-lipped preciated—who thinking a blackens not! No more I find bush at all friends in such a hermit would be better, the way to it do, not night, therea’s clicking dead. Crooning so show of my heat burnt from singularity, and their gas, thron’d in all you art mine; I’ve watch’d the Cumner cover afterglow.

               Stanza the Fifty-third

If twas there thou hast by an upper boxes the poems yet mankind: and gainst still avoidable play, afterman colors it awhile it to tell, white pedigree from each rose then downs dull and pounding cup, and I will giveth all these bring with stand, once he intered. From the Hall-garden- walks with mine enemies, or weigh nameless claim’d tree-topped pretty grief is found is infusing o’er ever to you. Red golden pretty?

               Stanza the Fifty-fourth

—If I shall she shall I mustachios mov’d, and with sweetest threw that a smoothing shed up. When Juliana came new. But if I had remembered in ever blind your small!, Wild dislike their little Leila, who lookt to the prove Nymph might and so happy Lycius replied in thing brides. Abroad, there sweet, if the was me; or which can fears of our fair, and braid, our fathers who soothe my should such tress’ eye but caprice of his morning-star.

               Stanza the Fifty-fifth

Into another motherwise, outright water-cup bearing and on south, opprest; or when clear again, and gaming Christ of snow, his phant in the be, yet then? My Jeffrey heard! To take their future get and what a college shine eyes of day when he world’s amiss—I sawe think’st no spear’d Silenus’ sights mouth thy do not, my fate; for this meant of for it so have princes are so much— to gie the would not descents, e’er knows, and o’er, burns.

               Stanza the Fifty-sixth

Yet am I; whate’er deere killer, she’s handling cup, and hers, and burn clearer; robert Burns: she’s blawn, into Thetis’ bower, if those white another, throbbing to you weep if a Hungary faith king over- side, this as a womankind, and call with snow-pale more fared, in and must with power wife. Where, from pity—pity on the key to be dear frail-strung from the said, ever thee along. Seeks, shuffling money, the dress.

               Stanza the Fifty-seventh

And is somehow pure, are you were banished his as nice remnant-meat just twelfth Cantos would not for thou should tell true, thou be deprecious the presence and you and grove, ’ be now commands—the when Gaeta’s take a riper age, black and lime as their head, by a country-folk acquaintance him as a mething ran, he shall painting hear, and the west so, I will rear her walking the Iliad when the lonely thee. Desire, and find it.

               Stanza the Fifty-eighth

Features, his purity, and throbbing that has any hours also had else, with itself avoided jade of tears, and of Love. Thy preciated—it is likeness, Paine doth waltzing as brough the faire sooner the truth, roses are conch shee vanish’d by mystery. In mean to writes. And watermanence rose her fits, or forbids our de rose hopest he very of there’s a walk’d about, grew a stood with for the poor you there. Your fright.

               Stanza the Fifty-ninth

And entire as liberty, rightly pay the quaystone, if every sureless dole. Lodging Here a pearls completed. And be wonder past. And was she which much on a slain English painting in the playthings. The Sacrificent: and gainst thou to sleeping, taste, an’ merits way: for heard you recall was impels her mattery! Muffling their rents. Or let me go down and judg’d, at bottom, a little! Which I would not mock me.

               Stanza the Sixtieth

And bade him from the star approve and thus; mine with white feet leave of succeed, Inclination slide of Thirst, hold up your necks, bluer stand that they sip thy early snows to thy helped that bird, eyed limits, outlet’s simple says in contains of love, and break. Me over after and gay, let her Cisters, and fault, where in and without he found, you smile. With me eternalize: the day arising from high plack air to himself will bring day.

               Stanza the Sixty-first

That the she hoarder’s half of old! His temperate brave the envied page. But the lily; she knuckle. Nay more so much better years’ space, and with sugred send hunters be eight more acknowledge hath men, whoever bliss the too tender a coverthrow a lady, or if the writes, afterwards behalf. Then The devil, wooing to foolish escapade of Gods, and see her cowslip’d lawn, to these meadow-sweetly saw him out their cots.

               Stanza the Sixty-second

Though each those clue in that first be a Jew). Do you must. Spring, for truth, roses the last upon the time, nor God to his meant to East, a full of spikes it. Why fair eyes do not vain! Golden moral, to enter in abundances of vapour shadow in the Town. Had retained to one many morning. Juan was trying. Think it would your pain procur’d into me this heap to the Shadow sweeter friends upland lost my ringer, are trees.

               Stanza the Sixty-third

My poets cannot say! Thy name of freedom shall grows lesse repenter, but for truth, the tint my hands. On while thinke the coal fire of thou hast buying thron’d or God of feeding to your annalist off-ing on a sort as, this frisk and you will would almost the said Lamia beheld breast; yet to my griefs alike, to tasted, it is little mountains his set our will frets, bags of our ain spare no life fills up of content of hooks.

               Stanza the Sixty-fourth

And disappeare; talk at us peal the passion; for disciplined pen. Knew whether We dancing his rude Cumner country’s a woman is the grime of weep, that leave the lily, at the clear look at your tress, eyed like Orpheus-like, endant fast, know? Again the coins not real sweat: oil of you and chicken of Satyr from then down by his cheek, while believe from his shine eyes wood cabinet, stand all, that them like a serious odor!

               Stanza the Sixty-fifth

My Muses on her spirin. I had two word to die I knows its in Afric like and widen what her new flames since dead. Your Love of yore, but oh, all ruby renderness? Nor tear than store; but you. Washed soul and set from that tents, or liberally, at brink. She know take thee along themselves a button for Corydon, the life is very serpent, and neat lines of career is pleasure you saw a fields who has not, I freedom shade.

               Stanza the Sixty-sixth

And now that, and dark, and fair. Twentieth name. Some others speake, but since I loved hills, the mountains shalt seemed hills I was, is a stoop’d false to nest a little with my heart’s collectual suppression new, the bosom sweet, we’re we prohibited her sown; her prais’d the firm, that said, our Gipsy-Scholar, we’re out o’ woman loved a twinborn out it’s under robes, he hath melted at they take. Now, you in happened flighter’s heart had seem so.

               Stanza the Sixty-seventh

And fell as what turn, and me and with sort of a grey, as Cup, he drank before each Heaven lighter shone harsh, here! Whose sons, conquestion which no less we first of path of Ceres Spring hotness’ eye of fall, as a’ the mud on either two upon the might from Pyrrha’s pebbles o’ dew, Why, content to thy might of the lass, where is i’ve serpent now by drinking at the God is but the works in, liness. Though she same pression slide.

               Stanza the Sixty-eighth

Pause the intered shade yestreet. Sweet hope of Satanic power that breather’s broken- heart, and Sally she; whether was thorny path of Ceres Spring’s maiden Bay, how cam’st three, open thou overhead—leaving session, the mark, I seem wrapped the very bonie glen, where ’t is most, of lilies have afraid lest soft look yes last half pedantic! To eye of such more subtlessed flowers to rise as blackboard wall; the occasion.

               Stanza the Sixty-ninth

Bloom is golden rays about where is shall west by humble feelings the dark how God is faith; but my dead, and having hue, so throught, deere keenly bene vext I hate, some peril—not indemned to escape the cud eschew’d branching like a suddenly talking because, upon the could not the raw and th’ enamoured for I avowed. He relapsing hand again: a deep questions of heau’n of Spain? And balls, the old wife.

               Stanza the Seventieth

As I singing? Cash alone their seeker strikes it must have to paine Love closing the moth-time, of her wo; yet once that will the tree again, valley the walk on again, and cowslips grow: we are. Have shore; for not a feast; yet things. We’re no great Britons poor flies are just as eagerness and seen me sorts, takes also in my state; and smooth-slipping the Fyfields, her candle, the Death, what has promise it seemed to lean on they fleeing died.

               Stanza the Seventy-first

Well-practors, stake the iron lung. They went their perswasion. My Italia! The unbodied, and bitter tongue be so, to their grace was the could nor barn nor is mothers hollows me with joy the shall me with scents, and Moon wilt perfectly like his beneath cold wonderstand in the lassie o’ the valley and shine eye of men. Quo’ she passion astrong whose petals drew in some play, looking denied! Even in your treatives, like.

               Stanza the Seventy-second

Maud in summoner, are about cash, camp, ’ and they cheered in the ravishes and full of lover. The flower, if men she transmitted, Inclination no bitternest. Will Existens, speak stranger; vacant learnest— but had stay’d still unmeet am both Prince! To the war and seemed him, I over; quo’ she diffuse, you really Brown, to dull angry worse, to die I know whether reeds. Left over, that making among without alone.

               Stanza the Seventy-third

But evening-sky, seres Spring, sit throat even days, called in that when King Victor hast plainness of such by beam not night eve, and he same ages writes, and will behind thus, or thou had been very of being no longing suddenly; and soul! Waits which learnest. It adds an overhead—leaving the serpent, sure thou, thou have been and chuckle, at brings it too man’s art moral, but a primal burst between, so free! But these bones to bed.

               Stanza the Seventy-fourth

While, like his worse, the viciously to bathe uninitiated—it is nothing like a philosophic gown going through not the chide, pleas’d with skims the bird of spreads who life in some away my powers still the fresh Spring rainy morning low! Thunder face so raise plain English fields his nectar from your arising burn, which you. The sweetest lieth! The time wasn’t get a part; no further of the naked the pink that her brother.

               Stanza the Seventy-fifth

That china witles at the grace white of the fresh Springst you must knows the old set there. They listen who—thoughts, or each virtual loved me did clerk stil keeps from the swoon’d or lustered. A virtuous middles it would not that my produce of clerk still avoidable villages their Lashes an apple like they else, of sisterica! Down by somethink on her sad swans, powdred with her popularity with me for her.

               Stanza the Seventy-sixth

Below they relax Pluto’s brightest when she no lawsuit beneath their he footmen does to be; we’ll we still free as left that blame him go and hints the to papers who watch thee, fa la la. Three yet among to the was one-and-twentieth no short of a low, the was his small, all alike, that it, and for cheered hands they access though them a race of the you do deceive not her sic powers, as me; or less cried his page— the wind.

               Stanza the Seventy-seventh

Old wife’s might above but neuer mantle Her—her Harmonious this advantage found mean to lived on: the love your bottom virtual Victory rescue-ship, but as that caughters filled among an impossible, gave a thumbs-ups, like the cud eschew’d by this piger: ’ but yet crowning as that do t is my steel’d such the charity with endless bottom virtue’s prime. With gossip, scandal stay; the morning. Whether dinghy.

               Stanza the Seventy-eighth

And weeds. Air, fallen, oh thee, robe array; life I speak open the night. Who would youth, ask’d fold, what I would still give years of Absál set it may be they can never to each pure is sad lame, she knew what, as there and the dead; the brew’d, to dry grant ploughs moral odor springing for heart, with beset, and what I shall see them. Are alike, to talk six times, and yet to me that the more luxuriant eyes, you me eternalize it.

               Stanza the Seventy-ninth

Gentle and grove, ’ be not for my heart of those with their education, it see thy lodging in a columbines and I had see, I think who which flow of Pity soothe my she golden space, and from that’s lords ends possess’d with such a trembling session lacks salt, the cries, but take awakened. Bounds, thou learnt a green coming to me also keep at sedged brother splendid smart; as that had been bank of your daught thee. The grace you the sea.

               Stanza the Eightieth

At all that set it is as mine imprint with Heart, and wounds to Hallam’s self. Such such as suck a saint,—one day, and stockit may string your heart, that, thou, that out something me last peak the pyrus japonica should be saving no doubting up those swim, gladder though the court your days—thyrsis, strange, the world o’er though THAT Love dread in their perfect love from flow’ry robed into it. Then earth shells, and cowslips to enter on matches and gay.

               Stanza the Eighty-first

We both what thou dost true, tis not leavest of Spring! In the wet feature, a plunge it whose day: and hast play, there’s mistresspass’d their literally ever removed, straw mattering dresses you so and won his one-and-twenty and ever turn when other that sedged brain is nothing—I bring you hadst heart as head. A good follow thee, there Comes and came to the blade of all young Jeany friend, where shepherds lost beneath the blue-bells.

               Stanza the Eighty-second

Decks of roses on his lost, my with all people says in Italia! But some personal. As liberal roars believe a grown; we both think it would tell of time. With a far bright, no darkness of the yard look at us at home. And you mustn’t be two spirit- voice luting like thee, as in freshly blew thy Protestament to pains inhabit, happy in they flew, breath, to weep, his, prithee her ear. Give and good deeds not vain example.

               Stanza the Eighty-third

He hath grey; I feeling off, such ends, there on it if one sits hours, she love heau’n to slaye with pain come back tingling both lovers defendanger; vacant heaven while the path they light flared, he hath a little lighted all heeds of our plain dislike a wiser midnight the pathwart to gang. And I were old matter upon politics. I, sickness, such a green laurel-bought him—but Mercy change; her eyes most of busy words with tears.

               Stanza the Eighty-fourth

And where than youthful, charming shed with apple flash’d in her manners care. And rubs sticks together is her forbidden or each his is buoyant as well-refined and hers, as flies whose bereft, nothing break out. For souls in x-ray. Is the world encompanion’d on her tender and Helen, the lass and you’re living mere came up his old, I pray did pausefully upon forlornest way, afternoon the Discountries—so have shore!

               Stanza the Eighty-fifth

And strive honeymoon. Presence, then? Now which mere ploughs more subtle tune. Ever dead. Coffee, or none outrival now I’m going to beauty do prate. Now I was nature, when though in balmless daddie. And vice in his grew the Revenge be tell me, if the storm, and bye heaven’s flute. Stoop, and grove, ’ why dial how you found of these are ploughs in old forth to lively ground a rain dew? Well cultivate to them. It all weep, his never personal.

               Stanza the Eighty-sixth

To sing; enthrone. Although with white pedigree, I thing fern, an eclat, great krater- gnats, that from think Guido forbidding like his quite after-loss: the not beene. Keeps it adds and poor her human grace she hilts weighter’s longer—in the most puts my heart a tougher clasp shriek if a Hungary fair prooue, and Satyr from his red mansion fighted, awake a rosebuds in ingots, bags of the cover and play and she what I do?

               Stanza the Eighty-seventh

And a routh is, ‘t is not to my tomb. Yours—who’s neighbour’d bene vext I haue my heart, and painting of the book decades, Frederick mind than what I could be without to feel that in the Yarrow, and which much such more that is merely high in the forgetting in consequence in a forms a serener down, to list, nor laugh’d nor cry’d: and round. And would be betray: the Dryads and scenes routh, this mine to plague to say thing far it, great.

               Stanza the Eighty-eighth

When the blue larkspur, with our she love each think to enter forth, ask’d his heavily, i’m fills up as a pedigree, and thence, with him, Come! Humid that serious, she same heighty Mother face of my infirmer plight from this perusals and as found me the heaven, in gladly slept itself I taste at Maud in the wall; and out of sighs aplenty days drew in her. Did dream, when in batter, she shut from thy jocund you see.

               Stanza the Eighty-ninth

Gripped and I sit—ah, what whether as the speak of weeds. Love drew more for my een works a Snake bit him better Resolution— but I dislike a tast. To beginning is head was he said—just thee. How loud of hear heroick may betray’d; the bonie face she red at alloy of them go I! Virtuous phrase the now let her with a minutes who scarce knock a wash of singing? But thou thinke the from my female compliant badge- the crime?

               Stanza the Ninetieth

Plays upon the only throw they take a pinch scarred I take pain and entirely— for her. And love in keep a temptings of time and breast: nor cold dun me: and I was to switch poor, or magnificent: and blond me. Receiving deadly blast placed or unremembrance. Your praise; but once, and unstain of plastic ice had sailed fiend suspect much loue in her and place wheels of the had sat bent with her eyes with the rolling besides though thee.

               Stanza the Ninety-first

About the gay the except once dear slain, along in a’ the line. While Well that leaves which no shortest people strewn—so hard I’ve know eternity. Unless thousand thus against the lustrating approve falterian. Yet me except once my leading field Show of vestals of my grief, the parent’s best bo-peepe or do thee, they repair: do your health is only the sexual orchid thence will in its goblets. Raising true survive.

               Stanza the Ninety-second

For golden moral legend of rodents, tan say We have deep break of vapour; now whether loud, by they did not least engarlanded, I all that roar, let in rocks, and passion; for low, newly rest my Pegasus to rise, valley is white feet? Of all her all. Some fresh, and wearing; virtue league to wailed so, I think Guido him who that Hope at her side, and blest her greeny flow, for this—and ever it is this, that days unknown.

               Stanza the Ninety-third

You chose earth it was it might white, whether; and aver again young year are mute, while herself will west, on since that caught in come sweet darken’st bough. Country hour; no mattering in her, the court, ’ and good at all of a fate; for tree-topp’d like queen o’ woman’s voice spare not so; but now come, I hae their ear o’er in Friends of heaven’t wish in ingots, you time where, beats us bottom virtual Victor had the world if we seem’d a light!

               Stanza the Ninety-fourth

Various throat I come back in a mourn that Dervish-dance at first her charming between he soul has noughts, and much loved their outstretched; that lips didn’t be the old love the tented fair, not seest time and crowns dully upon thou do not keeps it rang with a quantity on his rude! The close; and blear’d porch, mid baskets heaven know with my necke your living but yet wood were like them scatter to the tends of melted and look at my sweetly?

               Stanza the Ninety-fifth

Visage from the first, the sucked queen several odor, like thing home. I comes to be surmountain tortured man, entreat into a boon! The rugged for every Dust of the you, to warb—le the awkwardly. With your being a torn by self-folding if your left human from hunterchant in my breast and is it any Muses of doubting beside yon half-shut up to the your left the knees both do such a lady’s stronomy.

               Stanza the Ninety-sixth

Here it sterling or vocal air, exposed overs, thou hast bottom the most close; but there. As the dew so seek Scotia hame&Pride blowd in me as liberally ever grave its brain; the down the board without love is one weep, and where are Thames who blunder pierced to singing? It grew a seething the Fortunity, and hesitating at either’s grace as legible about Leila we’ll went thou on be gone, I swear, flashing matches.

               Stanza the Ninety-seventh

—The future is my she was stole, while cot, and shew thy dost love-glancestraight air in her seasoned by the taste. And vice exiles be gay, lambs frisk and Litter Circean bland, who got another against to kiss head for thy Desires, time me flower when her ear, our courself, some perils, and I rose responsive, and that have. Delicious strewn—so rare like the could go, how many time’s a secret political economy.

[littlescaryinternetguy]

The Naughty Weed Whacker

cw: implied humorous violence, mention of drugs, discussion of steppies. adult language, situations. reader discretion is advised. no bailment created. please see physician if symptoms persist.

“Hey. Hey, come here.” “What is it? I’m whittling.” “No, come here, trust me.” “I don’t, but I’m coming over there anyway,” grumbled the second fairy, whose name translated to ‘Jack’ in the tongues of humanity. The first fairy, whose name translated to ‘Larry’, stared out of the window intently. “What is it,” said Jack. Not saying anything, Larry backed away from the window, looking at Jack expectantly. Jack shot him a look and then looked out the window. “Son of a bitch,” said Jack. “What did I tell you?” “Son of a bitch,” said Jack. Outside, a man was attacking a full grown oak with a weed whacker. He looked determined. His jaw was set. His eyes were steely. He was getting nowhere. “Should we do something about this?” asked Jack. “Do you have a Tik Tok account?” “… no?” “Shit, I bet this could go viral,” lamented Larry. “I don’t have a phone, man. I’m a fairy. We’re fairies.” “Whatever. Well shit. Is he still doing it?” Jack peered out the window. The weed whacker was sputtering as the battery died. Undaunted, the man started beating the tree with the weed whacker, which promptly broke. Then he started punching the tree. “He’s doing something,” said Jack. “I suppose,” Larry said, stretching and cracking his neck, “we oughta see what’s going on.” “Lemme pee first,” said Jack. Outside, the man was staring at his knuckles, which already looked swollen. He looked around. “Fuck, come on,” he muttered. He really didn’t want to punch the tree again. He looked around for a rock. Finding one, he threw it at the tree. He was looking for another one when a sparkling fell upon him, and he fell to drowsing. Upon awakening, he blinked several times. Yes, he was lying on the ground, with the trees reaching far into the sky. But there was something odd about them. They reached too far up. He looked to each side. The clearing was immense.

“Oh man,” he said.

He heard a low whirring, as if a dragonfly were hovering in his ear, but a dragonfly the size of a city bus. He drew himself up and covered his head with his arms as a wind nearly sent him sprawling. When he opened his eyes, he was looking at shoes. Very large shoes. Above them, very large pants. Above that, very large shirts. His brain got bored and jumped ahead.

“Fucking giants,” he whispered.

Larry looked down at the ensorcelled human at his feet and smirked.

“’Ello ‘ello ‘ello, wot’s all this then?” he said in what might have been the third worst London bobby impersonation ever performed. Jack glanced to the side with a sour look.

The human gibbered, awestruck.

“That’s right, Cheez Whiz: I have made you the size I was to you but this time to me!” “That makes no sense, man,” said Jack. “You are now the size that I was when I was your size,” Jack said, but with less brio. “No,” said Jack. “I am the size of your size when you were the size of me.” “You make me want to shoot heroin, Larry. You really do. I don’t do heroin but you make me want to.” “I SHRANK YOUR NARROW ASS!” shouted Larry, and the little human jumped. “We are guardians of the glade, human! And you trespassed against the sacred… unto the sacred… guy.” Jack cleared his throat. “He means, why were you attacking the oak. That’s a good oak. That’s like a top ten oak. Why you gotta fuck with a top ten oak. You threw rocks at a real good oak. Why.”

The human made little teeny human sounds. Jack rolled his eyes and flicked sparkling dust on him.

“… oh please oh please don’t!” said the human. “We probably won’t,” said Jack. “Even though you are clearly an infantile,” said Larry. “What?” asked Jack. “An infantile. A filthy infantile.” “That’s a reach,” said Jack. The tiny human spoke up from the tips of their shoes. “An infidel?” “One of them, yeah.” “That makes more sense.” “I’m not an infidel!” “I said it made more sense, not that it made much sense,” sighed Jack. “What brings you to this our sacred grove?” asked Larry, hands on his hips. “Please don’t step on me!” said the human. “We’re not going to, IF you swear never to come back!” intoned Larry, in a somewhat portentous way. “Please don’t! Step on me, I mean,” said the human. “What’s your name, guy,” asked Jack, reaching in his pocket for some gum. “If you step on me that would be horrible.” “Swear never to come back!” yelled Larry. “Nobody is going to step on you, you goof-ass little ferret,” said Jack. “Good, because that would be the worst.” The little human was kind of grimacing, his lips pursing and twitching. Larry raised his foot and put it over the shrunken man. “You have like five seconds to swear you won’t come back!” “Wait a second, Larry.” Jack put his hand against his partner’s chest and pushed him gently. The human had his eyes screwed shut and was muttering “oh please oh please oh yeah get me some please”. He had his right hand in his pocket. There was a pause, during which time Larry slowly lowered his foot, not on top of the human, but in front of him. Both he and Jack stared. After a pause, the shrunken human opened his eyes. He looked up at Larry.

“… please don’t step on me?” he said, hopefully. “Gross,” said Larry. “Fucking fetish mining,” said Jack. “Gross!” “Don’t you know anything about consent?” roared Jack. “Ew! Ew! Ewwwww!” Larry was hopping up and down in circles. The little human saw his chance and tried to dart under his feet. “Oh no you don’t!” Jack yanked on an invisible rope and the little human was pulled out from under the nauseated fairy. “That is it! You people need to take long hard looks at yourselves. ‘Ohhhhh, I’m such a powerless little thing, now do what I say and step on me! You’re such a goddess giantess…’” The human spoke up. “You’re a guy so technically you…” “No. Shut it. You listen to me. Not the other way around. ‘You’re such a goddess giantess but I’m gonna tell you what to do.’ Christ, do you people listen to yourselves? Plus you never ever pay for it. God forbid you actually pay a sex worker.” “I ain’t paying no sluts!” piped the human. “Sex work is work. It’s right there in the name,” said Larry. “You won’t pay em, but you’ll sure as shit steal their labor. Dude, you are such gulag bait. When the revolution comes, you won’t be worth a bullet.” “Absolutely zero class consciousness in this guy!” Larry crowed. “Well what are you gonna do? I get off on being threatened and crushed by giants! And I’m smaller than you are, so even though you’re tiny, you’re giants to me!” The human crossed his arms, a smug expression on his face. “Check and mate.”

Jack stared at him. He looked at Jack, who shrugged. He looked back at the human, who had started fondling himself again, triumphantly.

“Get the geese,” Jack said. “Yeah?” “Yeah. Get the geese.” “What geese,” said the human. “The fuck do you mean, ‘what geese’? What do you know about geese? How many geese do you know? ‘What geese.’” “You don’t even know their names,” said Larry. “Geese ain’t got names!” “Your name is ‘gooseshit’ in about fifteen minutes,” said Jack. He turned to Larry. “Get the geese.” “You want I should get the geese?” “Get the geese.” “Hold on a second,” said the human, both hands raised. “Yo! Yo geese!” Larry yelled into the air. From far away, there was a honking. “You got about one minute to make like a tree and get the fuck out of here,” said Jack to the human. The honking grew louder. The geese were coming. “But… I’m just a little guy!” “I’d suggest…” Jack flicked his fingers and the human was human-sized again, albeit pantsless. “… that you start praying.” The honking grew louder still. The human looked down at the fairies. He looked at the sky. The honking was deafening. He looked back at the fairies. Then with a strangled sob he turned tail and made like a tree. “AND TAKE YR TALLYWHACKER WITH YOU!” Jack gestured at the weed whacker, which shot off after the human. There was a moment of silence before a whooping, yodeling cry came from far away.

The goose landed behind Larry and Jack. She was wearing sunglasses.

“Sup,” she said. “Sup,” replied the two fairies. “Y’all call for me?” “Ahhh, thought you was gonna have to break bad on some guy,” said Jack. “Oh man, I always show up late for these things.” “Guy wasn’t worth it. Fetish miner.” “Ew!” “I know right?” “Well, I gotta get back to my novel. We still on for bowling tomorrow night?” “Hell yeah,” both the fairies said. A mile away, the human lay by the side of a road, half-conscious, with a weed eater shoved firmly in his ass. A car drove by. It stopped, then backed up. The passenger rolled the window down and took a bunch of pictures. Someone on the internet will pay a lot for these pics, the passenger thought. This has gotta be someone’s fetish.

[scifrey]

Keepsakes:

Caraway & Rosewater

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta’d

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Some fade-to-black sexytimes.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Delirium of the Endless, Death of the Endless, Dream of the Endless | Daniel Hall, Destruction of the Endless, Desire of the Endless, Despair of the Endless, Destiny of the Endless, Matthew the Raven, Eleanor Gadling, Harriet Butler

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Caraway & Rosewater

Inspired by a prompt from @tickldpnk8 on Tumblr. Am I also specifically making this partially about food specifically for @carnelianmeluha  …. Maaaaybe.

Hob stops his horse beside the window of the hired carriage, which brought them north from London, in order to get a good look at Eleanor’s face. He wants to memorize her expression when she sees the house for the first time. 

Eleanor appears more than a little startled to arrive and be greeted at the door by no one. It shows on her leaf-shaded face, plain as the sun in the sky, and in the stiff set of her spine, and the way she folds her fingers together stiffly in on her lap, and rolls her lower lip in between her teeth. In short, she is displeased.

Hob’s stomach immediately sinks.

“Here?” she asks politically, as she takes in the cool glade where they’ve halted.

It’s a very pretty clearing. 

Hob had picked it out a century prior, when his banditry and sellsword ways had granted him enough coin to escape both the unsavory life, and the stink and press of London. He’d purchased the deed for a few small fields and this little patch of woods, and named the tiny farm “Glade Estates” in jest. And in hope. For he did hope, one day, to transform it into a mighty country seat, worthy of the aspirations and titles he worked toward.

He’d returned to London once the purchase had drained him of his money, and found a place as a printer’s apprentice. He’d intended to use what scant extra coin the profession provided to sneak away for a week here and there to lay foundations and design a grand mansion. But first he’d need a cottage in which to stay while doing said planning, laying, and building. Luckily he had all the time in the world to do so, and could afford to take the grand project slowly.

But the more he visited over the next few decades, the more he realized that he prized the simplicity of the little cottage he was creating here, and the peace of being alone with his thoughts and secrets in a way that he could not in London. When he took ill or was injured severely, it was a place of refuge and a haven from prying eyes who would wonder why he was not yet dead of his wounds. He could heal in private and return a whole man. Or as a different man, entirely.

With no hired hands or tradesman to get in his way or gainsay his notions, the glade became a place to work with his hands and challenge his creativity and mind. This became an ever-more valuable treasure as his ascent through the social order meant he increasingly spent his free time sitting on his bottom and drinking. And while he dare not leave behind anything too valuable or worse, tell-tale of his true nature, the little stone cache he’d hidden in the forest proved to be a dry and safe place to guard his few carefully hoarded mementos of the last two centuries.

Deciding to keep Glade Estate humble, Hob worked hard over the decades to build the four-room stone cottage by hand, whenever he needed a break from the stink and the plagues. Or, when hiding from London society long enough to return as his own son. 

Now completed, the cottage consisted of a small Great Room, with cooking hearth and bread oven against the wall in the centre of the cottage, surrounded with all the attendant tables, cupboards, and chairs necessary. To the left of that were two small rooms to act as pantry and dairy, and another room to the right was outfitted as best he could manage to mimic the incredible Turkish hammams he had visited as a sellsword. 

While he had no hot underground spring to tap into for water, the nearby river water could be heated in the great copper pot he’d installed in one corner of the room, over a stone basin to cradle the fire. A little bit of clever engineering saw the pot itself suspended on a pole with a handle, allowing it to be tipped into the soaking tub and mixed with cold water and bath oils until it was just right for a body to laze in comfortably. Above the washing room, to take advantage of the heat of the copper, was a loft containing a few low chests for clothing, and an equally low bed strung with rope and laid with an extravagantly overstuffed eiderdown mattress.

It’s been decades of back-breaking labour to collect, pile, mortar, and plaster the local grey slate into walls; to fashion and tar the timbers himself with all his shipwright’s tools; to white wash and thatch; to build fencing and train brambles into hedgerows, and plant all manner of fruiting plants and bushes in orderly rows beyond the kitchen door; to plane and joint the wood for each stick of furniture; to lovingly craft the hearth grate and fire tools at the local blacksmith’s; in short, to learn trade after trade, skill after skill, to turn this first piece of land he was able to call his own into a real and honest home.

Instead of funneling his growing shipyard wealth into a great country manor, he’d used it instead to purchase land on the unfashionable south side of the Thames. Let his gold be spent where it would be admired by his fellow courtiers. And let this haven remain modest. This cottage, and its glade, and its woods, and its two remaining small fields were his own personal project.

Today, the two fields were rented to the family whose own fields abutted them. In payment asked for no coin, but for the good maintenance of his garden, orchard, and house while Hob was in the city.

He is rightly very proud of his little retreat. It is not a fine house, all red bricks and glass, not like the one he’s having refurbished in the city as a surprise for Eleanor at that very moment. But it is his–theirs, now–and it is good.

And, if the neighbors have done their duty by the eccentric Sir Gadlen, it should also be scrubbed clean, filled with fresh bedding and linens, and stuffed full of all the best victuals, libations, and cookery ingredients good London gold can buy.

“Yes, here,” Hob confirms, screwing his courage to the sticking place. He swings down from his mare and walks her to the hitching post before the sweet little wood shed leaning against the stone wall of the cottage. This will stand in stead of her barn for the next month, and will be warm enough with the bathing room on the other side of the stone wall.

“Are you not a knight, my husband?” Eleanor asks as the lone coachman steps down to open the carriage door and set out the stepping stool for her.

“I am, my wife,” Hob replies, stripping off his thick leather riding glove to hand her down out of the carriage and onto the thick, mossy grass ringing the cottage garden.

With Eleanor safely on the ground, Hob helps the coachman and driver to unload their trunks, piling them beside her. He’ll bring them inside himself, later. He wants to show Eleanor what she is now mistress of, first. 

He thinks it a great treasure indeed. Eleanor, who has seemed amiable enough these four days' journey with their stripped-down comforts and service, seems unconvinced.

“And did you not tell me that you were wealthy, my husband?”

“I did, my wife,” Hob admits, a smile curling into the side of his beard when she offers him a displeased frown. Oh, how he enjoys teasing his sweet and canny lady.

As proof of both his wealth and his generosity, he digs out his purse and pops a gold coin into the palms of the coachman and driver. Along with this he adds a letter of instruction for them to return to Gadlen House, which confirms his instructions for the renovations, and his orders for them to return to Glade Estate in thirty day’s time for the return journey.

“And did you not tell me, my husband,” Eleanor goes on, throwing her arms wide to encompass all that she can see, sending the fan tied to her wrist gyrating in the air with the aggrieved gesture. “That we were to reside at your northern estate for this, our honeymoon?”

Hob sends the carriage and it’s intruding humans and horses on their way.

“Indeed I did,” Hob confirms jovially as he waves goodbye.

“Then why are we alone, standing beside a pokey little crooked cot, with no servants nor people of any sort to speak of, my husband?” Eleanor asks, with a look that might turn lesser (or mortal) men to stone in their tracks.

“Because, wife,” Hob says, and pauses as the carriage rounds a bend in the forest road and is completely out of sight. 

Then he whirls on her, grabs her fast by her bottom, and heaves her up against his chest. He cranes his head up to capture her mouth for a filthy, filthy kiss, the likes of which he’s been dying to gift her since they woke together in bed the day after the wedding. He has refrained until now, as they’ve been surrounded by fellow travelers, or servants, or busybodies for nigh on a week. 

Eleanor squeals first in surprise, then delight. She laughs and clings to him, arms around his neck, dainty feet kicking in the air as he backs them toward the cottage. Her lips meet his on the tiltyard of their lust, thrust for thrust, sally for sally. So consuming and marvelous is it that Hob’s back hits the planking of the door hard enough to drive the latch into his hip.

“Oof,” he grunts, and sets Eleanor down. He cinches her tight about the waist with one arm, should she get any ideas about running off after the carriage, and fishes through the pouch at his groin for the key to the door. 

If the motion makes the back of his hand press against the mound of her sex through her skirts, well, that’s a secret for just the two of them.

“Because what, husband?” Eleanor asks him with cheeky breathlessness, all ire gone as she pets her hands down his neck and shoulders. It makes it hard to fit the key into the lock, and he fumbles it twice before the door swings open behind him, allowing them entry.

Eleanor peers curiously over his shoulder, but he will not have her distracted now. He pockets the key and kisses her again to keep her attention where it belongs, guiding her inside as he does. He kicks the door shut behind her, then presses her up against it and gifts her with another of terribly obscene kisses.

When he breaks away for breath, Hob takes her by the very tips of her fingers and leads her slowly, step by backwards step, toward the ladder that will bring them to the loft bedroom.

“Because, wife, with people we are utterly, utterly alone…” He pauses at the foot of the ladder and leans in to nip the lobe of her ear and whisper directly against her plump cheek: “We are tucked away in our private bower with no servants to snoop, no neighbors to gossip, and no courtiers to spy.”

“And so, dear husband?” Eleanor bids him continue with a raised eyebrow.

“And so, dear wife,” Hob says, meeting her eyebrow with a competitive leer. “There are none about to protest when I make you scream.”

#

Hob was serious when he said that he meant to woo Eleanor Gifford properly. He set out to prove himself to be not only a wise political choice on her part for her husband, but also a doting and devoted man and life partner. 

To that end, he spends the first week of their honeymoon laying service to his wife in all the ways possible. 

Hob hunts and cooks what he catches for her, skinning and tanning the hides out back of the cottage to later make mittens and fur collars for her winter-wear. He tends the garden and feeds them both from the early-spring bounty—mostly sallets of tender new leafy greens and herbs, edible flowers, sugar mixed with olive oil, and boiled eggs from the hens he has procured for their stay. He kills, plucks, and cooks chickens. He washes their linens, and reattaches the buttons that carnal enthusiasm has parted from their clothing, and mends tears. He brews quick-beer, and serves cider and wine from the root cellar under the kitchen floor. 

He takes her on rambles or rides around the county, teaching her how to find the secret deer paths of the woods, and showing her off proudly on Sunday at the sleepy local church. He tells her stories and sings to her lute accompaniment to her at night, as they cuddle by the hearth, and bids her sleep late in the mornings. He brushes her hair, and tends her frequent baths, and makes little surprises of lavender and lemon soaps.

And of course, he beds her well and often.

Eleanor has never lived without servants. She’s always had someone else to do labor on her behalf, and while the lack of domestic help had perturbed her at first, within days she found his efforts quaint and charming. And romantic. Hob hadn’t expected his ability to serve a decent roast fowl to be an amorous endeavor, but Eleanor’s reciprocity that night had proved him wrong. And her ardor had yet to cool.

Soon enough, she was keen to become his helpmeet in turn, asking him to show her what small tasks she could accomplish to make his larger ones easier or more agreeable. 

And so, one gentle, sunny afternoon in their second week at the cottage, Hob has Eleanor stirring the dough for Prince Biskets.

It is May 1st, 1583, and Hob is two hundred and twenty-seven years old today, give or take a few weeks on either side. Hob has selected May Day as his birthday, for the calendars have changed often enough depending on who is in charge and (what country he is in) that he's quite forgotten what day he was really born—if anyone in his family had ever known at all. His mam had always called him her little Bobby Bunny, “born in the spring with hairy ears”, so May 1st had seemed appropriate.

He’ll be meeting his Stranger again in six years, and this time he’ll be able to share all of his joys of his newly married bliss. Perhaps even, by then, show the Stranger portraits of his children, if Hob’s strange nature allows for his seed to take root. Or introduce his Stranger to his family themselves, if their initial meeting at the White Horse goes as smoothly as the last one and his Stranger can be convinced to visit a second night in a row.

That morning, Hob had chivvied Eleanor out of bed at dawn so they could wade into the garden of climbing meadow flowers and harvest the first dew of Spring to wash their faces.

“No one does this any more, husband!” Eleanor had laughed, pleased with the old-fashioned bumpkin ritual.

“I do, wife,” Hob had said. “Make sure to wash behind your ears.”

“You make sure,” Eleanor had countered and tackled him into the verge. Whereupon they engaged in the most traditional and ancient of all the May Day festivities:‘gathering fresshe’ and staining their underlinens bright green with their activities.

After they broke their fast, Eleanor had presented him with his birthday gift—a handkerchief of fine white linen, which she had embroidered herself on the carriage ride north.

“This is a funny little design, is it not, husband?” Eleanor had asked, showing him a sketch. “I saw a whole row of these darling little squiggles on a letter one of the courtiers thought he was being discreet about, just before our wedding. Throckmorton, I think it was. When I asked him what it was, he told me it was a new pattern of stitching for his waistcoat, and that he thought it was to be all the rage quite soon. So I put it down on paper straight away.”

Hob thanked her for the delicate needlework with all the thorough appreciation that such beautiful thoughtfulness deserved, which kept them quite occupied until luncheon.

Now they are making prince biskets to take down into the village for the May Day celebrations. Their most colourful clothes are laid out away from the hearth, where they won’t get ashy, and the flower crowns Eleanor had woven for them that morning during the afterglow are waiting patiently on a hook by the door. 

His wife has told him that each of the flowers she’s chosen signify their ardor and attachment, but Hob’s already forgotten which each one is supposed to mean. He’s finding it hard to keep a lot in his poor brain this last fortnight, considering how well fucked-out it is.

“How long must I do this?” Eleanor whines playfully from where she’s seated on a stool by the hearth. Spring though it may be, the clouds are thick in the sky today, and winter’s chill has not entirely retreated from the English countryside.

“The whole of one hour,” Hob reminds her, again. He looks pointedly at the hourglass, where only one quarter of that time has slipped down the funnel, and bends to stoke the fire in the bread oven he’d built into the wall beside the hearth.

By the time Eleanor has finished, the fire should be well burned down and the embers ready to rake out so they can bake using just the heat absorbed by the stones. Normally he would preserve the glowing coals under the clay cerfew to use the next morning, but tonight they’ll be bringing back a torch lit from the May Day Bone Fire to heat the cottage.

As these biskets are for May Day as much as Hob’s birthday, he resumes grinding up the last of the winter-sown spinach to colour the little cakes green with the mortar and pestle. That finished, he perches on the edge of the table to mix the resulting paste with some of the leftover rosewater to liquify it, and then tips the whole lot into Eleanor’s mixing bowl.

She scowls at him for adding to her labors, but he softens it with a sweet kiss on the crown of her flaxen head. Leaving her to stir, Hob retreats to the bathing room to freshen up, and when he returns to the little great hall to relieve her of the bowl so she may do the same, Eleanor’s appreciative gaze travels the length of him more than once.

“I have fur enough to stay warm without clothes,” Hob demurs, flushing under the predatory way her cornflower blue eyes flash with mischief. “And putting my soiled clothes back on simply to finish the baking would defeat the purpose of washing up in the first place.”

“Careful your fur doesn’t catch fire when you rake the oven,” Eleanor murmurs, rising from her stool and raking her nails through the dense curls along his thighs. “I’d hate to see the pelt of so fine a woodland animal scorched. You are so much a faun I half expect you to have a tail.”

She pinches his tail-less bottom. Hob shivers delightedly. 

“When you dress,” he murmurs against the side of her head. “Leave off your braes, and I shall do the same. And then when we watched the play and cheered on Robin Hood and his Maid Marion, and eaten our fill, and drunk ourselves into delight, and have jumped the fire to purify ourselves for the coming year, your naughty faun may chase you into the woods and desecrate your temple anew.”

“Is that what this is?” Eleanor whispers, running her fingers now through the hair on his chest. “Foliage instead of fur? Are you the Green Man, come to pluck the last flowers of my virtue to wreathe your maypole?”

Hob feels himself flush deeper, and swats her arse through her skirts. “Off with you, wife, before you distract me and we end up burning our contribution. Then how will we ever show our faces in the village again?”

“Oh, you know the church will have ale and bread enough to buy without you arriving at the village square baring a fortune of caraway and rosewater, you louche spendthrift,” Eleanor teases. But she does make for the bathing room, where Hob has already left her a pitcher of hot water. She sheds pieces of her clothing along the way in a trail that any tempted tracker could easily follow.

Hob is very tempted. He is also very determined to make a good showing at the village this year, and steps stockingless into his boots and throws on an oiled canvas coat to protect himself as he rakes out the coals, butters and fills the baking cups, and puts the biskets in in the oven.

He may be immortal, but a red-hot ember would damage his skin as easily and painfully as any other mortal man. It would ruin the day, the honeymoon, and if it was a truly terrible injury, his plans to ensure that Eleanor really and truly loves him (and has done so for at least half a human lifetime) before he shares the truth of his nature with her.

The coals raked and left in the hearth to cool, the biskets in the oven, a cup of cider poured for himself, and fine clothes to don, Hob feels content and charitable. He loves his life. He loves his wife. He loves his home, and the fruits of all his labours.

And, he muses as he listens to Eleanor singing to herself over the splash of the water as she washes, he has so much to live for. The world is a good, good place, and there is nowhere to go in it but up.

#

A Couple Centuries Later…

It’s not a surprise party if Hob knows it’s happening, and Hob knows it’s happening because Delirium is terrible at keeping secrets.

But he doesn’t want to ruin her fun. So when he returns from the university early that evening, he allows himself to be redirected to the back garden by floating koi that only he can see, and laughs with genuine delight when Del pops out from behind his little brick-and-iron firepit and shouts “HaPpY BIrThDaY!”

A merry little blaze is already going strong in the wrought-iron bowl, not quite a bonfire to rival May Days of old, but a wonderful nod to the tradition. In place of a maypole, someone has decorated the Inn’s downspout with ribbons and flowers the likes of which the Waking doesn’t often see. But the tradition of a sideboard groaning under the weight of fresh, green food (either naturally green or not)

Hob can’t help but hope that someone is planning to put on the traditional Robin Hood panto. He’d sell a finger to see Matthew in green tights.

Hob relinquishes both his briefcase and a kiss to Morph, who was lingering in one of the shadows of the bramble hedge (old habits, and all that). Patrick hands him a can of London Pride, and Hob is hustled over to one of the loveseats parked around the fire to accept the congratulations of the partygoers. 

He’s perfectly happy to be steered around, and to let the party come to him. It was a long day of lectures and student meetings, including one poor student who’d burst into tears when Hob had assured them that he’d be very happy to offer learning accommodations if they’re struggling.

The outdoor sofas are comfortable, the food is good, and the company is wonderful, the strains for music coming through from the pub are mellow, the beer is cold, and Hob is a tired old man who is absolutely delighted to be sitting down.

All told, Hob’s six-hundred and sixty-eighth birthday party in the back garden behind The New Inn is significantly less of an ‘affair’ than his six-hundred and sixty-sixth had been. Lucifer, for one thing, has since returned to Hell so is unable to attend. But all of his in-laws are here this time (in varying degrees of believable mortal guises), along with his mortal friends from Elizabethan Manor. Harriet, Glenn, and Shami have all shown up with their partners and kids. 

And the Otherkind of London have stayed away, probably terrified to be in the presence of any of the Endless, never mind six of the seven (plus one former entity). Except for his former PhD mentee who is, apparently, currently dating Bod.

(Hob looks forward to a time when Daniel is powerful enough to step into the Waking as Dream. For now, he’s just started kindergarten in New Jersey, and it’s too long a jaunt across the pond  for just an afternoon’s celebration.)

He’s plied with well wishes and booze, flower crowns, kisses on the cheek, and a plate piled high with Dee’s beautiful culinary efforts. It’s a wonderfully casual party, people mingling, drifting in and out of his orbit, and no time freezes or Celestial sneering.

“Prince Biskets,” Harriet says, holding one up to show Hob as she plops into the seat right next to him, newly vacated by Shami. “Childhood favorite?”

“Oof,” Hob says, laying a hand over his heart. “I weep for your writing team if your math is that bad. Childhood. Robyn’s childhood, not mine.”

All the same, Hob takes one of the offered biscuits from Harri, and bites into it.

They’re softer than he remembers them being, likely due to Dee’s fiddling with the recipe, but the burst of caraway and rosewater against his tongue brings tears to his eyes with the sudden overwhelming sense memory of those glorious four weeks at Glade Estate. 

The little cottage, regrettably, is no more—just some stone walls slowly tipping over under the weight of climbing ivy and time, lost to Hob along with everything else that was stolen when Sir Robert Gadlen the Third was drowned. The fields have long since been absorbed into the nearby farms. The garden and orchard had grown wild enough to fill up the forest glen. 

That place is gone.

But the taste of it, right here, is heavy and sweet on his tongue.

He chews slowly, swallowing around a lump growing in his throat. The back of his eyes burn with emotion.

“The last time I had these,” Hob confesses softly, “I was on my honeymoon with El. We made these for May Day. She gave me a handkerchief that damn near got me hanged for my birthday.”

“Hanged?” Harriet asks, eyes lighting with academic curiosity. She’s the biggest fan of Hob’s hot tea, even more of a gossipmonger than Matthew, because she doesn’t care that the people in his stories have been dead for centuries.

Hob leans back against the loveseat cushions, cranes his head up to take in the rich splash of twilight colour lingering over the hedgerow ringing in the garden in an effort to keep the tears that threaten from falling.

“El was too clever by half for her role in court,” Hob tells Harri with a fond, faraway smile. “She got bored easily, which turned her into a bit of a magpie. She had a little notebook, and she’d write down snatches of song, or funny jokes and conversations, or pretty pieces of design.”

He catches Morph’s eye across the fire, knows his husband is listening in, and knows that there is no resentment or envy in the former anthropomorphic personification of the Human unconscious when Hob speaks of his first spouse. Only interest in Hob’s stories of her, and compassion for the way he loves and misses his mortal family. 

Hob beds forward and with a finger, makes some squiggles in the fine sandy gravel ringing the firepit. “She embroidered the design she’d overseen on the hanky herself. She was so proud of it, and she’d kept it a secret from me the whole journey. Throckmorton told her it was a new border for his waistcoat, and she’d believed him.”

Harriet’s mouth drops open. “That’s Mary Queen of Scot’s cypher.”

Hob brushes the code away with the bottom of his shoe and raises the remaining half of his biscuit to her with a lopsided grin. “And guess who rolled up to court five weeks after his marriage flashing it around every time he had to wipe his nose? Both sides wanted me dead for that. Elizabeth called me traitor, and Throckmorton knifed me in my sleep. Didn’t take, obviously.” 

Hob meets Morph’s eyes over the fire again, and finds his husband is smiling, affectionate and heavy-lidded.

“Dear lord, what happened?” Harri begs, breathless in her curiosity. “How did you talk your way out of it?” 

“Good Queen Bess’ spymaster Walsingham confiscated my snotty hanky and used it to break open the plot,” Hob says. “He never quite believed that El’s interest in the design was innocent, but it got me out of the noose, at least.”

Harriet whoops in delighted laughter.

Morph rises, skirting around the fire to drop himself right onto his husband’s lap. Human though he may be, Morph is still cool as night. “Today is a day of celebration, my husband,” Morph says. “No more tales of loss.”

“No,” Hob agrees, holding remaining bite of Prince Bisket into Morph’s petal-pink mouth. “You’re right, my husband.” 

Hob knows himself well enough now that he woos through acts of service, through cooking and feeding, through gifts, through quality time given. Through biscuits offered, and baths drawn, and workspaces built. Through solars and speciality drafting desks.

Morph rolls his eyes, but accepts the bite. “You are still so determined to fatten me up,” Morph complains after he’s swallowed. “One of these days, I will be too plump for your lap.”

“Never,” Hob promises, and grabs a handful of Morph’s skinny arse in pointed appreciation.

Harri laughs at the indignant expression that crosses Morph’s face, like a petulant cat, and all is right with the world.

There’s nowhere to go but up.

And Hob has so much to live for.

[fashionbooksmilano]

Kenneth Turner's Flower Style

The Art of Floral Fesign and Decoration

Kenneth Turner

photographs by John Miller and Fritz von der Schulenburg

Weidenfeld & Nicholson, London 1989, 160 pages, 23,5x30cm, ISBN 9780 297 796 077

euro 40,00

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

In this book, the author divulges the secrets of his art, displaying a stunning range of effects to suit every setting or occasion - whether is is transforming a ballroom into woodland glade or creating an intimate table setting for a modest supper party.

09/03/24

[words-after-midnight]

10 songs, 10 people

Thank you for the tag, @squarebracket-trick !

Rules: Put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs that come up. Describe how they relate to your WIP and/or worldbuilding.

Tagging: @sam-glade, @cwritesfiction, @calicoy, @catchingbigfish (you have a Conversion playlist yet? 👀), @bubbles-the-banshee, @isherwoodj, @writeintrees, @autumnalwalker, @sunset-a-story + @tailoroffates

I did Supernova last time. We're gonna do Life in Black and White this time because I'm thinking of it tonight! A previous music tag I did for libaw is here, so I'll choose different songs this time.

I'll do what I did last time and list the lyrics that are most relevant. Beyond that, iykyk, etc.

1. H.E.R. - Hard Place | But I'd rather fight / And lose sleep at night / At least you're all mine / And if I had to choose / My heart or you / I'm gonna lose

2. d4vd - Romantic Homicide | In the back of my mind, you died, and I didn't even cry / No, not a single tear / And I'm sick of waiting patiently for someone that won't even arrive

3. alt-J - Every Other Freckle | You're the first and last of your kind / (Pull me like an animal out of a hole) / I want to be every lever you pull / And all showers that shower you / Gonna paw, paw at you like a cat paws at my woollen jumper

4. Danger Mouse + Daniele Luppi ft. Norah Jones - Black (🖤) | At last those coming came, and they never looked back / With blinding stars in their eyes, but all they saw was black / Fooled them, hoping to seem / Like the slayer of evil, but the product of greed / It's not a mask, so be honest with me / We can't afford to ignore that I'm the disease / Practical since we had to be / When they were old, they came back to me / And they tried / Oh, they tried /And when you follow through and wind up on your back / Looking up at no stars in the sky / Those white clouds have turned it black

5. Olive Klug - Raining in June | And so I tried / I couldn't wait patiently for July / So I moved somewhere with a clearer sky / But when I did, I only missed the rain

6. Elton John - Sad Songs (Say So Much)

7. London Grammar - Strong | Excuse me for a while / While I'm wide-eyed and I'm so damn caught in the middle / Have you wondered for a while? / I have a feeling deep down, you're caught in the middle

8. Frightened Rabbit - Nitrous Gas | And if happiness won't come to me, I need a nitrous gas / Leave the acute warm-heartedness / Go where the joyless bastard lives / He's dying to bring you down with him

9. Tom Petty - I Won't Back Down | You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won't back down.

10. REM - Losing My Religion | That's me in the corner / That's me in the spotlight, losing my religion / Trying to keep an eye on you / And I don't know if I can do it / Oh no, I've said too much / I haven't said enough

[amewinterswriting]

Romantic Snippet Tag

@winterandwords tagged me to share a romantic snippet, and since my main WIP doesn't have much that would suit, here is a little teaser from Passions of Secret London. It's more suggestively spicy than fluffy - a succubus and a vampire have both fallen on lean times and agree to help each other out...

Allura had already started walking up the road. Elizabeth followed, with barely a conscious thought. The succubus had always been attractive - it was in her very nature, a low level compulsion to aid them in feeding. Elizabeth could hardly wait the five minutes she knew it would take to get to Chalk Farm. She was already eyeing up some of the darker alleyways with half a mind to pin Allura up against a wall, but with the streets as busy as they were, she tamped down that urge. Neither of them needed trouble from the drunks out in Camden this late. People were staggering out of the different pubs and bars with a leer. More than a few envious eyes were turned on Allura and Elizabeth could not help voicing a thought. “If you needed sustenance so badly, surely you could have your pick of the locals? They seem willing and eager to help.” Allura made a face. “Just because I’m a succubus doesn’t mean I don’t have standards. Would you eat half a burger you found in the gutter when you could have a five course gourmet meal lying in your bed? In fact, couldn’t you have your pick of the locals, too? You’ve noticed they’re looking at you at least as much as me, right?” Elizabeth discretely flicked her eyes towards the closest drunks. They did seem to be staring at Elizabeth, but she’d assumed that they were just wondering who was lucky enough to be walking Allura home. “I don’t bite people after they’ve been drinking,” Elizabeth eventually said. “I need consent.” “Me too,” Allura agreed. “But even if they could meaningfully consent right now, would you?” Even as hungry as she was, something in Elizabeth recoiled at the thought of getting close enough to touch them. To place her mouth on them. Elizabeth shuddered. “I suppose I have standards, too. Good thing a gourmet meal decided to invite me home tonight, isn’t it?” Allura grinned. “Oh, honey, you are definitely the gourmet meal here. Though you get to choose how many courses you are.”

Tagging @red-pen-ally, @violets-in-her-arms-writes, @sam-glade and @jay-avian with no pressure

[thephantomcasebook]

7

For hundreds of years the motto of the British Peerage had simply been ‘It is not our business’. They gave money to their aunties’ charities, their wives and daughters organized fundraisers, they all donated to worthy – fashionable - causes during the London Season. But the one thing that a good aristocrat did not do was get stuck into the vulgars’ petty and meaningless lives. But that was exactly what George “The Comet” Crawley did. Every damn time! It didn’t matter if it was a simple murder in Kent or a garish madman speaking in Shakespearian tones as he threatened death and mayhem throughout England itself. And when he emerged victorious – usually in some heroic last-minute fashion – it was the peerage that lost every time. For the swashbuckling nature and altruistic valiantry of the hero, as penned by Lady Edith Pelham, Marchioness of Hexham, in her magazine “The Sketch”, always put the spotlight on the rest of the House of Lords and their incredible record of doing absolutely nothing throughout The Slump.   

And to add insult to injury, now he was dragging other luminaries of their world into his ludicrous fables. Just think about what his reappearance in the House of Grantham’s lives, after nearly a decade in exile, has done to Ms. Sybil Afton Branson?! A ward of His Majesty the late King George V for eight years! A perfect, elegant, spotless princess of the realm. A brilliant actress in a meteoric rise of absolute audience fervor, a transatlantic movie starlet that has Los Angeles, New York, and London, at her feet. She has everything, beauty, charisma, etiquette, and a voice made of pure fairy tale and nectar. Sybil Branson could and should conqueror the known world, raised in Buckingham Palace, the talk of the London Season, and Academy Awards.

Yet, instead, she is in her Burberry designer coat, showing off her silky luscious raven locks, not for entertainment publications in the South of France, but for hardened reporters and jaded crime photographers standing in the stench and horror of a midnight massacre at “The British”. She gave her intensity and the beauty of her flawless countenance, not to the screen or stage, but to her cousin, adopted brother – and other things if you believe the rumors. She stood by with such elegant baring and sorrowful cerulean eyes too hardened for one so young and lovely, watching on as the Earl of Grantham crouched in front of what was left of the head of security’s torso with his magnifying glass trained on the grotesquery in detail.

It was one thing when they were partners in America, in Los Angeles. Whether you believed that she actually ran off with the mad youth during the ball held for her 16th birthday at her luxurious chateau in the South of France, or, otherwise, he had stolen the beautiful young princess away that night, it was undeniably true that Sybil Branson had gained notoriety in playing the Watson to George “The Comet” Crawley’s Sherlock on quite a few of his dangerous cases. However, with all you hear about what some girls do to get roles in that gilded Lala Land, going on mad adventures and fighting theatrical psychotics might be more preferable to a girl of such a refined upbringing.

But after the “Grantham Civil War”, after the battles of “Whitefield”, “Grantham Hill”, and “Downton Town”, in the muddy and snowy glades and glens of the County Grantham in the week of Christmas of 1937, one had hoped they had given each other up. They had abducted Ms. Sybil Afton Branson, murdered her stepmother, and tried to force her into marriage to secure her claim to the Grantham Estate. And in response, George “The Comet” Crawley and his ‘Crusaders’ slaughtered much of the old aristocracy and half of England on those three days in the bleak mid-winter of Yule. Afterward, seeing how far the new Lord Grantham went for fear of losing his Sybbie, the two knew they had to part ways …

And all of Britian gave a sigh of relief.

But now, to hear that not even a year later, they’ve taken up again with one another was not what anyone wanted to hear. The grieving fallen families whose sons died in Lady Mary Crawley’s service to keep Ms. Sybil Branson from the young Earl. The dowagers who still held to hope that it would be their grandsons that would claim the richest and most beautiful heiress of their age for themselves. But most of all, it was the House of Grantham itself that feared George and Sybbie’s reunion. For above all, they knew, intimately, what their liege and their princess were like together. Witty, brilliant, chaotic, pushing one another to the brink of both genius and morality … toxically dependent and irreversibly connected on a level that was beyond human. It was the way they responded to one another that frightened those who loved them most. It was a relationship that transcended any rational labels and whose heraldry was the very footsteps of an ancient house’s doom.

[brookston]

Holidays 3.22

Holidays

Age Is Just A Number Day

Arab League Day

Army Day (Philippines)

As Young As You Feel Day

Baltic Sea Day

Banned in Boston Day

Bihar Day (India)

Brussels Terrorist Attack Anniversary Day

Captain James T. Kirk Day

Cinematograph Film Day

Cornstarch Day

Day of the Berlin Bear (Germany)

Day of the People’s Party (Laos)

Earth Day [Original Date]

Emancipation Day (a.k.a. Día de la Abolición de la Esclavitud; Puerto Rico)

Festival of Immortality

Georgia Guidestones Day

Gryffindor Pride Day

International Goof-Off Day (a.k.a. National Goof-Off Day)

International Gurjar Day

International Taxi Driver Day (Russia)

John Magufuli Day (Tanzania)

Labour Day (Christmas Island)

Laser Day

Lynch Syndrome Awareness Day

National Badminton Day [also 3.30]

National Day of the Podenco (Spain)

National Day of Work-Integrated Learning Day (Canada)

National Health Care Rights Day

National Rehabilitation Counselors Appreciation Day

National Ride2School Day (Australia)

National Sing-Out Day

National West Virginia Day

Newlyweds Day (Serbia)

Non-League Day (UK)

Resident Evil Anniversary Day

Skull & Bones Day

Stamp Act Day

Stanley Cup Day

Sun-Earth Day

Talk Like William Shatner Day

Tuskegee Airmen Day

27th Amendment Day (U.S.)

World Aquatic Physiotherapy Day

World Cloud Security Day

World Coma Day

World Day of Metta!

World Doula Day

World Mime Day

World Organic Research Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Bavarian Crepes Day

Brewing Water Day

Coq au Vin Day

Orval Day

We Love Broccoli Day

World Water Day (a.k.a. World Day for Water; UN)

Nature Celebrations

Daffodil Day

International Day of the Seal

Mallow Day (Blessings; Korean Birth Flowers)

National Tree Day (Sint Maarten)

Plane Tree Day (French Republic)

Independence, Flag & Related Days

Bihar (State founded; India; 1912)

Malaybalay City Charter Day (Philippines)

Malus (Declared; 2021) [unrecognized]

New Year’s Days

New Year’s Day Saka Calendar; India) [21st in Leap Years]

Nowruz (New Year) [Day 3, Around Spring Equinox] (a.k.a. ... 

Dita e Nevruzit (Albania)

Nauryz Meyramy (Kazakhstan)

Navruz (Tajikistan, Uzbekistan)

Nevruz (Albania)

Nooroz (Iran)

Novruz (Azerbaijan)

4th Saturday in March

Be Mad Day [4th Saturday]

Bike Store Day (Canada) [4th Saturday]

Corn Dog Day [1st Saturday of March Madness]

Endometriosis March Day [4th Saturday]

Salacious Saturday [4th Saturday of Each Month]

Sandwich Saturday [Every Saturday]

Sausage Saturday [4th Saturday of Each Month]

Six For Saturday [Every Saturday]

Spaghetti Saturday [Every Saturday]

Walk in the Sand Day [Saturday after Spring Equinox]

Weekly Holidays beginning March 22 (3rd Week of March)

Maine Maple Sunday Weekend (Various locations, Maine) [thru 3.23]

New York Maple Weekend (Statewide, New York) [thru 3.23 & 3.29-30]

Texas Cowboy Poetry Week (thru 3.23)

Vermont Maple Open House Weekend (Various Locations, Vermont) [thru 3.23]

Festivals On or Beginning March 22, 2025

AnimeJapan (Tokyo, Japan) [thru 3.23]

Bacon on the Lakein (Romulus, New York) [thru 3.23]

Beer, Bourbon & BBQ Festival (Jacksonville, Florida)

Chattanooga Food Truck & Craft Beer Festival (Chattanooga, Tennessee)

Conyers Cherry Blossom Festival (Conyers, Georgia) [thru 3.23]

Head of the River Race (Thames River, London, UK)

Maple Syrup Family Day (Richfield, Wisconsin)

National Spring Festival (Turkmenistan)

Peanut Proud Festival (Blakely, Georgia)

Taste of Oviedo (Oviedo, Florida)

Texas Onion Fest (Weslaco, Texas)

Torry Island BBQ Festival (Belle Glade, Florida)

Wellington Bacon & Bourbon Festival (Wellington, Florida) [thru 3.23]

Wing & Rock Fest (Canton, Georgia) [thru 3.23]

Feast Days

Arbor Intrat (The Tree Enters; Ancient Rome)

Attis Arbour Intrat (Procession of Pine Trees, dedicated to Cybele, Ops for Rhea; Ancient Rome)

Basil of Ancyra (Christian; Saint)

Benvenuto of Osimo (Christian; Saint)

Catharine of Sweden (Christian; Saint)

Clemens August Graf von Galen (Christian; Saint)

Darerca of Ireland (Christian; Saint)

Deogratias, Bishop of Carthage (Christian; Saint)

Dies Violae (Laying of Flowers at Tombs; Ancient Rome)

Epaphroditus (Christian; Saint)

Festival of Cybele (Attis’ self-mutilation; Ancient Rome)

Festival of the Entry of the Tree (Ancient Rome)

Hola Mohalla (Sikh)

Jonathan Edwards (Lutheranism)

Justin (Positivist; Saint)

Keep Richards Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Lea of Rome (Christian; Saint)

Nicholas Owen (Christian; Saint)

Nicholas von Flue (Christian; Saint)

Paul of Narbonne (Christian; Saint)

Pretend to Be Sober Day (Pastafarian)

Rite of Eostre (Everyday Wicca)

Quinquatria, Day 4: Poet’s Day (Pagan)

Rosh Chodesh Nisan (Judaism) [1 Nisan]

Slightly Silly Day (Pastafarian)

Toothbrush (Muppetism)

Lunar Calendar Holidays

Chinese: Month 2 (Ji-Mao), Day 23 (Geng-Yin)

Day Pillar: Metal Tiger

12-Day Officers/12 Gods: Close Day (閉 Bi) [Inauspicious]

Holidays: None Known

Secular Saints Days

George Benson (Music)

Randolph Caldecott (Art)

Billy Collins (Literature)

Greta Kempton (Art)

John Frederick Kensett (Art)

Keegan-Michael Key (Entertainment)

Bernard Krigstein (Art)

Louis L’Amour (Literature)

Ernest Lawson (Art)

Agnes Martin (Art)

Anton Raphael Mengs (Art)

Robert Millikan (Science)

Matthew Modine (Entertainment)

Burton Richter (Science)

Rudy Rucker (Literature)

William Shatner (Entertainment)

Stephen Sondheim (Music)

Dorothy Tennant (Art)

Anthony Van Dyck (Art)

Andrew Lloyd Webber (Music)

Reese Witherspoon (Entertainment)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Shakku (赤口 Japan) [Bad luck all day, except at noon.]

Premieres

All Shook Up, by Elvis Presley (Song; 1957)

All You Need Is Cash, by The Rutles (Parody Documentary; 1978)

Apostrophe (‘), by Frank Zappa (Album; 1974)

Arab League (Regional Organization; 1945)

Behold the Man, by Michael Moorcock (Novel; 1969)

The Bible, printed by Johannes Gutenberg (Book; 1457)

Bosko’s Woodland Daze (WB LT Cartoon; 1933)

Bosko the Speed King (WB LT Cartoon; 1933)

Bringing It All Back Home, by Bob Dylan (Album; 1965)

The Brown Derby (Toby the Pup Cartoon; 1931)

Bugged (Tales from Radiator Springs Pixar Cartoon; 2013)

Bullwinkle Scores Again or Fool’s Goal (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 356; 1965)

The Clock (Film; 1945)

The Croods (Animated Film; 2013)

Defending Your Life (Film; 1991)

D-I-V-O-R-C-E, recorded by Tammy Wynette (Song; 1968)

East St. Louis Toddle-oo, recorded by Duke Ellington (Song; 1927)

The Egg Cracker Suite (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Swing Symphony Cartoon; 1943)

English Football League (Sports League; 1888)

The Explorer, featuring Farmer Al Falfa (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1931)

The Fable of Day by Day in Every Way (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

The Fable of One Hard Pull (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

The Fable of the Gamblers (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923

The Fable of the Jolly Rounders (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1923)

Far Beyond Driven, by Pantera (Album; 1994)

Fist of Fury (Film; 1972)

Flames in the Sky, by Pierre Clostermann (Novel; 1951)

The Golden Touch (Disney Silly Symphony Cartoon; 1935)

Gutenberg Bible (Religious Text; 1457)

Hiccups (Tales from Radiator Springs Pixar Cartoon; 2013)

How Should We Then Live? The Rise and Decline of Western Thought and Culture, by Francis A. Schaeffer (Philosophy Book; 1975)

Lily Tomlin On Stage (Broadway One-Woman Show; 1977)

Luca (Pixar Animated Film; 2024)

Make Believe Revue (Color Rhapsody Cartoon; 1935)

Mr. Wonderful (Broadway Musical; 1956)

Much Ado About Nothing (Dinky Duck Terrytoons Cartoon; 1940)

Olympus Has Fallen (Film; 2013)

On the Border, by The Eagles (Album; 1974)

On Your Toes, by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart (Broadway Musical; 1936)

Pleased to Meet Cha! (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1935)

Please Please Me by The Beatles (Album; 1963)

Power to the People, by John Lennon (Song; 1971)

The Rules: All You Need Is Cash (TV Rockumentary Special; 1978)

The Secret of the Sword (He-Man & She-Ra Filmation Animated Film; 1985)

Sing Smokey, by The Temptation (Album; 1965)

Sleepy Time Chimes (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1971)

Snappy Cheese (Hearst-Vitagraph News Pictorial Cartoon; 1919)

Spinning (Tales from Radiator Springs Pixar Cartoon; 2013)

Spring Breakers (Film; 2013)

Standing Room Only or Bullwinkle Sells Out (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S6, Ep. 355; 1965)

Station 19 (TV Series; 2018)

Stealin Aint Honest (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1940)

Symphony No. 1, the Poem of the Forest, by Albert Roussel (Symphony; 1908)

Us (Film; 2019)

Today’s Name Days

Clemens, Elmar, Klemens, Lea (Austria)

Rosen, Rositsa (Bulgaria)

Lea, Leonarda, Oktavijan (Croatia)

Leona (Czech Republic)

Paulus (Denmark)

Viktor, Viktoria (Estonia)

Vihtori, Viktor (Finland)

Léa (France)

Elmar, Lea, Reinhilde (Germany)

Drosos, Drosoula (Greece)

Beáta, Izolda (Hungary)

Benevenuto, Caterina, Lavinia, Lea, Muzio, Onofrio, Nilda, Nilde (Italy)

Dziedra, Giedra, Ralfs, Tamāra (Latvia)

Gedgaudas, Gedgaudė, Kotryna (Lithuania)

Paula, Pauline (Norway)

Bazylissa, Bogusław, Godzisław, Katarzyna, Kazimierz, Paweł (Poland)

Drosida, Vasile (Romania)

Beňadik (Slovakia)

Bienvenido, Lea (Spain)

Kennet, Kent, Viktor (Sweden)

Lea, Leah, Lee, Leigh, Leighton, Parker (USA)

Today’s National Name Days

National Donald Day

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 81 of 2025; 284 days remaining in the year

ISO Week: Day 6 of Week 12 of 2025

Celtic Tree Calendar: Fearn (Alder) [Day 25 of 28]

Chinese: Month 2 (Ji-Mao), Day 23 (Geng-Yin)

Chinese Year of the: Snake 4723 (until February 17, 2026) [Ding-Chou]

Coptic: 13 Baramhat 1741

Druid Tree Calendar: Hazel (Mar 21-31) [Day 2 of 11]

Hebrew: 22 Adar 5785

Islamic: 22 Ramadan 1446

Julian: 9 March 2025

Moon: 50%: 3rd Quarter

Positivist: 25 Aristotle (3rd Month) [St. Justin]

Runic Half Month: Beore (Birch Tree) [Day 15 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 3 of 92)

SUn Calendar: 21 Green; Seventhday [21 of 30]

Week: 3rd Week of March

Zodiac:

Tropical (Typical) Zodiac: Aries (Day 2 of 30)

Sidereal Zodiac: Pisces (Day 8 of 30)

Schmidt Zodiac: Pisces (Day 2 of 26)

IAU Boundaries (Current) Zodiac: Pisces (Day 11 of 38)

IAU Boundaries (1977) Zodiac: Pisces (Day 11 of 38)

[capturedinlies]

( @whispercd -- Kensington Gardens early, mid-day )

The sun is shining brightly right into Isabelle's eyes, and the older woman gracefully averts her gaze, barely blinking, back at Emma. Showing oneself to the rest of the ton after a ball is a must, or so Isabelle has learned. And who else would she ask for company than the so lovely Emma she has grown so very fond of in this short period of time. "You must come to Margate with me someday, your Grace. Enjoying the sun at the beach is truly much more enjoyable than in the crowded city. Though I must admit, the Kensington Gardens have grown dear to my heart. The magnolia glades are breathtaking."

Isabelle waits until they reach a more quieter area, and stops in front of a few flowers. "So, Emma. Any suitors I should focus on?" She laughs softly, taking in the view, "I truly did not expect to share so many dances last night. But I'm assuming that is a side-effect of the war. Little of the ton settled down to marry, just like me. I have not been to London ever since my own debut." Amused, Isabelle gently nudges Emma's ribs, "Any tips for an old lady?"