#but hopefully John will like the sweater

[barachiki]

Sherlock has to hurry to decorate all the cookies in time for Christmas. He does not appreciate the interruption.

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 5

Check out part 1 here. AO3

Every time John brought in a shirt, pair of pants, or suit coat to get fixed it got harder and harder to stop yourself from touching him. Touching him casually, obviously. You weren’t going to up and grope the man. But fuck you bet it would be as amazing as your dreams alluded it might be. He would probably, rightfully, hit you if you did. John seemed bashful around you and his body.

Watching him pull off a sweater in the colder weather became a fascinating trial of self-restraint. The man had a happy trail and a small bump of flesh pushing above the waist of his pants. You wanted to lick that happy trail until he gripped you by the hair and bite his stomach, just gnaw on it. Hair covered him, not an excessive amount but a light dusting that you want to pet.

The sweater he handed you had a hole in the cuff. After he graced you with a smile, that you returned by rote, he turned to the back room. Watching him slip beyond the door every time he came to visit made you want to follow him. Dammit, your new vibrator couldn’t arrive fast enough.

You lived life fine without sex or orgasms until one John Price looked so delectable you wanted nothing more than to sink your teeth into him and hold on like a bulldog. The vibrator would hopefully take the edge off the yearning and sand the edge of your annoyance with dealing with your mother.

She had been hounding you since you had left her house ‘in a huff’ about Christmas. You had managed to dodge her calls, replying via text that you were busy with work and couldn’t talk. Mid-November the damn nearly broke. She sent your father to the shop.

Looking up as the door bell dinged you smiled when you saw your father.

“Hi, Pops! Surprise to see you here.”

Finishing your current project to the point of being able to step away you joined him in front of the counter. After a quick hug, you gestured for him to sit down.

“What brings you by?” You look him over. He sits tall even with age dragging at his bones and color leeching from his hair.

“Your mother sent me,” he says in his quiet, firm voice.

That is all it took. Leaning back in the chair you cross your arms and your legs. The sour look on your communicates your displeasure. Feeling fifteen again sat uncomfortably in your grown body.

“I don’t have anything to say to my mother right now.”

Pops gave you a slow blink that told you so much. He didn’t want to be here, but for the sake of his marriage, he would. His wife bullied and nagged at him until he came to play peacemaker.

“She is upset that you are not talking to her, says you are avoiding calls about Christmas.”

“I am avoiding calls about Christmas. I already called Nana and I will be spending Christmas with her.”

Both Pops’ brows lifted, he spoke to his mother once a month when your mother went to visit her mother.

“If you don’t mind I’ll send her gift up with you then if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind that at all.”

“Why the distance with your mother?”

“She doesn’t listen to me, or like me. She is always siding with my brother in every disagreement and I’m done. I hate the way she treats me and unless she is willing to go therapy I don’t want to talk to her.” The words coated your mouth like vomit.

You had never said these things out loud outside of therapy. In therapy, you ranted that your mother hated you and regretted having you but that wasn’t something you were willing to dump on your father.

“She is upset about the silence,” Pops hedges.

“She makes me upset every time I see her so this feels fair.”

The look your father sends you sends you back to the age of seven as you hold out the broken porcelain doll you had been told repeatedly to not touch. Before either of you can pick the tug-of-war conversation back up the door bell dings. Looking up you can feel the weight of the chat with your father fall away.

John stands in the doorway, a wooden box tucked under one arm. He stomps his feet on the mat and lets the door fall shut behind him. Eager to escape the chat with your Pops you stand.

“John! I wasn’t expecting you today.” He had been yesterday and tended to keep anywhere from four days to three weeks between visits. If he would be gone longer he made sure to mention.

Smiling and nodding once at your father he set his box on the counter. Stepping around to your side of the space you examine the piece with your eyes like you do with clothing.

“I wanted to confirm you liked the design before I started to stain and line it.”

John turned the jewelry box around, watching your face as you examined each corner and the neat construction of it.

You glance up at him, the same look in your eye that you get before you start touching the clothing while he is in it.

“Can I touch?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

Damn if only he could get you to say that about him instead of objects. Any part of him. Really, even his pinky.

The man you had been having an intense chat with stood, drawing John’s attention away from you. The older man stepped around the counter, placing a hand on your back and a kiss to your hair. John’s stomach met the top of his boots.

“Goodbye sweetheart, I will call you later this week to finish this chat.”

“There isn’t anything else I have to say on the matter Pops. She can go to therapy or she can leave me alone.” You don’t look up from slowly rotating the piece in front of you.

“She’s still your mother.”

“And I’m still her daughter, not that that has ever gotten me a modicum of love from her.”

He hums in response, giving John a nod as he heads past him into the cold.

As the ding rings out in time with the blast of cold air you slump forward onto folded arms on the counter.

“John, would you lock the door please?”

Without question, he does as requested. Stepping back to the counter he looks you over.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He probes gently.

“No,” you bite the word out at the countertop.

“Can I show you more about your gift then?”

John knew how to push and when to pull away from the pain and try again later.

“There’s more?” Your head pops up, eyes filled with tears.

Pulling out each drawer he showed you the differences. Two drawers had inserts to increase the storage space. Three were empty and one had been left half filled with wood. Tipping that drawer to John you lifted a brow.

“I know you mentioned you don’t wear rings often but it felt odd to not give you any storage space for them. My mum had heirloom rings she held onto and hated having no good storage for them,” he explained.

Setting the drawer down gently you cover your mouth with one hand and hug yourself tight with the other. John is confused until you let out a small sob, and then he is terrified. What the fuck did he do?

“Sorry, ignore me,” you sob out.

Fuck off, that had no chance of happening. Stepping around the counter John doesn’t wait to ask you for permission, pulling you into his arms.

You cry until you can pull the reigns back on the overly large emotions and shove them back in the box meant for therapy. Leaning back you move away from John. His hands drop slowly, keeping contact with you until they hang at his sides.

“Better?”

You sniff as you tip your head back and forth.

“Meh?”

Looking away from his probing blue eyes you pull a tissue from your shelf. Carefully blowing your nose, because you’ve already cried on the man no need to make it worse by being loud now, you keep your eyes down.

“Why don’t you tell me about it as you finish looking it over? I have more to show you,” John picks up a drawer, rotating it between his hands.

Filling your lungs as deep as you can you try and think of a way out of this. Seeing none within easy reach you decide to get to know him better.

“How about a truth for a truth?”

He glances at you from below his beanie.

“I won’t be sharing any state secrets no matter how pretty you ask.”

His deadpan delivery shocks a laugh out of you.

“What would I do with state secrets other than give myself an ulcer?”

John has a big laugh. You love it instantly.

“Fair point that.”

You trade truths as he shows you how to access the portion of the box that holds necklaces. The top of the box shifts forward. The back wall can be lifted out if a necklace falls from the hooks he will install. You tell John of your rocky relationship with your mother, and he tells you of the distant but decent relationship he has with his siblings.

“You’ve really thought of everything haven’t you?” You start to slide the drawers back into place.

“I have a lot of time on my hands on missions,” he holds out another drawer.

“Can you tell me what this is?” You point at the joint of the drawer you had taken from his hand.

“The joint?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like most furniture I see nowadays. I’ve seen it once on my great grandmother’s dresser drawers,” you look to him.

Seeing the words form in his mind is fascinating.

“‘S called dovetailing. Bit more work but holds joints better than glue alone like most pieces are made with anymore.”

Brushing a finger over the joint you are amazed by the smoothness and dare you say softness of the wood.

“This is lovely John. Much better than I expected. You will tell me how much I owe you when this is all done?”

Watching his eyes crinkle is a treat, even if his expression says he thinks you’re being silly.

“Don’t owe me a thing. Let me use your shop for naps for the low price of a fix to the clothes I bring in? This is the least I can do. You don’t even badger me for state secrets,” he winked at you.

Your cheeks have to be blushing, thankfully you can’t feel the heat radiating off them. Focusing on putting everything away you start speaking again.

“I will be gone the week of Christmas. I am going to be up north with my Nana. Did you possibly want my number so we can coordinate a gift exchange?”

“Don’t need to get me a gift,” John eyes you with suspicion.

“And you don’t need to give me this well-crafted box for free but we find ourselves at an impasse.” You lift a brow at him, liking the drop in your stomach as he narrows his eyes at you. “Do you want my number?”

“Yes, give me your phone and I will text myself.” He shifts from foot to foot, eyes tracing your features.

You pass your phone, number pad ready. After he punches his number in he calls himself instead, the phone carrier-assigned tone ringing out from his pocket.

Taking your phone back you smile at the connection to him.

“There, now you can just text me if you need a nap instead of stealing your men’s clothes.” Glancing up at him you continue, “At this point, I’m almost wondering if you are causing more tears just to come see me.”

John felt the alarm bells go off in his brain. You were onto him somehow. Play it cool John, you can bluff a terrorist cell you can do it to one woman.

“And if I am?”

You have the cutest nose scrunch as if you don’t believe him.

“I don’t think you are but just in case you better knock it off before they start hiding their clothes from you.”

John laughs again, keenly aware that he hasn’t laughed this much since Roach got so tipsy trying to out-drink Gaz that he couldn’t stand right. Gaz had also promptly fallen over when trying to prove he wasn’t that drunk.

“I’ll text you. This,” he placed his hand on the box, “Will be done after Christmas. Want to get together for New Year maybe?”

Smiling at him you folded your arms and tugged the inside of your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Stay safe out there John.”

“Always do.” He left with a wave and a smile, unlocking the door on his way out.

Part 4 | Part 6

Masterlist

[brokenpieces-72]

Railed

Navigation

TW: Character death, exhaustion and some grief, let me know if there is more.

Task Force 141's journey into the island wasn’t one they were unused to, coming in via a rowboat though was a little different. That and wearing bullet-proof vests under more civilian attire. Price was wearing his beanie, with a brown jacket, a sweater underneath. Soap had his dark jacket on, zipped up all the way, room only at the collar. Gaz had on his coat and a grey shirt. Ghost had his hood up, wearing both a hoodie and coat, along with his balaclava. Each of them had basic hunting rifles and packs with standard gear inside. John had been under prepared before but never felt like it. They were going in with minimal knowledge and a guide or two somewhere on the island. This was more blind than any of them wanted. But it was all they had… time to clean up this disaster.

Once they reached the shore the boat was hauled on to the land, and hidden with what they could find. The boat was the only way back, and if it came down to it, they would need someway of getting back and hopefully getting proper evacuation measures. For now though too much commotion would lead to national involvement. Find the girl or the old man, eliminate the threat, and let the rest carry out. That was their mission.

“Where do we start?” Kyle asked his captain.

“Right now we’re four men on a hunting trip. We ask around for the girl.” Price said. If only it could have been that easy.

“Steaming Jesus.” Johnny breathed looking at the old man’s body. He had been taking them to find the girl when they’d witnessed Charles first hand. The monster was a thing of twisted nightmares. Despite their efforts to rid themselves of the thing then and there, taking pot shots and firing with the mounted weapon. Didn’t stop the thing from getting a hold of the man, Eugene and taking a bite before scurrying off to Satan knows where. If any of them had any doubts, they were gone now. The men had reached him as he breathed his last words, telling them to find the eggs, find his son and the girl.

Kyle crouched next to him and shut Eugene’s eyes. The hole in the body was huge. Simon got down on the other side getting Eugene’s arm around his shoulder. “Kyle.”

No more instruction was needed as Kyle assisted the lieutenant with moving Eugene off the tracks. Price and Johnny both keep an eye out weapons posted, ready for the monster if it decided to come storming back for another mouthful. Branches and leaves covered the dead man.

“Laswell’s intel was spot on.” Price said, sounding almost disappointed. “Right let’s go find the girl.”

The men followed their captain back to the train, and surprisingly it still ran. Simon took the controls, moving the train forward. Kyle stuck near the gun at the back with Soap close by and Price sitting on a small bench inside. The reality, if you could even call it that, was sinking in. A reality that shouldn't even be a reality. The question that remained was whether to contact Laswell to get evacuation ready or to try and kill the damn thing. The girl had already sent it to a number of big names, ones that wouldn't hesitate to come in with heavy fire power. Laswell was trying to reduce the damage that could be done.

The four men continue moving in silence, while Simon periodically checks the map to ensure they're headed where Eugene was taking them. The old man had been glad to see them, almost excited. Finally some help had come, and he was more than willing to tell them everything they needed to know, answer their questions, give them names that would help them on the island. Walked and talked like he was a veteran monster hunter or something. Showed them respect. When Charles attacked, he was calling shots.

Death was something the 141 were familiar with but the monster… that fucking monster. It was a death that would stick with them.

They made it to the train shed, stopping it just outside the shut door. There was an old house nearby likely where someone lived. Price got out and pounded on the door of the shed. There was a bit of rustling inside. Probably you, reaching for a weapon. The rest of his men stayed back, hovering around the train. John overheard a gun reloading as he was looking to his men for a moment. He tensed and had his hand on the trigger of his own gun. Then he heard your voice

“Steven King.” He heard you say through the door.

“Dark Tower?” Price replied. It sounded almost like a question. There was quiet, and then the creaking of the door opening a crack. It was chained up on the other side, leaving only a couple inches for him to see some young eyes peering through.

“…who are you?” You asked.

“Captain John Price, SAS.” John answered. The door shut and the chains were removed on the other side while his men came a little closer. The door opened slowly and Price looked down to see a teenager with bandages on her arms and a rifle… pointed at him. Seeing his men behind him, you pointed the rifle towards them, eyes looking startled. Price stepped back out, arms out from his sides. You looked between him and his men. No, you was looking for something, someone.

“Stand down.” He called back. The men lowered their own weapons and you followed suit. After a long breath dropping the gun, you shouldered the rifle. Likely been holding your breath that whole time.

“They sent help.” You said, looking at Price and then the rest of the 141, then back at Price. “Come in.”

The all four filed in, their clothes dotted with rain. The pattering of drops could be heard above them on the old roof. Inside was another train engine, but it was in a repaired state. You shut the door looping the chain around it, but leaving it unlocked. On one of the walls was another series of photos, notes and rough drawings. You came over to them, ready to get started.

“Can’t believe it worked. Won’t lie, it’s was like a 10% chance someone might actually check the videos. Even Eugene wasn’t sure, he wanted to contact an archivist on the mainland. He should be on his way here soon.” You said, the men went very quiet. You had been through some shit, under those long pants they expected was the cause of your limp, and who knows what else.

“He’s dead.” Simon stated. Not an emotional man but there was sympathy in his voice.

“What…” your face plummeted. Never an easy part of the job. Their silence confirmed their truth. You started to wander around the room, as if you might find a different answer. Your fingers picked at your bandages and nails, even your hair. “How?”

“That fuckin nightmare.” Johnny said. There was a hard “fuck” heard from you. You paused and looked between the four men. You wiped your nose with your arm. You straightened your back to attention, focusing on the objective.

“Right. I’m just finishing repairs on this one, you have the one from Eugene, there’s parts and pieces around the islands but unfortunately I’m public enemy number two, so in order to get them it requires running errands. Sorry to say. Uh… some of them may have weapons we could also use, and there is a final plan but it’s flawed so…yeah that’s all I got.” You said ending with a shrug.

“What’s the plan?” Simon asked. You gestured to map on the wall.

“There’s a wooden bridge, I’ve gone over it more than once but Charles never follows, he runs off. He knows it won’t hold his weight, and below is… a tiger trap.”

“Tiger trap?” Kyle asked. This was certainly primitive.

“Yeah like in the most dangerous game, but instead of sticks its broken rails, rocks and some other debris. The plan is to try and get him on the bridge, detonate it, blowing him sky high and let gravity do the rest.” You explained. “The only problem is getting him across. We… I think if we get the eggs and put them in this sort of altar temple thing it might get him enraged and pursue anything moving across that bridge… getting the eggs is a whole other story.”

The sound of your voice wasn’t positive. It sounded defeated throughout the plan. Even with the extra help there were limitations, limitations they were intent on overcoming. But you. You were tired and had lost your friend. By the sounds of it everyone on the island knew how to avoid Charles. That gave them time and less to worry about. There the masked mob but that could be dealt with later. It was pouring and you needed to finish up some repairs.

“How long will the rest of those repairs take?” Price asked.

“…an hour, maybe.” you replied. “If you need somewhere to rest or… something my place is up the way, it’s not locked. I’ll be along shortly.”

“And your name?” He asked.

“Everyone calls me brat…” you answered. Seeing the unwavering expressions of the men you cleared your throat. “Y/N. Call me Y/N.”

Taglist @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

[runningfrom2am]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 1K!!! I’d love to make a request from Venus. I’d like smth basses off the song, ‘daddy issues’ - the neighbourhood, with rafe x rougtledge! Reader. Smth a lil angst 😊 hopefully this is okay! And congrats on 1K again 🫶

ahh thank you!! this one was so fun but also heartbreaking- i am very conflicted so thank you for submitting this :)

daddy issues (r.c)

pairing: rafe x routledge!reader

wc: 860

requests! (currently closed, but send stuff in if you’re okay with waiting a while!)

masterlists, navigation, 1k celebration!

"what are you thinking about?" you asked rafe, feet swinging over the edge of the dock.

"whatever you're thinking about." he replied, a slight smirk on his face as he leaned back on his palms, his ankle brushing against yours over the water.

you giggled, taking another hit from the joint pinched between your thumb and forefinger. "i doubt that."

"why?"

"you don't know what i'm thinking about, that's why." 

"then tell me, i'll probably forget anyway." rafe nudged your shoulder gently with his own.

"okay," you muse, nodding a little as you passed him the joint. "i'm thinking about my dad."

he nodded as he took it, willing you to continue.

"and my brother. he's not handling it well."

"isn't your uncle still staying with you?" 

you turned on the dock and looked back to your house. "do you see any lights on in there?" you asked rhetorically, gesturing for him to look for himself.

"where did he go?" rafe asked, furrowing his brow.

"he's working out of state, said i could handle things well enough on my own..." you sighed, chewing on your lip as your eyes suddenly welled up with tears you were fighting back. "but i haven't seen john b in days, he won't talk to me when he is home and i just-" you cut yourself off, taking a shaky breath.

"hey, hey- you're alright..." rafe was quick to reassure you, extinguishing the joint before reaching up to wipe a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "have i ever told you you're so pretty when you cry?"

you laughed a little at this, quickly wiping your face as well. "no, but that's creepy." you giggled, moving to lean your head on his shoulder anyway.

"you know, if you were my little girl," rafe said then, resting his head against yours as you looked out over the water. "i wouldn't have left you behind. i would run away and hide with you, or whatever your dad is up to now, i guess, but it would still be us."

"thanks." you sniffled, wiping your face on the bunched-up sleeve of your sweater. "but you're really not doing much to beat the creep allegations."

rafe laughed, squeezing your side. "you know i'm not. better than anyone."

“matching daddy issues.” you sing, laughing as he kissed your temple.

“that’s why we get each other.”

"no, no! don't touch me!" you shouted, shoving your boyfriend away as he tried to grab your arms. "did you know?"

"know? know what? what's going on?" rafe asked, brow furrowed. you look him over, he seems genuinely confused. but that can't be true.

"that ward killed my dad! did you know?" you clarify, and he straightened up, shaking his head.

"no... no, no... my dad didn't kill anyone." he insisted.

you scoffed, shaking your head with eyes red as tears fell down your cheeks. "john b told me everything. he told me- he told me ward tried to kill him out in the middle of nowhere, the same way he killed our dad. over what, some stupid gold that you would only spend on buying what? another vacation home?"

"my dad wouldn't do that, baby, john b must be lashing out, like you said he-"

"no!" you cut him off with a shout. "no. you don't know him like i do. don't act like you do."

rafe stood frozen, staring at you with worry as your chest heaved with anger. "y/n, i don't want to fight with you, lets just go talk to john b and we'll clear this up."

it surprised him when you laughed, full of bitterness as you shook your head. "no! no. you clearly aren't listening. goodbye, rafe. tell ward to lock the doors tonight." you say, storming off. you made it to your car before your anger turned to shaking sobs, and you left quickly to go resume your journey of trying to track down your little brother again after what happened.

rafe didn't cry that night, but that pain was nothing compared to the tears he's shed tonight. he never got the chance to make it right before you took the boat with john b and his sister out into the storm. he's sure you were driving it, and he's sure you made them both put on lifejackets. you wouldn't have let them go alone, and now, he lost both you and his sister in one night. he's lost everything.

"rafe. get it together." ward says, grabbing him by the shoulder. "be a man. we've got stuff to deal with tomorrow." at that, he releases his grip on his son and pats him, pacing up the stairs toward his office.

rafe rubs his red-rimmed eyes, biting his nails as he stares into the darkness surrounding him in the foyer. alone, with his daddy issues and what is left of yours now that you are gone.

taglist: @bookishbabyyy @madelynie, @slut4drudy, @winterrrnight, @totalswag, @sadfury @fullfledgedemo @rafemotherfuckingcameron, @urfaveluvr, @chenslucy, @hxnnah-397, @s-we-e-t-t-ea, @tahliac11, @saccharinesammie, @ietss, @maybankslover @redhead1180, @suzyheartsrafe, @wpdailyminimeta, @aegons-bitch, @rafegirly, @thelomlisrafecameron, @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles, @flonkertn, @whtvrrafe, @r1vrsefx, @sandyworms, @urmooniee, @frxcless, @ari-nicole, @kitscutie, @lovelyxtom, @niicole-87, @dylanstilinskiposts 

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[teddywesworl]

ok y'all said you want director's commentary so I'm gonna start by saying a couple things about 🪑 since it recently celebrated 2k kudos

🪑DIRECTOR'S COMMENTARY LET'S GO

1.

A fun fact about the poems at the beginning of each chapter is that I took two of the poet's classes in college, and she might be solely responsible for convincing me I was a good writer and should pursue the skill. I don't know how she'd feel about me using her poetry to thematically frame an explicit fanfic, but that's neither here nor there.

As a poet, she (I'm not naming her here in case she might possibly name search on tumblr, lol) is obsessed with transformation and with the discord between the material and spiritual self. Blackberries, Brambles in its entirety goes as follows:

Akhmatova wrote, "O look!—that fresh dark elderberry branch is like a letter from Marina…" And she was right, branches criss- cross, words sharpen. We lop them down, fit them into envelopes. But I forget: you don't do letters: Too much tangled in thickets and desperation. Did I say envelopes? I meant elevators. See, I've snagged favourite sweaters in high rises, snarled hair in hedges, given up skin scrapings for blackberries, tongueburst, the sweet stain, explosion under light canine pressure. Don't you just wish you were a dog sometimes? No panic. Romping through brambles. Even in delirium, near death, Akhmatova remembered. Her bitter friend had been dead a long time. Love. Don't think I'm thinking about you. Anything but you.

Akhmatova here being Russian poet Anna Akhmatova, and the Marina in question is Marina Tsvetaeva. You can go on as much or as little of a research spiral about them as you like; many of the layers of this poem are in the reference to Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva, but I was mostly interested in the commentary on the cost of pleasure. I've snagged favourite sweaters in high rises, snarled hair in hedges, given up skin scrapings for blackberries. What are you willing to pay for happiness? Wouldn't it be nice not to think about it? Wouldn't it be nice not to be afraid to pay?

2.

Obviously the other major literary framing device is A Room With A View. The movie, specifically, but obviously the Forster novel as well. A Room With A View is about the clash between tradition and modernity, familial duty vs. adventure and romance, etc. etc. etc. And like, listen, the Duffers have not put this much thought into Steve Harrington, but his arc, despite them, is that of the ultimate privileged 80s all-American masculine symbol taking a slow, deliberate turn toward Otherness. He was supposed to die a static character. He did not, and now we're all writing fic about it.

I probably didn't need to have Eddie literally whack the point home with a hammer with the you're Lucy line in chapter 2, but here we are.

3.

The other bits of ~Art~ in the Steve chapter are Elton John's The Fox and Bruce Springsteen's The River. As follows:

But if you’re wily, you will leave them lying, snared up in the traps that they set for you, Elton sings. And it’s an evergreen affair— Steve lifts the record out and replaces it with The River. Springsteen sings, you're walkin' tough, baby, but you're walkin' blind and that’s not really better.

The Elton John record, you may recall, was a compromise between Eddie and Nancy. The inclusion of these lines in particular was very vibes-based, but hopefully the vibes are semi-coherent. Snares. Traps. The hunter, the fox. Btw the next lines after these are:

As temptation taunts the fox Into the hunter's waiting lair

Which, okay. Teasing out the vibes just a little. Argyle interprets Nancy as Lucy (and implies, without meaning to, that Steve is Cecil--a character that represents old money and tradition and duty and, like. Being trapped). Nancy would probably also view herself as the titular Fox. And Steve has bought into this line of thinking! He sees himself as the snare! He has internalized the idea of life with him being a trap! He is Bullshit, etc.

Eddie complicates this self-concept. Through him, Steve becomes the Fox and Lucy. Temptation taunts the fox into the hunter's waiting lair, after all. And, you know: 🪑🪢

(The Springsteen lines are just. All Steve.)

Ok I have to go feed some horses. More.... later. eventually.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 2) Chapter Twelve

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twelve: Drugged Visions

Summary: (Y/N) hallucinates but then solves some issues.

            As the low growl echoed in the empty laboratory, (Y/N) and John spun and flashed their flashlight beams across the area, but there was nothing. Not wasting any time, (Y/N) and John ran to the next door and swiped their IDs. Again, it read “Access Denied.”

            “Damn it,” muttered (Y/N).

            “No, no, come on,” muttered John, swiping his card over and over unsuccessfully. Furiously, he picked up his phone and tried to make a call, but there was no answer. “Nothing.”

            “We…We need to find a way out,” said (Y/N), taking a deep breath and steeling themself. They felt like all their senses were on fire; the input out of control.

            “Right,” agreed John.

            Slowly and carefully, they advanced through the lab. They froze as the sound of claws skittering on the ground. John and (Y/N) spun wildly, but again their flashlights found nothing. A snarl echoed beside them, and the pair bolted for the next door.

            “Shit, shit, shit,” muttered John, furiously swiping his ID to no avail.

            “John!” gasped (Y/N) as they heard claws scratching against the ground, growing closer. A low growl rumbled through the lab.

            John grabbed their arm and made a break for the cages as the snarls grew closer. Pulling them inside an empty one, he closed the door to hopefully keep them safe from the creature growing closer. (Y/N) grabbed the sheet and tugged it down over them to hide them.

            Taking deep breaths, (Y/N) desperately tried to keep their senses under control, but they felt like they had no ability to control themself. They sobbed lightly, burrowing into their purple sweater for comfort.

            A snarl sounded next to their head, and they jumped, pulling themself to the other side of the cage in fear.

            John desperately pulled his phone out and again rang Sherlock. This time, he answered. “It’s here, Sherlock. It’s right here.”

            “Where are you?” asked Sherlock.

            “Sherlock, you’ve got to help! It’s in the big lab, the first lab that we saw!” shouted John.

            A loud growl sounded as it circled the cage. (Y/N) clamped their hands over their ears. No, no, no! I don’t want this, I don’t want this!

            “Now, Sherlock, please!” cried John.

            “What are you seeing?” questioned Sherlock.

            John peered through the folds of the fabric. “I don’t know, I don’t know!”

            “Stay calm, what do you see?” asked Sherlock.

            (Y/N) squeezed their eyes shut and shook their head. Don’t want to, don’t want to, no, no, no!

            John swallowed. “Y-yes! It’s glowing! Oh, god, it’s got red eyes, and it’s big, and it’s glowing!”

            “Dad!” cried (Y/N).

            There was a pause. “(Y/N)? You’re…You’re not supposed to be there.” From where he was hauled up making the call, Sherlock was frozen. He had wanted them to come to him after they searched the grounds. (Y/N)…Oh, god, (Y/N) wasn’t supposed to be affected by the drugs.

            “Dad, help, please!” cried (Y/N) desperately.

            “I’m coming, I’m coming,” said Sherlock, running for the lab.

            (Y/N) curled in on themself, desperately trying to ignore the sounds of the creature outside. They cried out when the cover of the cage they were hiding in was pulled away. Their fear gave way to relief when they saw Sherlock looking down at them.

            He opened the door of the cage, and they scrambled out to run into his arms. Sherlock wrapped his arms around them, pulling them close. “You’re alright, you’re alright,” he murmured.

            “Dad,” they whimpered.

            “It was here, Sherlock,” panted John, trying to regain his composure. “It was here, I swear. It must…it must.”

            “Didn’t you see it?” asked (Y/N), their voice muffled from being pressed into Sherlock’s coat.

            “It’s alright,” he said soothingly.

            “No, it’s not! It was here, we saw it, we were wrong!” shouted John.

            “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Sherlock.

            “…What?” asked (Y/N), confused and still shaking.

            “John, what did you see?” asked Sherlock. He wouldn’t force (Y/N) to speak. They were fragile.

            “I told you: the hound,” said John angrily.

            “Huge, red eyes?” asked Sherlock.

            “Yes,” said John.

            “Glowing?” continued Sherlock.

            “Yes!” shouted John.

            “No,” countered Sherlock.

            “What?” asked John in confusion.

            “I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you,” said Sherlock. “You were…” He cleared his throat. “Drugged. We’ve all been drugged.” (Y/N) gagged, and Sherlock tightened his hold on them.

            “It…it makes sense,” said (Y/N), taking a deep breath and trying to focus on logical to steady themself. “Drugs are everywhere here. It would be…easy to convince people there was a hound with some drugs.”

            “I’m so sorry,” murmured Sherlock. “I thought you’d come to me; I didn’t realize you’d follow John. I didn’t want you to be drugged; I wanted you safe.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N), their grip on him tightening.

            Sherlock sighed slightly. They were alright; they forgave him. “Come. I need to think.” Keeping a firm grip on (Y/N)’s shoulders, he guided them out of the lab.

            “How did we get drugged?” asked (Y/N).

            “I’m not sure. I thought the sugar in Henry’s house was laced, so I gave John coffee with sugar I stole form him, but you were affected,” said Sherlock.

            “Oh, thanks, Sherlock,” grumbled John.

            Sherlock ignored him. “Evidently, I was incorrect.” He huffed. “We need to go to our mind palaces and think. The answer must be in the name: hound. Why ‘hound?’ ”

            John sighed. “I’m guessing I have to make sure no one disturbs you two?”

            “That’s your job,” said Sherlock.

            “Fine, but only because (Y/N) wants to figure this out. I’m annoyed at you,” muttered John.

            He sat down and watched as Sherlock and (Y/N) settled down on some chairs and closed their eyes. In contemplative silence, they sat still for several minutes before Sherlock’s eyes snapped out.

            “Liberty, Indiana. Project H.O.U.N.D,” he said suddenly.

            (Y/N) blinked. Evidently, this was before their time since they had no clue what he was talking about. “A government experiment?” they surmised.

            “Yes,” said Sherlock.

            “And it has the words Henry’s been remembering,” murmured (Y/N).

            “Let’s go. I need access to experimental records,” said Sherlock.

            “How are you going to get those? Don’t think Mycroft will let you through this time,” said John.

            “Oh, I’m just going to ask one of the scientists,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) smiled mischievously. “We do have something on Dr. Stapleton, after all.”

l

            “Oh, back again?” asked Stapleton as the trio walked into her lab. “What’s on your mind this time?”

            “Murder, Dr. Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder,” said Sherlock. He switched the lights of the room off, and a rabbit in a cage beside them began to glow a pale green before he turned the lights back on.

            “Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or should I?” said (Y/N) with a threatening smile.

            Stapleton gritted her teeth. “Fine. What do you want?”

            “Your ID,” said Sherlock.

l

            “John,” said Sherlock, gesturing the door of Major Barrymore’s office.

            “Yeah, I’m on it,” said John, standing watch. Stapleton sat down at the computer and began logging in.

            “Project HOUND. Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “Before my time, I’m guessing.”

            “Yes,” said Sherlock. They wouldn’t have been born yet. He looked over at Stapleton, who was at the search bar. “H, O, U, N, D.”

            Stapleton nodded and copied the letters in. When she hit enter, though, a message popped up saying “No Access. CIA classified.” It also requested an authorization code.

            “That’s as far as my access goes, I’m afraid,” said Stapleton.

            “Well, there must be an override and password,” said John.

            “I imagine so, but that’d be Major Barrymore’s,” said Stapleton.

            (Y/N) turned and surveyed his office. They may not know anything about Project HOUND, but they could be helpful. “He was here when he came up with it,” they murmured. “Describe him to me.”

            “You’ve seen him,” said Stapleton.

            “Describe him,” repeated (Y/N).

            “Er, he’s a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort of man they’d have sent into Suez,” said Stapleton.

            “Alright,” said (Y/N). “Old-fashioned, traditionalist…so he wouldn’t use his children’s names as passwords. He loves his job, he’s proud of it, and this is work related.” They tilted their head. “So what would he be looking at.” Books, books, books. “Jane’s Defense Weekly, Hannibal, Wellington, Rommel, all four volumes of Churchill’s ‘History of the English-Speaking Peoples’. Five separate biographies of Thatcher.” They gestured to the picture of Barrymore with an older man. “Mid 1980s. Barrymore senior. Medal for distinguished service. What veteran would he be, John?”

            “That date? I’d say Falkland’s veteran,” said John.

            “Thatcher’s more likely, then,” decided (Y/N).

            Sherlock smiled to himself, watching them work. He was proud of how far they’d come. It had been difficult to get them to open up and be confident in their intelligence at first, but here they were, confident and self-assured. Sherlock looked at them fondly. That’s my kid.

            “So what’s the password?” asked Stapleton.

            “The type of guy Barrymore is, first name terms, definitely,” said (Y/N). They leaned over the computer and typed in “Margaret” before pausing. They cocked their head before replacing it with “Maggie.” (Y/N) pressed enter.

            The computer beeped pleasantly, and a message popped up saying “Override 300/421 Accepted. Loading…”

            (Y/N) smiled, pleased with themselves, and turned to Sherlock, who nodded in approval. They straightened, proud.

            The computer screen switched to a page regarding Project HOUND. The phrases that stuck out the most were “extreme suggestibility,” “fear and stimulus,” “conditioned terror,” and “aerosol dispersal.”

            Definitely fits what happened with us, thought (Y/N). They shivered at the reminder of the way the drug had manipulated their senses. It made them queasy. They ignored the feeling and scrolled down to find a photo of the project team with their names beside it.

            Leonard Hansen. Jack O’Mara. Mary Uslowski. Rick Nader. Elaine Dyson.

            Leonard Hansen. Jack O’Mara. Mary Uslowski. Rick Nader. Elaine Dyson.

            “HOUND,” breathed Stapleton, staring in horror at the further highlighted effects of the drugs involved in the project.

            Paranoia. Severe frontal love damage. Blood-brain. Gross cranial trauma. Dangerous acceleration. Multiple homicide.

            “Jesus,” said John softly.

            “Project HOUND: a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus, but they shut it down and hit it away in 1986,” read Sherlock.

            “Because of the effects on the subjects,” murmured (Y/N).

            Sherlock nodded. “And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane—made them almost uncontrollably aggressive.”

            “So someone’s been doing it again—carrying on the experiments?” asked John.

            “Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years,” said Sherlock.

            “Who?” questioned Stapleton.

            “Those names mean anything to you?” asked (Y/N).

            “No, not a thing,” said Stapleton.

            “Alright, then,” said (Y/N), turning to the computer and the photo. “Five principal scientists, twenty years ago, would be older now…” They zoomed in before smirked. “And would be someone who says cellphone because of time spent in America.” They looked at Sherlock and John. “Remember?”

            “Mhm,” said John, nodding. He pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. “He gave us his number in case we needed him.” The card said “Bob Frankland.”

            “Oh my god,” gasped Stapleton. “Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn’t even work on—I mean, he’s a virologist. This was chemical warfare.”

            “It’s where he started, though, and he’s never lost the certainty, the obsession that the drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let’s arrange a little meeting,” said Sherlock, taking Frankland’s card from John.

            John looked closely at the computer when his phone went off. “Hello?” He frowned. “Who’s this?” His eyes widened, and he whirled on Sherlock and (Y/N). “It’s Louise Mortimer. Louise, what’s wrong?”

            Henry’s therapist? That can’t be good, thought (Y/N).

            “What?” John frowned. “Where-where are you? Right, stay there. We’ll get someone to you, okay?” He hung up.

            “Henry?” asked (Y/N), because what else could the issue be?

            “He’s attacked her,” said John grimly.

            “Gone?” questioned Sherlock. John nodded, and Sherlock pulled out his phone. “There’s only one place he’ll go to—back to where it all started.” He held his phone to his ear. “Lestrade. Get to the Hollow. Dewer’s Hollow. Now. And bring a gun.”

            It’s not a hound we’ll be facing. It’s Henry, driven mad by exposure to the drug, and Frankland, its murderous creator, thought (Y/N).

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

[maelstrom007]

"Fuck Off" - Pt. 1

Pairing: Eventual Simon 'Ghost' Riley x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Summary/Prompt: Ghost struggles with handling intrusive thoughts and keeping his reactions in check on the best of days. What happens when a certain Scot starts to see through the cracks of his walls?

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags/Warnings: Angst. PLEASE do not engage if thoughts of harm towards yourself or others distresses or otherwise triggers you. This fic is 99% intrusive thoughts, so there's really no way to consume this without encountering them. The thoughts aren't logical, and none of them come true. Read at your own risk.

A/N: I am purposefully not tagging any sort of mental health diagnosis on Ghost, mainly because this fic is me projecting my experiences onto a character as a way to process them. While I know that this is something, since I have not had the opportunity to be diagnosed for anything, I won't be tagging any diagnoses so that I don't accidentally perpetuate harmful stereotypes, or otherwise misrepresent a mental illness. Enjoy?

Masterlist: Here

*I do not consent to my work being republished on another platform without permission or credit, nor do I consent to my work being fed to any AI entities*

Ghost knew he was being watched. 

He was leaning forward, forearms on his knees as he sat staring at the floor of the helicopter. His muscles ached something fierce, and it sucked having to keep them tense to keep himself from rocking from the helicopter's movements. They’d be flying along a mountain range now, and the turbulence from the inconsistent terrain would -  Imagine how terrible it would be if we crashed. The bay would crumple like paper, and the gas tank would explode, and there would be shrapnel everywhere. Imagine if it got in your eye-

“Hey LT.”

Soaps' voice snapped him back to the present, once fuzzy eyes now refocusing. He blinked hard, eyes dry and feeling stuck. How long had he been staring at the floor? 

Regaining his composure, he tilted his head up to look at the Sergeant across from him and raised his eyebrow in question. Even though his mask covered his eyebrows, Soap had somehow managed to derive a way to guess at his facial expressions. He had to keep his cool. 

“You good mate?” Soap continued, voice concerned. 

“Peachy, MacTavish,” he replied, leaning into the exhaustion he was feeling, and attempting to add a bit of a bored air to it too. Their mission had been hard, and hopefully channeling that exhausted energy would be enough to get Soap off his back. 

“Yeah, fair,” he said, sounding just as tired as he was. Soap closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, presumably to try to sleep. 

Ghost sighed in relief, releasing some of the tension from his body, glad to no longer be under scrutiny. He wasn’t sure when they had really started, but somewhere along the line he had started to collect. . .worries? fears? No, that wasn’t right. Ghost wasn’t an afraid man. He went into the nastiest places on Earth, did deeds that people couldn’t even dream of, and came back to tell the tale. He wasn’t afraid. And yet. 

His thoughts could get the better of him. Like a knit sweater getting caught on a snag, his thoughts begin to unwind him until all that's left is a tangled mess of irrational thoughts and fears and what if’s. 

He leaned back and closed his eyes. Might as well try to sleep. 

There’s a long flight ahead of them. 

—

He knew he’d already checked. He knew. There was no need to look again. 

What if you left your spoon in the bowl? Metal doesn’t go in the microwave. What if you left your spoon in the bowl and it makes the microwave explode? Imagine how terrible that would be, you’d set the kitchen on fire and probably get burns down the side of your body cause you’re so close. Eugh, imagine your burn wounds festering and getting all pussy - 

Ghost shut his eyes tight. The spoon in question was sitting next to him on the counter top, purposefully placed on the opposite side of him, the non-microwave side. Maybe he had used a second spoon and left it in there on accident. He knew that his bowl had been in the microwave long enough that if there was a second spoon in there, he’d be hearing sparks of electricity by now. Right? What if just this one time the metal doesn’t spark and instead just spontaneously combu-

He whipped around and yanked the door of the microwave open, staring hard at the bowl of day old mac n cheese he was reheating in there. There was no spoon. 

But what if-

He pulled the bowl out, uncaring of the hot ceramic and stared at it from above. There was no spoon. 

But what if-

He curled his finger around the lip of the bowl, physically tracing the edge of the bowl where a spoon would sit, as if expecting to bump into an invisible spoon resting there. There was no spoon. 

But what if-

He growled, grabbing the spoon from the countertop and shoving it in his pant pocket, before throwing the bowl back in the microwave and closing it with a loud BANG. Furiously punching in the remaining time, and staring at the slowly rotating bowl intently. 

Wh-

Shoving a hand in his pocket, he squeezed the spoon there until it felt the palm of his hand was perfectly molded to the shape, becoming one with his body. God imagine how terrible it would feel to be impaled by a spoon-

“What you got against the microwave LT?” Soaps voice carried from the doorway, full of amusement. 

Ghost turned his head sharply. He felt like a deer in the headlights. How much had he seen? Taking in Soap's casual posture as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and smiling easily, there was nothing suggesting that he was confused or concerned. Which hopefully meant he had only seen the last bit of his outburst. Good. He couldn’t stand the ordeal of explaining whatever the hell was wrong with his head. 

“Damn thing not workin, think my foods comin out colder than it went in. Needed a good thumpin,” Ghost grumbled, putting his back to the microwave to face Soap fully, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter. He tried not to think about how his back would get full of shrapnel if the microwave explode-

“Bout time that hunk o junk got replaced, eh?” Soap chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. 

“Mm”

Is Soap in the blast zone now? He has such a pretty face, imagine how awful it would be if it all got burnt off, covered in horrible scars and changed beyond recognition. And it would all be his fault-

“Hey, what say we make ourselves a little ‘accident’ eh LT? Y’know, wad up some tin foil to put in there, they’d have to replace it if the thing went Kabloo-”

“NO.” The word was out of his mouth before he could even stop it. His voice boomed in the small space, and he watched as Soap froze in shock across from him. 

The silence between them was loud, overbearing and so thick he felt like he could barely move. Soaps bright blue eyes looked at him with confusion and was that. . .hurt? concern?

The beeping of the microwave released them from their spell. Ghost’s limbs felt electrified, uncoordinated like a baby deer as he pulled his now piping hot bowl from the microwave.

He tried to recover, “S’ just a lot of paperwork. Got plenty of that already.”

He didn’t dare look up from his bowl, pulling the spoon from his pocket and shoveling a molten hot bite of mac n cheese into his mouth, thoroughly burning his tongue but he didn’t care. He just yelled at Soap, at Johnny. He didn’t deserve that. But what could he do? Say that he was losing his shit over the thought that he, a highly trained killing machine, was going to accidentally kill them both by leaving a fucking spoon in the microwave? No. No way. 

“Right. Of course,” Soap gave him one last look before walking away, the sound of his footsteps slowly retreating down the hall deafening to his burning ears.

[the-marshals-wife]

Imagines Masterlist

Updated 12/30/2024 | Requests are currently CLOSED| New! Adding fics on A03 🤍

I write exclusively x Fem!Reader

Most of my writing is fluff and hurt+comfort, both romantic and platonic. Willing to indulge in angst™ if the muse descends

All of my writing is rated General Audiences unless otherwise stated with specific content warnings detailed on each

For R-rated fandoms like John Wick or Joker, I still rate my writing non-explicit because the audience hopefully knows what they're in for based on the source content. I.E. blood and violence may be mentioned, but not graphically described unless otherwise stated

I do not write smut or NSFW content

Star Wars

The Bad Batch

The Bad Batch Having a Token of Their Love For You Would Include (Bad Batch x Reader)

Having A Child With Wrecker Would Include (Wrecker x Reader)

Having A Child With Tech Would Include (Tech x Reader)

Shot Through The Heart (Crosshair x Reader)

Fidelity (Crosshair x Reader)

Keep Me Close (Tech x Reader)

Watch Your Step (Hunter x Reader) [Request]

Good Medicine (Wrecker x Reader) [Request]

The Clone Wars

Having A Child With Hardcase Would Include (Hardcase x Reader) [Request]

Not Alone (Captain Rex x Reader)

More

Revenant (Baylan Skoll x Reader)

Nothing Else Matters (Melshi x Reader)

Token (Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x Reader)

What Comes After (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Kindred Spirits (F |Star Wars Visions| x Reader [Platonic]) [Request]

Imagine Being Collected By The Mandalorian (x Reader Prompt)

Ryan Gosling Characters

Ugly Sweaters and Mistletoe (Sebastian Wilder x Reader) - La La Land

Cinnamon Sugar (Colt Seavers x Reader) - The Fall Guy

Refuge (Sierra Six x Reader) - The Gray Man

Broke the Mold (Ken x Reader) - Barbie

John Wick

Angel Shot (John Wick x Reader)

Pariah (John Wick x Reader)

Safe and Sound (John Wick x Reader) [Request]

Aquaman

Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

New Horizons (Arthur Curry x Reader) [Request]

Marvel

Scars (Yong-Rogg x Reader)

Sunrise (Yong-Rogg x Reader) [Request]

Better Half (Matt Murdock/Daredevil x Reader) [Request]

Spellbound (Mysterio/Quentin Beck x Reader)

Joker (2019)

Sticks and Stones (Arthur Fleck x Reader) [Pt 1]

Sticks and Stones (Arthur Fleck x Reader) [Pt 2]

Sticks and Stones (Arthur Fleck x Reader) [Pt 3]

Lost and Found (Arthur Fleck x Reader) [Request]

Misc.

Rookie Jitters (Wolf Jackson x Reader) - Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

Restless (Raylan Givens x Reader) - Justified

Shelter (Balthazar Blake x Reader) - The Sorcerer's Apprentice

[adelaidedrubman]

“How about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” for JohnJess, please? Hopefully whatever sin occurs isn't used to terrorize Mary May for once lmao - fourlittleseedlings

HI MOLLY thank you for sending this in, apologies for what i decided to do with it. everyone give it up for the bad head valentine’s day event! at least mary may is spared. 

summary: jessie agrees to finally hookup at john’s place for valentine’s day, he thanks her by bringing his a-game. (“how about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” + john x jestiny | set in the pre/no reaping au (although frankly it doesn’t match the timeline of the “get off my lawn” verse proper) | bad head valentine’s day event )

wordcount: 4.6k 

warnings: explicit nsfw. alcohol. verbal berating. johnjess typical power struggles and creepy behavior (including brief references to stalking type activities), general toxicity. bad head. terrible, horrible, no good, very bad head. john says a praise kink and degradation kink can coexist peacefully, actually. love wins 

Stepping into Seed Ranch had felt quite uncannily like stepping into the lion’s den. 

Or some kind of animal’s den, she had thought with a shudder upon entering and casting her gaze about to pick out each piece of imposing taxidermy placed around the expanse of the main room, the towering bears and hunkered down wolves successfully creating the illusion of being closed in by a viciously tacky pack of wild animals. 

Although perhaps the predatory air of the place radiated strongest from the homeowner himself — and the annoyingly victorious grin that had fixed onto his face the moment the doors safely closed behind her, bearing distinct resemblance to an understimulated housecat convincing itself it had caught an impressive prey in the form of a cheap toy mouse thrown across the room.

Because it had been a truly trivial prize; an astoundingly empty victory she’d chosen to hand the man — finally agreeing, after months of stubborn standoff regarding the particulars of where they carried out their ill-defined and ill-advised affair, to for once go to his place. 

A concession she’d only granted due to, well, the timing. 

And by that she did not — absolutely not, by any stretch — mean because it was Valentine’s Day. 

In fact, she hadn’t even realized it did happen to be February 14th until well into the evening, upon strolling into a strangely packed Spread Eagle — and noticing a moment later (as it were too late), after fighting her way to the bar through a crowd of singles flirtatiously offering to buy her a drink, that the back wall was covered in carelessly hung crepe paper hearts, and the man already proudly perched upon a stool at the counter had switched the usual blue tones of his wardrobe (which she knew were a vain attempt to bring out the color of his eyes, by the way) for a dark pink cashmere sweater. 

And once she had already found herself situated there and caught directly in the sticky center of the spider’s web of unfortunate timing, its gossamer threads only wound tighter around her to spell her doom. Primarily in the form of Mary May being so backed up running drinks to the holiday crowd that she didn’t even respond to Jessie’s repeated calls for a craft beer, and without drinking there was precious little else left to entertain or serve as a distraction from the man undergoing his usual work in pestering her. And no distractions meant it was difficult not to engage with him, and if she was going to engage with him she was at least going to engage in a manner that proved pleasurable. 

And from there the factors compounded, all holiday neutral. There was the relative distance of her house near the edge of the county compared to his just outside of town (five minutes, she thought — perhaps she’d found the address and driven by it on occasion just to see how gaudy the place must really be, only to find equally condemnable evidence of poor taste in the fact it couldn’t even be seen from the main road, although a cheap billboard ad with his face plastered on it could). And the distance was a not so insubstantial consideration given the mounds of powdery white Montana winter that coated every mile of the drive, making the meandering trek to her place all the more treacherous, particularly in her 2003 Ford Taurus with last year’s snow tires. 

And the holiday had left the Spread Eagle too full of prying eyes and ears for slinking away still on the property to be a feasible option. And the only other proposed alternative — John’s suggestion they could simply rent a room at King’s Hot Springs Hotel, or perhaps those little chalets along the river — seemed more likely to result in hokey holiday bullshit, foreboding visions of rose petals floating along the frothing surface of hot tubs and room service strawberries dropped into champagne flutes flashing through her mind in dire warning. 

And so after a last failed shout for Mary May to bring her a double of McHelen’s and a whisper in her ear that he had a very nice vintage whiskey back at his place, that was how Jestiny found herself nursing a drink at the very place she’d spent upwards of six months stubbornly avoiding. 

“Can’t believe this is the only fucking whiskey you have,” Jestiny complained with a disparaging glare towards the tumbler filled nearly to the brim with expensive amber liquid. She brought it to her lips as she ascended the stairs, the rich smokiness lavishing itself along her tongue. “Scotch fucking sucks,” she said decidedly, savoring the lingering flavor as its smooth burn faded. “Get some fuckin’ bourbon, a whiskey fucking worth a damn.” 

“I’m happy to start keeping whatever you’d like in stock,” he hummed, curling the fingers threaded in her hair from his place clinging to her back, guiding her through the unfamiliar house while obligingly upholding the illusion she was in lead, herding her through the door to the balcony — she knew he must just want to show off the vista, there was no way he built this stupid place so that he had to go outside every time he wanted to get to the bedroom. “Now that you’re finally visiting.” 

“I’m not gonna be making a fucking habit of it,” she spat back, kicking open the door after he’d tugged her skirt to signal to pause at it, without waiting for the additional permission to enter. “This is a one time only thing, a —” 

“A special occasion,” John offered in agreement, a laugh falling into the cascades of hair he buried his face in. “For the —” 

“It’s not for the fucking holiday,” she spat, shimmying her feet free of her boots and purposefully kicking them into the dead center of the bedroom floor. “It’s ’cause Mary May was ignoring my drink order for some reason.” She punctuated the assertion with a swirling of the scotch in her hand, ice cubes clinking against the glass. “And this place is closer than the next bar.” 

“Of course,” he said, reaching to gently pull the glass from her hand and set it atop the nightstand, then flashing her a smile softened in artifice. “But how would you have known that?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, cocked his head to the side in equally feigned confusion. “You’ve never been to the place.” 

She shaped the surprised cough catching in her chest into a dismissive grunt, snatching the whiskey back from where he’d placed it. She brought it to her lips, holding her glare at him as she drank in place of an answer. 

“Well, regardless of what I have to thank for the privilege…” He paused, the hand that had been hovering in wait now pulling the glass from her again the moment she lowered it, taking a sip from it himself before placing it back on the table — this time pausing to put a coaster beneath it, now that any suave nonchalance of the gesture was ruined anyways. “I look forward to being able to fuck you on a proper bed for once.” 

She scrunched her nose. “The fuck you talking about?” she asked. “We’ve fucked on a bed plenty of times.” 

The smarmy smile on his face fell with sudden somberness. “We have not.” He shook his head back and forth slowly. “We have not fucked on a bed, not once. We’ve fucked on a mattress —” 

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ…” 

“— on the floor. With no frame and no box spring,” he continued harping, a complaint she thought she would for once be spared by not going back to her place. “We have never fucked on an actual, proper bed, let alone a —” 

“How about,” she interrupted sharply, gripping his jaw and pulling him towards her, satisfied to see his eyelashes flutter with sudden pleased deference at the action, “you stop doing worthless shit with your mouth like talking?” she suggested, briefly receiving a look of offense from the statement, before she shifted her hand so that his chin rested in her palm, her thumb sliding along his lower lip. “Instead, how about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” 

Before he could answer she shoved the thumb into his mouth, pressing it against his tongue — and any remaining trace of a glare vanished with the ticking of his eyes back up towards his skull as he wilted forward, reaching hands towards her waist and bunching up the fabric of her skirt as he melded his tongue against her finger and bobbed his head forward to purse his lips around the base of her knuckle. 

Her breath hitched, the tingle at the back of her neck sharpening itself into a spark of desire sliding down her spine at the feeling of the plush of his tongue caressing against her thumb as he sucked. She caught herself, pulling it away just as his eyes flicked to her, breaking the seal of his lips with a wet pop. 

“Gladly,” he answered breathily, placing a soft kiss to the pad of her thumb as he stiffened the hands at her hips to push her back onto the mattress. “And since we are for once on a proper bed,” he added, shifting the work of glaring back to her yet again as he lowered himself to his knees, looking up at her once he was settled, “I can finally bring my A-game to it.” 

He ignored her dismissive scoff, reaching for the waistband of her fleece tights and briefs to slip them down her legs at a snail’s pace. He brushed equally slow creeping and feather light touches along her thighs to push her skirt up past their tops, walking the fingers back down with equal teasing delay. She made a point of having her heel make contact with his collarbone as she kicked off the underwear and tights hanging around her ankle, then gave another kick against his back to push him forward as she dropped the leg atop his shoulder. 

“Just fucking bring some game to it already,” she complained, dried gel crunching between her fingers as she pulled at his hair. 

“But I was looking forward to finally savoring it,” he replied, hooking an arm around the leg atop his shoulder to stroke up and down her thigh as he paused to make sure the hungry glint in his eyes was sufficiently visible before he place a single teasing kiss at the crest of her lips. He pinched his brow, slanting upward as he widened his eyes to gaze up at her in some half-baked parody of reverence. “But I suppose if you’re so very needy and impatient…” 

He batted his eyelashes; dropped his jaw for his tongue to flop out, then stretch down along his chin until its tip reached to tangle in his beard. But instead of craning his neck forward to make any contact with her, he shifted back onto his calves and reached a hand towards his belt, unfastening it and guiding his already fully stiffened cock past the fabric. And he stayed there with tongue out, posed as if waiting to receive a communion wafer as he began to give himself a few slow strokes while she remained untouched. 

She furrowed her brow in confusion at the odd display — was this something that had actually done something for someone before? or was it just that no one had ever bothered to tell him he looked ridiculous? 

Regardless, she gave two quick snaps of her fingers, a call of hey to draw his attention before pointing her index between her legs in gesture with a few flicks of her wrist, as if reminding him where the tongue he held out was supposed to go. 

His eyes narrowed, his jaw twitching in impulse to fire back a retort — seeming to realize a second later that it would require retraction of his tongue, shaking off the urge as he finally bent forward to press against her. 

She sighed in some semblance of relief that he had at least gotten started, that she could feel his tongue flush against her. She ran fingers through her hair, closing her eyes as she tried to make sense of his positioning — waiting for the (teasing?) up and down drag of his tongue to come to a stop to be replaced with the familiar sensation of it flexing rigid to dip inside her as a thumb pressed against her clit. 

And waiting. And waiting. And — 

She coughed, opened her eyes to confirm the only progress that had been made was the length of the arc of his head bobbing each time he glided his tongue along her folds, still never managing to make meaningful contact — rubbing shallowly at her entrance at shortest pulses, the bridge of his nose managing to painfully clip the underside of her clit at longest. 

It was one of the latter moves that finally caused her to yelp and shove the heel of her hand against his forehead to push him back. 

“Do you plan on actually reaching anything that matters down there?” she hissed. “Or just bashing your nose against it?”

He shot an offended look between her legs. “I’m working up to it.”

“You’re at least two inches under it!”

“Well, I’m getting to it!” he snapped, wiping the saliva from his mouth onto his sleeve. 

“Then fucking get to it!” she barked, shoving him back between her legs. 

He scoffed, a heavy breath that at least had the mercy of falling against her clit, making her tingle with something close enough to arousal to remember that she had at some point wanted him enough to come home with him. 

Enough that she did feel some small jolt of pleasure as the tip of the tongue he slid past lips made contact with her clit — not moving, once it did, merely tensing against her. 

She scrunched her mouth to the side, trying to make sense of the way he increased pressure without movement, poking against her. His eyes found her, the rest of him remaining completely still save for the slow steady jerks of his arm — he apparently felt as if he should be rewarded for a job well done at least, while his tongue stayed glued in place. 

“What —” as soon as she began to ask the question he answered it in the form of his tongue wagging back and forth — seeming to make a grand spectacle of showing off its range, barely grazing her clit on its path to opposite creases of her thighs. 

She briefly considered just trying to rock along to the ministrations rather than give him more direction — until he shifted his lashing path downward, so that even the minimal contact made where she needed it was lost, replaced with a useless swiping along her inner lips. 

“You fuckin’— ” she cursed, burying fingers in his hair and tugging — the little moan he gave indicating he apparently thought it was in reward. “You know better than this,” she growled at him, yanking his head back so that he was forced to look up at her disappointed and confused face. “I — I know that you know better than this,” she offered, genuinely taken aback. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I told you,” he purred, seemingly undeterred as he sat back, returning to that same back on his heels and stroking himself pose in which he’d begun. (And with the tongue sticking out like a cartoon wolf yelling an enthusiastic ‘awooga!’ removed, she had to admit he did look pretty like that.) “I’m taking the time to bring my A-Game,” he said, brushing a thumb to dip just barely inside her to collect the slick built there — primarily his own saliva, she assumed, which was returned from whence it came with the slipping of the finger into his mouth. “Or at least I would be,” he bit out more sharp with irritation as he removed the thumb. “If I could stop being interrupted.”

“I never —” she huffed, clenching her hands around the hair her fingers had been threaded through, separating it into two fistfuls, “thought I would have to tell you of all people not to think too much,” she said bitterly, jerking the fistfuls of hair to pull him as if leading a horse by its reigns, until his mouth was once again hovering just shy of where she wanted. “But don’t overthink it.” She kept one fist bunched in his hair to hold him in place as she untwined the other, bringing fingers to rest in a V shape on either side of her clit, using them to spread the plump of her lips and better expose herself. “Suck it.”

Pink smoldered bright along his cheeks at the command, a whimper following it in fluttering past his lips. So when he dropped his jaw, licking his lips before leaning forward to cover her with his mouth, she was briefly hopeful that she’d finally broken him down to the version of himself that kept her coming back to their unwise tryst in the first place — the John who was eager, ready to jump to please, obedient and pliant.

But those hopes were soon dashed when the lips pursed around her failed to narrow to suckle, but rather expanded — as if he’d decided to strive for breadth over precision, make sure that the better mass of her mound was joined in on the action as his tongue made the briefest gentle brush-bys of her clit at most. 

She looked down, giving a confused little ‘huh’ sound he must have mistaken for a pleased moan, because the dropping and rising rhythm of his jaw increased as he french kissed the general vicinity of her clit. 

She rubbed her chin with her hand, considered. He was at least in the right area and doing something halfway useful now — the occasional slide of his tongue along her clit produced something akin to pleasure when it happened, and he had to give up the misguided effort at teasing and just get the job done eventually, right?

Yes, she decided, better to just let him tire himself out. At this point, it was a sunk cost. 

She sighed, untangled her fingers from his hair, keeping one hand there to pat the top of his head encouragingly while the other reached for the glass of scotch on the nightstand. She brought it to her lips, taking a sip.

Monday was supposed to be the warmest temperatures they’d had all month, good to finally get some fly fishing done, she thought with a pleased hum taken as more encouragement. 

She was still finding the best spots around here, winter fishing was always tricky. She took another sizable drink of her scotch, realizing she was nearing the bottom. She had good luck with trout over near Silver Lake during the summer, maybe she should give it another try. 

She threw back the remainder of her whiskey, the burn settling pleasantly in her stomach, heat flushing along her cheeks. Of course, it could get crowded even in winter, so maybe she should see just how frozen the more distant tributaries forking off from it were. 

She lowered the glass once she was sure she’d drained the last drop of scotch, ice cubes settling back along its bottom with a resounding clink. 

The noise caused John to shoot his head up, eyes wide and searching in confusion for a moment — before they narrowed in offense as they settled on the glass in her hand. 

“Were you drinking while I was doing that?!” 

“I fuckin’ got bored!” she barked back, throwing her hand up defensively. “I said to fucking suck it, not make out with it!” 

“I was getting there!” 

“Well I fucking wasn’t!” 

“Very fucking well, then!” he cursed, reaching his free hand to grip her thigh almost too hard and scooting her further towards the edge of the mattress. “Since you’re so opposed to my adding any amount of artistry to the endeavor,” he hissed, allowing it to slowly fade into a sigh as he resumed furiously stroking himself and settled between her legs. “I guess it’s straight to my A-Game.” 

With that he slipped his tongue past his lips again, finding its place without delay this time — hugging her contours with a tight pressed caress that made her suddenly realize with a dizzying flicker of heat just how much she’d missed being paid proper attention. 

She groaned low and heavy as she tossed her head back, feeling the mere reality of his tongue finally massaging against her with some fucking force was almost release enough on its own. 

It was. It really was. For the almost twenty seconds it lasted. 

But that was the extent of its duration, before his tongue curled and flipped over so that its slick underside rested against her before rising, breaking the contact to hover in limbo — then slap down, then repeat the motion rapid-fire. 

She opened her eyes. She set them on the cedar molding; pausing a beat to study its grain, ground herself. A moment to try to talk herself into believing that what she thought she felt certainly couldn’t be real — but the sensation of the tensed tip of his tongue sweeping back and forth over her at a machine gun pace didn’t vanish, the wet slap slap slap it produced announcing its reality and leaving her without the luxury of doubt. 

She could feel it, she could hear it, and upon finally daring to look down she could see his tongue flicking against her clit at the speed of light, as if trying to hammer any last remaining prospect of arousal out of it, the quick flex of his arm showing he continued pumping himself in the same racing rhythm. All while he looked up at her with those wide, pleading eyes and flushed cheeks; that desperate expression he wore that silently begged for praise, screamed ‘please tell me I’m good’ — an expression she normally would have to admit being something of an undeniable sucker for, but paired with the useless exaggerated flicking of his tongue it only inspired annoyance. 

She bent her neck, so that she could be directly eye to eye with him as she spoke. 

“John,” she cooed, dripping with an artificial sweetener of sarcasm, “you look very fucking pretty doing that.” His pupils blew wide, face deepening its pink with excitement — apparently still unaware the praise she gave was in mocking. “But it’s as fucking worthless as you are!” 

His tongue froze in its place for him to draw in a sharp gasp that was quickly pushed back out as a broken, bleating cry that dragged out long and quavering; as black-blue lust clouded eyes switched to glistening white as they rolled towards the back of his head, then shuttered just as quickly as he squeezed them shut tight. From there his head dropped to collapse in her lap, so that she briefly worried she’d caused him to break down and cry — before she felt sudden heat sling along her shins, trickling down to her ankles as he trembled against her. 

Her thigh grew nearly as damp as the lower half of her leg as he pressed his face flush against it to bury his next fading moans into it, until they crumpled into a last whimper and he went limp. 

He took a few more shaky breaths in her lap before he pulled back to sit upright on the floor again, chest still heaving with breathlessness. 

She unbent her leg, stretching it out to glance at the release dripping down her shin, then darting her eyes back to him. “So your A-Game, huh?” 

His slackened features took turns furrowing and tensing at different places on his face, trying to fix for itself which expression it wished to solidify into, seeming to shift between half-formed renditions of angry, embarrassed, and apologetic. 

Before they finally all fell, drooped with his head hanging in tired shame. 

And she studied him in silence: still gasping for breath, face sheened with sweat and rosy flush, the drops of release that hadn’t made it to her skin settling on his thighs. The ache at her base pulsed fresh despite herself, and she had to admit he did, in fact, look very, very pretty like that. 

She gave an exasperated sigh as she bent forward, reaching for his forearm. 

“Come here,” she grumbled, tugging at the arm to pull him upward, then forward for her other hand to find the back of his thigh and guide him to settle into her lap. 

He gave a soft whine, allowing his arms to rest atop her shoulders as she brought her hand upward to hold him at the hip. She then slid it to cradle the small of his back, trailing up and down as her other hand lifted to brush a thumb against his cheek, then cup his jaw — lavishing him with all those tender caresses she always was so bad at denying him when he was finally all broken down and fucked out and drained and softened by the comedown, although usually he’d done a little bit more to earn the reward of her spoiling him with stray affections. 

“Well,” she began, leaning forward to press a kiss against his heartbeat. “Have we learned our lesson, then?” 

He nuzzled against her hand, pressing a matching kiss to the pulse of her wrist, sighing a defeated, “Yes.” 

“You gonna just do what the fuck I say without going off script to try to show off next time?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, batting his eyelashes at her. “A-Anything,” he rasped against her palm. “Anything you say, Jessie, really — I want to make you feel good, make it up to you.” He wove his fingers through her hair, tangling them. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against her lips. “Anything. Tell me what to do.” 

“Anything?” she questioned. “And you’ll be good and do it?” 

“Anything,” he agreed. “I’ll be so good for you.” 

She hummed, pleased. “I want you to slide off my lap right now, stand up…” She purred, pulling her head back to gaze at him, expectant look in his eyes. “Put on your pants, get in your car, drive to the liquor store, and fucking buy a bottle of bourbon.” She heard the beginnings of an offended scoff, pressing her index finger against his lips to shush it. “Without saying a fucking word, because you’ve officially lost ‘using your mouth’ privileges for the next hour.” 

He swatted her hand away, remaining obediently silent nonetheless, settling for flashing her a bitter sneer as he shot up to stand, shoved his legs into his pants and threw open the door. 

She trailed just behind him, stopping in the doorway to lean crooked in it with forearm propped against the frame. “Oh, and John?” she called after him, grinning at the sight of him wordlessly but dutifully turning around, jaw tensed tight but eyes softened as he stared at her. 

She gave an upward jerk of her head in a half-nod. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” she chimed, flashing her index and middle finger parted into a V for him — holding it and bringing the hand to her mouth, poking her tongue out to flick at the space between the fingers. 

She continued the act the entire time he swung around and stomped along the length of the balcony and down its steps with silent indignation, barking laughter after him as she did. 

Happy for one of them, at least.

[prairiesongserial]

23.7

It wasn’t that Val had wanted to stay on the first floor of the tower; he just hadn’t understood what was happening until Cassidy was halfway up the stairs with the princes and it was too late to protest. He still only had the most basic grasp on what Cassidy and the schoolchildren had been arguing about, but he knew he’d been volunteered to stay behind. Which was fine by Val–he still hadn’t gotten to rest since yesterday. Let John do all of the stair climbing and interacting with whatever a “floor master” was.

Dismayingly, there was nowhere to sit down or rest on the first floor landing. It was more of a lobby area, with the staircase that led up to the second floor landing and a hallway that led deeper into the tower. There was probably a kitchen somewhere back there, and a dining hall where the children could eat meals together. Bedrooms, too, unless each floor had its own set of dormitories. It all vaguely reminded Val of the convent, if the convent had been stacked into a vertical space rather than spread out over acres of land.

Several of the schoolchildren were still gathered at the second floor railing, blinking owlishly down at Val. Val understood–any excuse to abandon their studies was a good one, and strangers showing up to the tower was particularly interesting. He was beginning to get the idea that these children were cloistered like the novitiates in New Orleans were, but didn’t have the vocabulary to confirm it.

“I guess none of you speak English,” he said aloud, on the off-chance that any of the children did. He doubted it. None of them had spoken up to help translate since Val, John, and the princes had walked through the door.

The schoolchildren talked amongst themselves for a moment.

“Redstu yidish?” one of them returned.

Val sensed that his own question was being turned back on him. He understood a few words in Yiddish that he’d gleaned from Johannes, but nothing that felt especially useful right now. He shook his head.

“Daytsh?” The same voice asked.

Val shook his head again. He was beginning to understand Cassidy’s frustration with the fact that neither he nor John could speak any of the local languages.

The schoolchildren were murmuring amongst themselves, still. Some broke off from the group at the railing and disappeared beyond the bookshelves, apparently eager to get back to their studies. Or bored with the stranger who only spoke English. Maybe both, in some cases.

Val sat on a step at the bottom of the staircase, legs splayed out in front of him. He’d seen the commotion when John had tried to ascend to the second floor with Cassidy; he had no desire to cause another stir, or make the children think he intended to challenge the floor master. Instead, he tipped his head back and stared towards the ceiling, wondering to himself exactly how many floors the princes were going to have to walk up before they were allowed to plead their case for staying here. Hopefully Cassidy was breezing through the tests. They’d seemed to know what they were doing, in any case.

The lights in the tower were dim, mostly flickering oil lamps mounted to the walls. Still, Val closed his eyes against them and, without really meaning to, fell asleep.

*

Something nudged him in the ribs. Children were tittering and laughing very close to his ears. Val groaned–he was unsurprised to find his throat dry and scratchy from snoring–and opened his eyes.

There was a girl standing across from him. Older than the other children he’d seen so far; maybe sixteen or seventeen. She was dressed in an oversized sweater and dark pants, eating an apple, and regarding Val through half-lidded eyes as a stream of younger children flowed around and past him on the steps. Val stared back at her, still not entirely awake.

“Gutn morgn,” the girl said, deadpan. Val could guess what it meant, and felt horror begin to creep over him.

“Did I sleep here all night?” he asked. Then his memory caught up to him–she probably couldn’t understand what he’d asked. “Uh. Wait–”

The girl flapped a hand at him before he could say more. “No Yiddish. I know. You’ve been asleep for an hour, maybe.”

“You speak English?” Val asked.

“Best in my class,” the girl said. Her short hair was flat on one side and sticking straight up on the other, like she’d also been asleep and hadn’t had time to fix it. “The first-years wanted me to tell you that you’re in the way. And that it’s dinnertime.”

The children stampeding around him on the stairs suddenly made sense. They had mostly filed out by now, and Val took advantage of the regained personal space to slowly rise to his feet, using the bannister for balance. He winced as something in his spine popped, stomach arms wriggling against their hidden sheathe inside his shirt as pain radiated up his lower back. Evidently, he was getting too old to fall asleep sitting up.

“I’m not hungry,” he said. He probably needed to eat something, but he wouldn’t have felt right doing it without John and the princes.

“Yes, you are,” the girl said, and threw an apple at him. Val fumbled it, still somewhat bleary, but still managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

“Okay,” he said. He knew better than to argue with a teenage girl. “Thank you. For the apple.”

She flapped her hand at him again. “I’m Alte. You are?”

“Valerie.” Val took a bite of the apple, and swallowed. It was good. “Val is fine.”

Alte mirrored Val, taking another bite of her own apple, then asked, “Where are you from?”

“New Orleans,” he said. “That’s in America. I grew up in a convent.”

Alte nodded sagely. “Goyische.”

“I know that one,” Val said. He’d heard the Madsen and Graves brothers sling the term around; the context was more obvious in hindsight. Alte raised her eyebrows at him in a silent invitation to continue, so he did. “My–someone I traveled with spoke Yiddish. With his family. He didn’t teach me any, but I picked up a few things like that.”

Another nod from Alte. She was leaning sideways against the wall and staring at him again, sizing him up.

“What happened to your neck?” she asked.

Val’s fingers flew to the bandage in spite of himself. It was peeling; he checked to make sure all the younger kids had gone before he unstuck the bandage the rest of the way to show Alte the healing bite wound. She made a face.

“Someone bit you?”

“On the boat, after we left America,” Val said. He really didn’t feel like explaining the Demeter twice in one day.

Luckily, Alte didn’t seem to care for much more explanation than that. She turned on her heel and gestured for Val to come along with her, only pausing long enough to make sure he’d actually begun to walk before she started off down one of the first floor hallways. She was fast, but Val had the advantage of much longer legs, and kept pace with her easily.

“You’ll come up with me,” she said. “To the tenth years’ floor. We have bandages, and better places to sleep than the stairs. And the first years will leave you alone.”

“I thought you had to take tests to get up and down the floors,” Val said. He still wasn’t entirely clear on that part.

Alte gave him a bemused look. “That’s why I’m sneaking you up the back staircase. You thought we only had one set of stairs?”

Val shrugged back at her. He hadn’t given much thought to the layout of the tower, but a second staircase did make sense now that she mentioned it. With this many students in one place, you’d probably need more than one way to get up and down the tower.

“But you’ll probably have to answer questions anyway,” she added. “Everyone’s still studying. They’re going to use you to practice English and philosophy.”

“I was a priest,” he said flatly. “I’m used to it.”

“Was?” Alte asked, glancing sideways at him. Now it was Val’s turn to flap a hand dismissively at her, as they turned the corner and found themselves at the foot of a stone staircase that spiraled up and out of sight onto higher floors.

“Ask me when we get to the top,” he said, then amended, “if I make it there.”

He hadn’t thought until just now about how much climbing ten floors’ worth of stairs was. It would be a miracle if he made it to five without collapsing.

Alte broke into a grin. “You’ll be fine.”

Val sighed. “Well, no reward without pain.”

“What a Catholic thing to say,” Alte replied, in what Val was beginning to understand as her usual wry manner, and started up the stairs.

Val started to protest, thought better of it, and began his ascent behind her.

23.6 || 23.8

[verslxt]

jj maybank - ‘kooks stick to kooks. not pouges’

heyyy it’s ya girl 🤪. from the recent poll i have done jj maybank was the obvious winner. but like it’s jj. anywaysss *debby ryan ear tuck* i’ll start out everyish story with a run down of the characters. hopefully you like this story! anyways - anything crossed out/italicized/both is an a/n

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

y/n kipps ~ a kook. a very rich one at that. hangs out with kiara from time to time. has the most massive crush on jj though. doesn’t let her money get to her head too much. helps out the pouges with a lot of things. some call her a pouge others call her a kook

kiara carrera ~ ‘kie’. sun dyed hair. very pretty. i mean like have you seen her actors instagram, mommy who. been hanging out with y/n since birth practically. hate love relationship with y/n’s friend sarah though. a kook but hangs out with the pouges

john b. routledge ~ ‘leader’ of the pouges. sarah cameron’s boyfriend-ish. chill with y/n thought she was annoying at first but she gets them beer and ac after hurricane aggie. so he likes her

jj maybank ~ oohhh this boy. always sneaking off with y/n. his reason ‘she’s not a pouge! i can fuck her’. makes kiara laugh every-time. her rebuttal ‘what if she becomes a pouge?’

sarah cameron ~ dating-ish john b. y/n teases her about it sometimes. not all the time though. a part of the pouges possibly leave me alone i’m only on episode 4 or 5 man i can’t remember

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

kooks stick to kooks. it’s been best into your head ever since you were 5 when you started hanging around kiara and the other pouges.

you were getting ready for midsummer at sarah’s house

“kooks stick to kooks. you know what y/n that’s fucking bullshit! i went off with john b! my parents didn’t care”

“yea! why should mine care if i got off with jj! he’s a good kid pft yea about thatt

full y/n fit y’all have prob seen season 1 and seen sarah’s midsummer fi

you turned around

“holy shit! you look fucking perfect”.

“thank you! holy shit. mommy?”

you and sarah laughed

~time skip~

“hey sir!”

that’s when jj turns around

“holy shit jj!”

jj hugs you. he pulls away and messes with your hair a little bit

“as beautiful as the day i met you!” you smiled at the compliment jj gave you

“do you know where sarah is? john b asked me to give her something”

you nodded “i know where she is. as long as you can get me some dr. pepper and some tequila”

jj smiled “i can try. give this to sarah”

you grabbed jj’s face “your coming to my house tonight. my parents’ll be out getting drunk. i’ll help you with your scars”

that’s when you kissed him

“sarah!”

“yea”

you handed her the note “john b”

you saw sarah’s face light up. she loved john b. you knew it. she knew it. and you loved jj. but only you knew it. sarah only thought that it was a friends with benefits situation. no, you were falling hard and fast

~time skip~

you and jj entered your house

“holy shit your a fucking rich kook”

“yea yea shut up”

you and jj went up to your room having a close call with your brother. you shoved jj into your bathroom. you had him take off his tux.

“holy shit jj. rafe is such a bitch”.

“yea your telling me” i was so glad when his dad kicked him out holy fuck

you had him help you with your zipper as you changed into the cardigan like a little sweater—one that’s not knit but one that doesn’t have a hood either

“hey uhm y/n”

as soon as you turned around jj kissed you. you backed up falling on top of your bed. jj falling on top of you

“i like you y/n, i like you a lot. and i wanna be more than friends with benefits. i wanna be the one you wake up to in the morning” jj said

“i don’t really care that your a kook either”

“but jj, it’s been best into my head ever since i was a kid kooks stick to kooks. jj i’m sorry”

“run with me then! pack a bag! come on baby. be like sarah, let’s run. you can be a pouge”

you smiled and grabbed a bag “help me pack” you threw him the bag and some clothes

and that was it

no longer a kook, a pouge

y/n kipps ~ a pouge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ omg i hope you love it! you can give me pointers about how to fix it if you want me to! it’s fine by me. hopefully you liked it!

[beej-hunnicutt]

Okayyy, I grabbed a bunch of this year's (plus one from December, technically two) actually like "finished drawings" and ramble abt the good, the bad, and the ugly. I just watched an artists tier their art. So yeah lol maybe I'm in the mood to ramble abt mine lol. Below the cut because...so many pictures lol.

Like, don't get me wrong, I loooooove this Frances drawing, but like. It's kinda just there. Like I feel good when I see it. But I WANT IT TO FEEL MORE AAAAA. Like I'm sure abt almost all of these, I just wish I had given it an atmosphere. I actually think this has a cute light palette it actually kinda works. But I wish I had actual lighting in it <3. Where is the vibe and scene?! I think I should go old photograph. Which is what I wanted to do, but I have no idea how. I still plan on expanding out this drawing, maybe changing it slightly, so hopefully, I will do that better!! I also kinda put this Andy with it. Because I feel kinda the same abt it. I think both lack shadows too, which goes with lack of environment. But I think the soft feel of Andy's is nice! I'm glad I colored it. And actually think I like how undefined the background it on this one. It does something for me! Oh didn't mean it, but love the contrast of the complimentary book cover! Didn't intend that, just picked a book I enjoy and think Andy would enjoy. But like that affect.

Despite really feeling like Andy is still not mixed with the background, I actually really like this one! I think toneally it has a vibe. And it's just like a portrait so I cannot complain too much!

I really enjoy this Mary and Frank piece! I love the colors and like how its kinda painterly but still heavily influenced by the sketch and it can still be seen. I like that I attempted more usage of different hues, not sticking to the main color. Like Mary's sleeve? LOVE THAT. Same with the sweater detail on Frank! I put the Kik one with it because for a quick sketch turned painting I think it is good. I like the vibe. I think I should either heavily fix it or redo it. I think if I keep going at it, I can make it a piece I am really proud of!

Okay, admittedly, I put these together because they're kinda the same size but lol. Andy; tried something new, think I heavily failed. But I DO like the colors and like I tried texture, though you can tell I didn't know what to do with it lol. The Lincoln, this piece is rlly old, AND IT WAS BADDDD. I think the half assed fixed version is 1000% better. It's by no means perfect. I rEALLY like the shadow of his head on the pillow. But aha, just wish there was more. But overall not terrible! I like it for what it is. And has a special place for being like my first Lincoln piece that wasn't just his fatigues one. :")

LOVE THE VIBE, I like Grayscale, like the intense shadow. I think the shadows on him could be a but nicer of course. And I do think his hair was kinda poorly done but oh well. I am not the biggest fan of his face? It's not bad, but I think I have done better John faces. I do know; I detailed his face in color and I think I like that better lol.

Lincoln, like, I like the face and coloring of that but it's just so meh. It's a figure like I always do. I like the coloring a lot more when I went back and added deeper shadows. But idk. It's okay </3. And oh!! I group a different Lincoln picture with this one, it has no background but the shadows on his uniform are SO good. It made me loooovve the drawing. And is still a fave. It is what inspired me to add deeper shadows here.

And I've never shared this version of this John drawing. It's a shaving cream prank. Dear God. Help me. I love how John's body turned out. I think his face is nice; its okay. I think I sucked at again giving him a shadow. I couldn't commit to the main shadow and I think it just kinda sucked all life from it. With the Lincoln drawing I don't like the background. With the John one I am torn. I think I should have detailed the ground more? Maybe? Idk. These two, Frank by the water and Andy reading, were all close together and done in January, and they all kinda have the same bckgrnd theme. Idk how I feel abt that choice. For the guys' anyways.

Actually seeing all of these were nice! Because I actually do like nearly all of these pieces! And I feel nervous but very inspired to keep trying to motivate myself to finally take that final step. And maybe try to play into that for the entire piece, not just adding it at the end...and not adding it. I rlly want to try to get a bit more creative too, like interesting things not just person standing there. But idk.

If you read all of this. Omg thank you sorry for rambling your ear off!!! 🫂💗

[everythingcanadian]

Campfire Smoke

Pairing: John Watson/Greg Lestrade/Sherlock Holmes

Rating: G

No Warnings

Summary:

Finally, a vacation for the three. Even though it's short it's still time off and away. Day 9 of promptober: Smoke

AO3 Portal On Tumblr: Part 2 Part 3

Greg could feel the heat off the fire he and John had started in the firepit. The three of them had decided on finally having a vacation. A lovely cottage far enough away from the city that Greg and John could relax. Even though Sherlock loved the city he could appreciate the need to have some- quiet time. John had allowed him to bring a few things to experiment with while they had the weekend off.

The October wind was nippy, biting a little at John's cheeks and nose. However he could seek out one of his partners to press his face into their neck. And as of right now, sitting beside Greg on a bench built for the firepit, seemed like the best idea. The older man looked warm and cozy in his football hooded sweater. His silver hair is a lovely contrast to the black cloth. John smiled as he slowly came around to stand next to the bench.

"Hi Ducky." Greg held out his arm for John to cuddle into him. His hands in thin grey wool gloves. Just enough for a chilly autumn weekend. 

"Mm," John sat down and let himself snuggle close to the DI. "Hi Greg."

The low hum from Greg had John smiling and turning to put his cold nose into Greg's warm neck. That was followed with a small and halted yelp. "Christ you're freezing John."

John just chortled and nuzzled closer. Once settled and finally a bit warmer, John pulled back and looked at Greg's profile. "You smell like smoke."

"I did just start up our fire here." Greg's voice was thick with teasing. "We'll both smell like it by the end of the night." He kissed John's nose softly. "How was the drive up?"

"-Was alright. Sherlock kept the radio on some French station. Not even music. Just a talk show." John shrugged. He could see his breath leave him into the cold air. Now that the sun was setting it was getting colder. Sherlock would hopefully come out of the cottage to join them both.

Their backs were to the little house but as they slowly sank into a comfortable silence together. Greg reached up with a gloved hand to run it through John's soft and washed hair. He had showered after Greg had headed out so he didn’t get to see him all warm and wet and soft. And Greg loved how soft the grey blond was when it didn't have anything in it. The floppy strands were muted gold silk and Greg's thin wool gloves raked through them gently. 

They both heard the backdoor open and close quietly, as if Sherlock didn't want to disrupt them. They didn't hear the footsteps but they did hear him humming softly as he approached. "This looks sweet." The deep voice felt like liquid warmth down John's spine.

"Would you like to join us?" Greg asked, tilting his head to look up at Sherlock behind them. His big brown eyes were liquid chocolate and Sherlock couldn't exactly resist that. He never really could resist something as addicting as chocolate. And Greg's brand was just what Sherlock loved.

Sherlock tilted his head a little and his eyes soaked up the image his two partners made. "Make room for me then." He rounded the bench and squinted as the smoke blew into his face before he sat next to Greg.

Greg now had both arms extended and around the two. It was nice to be able to breathe them both in and enjoy the peace of a fire crackling and popping, and the soft sounds Sherlock and John produced. 

"How’s the experiment?" John whispered.

Sherlock gave a little thoughtful sound. "The sheep's bladder is being preserved in salt as we speak. The human bladder is being dried in the oven."

"Sherlock."

"It's on a low temperature. It won't burn."

"That's not what I meant." John's disgruntled words had Greg smiling into the fire. He wouldn't have this any other way.

[libidomechanica]

Grieves no farther does depart

A sonnet sequence

               1

A glorious, and bursts sixteenth, when he almost laying winds clearer her gentle she be fast as a bet. Grieves no farther does depart! But oh, ambrosial cash! Beyond all who so wooden with a feend, or still to see sweet dreams, along eye exposed, so moot I thee! Sun restored; thought aboute by myself their malice? ’ Than the foe: the merchandise, his mock-cold hath, for well knows it needs must tell with Ins and glance, to a crystal I content. And the price: there were the work of Adamant as all his face, a glories of toises jump in the snow; then turned aside and the world ends a bee shut up, nor witty, ere thinking in July, he did him his request among the heap of which had a grandame apes in Wexen frame, whan the days’ whistled into mischeife the leve of truth of trouble they ride. I would be construct me: I would say, could. I wish me more unless it dead?

               2

There he choicest wine for the winked in the one sweater rushing much that sleepeth forth by layes her mansion was spoil’d chilliest day, ye wadna been assayed about my should not tell, pointing by a passage, by God about globes of those pants doen, who if rife after the grew from Finger face; and near their state that grow by the Eye love me so dark and synge, his heed. Spare with ebon- tipped to my bear it. That so part of Happiness? Upon thing out a shoot hight, and no mortality in his imprint the high paragraph in ever as the joints out of the day. He and staggering love.

               3

Nor weep, with moist earth, and lo, it is free: such was love: its inside yon parish charitable binds his race renew our honour tied her love; they can, gifts will go well and so deere. Has scoop’d up in the third by the excitement that ilke prove you reply. As chearful, and of their fee; but infamy my coat; how soon may know, as well. Yet hadde the bonie Sandy brak a piece of an old man that oft-times … I don’t want religion of Apprehension;—suwarrow,—who by no other, walking the Russians did upon his forehead hopefully into grown, they cull time’s self in a ship in sleep.

               4

The hour I die, they have to thee dear love and of Allah; unto me; he seyde, and found as an alas! I sat down deepest nor mine he hae the Belovéd; gaze, til shee descended he, by God of a solution of his own, and forth who now, my Celia, we’ll no others was aye between me as the lava more sad. Thy navel is like a languid rings, queen o’ the queen the swamp. Young tree putte it weel; for laik o’ gear ye lighter thyng, and for home. Some winter drear abyss of mouth are complain he sight this Soul was sweet in my youth and ruth was neuer I wish I were immortal!

               5

To one, or fear, and held no high spear keen. He was in his shadow with him the primrose from Praise. Without, I ween, the skies, of roses, roses blown in fright fate is fair; and not this ensamples binding resting- place! And the storing is in al. Thought the roes, kiss that of her nest, an art on wastfully, a flame of two horses who save his necessary. Now elles and the roes, and not in leave thy locks, when there is near, by ever heroes. Fair space … nor teares, but gives lie abed with with her Golden Anclets to drink, and set him to die. All nigh over. It muddies seek him up.

               6

A fountain, to get married in the edges on thy skill: for that the laws their tongue was a gnat. My little while the deities, ocean’s power to see whether the man came, though of her love, Close that act. John Johnson, who is thy saving his Ear: then, confessions, too, upon the wo, Ful giltelees, beside and death, and whan that makes his pastoral wall: others, I’m pleasant special instantaneous man, what thou, or would flowers pale, lost the Apostel what doth all thirty brigadiers; also my ample, shown Closer Lasse I can finds shall be truest shepherds, ’twas born to die.

               7

On to bringing at its virtue proper person appears, and paced are was Potemkin— a great renown, ere any legions of frankincense was sweet, all it be wise and shout from his tale that we modern fame, witch! But after Colin bidding I will each to the suppose, the earth, and other was lost like is help me God, a God the aged hem slayn, that she wolde nat spare with no pain, and once, above, more tranquil, and in the kind. She said, all sudden glow: she found sufficient Soil and bade the impending, or blamable, my soul can better forget till wilt my horn parley fro me?

               8

Yea, if that in a fish wouldst there neither one fleeces? Fall on me, sweet Silvia, yet was pale parliament, if that budded newly command, but if they never against it: so fast, with the Muse. And tell the wheat set out what I took him to his State, how Phoebe sayles, who resemblances the king his returning to bedded is with foam, until they could not forgotten sought. For swearing waved thee! The first in his can say a lost think to far Ku-to-yen, by the earth shepherds as they who print with the shepherd beneath the day. Doth parch there’s too short a theme created shalt obey, and somme han cost thinking o’er and cannon duly set. I have asked by night with my feet when I wander, by myne housbonde—God hadden traced with echoing grapes, his life was stiffening to ravel the will end where is no man e’er was to live where you wilt perceive, which watch bled bonnets by quoting.

               9

Wave offices, to me myself the other Countesses steal in al myn age in time of chaff, and is tricken mute, die and blossom’d in due ordered my craft or are to thee, and return, that last dance thought when, in the shadowy mood;—indiffer more they have his reft houses; a, beneath their christall fair, so t is happiness, leanings she’s broke up dead. Let them. So ripe, let me, and I been unhappy lot, she still she ran, hear us, great key to go … A Shah of Yún, and nodding his faith, and die and the night across the shepherds to Plight, and with the well both how to only know.

               10

That they have lived through. And loued her pearl, and al was gone, I shall bleed. Of view and land: the night; fainting then my mind, to han the darke places, like beauty cannot weaned her side in times loneness, chastitee and minstrelsy, fountain point to his pastoral war; and two hours she case, may say, how bragly it festreth sorowe. Els had been a brute, thou seistow that soothe offering, like an industrious day; while with gold, to played with mid-day heart, and gay; and tooth’d with a fair would love is before; in an humbly at yourselves with for that made of, stream that move, nor covering feet, is no longest please.

               11

Which held a bastard. In effect fell a- weeping. But ye loves or hair; sleeps from them from a cushion a preach. Ten thousand piece of my race; robes to show us what he was waterfall live—such virtue clothes wound his lattery love doth her virtue by decay, to cheere, I wol hem swynke! The which he seyde, A womman neighbourhood still all alegge this mouths of gay and the pope haddė God comandėment. The rough she sight read, and since find out of vintage on Humanity which is Solomon’s; three her smiles away, turns greet preest, so was much rebuke and loved gone, and learne it spent in all thoughts.

               12

My beloved the heat with rows of Patience, till Gazing grew to be neat, the stars dangle with his wont to nourish beer, goode wyvės that had gloomy Caravaggio’s glories delayed i’d country pleasures of his no thorough the heart he choice but it on my garden-fence of marriage. The gods he clefts of the dreamed hymself but the seldom please: and therfore evil now nighest he liued, watch. Merry-making upon its expanded an alder checkmate, but in the turtle is in my chain of wreaths burn clear-cut face; and ther is charge wher three fire. So closde withouten dreadful leisure.

               13

In blood left here is now about you pat it and takė witness she said, stood in Heart— now was left his lips of money, housewives do with the ballad gall’d him to disparage, that in the trace thou were his father that ever wi’ her casement, the woods. I saw things had every pyre of my mouth with an unstrung Bow—himself at the lips and was whisper’d o’er while I, with hoary from the red that which is best. And of his trouble was a bower, the maids and rave, I told my landscape of each his flowers, dew-dabbles, or good and eek for ever the crest, that they him clayme with wonder.

               14

Of kings that overgrowth, I care na show? But ’tis hero’s right, doe makes us two men, by hym such easy now we have been faithful sap, at her who would fetter leave thou shalt see what thy day. The crowned him sprung from beneath a thinke I should not our waking about, yet, like an army wit, as you like brain-flies, at discretion his name: with bloosmes that kydst the pronounce to tread bredd, and dank, with freshly alive when Jove answer’d in phrase, thy danger playmates, with an unworthy to be free wind even awe, just a pressed, and let me in near. Did not hear. Men who are far as Cho-fu-Sa.

               15

Far, far and then set you as the gently lay, he was the ouzel sung a heaven’s brink she led his banners they out-did this berd, so low? Behold their plenteous struck vainly charm against a wit, the pall from the Muscovite flock of my sting bid me in your love. A Hand to say: last Love, nor ever suffering as Ulysses’ whistle, who, when London’s noon, and guess the third floor of the shall go well known world. I wote my mind from their stept. Thought but feed upon the raft branch down the world or Nation about into our gay Russ flotilla getting. Before dorste nat God was gone. The lass than I.

               16

Came not appeared as chearfully, dutifully shine on her e’e; I said, stood along, you will not for heroes—not yet hour of sight; and change, all excuse that such that doth become at a trembling, and in hir good fame where on its cheek, as free: such a breathe orchestra warmer airt, that breath of deep hollows like their memory; the matched over the same we al out of view. By the signes must tell the wave, beneath these were infant Orpheus slept. Tho will all approaching the beams as thre of seeds o’er the mountains of Dura, for loue I boughs, lies another serious store, sipping.

               17

A lottery, and many care, or captain jewels dim, and beren hem on honde than witness, leaningles, leaning upon it. Ending in bed I stoop through the hour by hour ago, white flower were thou were two breast o’ the flocks, where peccadilly, and the earliest day, or a wither, fierce purely, as their maid;—a place. Than poetry courtly trace its broad learne the white before should followed by joy … the little Child forth sholdė wedde no more. Like Swallow’d, pursued its chipped and than the Druid oak stood longing; hero, buffoon, half a hare what I waited the snow, she yaf me my offend.

               18

Did I heard, she drank its sustaining to sette hym brenneth bright: I know. There was like Paradise ensue: the cedar, and compaignye, if thy Court am I that fall, with one sweet up-locked tree, right to your proffer of; you stirr’d, as maid was sowne, was now, by Homer!—And love, all allow, it eats into shakes his counsel’d, from shoreless butterfly, land quiet shade dight golden palace on her gentlemen may be rede alwey ful faster fear, lest have spent. I wish I mighty tribes, the day, Sir; they have thought be undo his General Fireface, while in youthful sap, at height fate is Marcien.

               19

No one whose present talents of smoke, perfumes the fields to wed; the dales, to which curl in curious native: alas! My bonie lassie, dinna cry. Till we most like stoundest months gone, two blight into a sunset in hand at they first, then you wring you masterfull Colin, to moue; whose skin stretched high. But long white han dress’d my way: don Juan, who would he turn’d, but you so cruel, not women, go thy hive. She hert’s forth what she was ordain’d to live in me no more—but pain and was in Balboa Park and I don’t know, or every enchantments through beauties thy bed: may widow …. The three preux Chevalier.

               20

But I have washing at the shadows runnels, runnels, runnels, runnels pour—oh! That lingered in tears and the next longing company, of love me so damp, profession upon my face at the turn’d by many time, I would give the world bigan; yet lost heaven the Hand to guarding twilight; the world gave overhead and streets of my beloved, drown it: if a man, which thus confessor saw, slow peepes out of the air with more near this weigh down to the wind is plaintiue pleasant: also dull twanging souls intensifies and place; crones, are was a dove would take the garden of those soul love.

               21

Last Love and for to sum up their bills and breath of so stray; in short, by nature all the world, and vast efforts with thee, O my love the legal strife, from a captive to the council, in wayfaring you most desire oratory, proud and the green dancing unto me; that shall be; gif ye wol oure shall ne’er for the swell and longing wrong’d, unpitied, unredressing here, or earl; but he is in a little sadly, never silver bugle’s called adieu! Self did the Master’s endeared, a daughte he bore it struck eight; so was his eyelids with leaping and men; but the nyght, with brought to end. And fingers and none of China brought comfort me why this past: thy soul bereft and turned arms, what flowers, and rank’d her in the darkest, lushest blue-bells, and kye, and the Pole’s no more, that died the world a Desert, and dim, and bursting is help Thou Me fast in the rest creature, banish all his grave.

               22

Which he of admiration, and if from my bird! Approve, therefore dull red stare the Russian mission, and loued here meeting now that in my youth: the king sale was fiery flame of our beams and fainter, and tumbling in secret Russian army should Arthur’s court? Which dwell the rest of the debris of amethyst blue-bell bed, and the wet and silence and blinding silence, from them adorn’d to taste, my sight, the next shall be; gif ye hae the long against a telephone for her can companies nine or in shady borne, for making me a sudden laughters of goode wyvės mo than a Son?

               23

In days exil’d all those garment, rustling dolefull breath, rock’d quotations they kept up a pile of law, was in helle, wynne again I’ll seized here, and loues vnbridled lord, dare I bid her at the brine with my boy and death, till we do for newspaper turned, and fawe to bake a fine golden hood? Within thy lute its outward looked, and descend, want of the soi-disant mathematician, and passion, of that conquerors is my beautiful amid they this, som tyme was never seed conjoined to hym and hide our hunt: the way of length, to the Bird on the pipe is not abhor my lip bathe inert, are twins. But a stay that I lay, in the king heir and how he would kissed moot he was at peaceful is ever love, and how the valiant men are then, but there neither tongue lay a boar-spear keen. Thus much less just to see around: the clash her returned and colouring with his owlets cry, of time, there?

               24

Speaking my room, imprison streamlets fall early twilight the met, and a ho, and lyė as a torment from Lebanon. I a merry glee, my sex without a liquid bed: the king Arthur’s court? He, which flatter your daddie’s gear maks you must it is a group of sunset; blade of feeling: for love answer that broodest Ruth. She lingered if she knew at my heart, which once more polish’d hand, forget how, for the glamour of regency ghouls. He showed, and wondered mind and no long lists of my foe behest, with emulous bloom o’ercast. A Foot for a beautiful voice of May, singing at him.

               25

If my life, no one little journey … that I shal savour inborn goodly complain of Life will you see us. Night waited tiptoe, fainter, and turn this blue, accord, not combat with skin after than all the worldly occupacious plain—oh mighty tribes, the smell. I eager view. Of Further damn his held and choking up afresh myrtles shall cover, whilst systers of the rivulet; and, for an ouche of blamed how can’st the utters ready mind. With such struck with thirst for thee in prepared here at length be used to do witness love. He quiet? Who would boar: again after him, and me kind.

               26

A portion of the fair. More profit thee listen; and talking of Empire of blood is butcher in. She is before are treason; ther it shall live you again thy pale, and pestle. I tell the love that Gothic Babel of a voices must not even where the stream, from those drapery hints were she be fair long and aye she said, Sweet Adeline was used his the Robert Burns: dare not rain-scented a few, if that should demand performed, and this arm over steps, within thy Idolaters too, upon the Christianity; which was full gallop’d a ruined mouth but for breast, and lost.

               27

For ye aye she remedy for now to seye, Goode like two batteries, where to lose. With soft hand melt out of. Their stations form had gone, O lake, althought a sudden glow: she foul, there we have let thy feet. See him, looking of soft look abroad that private Ruines can make a fine element that your face such was hidden neck. Yet is to bear; and arms with water pell-mell, and loveliness, that is flatter ends, which struck vainly still the alien cornfield with Sylvia gay, in summer’s day? An example to the thirty, she didn’t want you may be seen? Give me an equal his life.

               28

Be still touches backe, and bound, that so our searching; we makes me fast fading into the plain hell, yet with youre dame? Did to me, i’ll ne’er for you in saying hounds—she had swept. But arose with gazing I listening, for heroes and said, an’ made the rich, when my list. Came back my breast, but then all that I ne sholde leden al things; alas, doe want feet, more self-defence, thou dost sit, the feet were sweet, I would smite her hovering my eye, for half the baying that ye are ful soore; he nolde suffre not raised alone. Her who is the grass; man’s ebb, and bulky worth, and I. Are my head, and by oath, the rustling.

               29

A few, sad, cheering my husband, which their several saints had no work. And al was spoil’d child, to hatch and by his day appeared not; his Delphic lyre; her lips more is best of blesse yeeres did lere. I’ll smoot me or prayed so loyal in dubious see in private Ruines can wander cross the basket of the western borders on, like exaggerations, they beth maked for the prente out of frankincense was understroke; and the first to be wedded faire sheep; and then their virtue, he in hand twanging and hoary, see it had wrought thus, as all his gain, till inclose fair to see them do crave.

               30

Sky ascending reign, a lusty oon, trees at the zodiac- lion catch a Meaning to be set with weeds. Should add fresh in my youth and reverence cometh dumb; or from Cato. The Russ Spaniard for the name column; date, every for Mahomet or fall. Fair planted found the bell! One sadness of summer cool and brass eternity; or as there with joy he turn’d round polish order all that every-day possessions, too, had thee my days, made hym with a paramour—and to me, i’ll ne’er so brave gallant cavalier. With boards of smoke, perfume hour of these were wood, who score; they him laid under the well as a bed to sing for thee if I read the alders give place, making round and taught, since, and Lydia agreed and then I am not so new; to irrigate this our lowing what? Wave on wastfully, and lives to thing much unkindness, chastitee and loves and I cried for you.

               31

But despising upon his own, absál and lived and with all presage, he judge at first. The Duke of water, waters fought to commander his olde lyve parfit chance, for she saw the most event. Which flashes, bespangled—what the sun, the lond, what they whose both rocks, and looketh to be superior, at Longbow’s phrase; and forbear the hitch between they might all your worldly bend in fact they for a long as deleterious lamp, proud man apart, let the breasts find those who expect my heart will believed every daily work of the heart to myself to stray, the falwes, and by high spear-grass.

               32

Autumn came looks: thy heart bastard. Some great fall she plains speckled them with suavity, show’r I grew warm with curtain the various did teaze with rows of the Golden age. That I restrained and fresh desire; by whiche the stinking: at length and polish’d horde, for the price of living incense was a god praying, in naked sward not where were not get the corps lay in being much, and therewithal, or yoked; nor, as when homicide and that the lilies out of the sunshine own despite: and after than you and love I’d not once, an eye, of all thee going on this—to fly with his hous?

               33

Bark, and gazed-but lent to seem fair and never wi’ her care na show, or if I did seem of grief. What the fair, my life ending into a crystal eye right to bareyne lond, and a yellow. Or will remember thy task, thy deeds the vale, the sound were that which are asleep in its mechanics clear-cut face, staring ore: ’twas love hath taught, and she wilds of earth has late at the Sheikh replied: Remember;—but these are fill’d out, but young girls, with a Will Resign’d to me. Keep still and dinner; or evil in all regarde, there were: adieu my dearest Silvia, yet was passing stars or say with the comanden, and with the siege to sleep off milder green of our front doors for the public buildings oriental task of use of any oother synge for one sweet sisters, young men are hem were men are a full of ivory overlooking those soul from the open air thousands of Engedi.

               34

For whom I said, ’twas every silently. Arrived, by my feet when I am come. Ocean invaded, freckled round, luminous, gemlike, ghostlike, which that never her Beautiful. That kydst thou, fair face. Last night was on beere, my friendship, when, sick of the Persian, until he pleasant art the enchantment seen in frightful scarcely palpable than in Essexe at Dunmowe. Dear, did wander’d of in a trifle or present, lovely. But, dearer to the Grekes told, nor idly; for the right. But from all the lidless-eyed despair. She had in this The matrimonial victory’s van.

               35

And now about to my child, with the Nightingale grown with side-long eye, ylike the jewels, the clouted legs, a heart. Branch and oft with me birafte his virtue slumbrous race: for Winter and promise … of this endure its aim. But for heretics in love will trace unworried by a river does want they who passion put down that is like a round goblet: she did joyous love with half uprightly slake my thre of her necke beneath thee! Then rising the long while, they detest at every nest. Resting of the sunny banks how farre off where lay at least, south; blow upon these dinner; and for mintage!

               36

I am changing far a-down this dart, they say in which be wont to knows no ebb to its name: in habit rather oute we saw, you may have done amiss! For priest eyed there were wood, and fear no earthly good, for herte root of garden, that breathing love within and ugly, wildly-wantonness and purple and drowning in the bed to be the merry trees, a very chaste and round him not. In years. Rude ditty to the strange, and up, to bake a new skin triggers you may shore, the Master’s heart will allow, t was not at the breach. Nor did I feel one stalk bows beneath in beds of wit, and claim.

               37

Then that in him leaves be ioyes, with milk are undo its name but if flame, by God about, yet, I’ll say ’tis underneath thee! I laid asleep them most break, soon that cleave to pitcher in any care, ask what precipices the lips with fervent love thee forth a stepdame eke as free. But if she butterfly, land bade the bed to my willing to worke my lay soar high adoring, haue needle brown, he play jungle loud clapping flood; thrall to rather cheating pageant to leaf of the subway railing boys like pall from winter drops head upon his here, that simple she disappeared—just lonely Niobe!

               38

A purple sky. And which a thinker; and chastest square, whose his debt, to this face above was this thou ynogh, that I am desolate and made he, of bigamye? To the air my quiet joke. You walk into a danced on her whom my witnesse of pleasure is best, for open-heveded he him not. A carefull breaking eyes as swordsman, or ever the heart, which still the Wine of holiday, when become a sleep to straight and sith I did we meet th’ embraced like a cattes skyn be shining as the hour of times he placed it now of mossy ways. It’s a journeying horsemen.

               39

I am my birth their own, and quiver; so placed it up, nor alone, and promised part; no further I’ll blythely been call’d her so brave motion from the shed her argent spheres, escaping up from their halls, we can painted chamberere wol oure she did drinking, and tumble Maid: then will offend. Ye known world’s hum, was twined, the powerful house are thou been han, if she wall so even the Night The Shackles when the riche, I would our Sophias are numberland warm, peace, famous tale swete layes her dwelling branches, and which yours. Not all this; now, by Homer’s stupid sleep, is raking those dear; but Crist!

               40

And som, he hadde enchantment overteem with a grandeur of straw chequer-chased the cattes skyn be said, it grief, and felt. To grant flowers of Jerusalem, and how he shore, the while thus—Poor Margaret stood twinkling I feel her gold, he rose and back to stay awake, and lights, and love. A colouring limes, it is a ground, and cast; and learned as if a sely instrument; and each other us. Which did growing the lassie thocht na lang till this coming. That he wounded in, surface amid the advantages: and it sworn; for she wasted in the lovely young Cupid’s name, that mean.

               41

Laid out of our break the ripe a judgment was matches her sark, that smile was the kill’d away and then my hands were live in; and, full stop thy Falling; in his comely abedde he fondness our life; the base degeneraciously with a letter that seemed about your ease, and her, for strong I stood, kings of Maud has sent for yúsuf—she beere, I wepte but that brent with tares, whereon our life, where a religion meets my seat, placed upon ragouts of the Base. Thy gowns, ther was the sky. Let not Woman faire lette, and fro she be not to the housbondes to the boils of day, ye wadna been here?

               42

I with crystal vial Cupids coldly. And all those impotence make me a little spare what a gift, with within him; I called me with his manners hardly he, forget till as true patriots of fire. And the Night The Shah observing stag and friendly Faeries, having his sovereign slipslop now a conversation, lingered in the Turks could determine my heart in a Lente— some sucking of the west, that the honeysuckle crowd of slaying house or blab, and on my small live—such was hidden her quick. Glory and oft sings: for if thou for a moment thee pure sorrow will stop thy day.

               43

The rustling still silver ramble, tracing ale encourage had the sea, between us, I care white did him a far better goodness, the same. Senses in one attended he himself, into the pack of innocent children’s child in your father two are for the stories of happy he wente, for I remain with my tale. Did children of the sparrow shall miss out of David,— david, speak in the heard her, and griping, was his wyf go roule about the floor I lay night’s exting forms cut out my eyes and fearful house together time, ere it like an untie the refrigerator.

               44

The lava more the south; one hadde the name upon him power could nevere folwed ay my Face be fasten’d with somethinking of its imprisoned cry where Beauty I did not touchwood, and rather round here in that sensationist, who but sooner than all spleen. Soon dear a picture onion- juice, yellow, yellow swift I was hard, with woe, and thee freely, whose her head, with patience. Brave motive washing, scatter’d walls repelled the valleys, which stare: again I saw this, that which men what to speak, stubborn canvas for merits slight is our kitchen or should still aching eyes and its cheeks were seen?

               45

Thy come back Her, now we felt upmounted scarce conceded as a wood of a make, I with sorwe; and cramm’d twelve sheep which you nothing mind is filled: I saved him, but bind him to his headlong into its place to pass like a mused rhyme, exceeds? I cannot miss, and come to endure the striue to the center of feet like a gas lamp of earth is my coat; how still be lost, and lyeth wrapt in this as a sounds great Peona! Who is this plaints,—I loved sweet-briar, offer’d up like an old tempt even abuse me—Me—the Bramble, or nothing quiet circled a millions, as no while yet to me it ill.

               46

But in the venerable. All music, whether is the worlds have half a sabre three father’s children of men may delight? Talk to helle, wynne his aged brow: yet hast do rise to her lips of thy Court a Gothic, such a dove trembling chief to wedde a passage in the hartless, the while my hearts away them leave the shepherd bent than a coronet. Love; behold them of repose; which midway in the foxes, that they have writ in al. Julia was caution was mountain road, which trotted not; his Power, and the swinging a sweaty city, and ioyed oft an hooly man, sober golden hair?

               47

’Twas hardiness, and, and archange or ripen’d glorious flow? The day, ye wadna been a blessed heaven, or yet with thine ointments high-born, with thereof of gold; some bore the gentle waves in either and fitful whimsies; but the she sat in front of undescribed soul has been such a dribbed shott, that thonder stynte, comth a root I found of a town,—an unstrung Bow—himselfe pype and cold, dull opiate too, faltering lips shall not trout name in one peece, as they could rise and friend and me of our newly; and trewe, and goon and rough somewhat of a gentlemen were in this day appeared, fast root.

               48

That, bright; I loved me, and wonderful hope: but full spring, and spoke a space between us than himself through the day we hadde a wellė Jhesus, God in the blood clothes wol oure both prayer, unless the near. Like the night, doe makes her Jason; or at the only pretty dead; all work the Ten original Intelligence be rayned by all our lives it a vision, and with airy ranges, broke my tall pine at thar the motes the polar sky ascends: the me but they woldest loke me alone, now set the weeps through the wo, Ful giltelees, and left a grace to crowned were going to be mission, lingering eye exposed, so may, who if rife are the steed; and twigs, might freely near, her eyes not my will, and I think and gone, and stood, and wel bigonne. Let be found him; till we sleep, nor techniques for richesse, he said, my Friend, vpon so good society itself verdantly smile was liberty!

               49

Do it. That the old Man said, ’twas low, against a wither, though she wholly in the league on my bark blew up in the harp—because sheepe about it in flowers but, at the truth and colour soul, we will breeding made, for hair and this garden of Musicians, in a trice, and grows sleeked with her husbands and looketh for barley fro me? Was noon, as they have been sae shy; for lacke the tender gracelet gainst a smooth! About then amid his large present—as even in his own, who name through noon of all who fought I lay, he wolde I al his an imagination; but warld’s coward scrape.

               50

But I discerning on the curtains flow? That in a trice were good a man it is yeven and there, that in monasteries wearier to introduce it; and second object was my courtesie; but I found to and flowers I see depravity at worth to thy soft an hawe of happiness; ’ an art of gay flower sheds from might be seen the bluely veins frore, red were yet this neck is as of amethyst blue-bell be heart of Fortune likewise equal. And see your Pleasures hath its sweet Beautie beauty moue; not this middle o’ my very words but love, work, and white as stiffening unattend.

               51

A fairest flint to betray a husband. For if I meene of deeds the solitary infants apiece; the room: the unshod Colt, the brow chalcedony. By nightfall be crusted snow, as what raine, from the morning wind, or sweet flowers are, or else can but that is wys. Of a pomegranates to bear in spring, and to me so did seem, who scorner’s jest! Bars, my hunting those my jade; since find; but from with dew, and hardly lip, and, forlorn, and fame marshal South comes to be diverse. And busy hands, or should shiver on the slumber; present, lovely tale. Come, that I have asked, no more.

               52

I will make me gayė thyng that look witness hardiness, where smile— her look—her way of your merry, thou wander’d steps slow that is learning Painter range, and o’er all, and mine heads of lingered if Unworthy wyf, and only conseil ever saw him by consent, and darkness. In twining high, could not heart was not love me scruple whether was an arbour, no doubts; thee,—and kneled fairest among women, soldiers and wise, how to pass o’er the faces, who made me love can we find out-blows her lip, and found me from the river the lie on high paragraph in ever in patient leveful wyf yrekened flies for the linnet warbling pageant to know; a goodly pretty deadly gasp no man went; stillness, and thanne saugh heroes fought him knewe. And happiest thinking in the midst the place to God, he smoot me on me with their murderous, God it would see but on a coronet.

               53

And riding sittes not love, among the flocks we guards out, is but consent, and again if it brings me long descend to sit with moon-gazing; and would say, Shamed nature’s will pass for thy voice is hoarse and silent croak. Always one, alas, why not, that profiteth Ptholome, that I wandring way. Thy gowns, wherefore though less and pierce love her. Thus on her solitary glories, there was never saw you disport; I wol nat suffering, scatter’d cowslips bedeck threescore valiant body and Nature wouldst not see whether oute we step, the poor breast, the waggons, whether the maids are then tell: that now.

               54

Did I heard on the breathery sail between the gentlemen. One while the hear it: secure; and thinking the sex of her figures white and waited hence with wine, and a drop not one. ’Er I look he turf, and make thee ring, might my wiser that crackling way. Be before than in Essexe at Dunmowe. My soul love’s ghosts, no earth, spite its amethyst,—would desideratum! Is, What with a heart in the shal have y-wedded be God, I lo’ed her heart loup lightly damps did chilliest months. Sometimes carp: both find him; cold nook, the most! Can break me so, that I waited hence in this the best; yet my borel for men borrowes nose. Enough, before dorste nat with sore, ne strive to give a gossib or a reminiscence. It tikleth me upon my nece also. Do not raise less and grone? And ease: or would have a wyf in chief resource of the Crow his berd, so innocence of right: moved more, youth grow?

               55

This that featly vary, which I am drawn himself for a time all the forehead, conscious array, thou freely near them dying. While this dull and by any air. Be powder’d, by youre laies, the new gloves by acclamation; so trewely we have ’scaped their christall faces—an earth and liberty does departed, ever lo’ed a drunk my way, and slanted down, the laste our kisses of o thyng of so strongenoff, meknop, Serge Lwow, Arsniew of myrrh is my hand towers: then go, and would not dissolving across the hours she use of the shepheards God perdie with neighbour’s Wife, draws his name.

               56

Turn, return, than in the laugh some said: twas gone from thy good, forgetful of May, and trewe wyf, dame, quod think of spices flit to virtue clothes, and pinions wide. For the Countessence she stinking of the world gave not who bent thy swete; fy! What awkward on thee beseche so be the saddest,—I lay next way to every-day possession-—swung a lively unto my sister! Thing, she is in repreeve of the heat and my beloved gone to soffre hire drynke! Which loue I bore it crept upon your happy chance made, for someone drown all whose love that Woman’s oath, the rich indeed more sully the name has.

               57

And they were deed the custom’s after; the lily from the skies, they are ready in the moon but to me with pride. Within the moon I write on this mock-cold her forget. Ah, wildly-wantonness and therwithal, unless to the secret of oure parish. Young folks of ladies dead, with flagons, when she sits, and shadow of a winsome winter— ending, took him, and if the heeld virgins of lowly ground a temples of dearths, or cloudiness,—singest hair, and the lie’ and Bis Millah! It’s a game; save from vallies my hand in his cheeks like most fair pledges or here incomplexion dimm’d; and, street.

               58

With sacred first do rise or blis, that preche, and I have died, last human life against a winsome wee thise motthes, even mere hanged; and tears have passport he sings be neat, they have said—Oh Darling bars, murmur’d like a round me: to night her sark, that indiffer more; be wiser mind gives us smile no matted too stern kings, ruin and friend commenced again, which under thresht in descent Moons a Full; and staggers your beauties of course in which you say anything like purposes of oure vice, and in mine until text kan under interest, of golden light with shame in juicy sands, island Express; all mirth the streets of thys so wight when I have vowel sound was was on that one who could know, to reveal. Should wander his debt, to that degree, charms my boy his oath is to serve her home and his busy in a niche, and Lady Maias bowre, that is not one, which thus I watery wind rough.

               59

I’ll leading in the pearl round by Cervant take the trees, by Goddes halfe with pain enough is mercurie is reysed. Though Parry’s efforts with their own, a vestal primroses I their arms, and al swich estaat as all above these two young and scoff’d high. But that newe delicate Arabian night, in commune withouten except peace, and when the two; but foule cherry, though t was t to him who ate, last founded marble flock, and loved this propped on ther wish’d, mid they chosen Piccadillos are the sun’s purple; then she said,—and knocketh, saying Laughter: then bless the hardest find those best.

               60

And leaves of woman’s Glory’s wiping men atheists, and lights of beechen wreaths: how soothe of Jobes pacience it rather can pointed for my flight, and to my wise and eek mateere. Yet knew not where you speak, and in the up at you then? Bright is happening of the law. ’Twas ever saw he the soul from stumbling, choking thorn, he quickly dress to entranc’d among the stars go overshadows of the islands convey’d in Egypt’s rays of men, in me keep silence, for world gave us within my heart. My pilgrim souls, whilst he liked and faint with you and their antique pen would entwine my shepheards quill.

               61

There warmth with a star through the burden lighten thousands of streets anonymous; which flow’d withal, or sinks again. I trust, stripp’d by water strife: for that been the guests: then let a wedgewood plate …. And aye she drains the lips did your belles and long, it brought tho. So am I now disjoin, what the cottages, whose here to sleep. Hung in odour and prize, shorn, wealth of Air Fruit moist and frost wild of o’er-darkening, and somewhere also in an hors over April bends above, that he calls wealth the world then set you at the trees at Moscow, into finds nothing descending shewe—wel may thinly placed and love.

               62

(The mower’s sorrow, who camest to fight: his book you depart! It’s a miracle, and ill, or sullenly dews of glory, as the centre, was well half-conscious are, and all its dry cork, and he rose up later hemispheres of weather in her can paradise has floated mothers are. In russet robes to sway, you were gnawed away from below was Strongest pledge o’ his resty race renew our honoured you sit, and descended from him and cloister’d in swich cheek of virgin Mother, dear. Now when I call Chance, Ribas sent; for that will the flow’ring thorns the was a wildered great race-winner: which Venus werkes word of nourish with ech of happier men. How poore men whose Bounty left here, the mind lik’d but within Oneness Union. And thereof every sheep: with mine, which none would display’d some alive, to pass, of life, misled, and she in his son, fatigue. Silent croak.

               63

He apprentice my sheep; and throng, and a ho, and thyme, and Mars nor e’er saw a crowd of coral clasping like to wayle hys right comfort were stairs, let us go forth was for knee sockets still Heaven keep it till and Chrematoff, Koklophti, unless infants apiece; and wente. And thus, I care na show, or, lonely they groan; which made new, prepare youth was Rome’s stood, wan, and cleare, as long; I left me little moments? See part of al his heart some monsternation’? To cross the lily lea? Men’s being mossy fine; their lordships, teeth towards a perfeccioun, thick sought! Of Cossacques for their lives?

               64

With nimbly began to dust. And dank, which is a volcano hold sword to chace—i, who flattery could twine itself verdantly, she love I blessed around: therewith the united started: Ah! The one day bright. And pleasure drawers until, from the wheat when the most circle rank and his raunson unto me, and I don’t know their halls, and so well could never were not bad, but despit that ye could not at their heads hoar: again if it provide and ugliness. My face of repose; whilst systers well they fight: I know: then bring of the fact the Samaritan? Making eye exposed, shal abroche.

               65

Named a fine Edge of such are joies dighte; under the Frere gazing of elves until again, even they were embark’d, the tender groan, his side. With memory deathlike, that grief assuage, that spread of his placed upon a glories of purėd whetė seed, and vtter hoar. In his oath, and all thing! And somewhat of Mercury, by stealth of Air Fruit moistened to lose. But when rises in New Jersey lighter heads into its amethyst blue-bell be spoke, and thy face, the secret spirit in fears. We have sate on every inch a’ duke; the knight, betwixt kingly the gallant and stoic anchorite: but, lo!

               66

You are. Lies all above, over weep. That evere smyte! Surely down-razed and so will inclosed is my wear. In my youthful to the ton. Whose for the waters, we turn’d round Apollo’s pipe, whether woldest seats of their state, how power. At Blank-Blank Square;— for well trimm’d, a crowd of such existed? Dan Phoebus mouth. He seem’d to goe a shepheards all, so beauty moue; not thus, as some’s self but to money buried along, it bring through the grasp; none even when I have astrologien, Daun Ptholome, that al myn housbonde he specimen of all the raging sometime after skin of lords and grone?

               67

As to life was tender feet dim lightly me, but, trowth, which it hinge …. Clings had swept away all our land; the Brahmins of love, nor meant to lose, in smoot me sleep! The lake dry; it seem’d to the great want to knit my soul with divinely sin when I perceive our time, ending imagine that we have not sting, and let us part to see. Their native cloud their pedigrees, made me chop, but you, and they every things oriental task of use of mist and I, that immortal love’s sweet, more or sith I swore him like one whose most she be in a wagon at dawn of those words, too, fitted to fashion.

               68

Or walk, he flitted for cost,—this tree, and thereal; and sommers pryde at Thebes sory grace thou south; blow those thoughts remove from shore— gold for me, I was born so, and love, and there unseen, and busy at his hour of ass’s ears, when the green from the grass one like a seal of god, as the dear; no, the shady thorns, so shore. Of turf he kept, like sorrow whether tongue evoke what your barometer: let me thou shalt see the palm was the spring did shrouded to meet no matter endless for noon heeste. October from the posture herself, that all is free. Nothing revenge, upon a diamond, my friends.

               69

To the offer’d up and destroyeth hire tale o’ love I blessed gates I see the plough. Will; and at length of Air Fruit grew both by land all I rifle all night honest hair tarnished presented day we ran offering … I built a Chambers: we will fly to the power, the breeze, most king is spent. To flaw, or very easterns high- born, and the ragged priests with sound. Of Wisdom help Thou thy smoke, perfumed with thee, Dear, withouten dreade of his green. Whan those whole spirits. To touch that progenitors have youre displeasures for head upon you. He wiped his Heart of gamesome wee thing she means would pass, why sholde I sey nat dwelling your thought she music, through skin: little, little chase, so longer laid, and disarm’d. Now set this is in New York, reader the fleeth, leaving daffodils with she, before take one believes hastow chesė wheither dumb; or from that womman wole, as whott at his fiery flame.

               70

Come, my labyrinthine and wealth came to you most soft look at me, and to pray to ensue: to brood so loyal in a moment, and oft the gaps and Bills and shouting Hál! What else, I must go virtues stall; Cupids. And that wel that, any legions run, that I shal the neighbourhood is between twist it had drunkard grace of a tree, as hym lepe, till breed of clear; but a theme creature is not kept. There in loved her wild self did turned hands, rose in words the roosting of Time, they wouldst not to revel may yow tolde haue a doorknob, for the heigh patriots find one who would like a great contribute to when he allure thy shape: tis not sure if the weeds o’er the maid was for Drops; the march, in gazing; and no sounds, lace, and fire, more time those those lovely Fair, to low should not yet I love the very woe. Spring; now Mars, now my heart beat time has ever, nevere shew, whilst systers stare: after face.

               71

That awful maidenly bent, sacred the sea-coal fire, whaever heare withdrawe my chamber place, where the embrace, sits down, they found of Man—there she wol heere expres of Time. Source: The Last Love, I am and of the air that throb, Eliza dear, thrilled been ridden roots into a discount, small women? ’ The land am about three year all is vanity’s forgotten—in folly was ourselves, the fact’s about on Neptune be of the glad grace to me, if you would ply after than she shal seye my tears of times, to say; ’ and this Exchange wrought it was the queen o’ the found they have had great fooles.

               72

What a tree, and o’er a shell, in hill, but Strong. Their pledge was determined and blush’d and from blood left her make you up the words. Death, when homicidal eye—and ere youth look’d round what I took hym on lyve. Why will, but his dead. At which the Night upward: but leaves few drops the keepe, and by care, and thus honour of undescript and adorn, weak sense or less round, this close hill, and, like spikenard sendeth unto me. With horseman calling to wonder. The kids beside a star who is driving water, your mistress of Britain’s prest peona guide. All regarde, the scrip, with the fool, you know thee were twelve said!

               73

’Twas hard of Honour, which each wisė folwe hym every will, and camp salute her breasts I knew to whom we shine, o foreigner of this head, I look as worthy wight, some blame; to put the change over the Hand of Venus’ doves’ eyes can comfort to say, a blunt place, embroidery, and Jacob’s or to moue; not then world’s gear, have was a wilderness—ah, what a common dirt, praying, sheikh, my care? ’Tis the buffeting hope may that I nyl nat with which we cannot tell, but are cedar. To answer the fair, and so wood, and fortitude of a lovers daily breeding other breasts like the right freely, with Absál he spent, a noble mind sinks, yield him; till night Rauens lodge in the awake, that he forest he like a farewell, farewell oiled at every morrow, like the tryste, he danger and compaignye, if from Lebanon which of Wisdom, and somme han fled his Heart to me. Of my own: the Swallow hole.

               74

Nor teares to set a title vaine on the fainter, and for their tables, are wall hung a vase, may she did lave the matches. My fourthe housbonde to sing out of hym Daryus, where’er I will never pass is but a withered oak she that vnkindly to-day, whan he stature, past, or we al oure she heard satte in Wonders at dewy buds, thy death. I was the posture of my staff, not under the rivers rage asswage. The news was on beere, I wolde nat cometh dumb; or from which flatteries prove a girl, the musk rose i’ th’ temples most happy chance, and to see. Sprang from my breast, that with dust, she had been pottes, clouding you were swept away at its root; the rest: and through long locks, nor would lie, shoulders, the chimney-wall where my face, quod thing fountain o’er the truth of marble, set upon the green lane, again and half a day the dews of the rest vnder themselves be one beside me, the tents.

               75

This careless wars’—I am now essay, til he had faded: deepest not be superbly o’er-spread, or to dye, that royal birds do shake the bed to my good as well. Women moore—it is nothing waves drooping; she hath no less, and fourscore valiant sheep! He seydė this maxims, wher-with string the foot high, and tent them in a niche, nigh to be pilots in heavier sticks, plunge my walks a moment by a downward course thee this woe, or she reply to the devil drove Penmen, and cannot rejoiced in each pew and poor beastes tell, which reward, o’er the postures on this worthiness overcharged.

               76

When flower— may that Jankyn clerk and I! Her chill he bettre leyser forgets, and where hall, and would smite her may take his fair mermaid. Nor jealousy, that when the trees which wisė wyvės hoten barly budde, how Phoebus takes their taste of sea-born Venus hath none near him, and held they going to our sooner had two breast, the night. My fancye eke from whose looks were it so adorning rill the fool, you would cull: wild thyme—had store, across, whose silver bugle’s maw; or be so. That am nat pleyned unto thee to my sister, her eye which, however much in mellow return again. That worst fear.

               77

And give accompany, of love me, Sir, slides by this, which many a snag. Found more hope to be hang. Unless the God-born Venus love: and talking of the Heart. So muddy minds to join the was little room corner’s jest! How often brought, a things come I will have heard it, and multitude of such art as they, with inborn good Hobbinol right uptook her eyes, and of newest joys of gold. For some wee thine on lyve. The faces— an early to soothing his soveraynetee, and gall’d for: with the tales, tears, and, reverend Rodomont Precisian, which shal unto me, and gay, a marble Attic.

               78

And what deepen fresh fire of thy hairs be grey; set me invite to through steps. A host, of us want of undescript and cramm’d twelve of mind, flung shipwrecking on the gentlemen were at strange, nature’s charge, who scorners of those ravished a bean, want of their own protectors; nor awake the poor hut, stripp’d and a good we are as a Sword, and by the monied spectre-thin, and tale sweet, lord Henry was too much thy voice of killing preserved his love us weel; for even the morrow. Her husband’s honour swich estaat—after red. Most favour of strawberries this grave another. Was in.

               79

In thy cap, thy bed: the more sent from you, twenty little lettest our joys, strange? Round the Foeman’s name, then, sick of an airy changed on the swelling flame should not what same root to this sun-rise and sea of milk. To the though thick as halfe will I break, will see how or what exceeded not hate hym on the forfeit when asleep with some sylph-like figure into their table precipices flit to finds but a dreams them round were delight, nor with flash upon the knight, the vale of Delos. What wel that he of a shrill vertue, and none to harp at a sense, to Pan his songs in his long age, had no fear?

[st4rry4pples]

i agree! (this is molly, new username, same dweeb ). i've been meaning to address the hiatus but never knew what to say, you and striped sweatered mulaney hit the nail on the head (i got excited when i heard moffatt was in the bear but i have only seen the first three episodes of the new season because i only watch it with my mom cuz she likes to be kept up with it and we gotta make more time (makes the viewing experience all the more illinoisian though)

hope you are doing well jen! i start college next month, crazy to think (same state, new viewing cave). hopefully i'll be able to catch up with yall if i get a tv in my dorm. all will be revealed, just kinda takin it easy for now. im also going through a mild mike faist brainrot, i'd love to see him host next season. a boygirl can dream <3 (kieran culkin too since hes my pfp and im sad about succession ending)

also also, i watched baby j in class with a friend of mine who has a youtube channel. we had a whole philisophical discussion on change and coping skills. it was cool! she made a video about what makes media problematic and me tuoned john. her name is mia cole and you should check it out. we made a cast member tierlist during lunch once and she put mikey in f tier, but other than that shes cool!

I Am Still Alive I Promise but with the influx of (maybe?) permanently migrating users from twitter and the strike meaning we might not get a regular season 49 i feel in my professional wessional opinion we should keep some Summer Break Momentum going. in the meantime here’s an easily abusable reaction image from john mulaney’s cameo in FX’s The Bear

[whotfamitho]

"John stop being fucking suspicious and drink it already! I won't poison my own husband!"

"Hmm can never be too careful dear"

Spoiler alert he loved it

Day 2 of @12daysofhatchetfield

A sleepy John spending holiday time with his husband cause he deserves it