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rezwrites · 2 months ago

Note

If the requests are open, can I request a Dark! Agatha Harkness x fem! Reader?

Where Agatha gets tired and takes action to own Reader. Agatha had acted kindly to win Reader’s heart but Reader never noticed because she is seriously innocent

Something dark with possessive behavior, dub-con and obsession pls 💕

yes, of course!

Warning: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, heavy drinking, not explicitly stated age-gap, mommy kink

Another failed date. Another wasted talking stage. Disappointment and heartache is all you feel walking out of the crowded restaurant. Slamming your car door you pick up your phone, calling the one person that’s always there for you. It didn’t ring long before Agatha picked up, “Sweetie? I thought you were supposed to be on your date.”

“Got stood up again,” you take a wobbly breath as you try not to cry.

“Oh, honey,” her voice sweet and sympathetic, “Come on over, I’ll have ice cream and Worst Cooks ready.”

The drive home was full of silence, your mind racing with questions about what could’ve gone wrong. Parking into your driveway, you sat there for a second before heading over next door. Knocking on Agatha’s door she answered almost immediately, holding the door open for you. Sitting on the couch you notice two pints of ice cream with spoons; two wine glasses are also set on the coffee table.

“I pulled out the wine too. Figured you could use a drink.” She popped the cork out of wine bottle pouring you both half a glass. Grabbing a thick blanket from the back of the sofa Agatha draped it over the both of you, “We’re just starting season twelve right?

You nodded grabbing both pints, handing Agatha hers. You lost yourself in the show and wine; your ice cream long gone. A light fuzzy feeling washes over you as you lay your head on Agatha’s shoulder. She’s been a such a rock: bringing you gifts after unsuccessful dates and taking you out around town.

“This sucks.” Sighing deeply you sit up, putting your head in your hands. She pauses the television, rubbing your back. All the alcohol running in your system slowed your thought process, making it tough to get words out. You finally managed to mumble, “Disheartening.”

“I’m gonna go home.” You start to stand but quickly lose your balance. Agatha held you steady, worry etched into her features, “Dear, you can’t even hold yourself up.”

“I didn’t mean to drink so much,” you speak slow, a slight slur of your words, “Sorry.”

“I understand, sweetie, there’s no need to apologize. You’ll stay in the guest room.” She left no room for argument. Nodding wordlessly, she carries you to the spare bedroom. Laying you on the bed gently, she drapes the covers and extra blankets over you. Thanking her groggily you turn onto your side, back facing her as you curl in on yourself.

Agatha turned on the nightlight plugged into the wall, lingering in the doorway, reluctantly leaving you. She waited a hour and a half before she got up again. She really didn’t have to wait so long knowing all the alcohol running in your system would’ve put you out immediately, but she wanted to be sure. She prepares herself slipping into her robe, before venturing down the hallway.

You were jolted awake by a hand wrapping around face, your body pinned to the bed. Eyes widening when you see Agatha on top of you, her eyes wild. You want to shake her off, talk this out with her, but your body is still heavy and uncooperative. Sensing your discomfort she lifted up off of you a little, ”Shh, I know. I know you must be so confused, dear.”

“I didn’t like resorting to such dirty tactics with those girls, but every advance I made went over your head. My oblivious little girl,” she tapped your cheek with her finger, mockingly. Sighing, “don’t worry sooner or later you will see that I’m the only one for you.”

You couldn’t deny that you had felt something for Agatha at one point, however the more you thought about it the more it didn’t seem possible that she would have any reciprocation. You truly didn’t see any hints she gave you, just thinking she was being a good friend.

She took her hand off your mouth, replacing in with her lips. Lightly pecking your lips not wanting to smother you knowing it’s hard for you to move right now. Cool fingers creep up your shirt over your stomach, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble.

She was too fast for your mind to comprehend. Throwing the covers away from you, shucking your clothes off and tossing them at the end of the bed.

Your hands sluggishly move to cover yourself, trying to shield yourself from the cold air and Agathas gaze. Agatha catches your hands moving them back to your side, squandering your feeble attempt. Littering your neck and chest in kisses, she traced back up sucking multiple hickies into your neck and collarbone.

“Seeing you traipse about with those girls,” Agatha nipped at your neck, “Pissed me off knowing they can’t satisfy you like I can.” A whine escapes you when you feel something press against your core. She sheds her robe revealing her nude body with a strap attached to her hips.

She spreads your thighs apart, placing them over hers. Your mind may be quite inebriated, but your body was alight with pleasure. Agatha smiled to herself running her fingers through your wet slit. She mixed your juices and her spit onto her strap, delicately sinking into you.

“Doesn’t it feel good, sweetheart?” She plays with your bundle of nerves her strap bottoming out. “See how wonderful I can make you feel?” She leaned over you sucking a nipple into your mouth.

“Yes!” you weakly moaned out reaching out for her knees to ground yourself, “so good, Mommy.”

You both froze. She released your nipple with a pop, both of you staring at each other like deer in headlights. You struggle to find your words, face heating up. A smile grows on Agatha’s face, “Again. Say it again.”

“More, mommy, please.” you will yourself annunciate clearly. She began thrusting, cradling your face in her hands resting your foreheads together. She stares intently into your eyes, snapping her hips rhythmically, “That’s right, sweetheart, I’m your mommy.”

Agatha focused her thrusts, the tip of her strap hitting deep with you. The minuscule moans you let out intensified her concentration, ”Come for Mommy, baby.”

She watches you fall apart as your body quakes underneath her. You hold her onto her knees tightly as shocks of pleasure reverberate with each thrust, coupled with the tight circles Agatha’s drawing on your clit. Sucking in deep breaths, your heart pounds in your chest. She eased out of you, setting the strap on the nightstand for now.

Agath pulled you close to her, dragging the covers back over you both. She knows you’ll want to talk extensively about this in the morning, but the way you’re pressing up against her already falling back asleep, she can’t bring herself to dwell on that conversation.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you #Agatha harkness x y/n #rezwrites

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intothedysphoria · 4 months ago

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Max didn’t actually seem to dislike her brother that much.

From what Steve had seen the first week they’d moved, all the arguing and long frosty silences and all out fights, Billy would still sneak a note into her pocket every day of school. He’d argue with her classmates, teachers, even the cops if they ever gave her shit.

Billy had dropped her off at the Christmas dance, ruffling her hair a little before noticing Steve. All Steve really got was a grunt of acknowledgment. Which he supposed was better than a punch in the face.

Whenever Mike would make comments about Billy being insane or evil, Max would practically push him off his chair. Steve, not fancying a thirteen year olds left hook decided to put the subject of Billy off the table.

There was only a small amount of facts about Billy Hargrove that Steve knew to be accurate. He was about half a year younger than Steve, the only person he’d really bonded with was Eddie Munson and his dad was a real piece of work. As bad as Lonnie Byers, from what Steve had heard from Max.

Steves parents were Italian-Glaswegian and despite the fact that he bitched about them constantly, Steve loved his parents to bits. His nonna, his granny, his seven billion cousins, all of them were the friendliest people on earth.

The only person James had really disliked had been Lonnie. Until Neil. When his dad had a bad feeling about someone, he was always right.

Steve had been given a mission to befriend Billy. “That wee bairn isn’t being treated right”, that’s what his dad had said. So Steve, laden with spaghetti bolognaise and tablet, knocked on The Hargrove’s door when he knew Neil wasn’t home.

Billy answered, obviously post workout and stared wide eyed at the food. Looking closer at his tank top, Steve could see a pin of the Irish flag settled above his chest.

Steve, not known for his eloquence, mumbled that the food was for Billy and fled for the car. Anything to get out of an awkward conversation.

There were two washed Tupperware containers tucked under Steve’s gym locker the following Monday, accompanied by a note with surprisingly neat handwriting.

“My thanks to the Harringtons. Max loved the tablet.

Uilliam Hargrove”

Steve made a mental note of the way Billy spelled his first name. He had cousins in County Cork and had met a fair few Uilliam’s in his time. Evidently, Neil was the culprit for the anglicised spelling.

Steve’s granny was ecstatic that her cooking had been appreciated and invited him over for dinner pretty much immediately. Steve found himself delivering that message too. This time however, he didn’t run for the car.

Billy studied him, considering, then said he’d be delighted to join. His voice was both surprisingly polite and formed vowels in a manner that was unmistakably West Belfast.

He was charming. Utterly charming. Not the put on way Steve had seen him talk to Karen Wheeler (good god that woman was creepy) but in a way that seemed to just come naturally. Steves house was a blending of Scottish and Italian and Jewish and Irish and Polish and Billy genuinely seemed to love it all.

James sat them together at the table. Probably in an attempt to play Cupid, the meddling old man. Billy used it as an excuse seemingly to scandalise Steve. He was no prude but the way Billy slipped in innuendo after innuendo had Steves face burning.

Dinner turned into staying the night. Steve on an air mattress and Billy on Steve’s bed. Neil wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t there. He probably wouldn’t even notice if Billy disappeared forever.

Steve had never felt himself feeling such a burning sadness for someone and reached out so that they were clutching hands. Billy didn’t shove him away or call him a homo. Instead he clutched Steve’s hand even tighter.

The closer Billy and Steve got and the more Billy slept the night at the Harringtons, the more Billy’s relationship with Neil deteriorated. It got to the point where Billy was showing up with cracked ribs and broken toes, sometimes with Max hovering nervously behind him. Hell, they’d officially started dating with blood spurting out of Billy’s nose.

Until one day when Billy showed up looking the worst Steve had ever seen him. Max was having to support him in standing upright. He was clutching a note in his fist.

“Keep him.”

Out of everyone Steve had expected to go and give Neil a piece of their mind, it hadn’t been his granny. So while Steve was holding Billy’s hand, kissing him and being a bit useless, Maureen had apparently punched Neil Hargrove in the nose.

Funnily enough, Neil never really returned after that. He was somewhere in Alabama. Or Florida. Steve hadn’t bothered to learn where. All he knew was that Billy was a lot happier without him.

They could finally kiss in public. Go on sort of dates. Book nights of passion in sketchy motels.

Know that Max was ok and safe.

And never have his parents involved in his love life again.

For @shieldofiron and @dragonflylady77

Scottish Steve inspired by @ratbastardbilly

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #max mayfield #tw depictions of abuse #cw abuse #irish billy hargrove #scottish steve harrington

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bunniesghost · 2 years ago

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୨⎯ "Wait, What’s Your Name?”⎯୧

🪞

Simon “Ghost” Riley X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Abusive Parent, mental health issues, physical abuse, manipulation, mention of death of a minor character

Summary: You become the roommate to a soldier who barely is home. Desperate to leave your Abusive Household, you call the number of the flyer that was on the corkboard of the coffee shop. This soldier didn’t even know your name when he left you his keys. When will you see him next?

A/N: Literally my first fanfic but hope y’all like it. Inaccurate army information. ALSO THIS WILL BECOME A PREGNANCY AU SO IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT TROPE, YOU SHOULD STOP READING

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Of course you called the phone number posted on the flyer on the cork board of the coffee shop. Going out of your house due to your mother screaming at you as soon as you woke up.

5 AM to get your morning routine done and get ready for school since you decided to take morning classes. Which you don’t regret cause you get to be out of the house.

Away from your mom.

Never having a good relationship with your mom since your father passed away when you were 15.

Always being a Daddy’s girl and her always out of the house, you didn’t think much of it. But once he passed away, she was forced to pay attention to you. Verbally abusing you because she’s a widow and single mother to a teenager who apparently is selfish and hates her mother.

She didn’t drink due to her not liking the taste and she never started after he died, so you knew these were sober thoughts.

Never was there to meet your new relationship. Never was there to see you get your driver's license.

Never was there to see you graduate from High school. Never was there to see you get into your dream school. Never was there for the good things.

Just the bad things

Like when you dropped a plate and it shattered on the floor.

That was the first time she hit you.

A harsh Slap and yelling in your face.

You got into a car accident that left your car ruined. The insurance money given to her due to the car being under your name. Never seeing that money or getting a new car.

You had your high school sweetheart over at her house when she wasn’t home. Seeing the shoes of someone she didn’t recognize. Storming into your bedroom and seeing you making out with someone in your room.

Let’s just say you got dumped by text right after.

Or when she accused you of stealing her boyfriend at the time. Him always greeting you and saying his goodbyes. The relationship only lasted 2 weeks and when he went into your bedroom to see your school project that you were currently working on. Your mother didn’t like that she could hear mumbles of him speaking to someone. Someone as you.

She came into your bedroom immediately accusing him of taking advantage of her little girl, and kicking him out. Right after he left, she slapped you and dragged you to the ground. Screaming at you for apparently stealing her boyfriend.

“YOU FUCKING WHORE!”

You were only 16.

As soon as you turned 18, you got access to your dads Will. He left you most of his money, which your mother was clearly not happy about. You used some of the money to buy yourself a new car and saved the rest to be able to move out of this hell.

Each time you threaten your mom of moving out, she would always beg you to stay and would apologize to you.

The apology ended the next day when you came home late due to your job needing extra help to close and clean up. Opening the door to your mother sitting in on coach and coming towards you with her hand up, ready to slap you.

Now you are 20 and have had enough. Waking up at the time you always do. You decided to wash the dishes your mother left last night, so she wouldn’t yell at you once you got home and ate getting told that you are useless and do nothing for this household.

You didn’t realize she woke up due to the water in the sink being on. She immediately started yelling at you for being so loud in the morning and started to hit you in your rib cage and slap you in your face.

You decided after she was done, to get out of the house and drive to your school. Leaving without your coat or school backpack.

Tears blurring your vision and heavy breathing makes it hard to breathe. You pulled over to a coffee shop because you didn’t want to get or cause an accident.

You steady yourself before you get out of the car. Putting on a smile for the world.

You get out your phone so you can distract yourself. You noticed you got an email from both your professors for today. Both canceled class due to an emergency occurring in their life. They are both married to each other and one of them was pregnant so you can assume she went into labor.

Now you had to figure out what to do for the rest of the day.

As you walked into the coffee shop, you were hit with the smell of richness from the coffee beans. Now you had to figure out what you wanted to order.

After ordering a small drink, due to your lack of appetite, thanks to your mother. You looked over and saw a cork board full of flyers. So you walked over and saw bands, volunteer work and nearby events.

“Y/n”

The barista called your name, indicating that your drink was ready.

But as soon as you were about to walk away from the paper covers wall, you saw a flyer that read

‘Roommate wanted’

You saw phone numbers cut out of the paper so you could take one, and so you did.

Grabbing your drink, you walked out and got into your car. Staring at this phone number in your hand.

Should you call it? I mean do you think it’s time to finally use that Will money? You had all this time to get out of that hell hole but your mom always saying that she needed you. And you not quite ready to let go of the home your father bought after 13 years of paying rent to finally owning the house that you grew up in.

Is it time?

Yes it is

So you start to dial the number.

“Hello?”

Wow that’s a deep voice

“H-Hi..I’m calling cause I saw that you wanted a roommate..” you stuttered.

“Oh right. Are you available right now?”

“Um..yes I am..do you want to meet up right now?”

“Yes, I’m about to leave to work so if you can come right now, you could probably move in today if you want.” The guy spoke

“Oh..just like that? You asked because you were surprised.

“Yeah, I’m not here most of the time so- I’ll tell you once you arrive.”

“Oh o-ok, I’ll be there in like…wait where do you live?” You just realized that you didn’t check the location.

“Did you really not read all of it?..”

“N-no..” you said in a quieter voice

The guy sighed “I’ll text you the address and I’ll wait here. Just tell me if it won’t work before you get here.”

You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone.

He sounded nice.

You check the location he sent and it’s actually much closer to your school. It’s almost an hour away so you decided to start your car immediately and make your way there.

You texted him that you were in the parking lot and he said he’ll meet you in the lobby. Wow this place has a lobby and looks very well kept. Definitely on the expensive side but the Will money and your job can keep you afloat for a while. You wait

You’re waiting in the lobby, when a huge bulky guy in a black military suit comes out of the elevator. You look away but when he comes and stands right in front of you, you look up at him.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Oh..it’s you..” you spoke in a surprise voice

“And it’s you, let’s head upstairs so I can show you the apartment.” The guy spoke and started walking to the elevator. You followed along getting on and watched the doors closed.

The 9th floor was the top floor and you were heading up there. Silence filling the small space as the elevator kept going until you heard the ding and the doors opened up. He walked out first and started walking to the only door in the small lobby room for the only apartment. So like a penthouse then?

He opened the door and made it so you walked in first. You were still near the elevator so you had to walk fast to get in. Him going in and closing the door, he started to speak.

“This is my living space that I’m rarely in and really need someone to just take over the space and actually live in it really.” He spoke

“So you’re in the army?” You asked an obvious question.

“Yes, that’s why I’m rarely here. I can show you the two empty bedrooms that I don’t use.”

Did you even use the house? The walls are bare and there’s no decoration at all, just a sofa, coffee table, Big Flat screen, a two seat dinner table, bar stools in the island, and a set of knives. Wow you had a lot of work to do.

“I cleaned up a bit so the floors and walls weren’t dirty, that’s why it smells like lemons.” He explained to you.

Oh wow, lemons

“Well, I’m fine with just one room but don’t you need my information first before I can move in?” You asked him a question that you’ve been thinking about.

“I don’t have time but if you just send me the information, I’ll give it to the army household keepers and they’ll take care of it.” He explained

“Oh, is this provided by the army?” You asked

“No but they just help me out because they know me. So don’t worry about that stuff.”

“So does that mean you’ll move in?”

“Sure.” You told him

“Alright I have to go, I’m an hour late and base is 30 minutes away so, I guess I’ll see you whenever.”

As he was leaving you realized you didn’t know his name. Or he knew yours.

“Wait, what’s your name?” You asked him right as his hand was about to open the door.

“Oh right, it’s Simon.”

Simon

“I-I’m Y/n.”

“I’ll see you soon, Y/n.”

He then closed the door and you were left in this big empty looking house.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Reblogs and likes are appreciated! Let me know any feedback!

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #cod mw ghost #cod mwii #cod simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost call of duty #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader

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stanford--pines · 2 months ago

Note

Why you should not shower:

when you shower, the shampoo will flow into the drain

the shampoo will mix with other shampoos and become a chemical

a rat will pass by and drink the chemical

Once the rat drinks it, he will become a super rat

the super rat will come up to land and start eating your food

after eating, the super rat will become a super super rat

He will start to drive our car and look for a girlfriend

Once he finds his girlfriend, they will get married and have many baby super rats

The baby super rats will start dominating the world and we will become their pets

that is why you should not shower.

YAEY!

You're completely right! That's why I've always bought the exact same shampoo, but I am worried that the products I use to clean the shower will mix with my soap.. Not to mention F also uses the shower! I wonder if I can convince him of this grave conspiracy

*he's frantically scribbling on a post-it note which he places on a giant cork board with strings connecting things like Dawn Dish soap with a squash that just so happens to have a human face*

How many of these strange creatures could just be mutations from soap washed down the drain!? All of them!? None of them!? I need to do more research on this! I will never be the pet of some rat! I won't allow it!

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beautyandlifestyleblog86 · 1 year ago

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Ways to practice eco-friendly living in your home

1. Reduce energy consumption:

- Install energy-efficient appliances and LED light bulbs.

- Turn off lights and unplug electronics when not in use.

- Use natural light as much as possible.

- Set your thermostat to a lower temperature in winter and higher in summer.

- Insulate your home properly to reduce heating and cooling needs.

2. Save water:

- Fix any leaks in faucets and toilets promptly.

- Install low-flow showerheads and faucets.

- Collect rainwater for watering plants.

- Only run the dishwasher and washing machine with full loads.

- Use a broom instead of a hose to clean outdoor spaces.

3. Practice waste reduction:

- Recycle paper, plastic, glass, and metal.

- Compost kitchen scraps and yard waste.

- Opt for reusable products instead of disposable ones (e.g., cloth napkins, rechargeable batteries).

- Avoid single-use plastics, such as plastic bags and water bottles.

- Use a reusable shopping bag.

4. Use eco-friendly cleaning products:

- Choose natural, non-toxic cleaning products or make your own using ingredients like vinegar, baking soda, and lemon juice.

- Avoid products containing harmful chemicals that can harm the environment and your health.

5. Grow your own food:

- Plant a garden to grow vegetables, fruits, and herbs.

- Use organic and natural fertilizers instead of synthetic ones.

- Compost food scraps to enrich the soil.

6. Opt for sustainable materials:

- Choose furniture made from sustainable materials like bamboo or reclaimed wood.

- Use eco-friendly flooring options like bamboo, cork, or reclaimed hardwood.

- Select paint and other finishes that have low or no volatile organic compounds (VOCs).

7. Reduce plastic waste in the kitchen:

- Use glass or stainless-steel containers for food storage instead of plastic.

- Replace plastic wrap with beeswax wraps or reusable silicone covers.

- Use refillable water bottles and avoid buying bottled water.

8. Conserve energy in the kitchen:

- Use energy-efficient appliances.

- Cook with lids on pots and pans to retain heat and reduce cooking time.

- Opt for smaller appliances like toaster ovens instead of full-sized ovens when possible.

9. Encourage sustainable transportation:

- Use public transportation, walk, or bike whenever possible.

- Carpool or arrange a car-sharing service with neighbors or colleagues.

- Transition to an electric or hybrid vehicle if feasible.

10. Educate and involve your family:

- Teach your family about the importance of eco-friendly practices and involve them in the decision-making process.

- Encourage everyone to adopt sustainable habits and lead by example.

- Discuss environmental issues and brainstorm new ideas for greener living.

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zmediaoutlet · 2 years ago

Note

happy wincest wednesday z! How do you think sam and dean rang in the New Year for their first post 15x19 NYE?

happy dayyyyy eve!

You know, 90% of the time I'm like 'they did something unsentimental and pretty boring' because I, too, am unsentimental and pretty boring, but that very first one post 15.19 I think might have legit had a different feeling to it, you know? Kind of the reverse of Dean's s3 Christmas -- "Well, yeah -- it's my last year." In a weird way it's their... first. Not that none of the years before counted or that they weren't real -- I think after getting over some of the meta madness re: Chuck's revelations, both Sam and Dean end up in a spot where they have to believe that their lives meant something beyond running in place. But like they said sitting on their lil table before they drove into the sunset -- they're really free, now, and they really get to make their own choices, and even if that choice ends up being still to hunt and still to live together and still to be the brosbandiest brosbands who ever brosbanded -- it is a brand new world, and that's gotta feel kind of... wild!

Given that 15.19 took place during a vague summer, they would have had time to sit with it, and get right with the world, and make all those 'I guess we are committed to each other and this' not-really-a-decision decisions that get them to Brosband Town, Population 2. Which takes them past Thanksgiving -- Dean got an extra large bucket from KFC, I don't know if he's really planning to do the whole spread -- and past Christmas -- special lubes and novelty socks exchanged -- and then it's super fuckin' cold in Kansas and they just... they don't have anything that's wrong. Which is nuts! New! What?

Because their lives, unbeknownst to them, were guided by the dictates of cable tv schedules, the mid-season finale always did something fucked up. Sam was in the cage with Lucifer or Dean was in a shoe or -- whatever happened. But the worst that's set to happen to them in the holiday season post 15.19 is that Dean might get a hole in his new novelty socks because they're always shitty quality. So -- they're together and they're happy and, hell, maybe Dean does pick up a bottle of 5 dollar champagne from the quik-e-mart on his way home and they do stay up until midnight anyway, and he comes into the library where Sam's 'looking for a job' on his laptop [read: dicking around reading reddit comments on /r/AskAHistorian], and Dean says, hey, think fast and Sam says what and Dean fires the champagne cork past him, which makes Sam jump and go what the hell! and Dean sniggers and then he knocks back Sam's whiskey and pours champagne into the cup instead, and oh, hey, it's a minute to midnight. And it's -- them, safe. And Dean's grinning at him with those crinkles at the corners of his eyes and Sam thinks he's a jerk but he also thinks other things, so.

A minute left -- any resolutions? Sam says, and Dean says, yeah, I resolute to make you wash the car more often and Sam says as if, you never let me wash the car, and Dean says, true. So then Dean says, what about you? and Sam looks at him and also looks at him and then says, I don't know, I think I'm good, and Dean's ears are a little pink but he says, yeah, you're Mr. Perfect, and he says it easy, sitting down on the table, so that Sam hooks a hand behind his knee, and then Dean says, hey, and nods, and Sam looks down at his laptop to see it's midnight. Dean clunks the champagne bottle against Sam's mug and they each take a drink, and when Dean lowers the bottle he leans right down and kisses Sam on the mouth, bubbly and acidic because this is really shitty champagne, and -- it's a happy new year. May they have many more.

#at least 3 to 5 more #wincest #happy wincest wednesday #answers #also fun fact dean gets shithoused hungover on champagne #it's all the sugar :/#sam finds this very funny #but he still brings dean coffee in the morning

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romanticizedlife-patchnotes · 1 year ago

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*Patch Notes 8/22/23*

A lot has happened. Many improvements have been been made that probably deserve their own posts. Did a lot of back sliding, attempts at recovery, and more back sliding. Also kept forgetting this blog existed.

CURRENT GOALS:

Clean and organized apartment

Time and suitable environment to focus on art

Being caught up enough on responsibilities and housework that I can feel comfortable spending time on video games and anime

Making a less stressful environment for my cats

Time for and Accessibility of Proper Nutrition

Get to bed earlier

Get up when my alarm goes off

Toying with the idea of setting up an online shop for like stickers and junk

Stuff Done Yesterday & Today:

Clean and organized apartment

Stacked the white boards and cork boards that have been floating around the apartment since I moved in neatly behind the recliner in the living room. I won't have to move them again unless I'm (finally) putting them up.

Made progress cleaning in kitchen

Made progress cleaning in study

Slapped a label saying "SPARE PARTS" on a drawer of a plastic storage unit in my basement so, once I find where they are, all the little baggies of spare hardware/accessories/parts for various appliances and pieces of furniture (THAT I HAVE BEEN SO GOOOD AT LABELNG. WHERE ARE THEY?!) will have a home. Baggies Found: 5/??

Slapped a "MANUALS" label on another drawer so now I have a place for them too

Arranged the shelving units in the basement so I can actually see and access shit easily

Time and suitable environment to focus on art

Cleared off the folding table that's been piled with papers and junk for 6 months

Cleared off my desk

Cleared off most the floor of my study

Drew plans for a U-Shaped desk that I think would help. Not sure if I'm going for it. Won't have a chance to build it until late September anyway.

My current desk has a riser shelf that I took off a while ago, thinking it would give me more useable space (it did not). I have a worklight I bought at goodwill a couple weeks ago that I intended to use for a workbench I'm most likely not going to build. It just fits under the riser, but its power cord comes out the center of the back, which puts it at odds with the riser support bar. So I drilled a hole in the riser support bar. I don't think the bits I have are meant to be used on metal, but I got it to work somehow. And after some hack-sawing and filing, and some more hack sawing and filing because I didn't account for the nut at the base of the power cord, it works pretty well!

Rearranged my furniture a bit. Trying an L-shaped desk set up

Being caught up enough on responsibilities and housework that I can feel comfortable spending time on video games and anime

Put on an episode of anime while eating lunch

Finally tumbled and folded the sheets that have been in the dryer for, like, two weeks

Washed a load of darks

Making a Less Stressful Environnment for my Cats

Cleared floor space in living room, kitchen and study

Moved chair I was going to donate back into kitchen so they can sit with me instead of me moving them off my chair

Making effort to clean/rearrange things in a calmer fashion so Maou freaks out less

Time for and Accessibility of Proper Nutrition

Washed a shit ton of dishes, focusing on the takeout containers I use for ready-made meals

Cleaned the fridge out. Got rid of food that had gone bad (oh god it was gross) and washed off spills

Made a start on organizing cabinets so I can find the dishes and containers need when i need them.

Cooked rice, chicken, and vegetables and arranged them in microwavable containers so I can h eat them quick later

Get to bed earlier

Brought in water bottles from car and stocked under bed

Put empty water bottles in recycling

Cleared a bunch of stuff that's been covering the floor for ages

Moved my headboard power strip to the other side so I can have my white noise machine and bed lamp closer to my head

Get up when my alarm goes off

Set up an anime I really want to rewatch on DVD player in kitchen, so I can watch it while eating breakfast. Hoping this motivates me to get ouut of bed.

Logged into Crunchyroll on android box for the same reason. Looking for HiDive password.

Toying with the idea of setting up an online shop for like stickers and junk

Made a vague plan. Most of it depends on me actually neatly finishing art on purpose. Im good at making art. Finishing art neatly and on purpose are my weak points (My strong point is bullshit that looks pretty good). Should probably revisit this idea when I'm further along with "Time and suitable environment to focus on art"

#rl-pn #did a lot. now i have to draw and then i get to play zelda.

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echo-bleu · 2 years ago

Text

If I see one more Valentine’s ad, I’m going to scream. Why does a job posting board need a Valentine’s sale?

Anyway, I wrote a very aro fic for the last flash fic round (aroace Geralt, alloaro Jaskier, modern AU, friendship). So if anyone else feels bombarded by the amatonormativity right now, this is for you.

Read here on AO3. Title from The Amazing Devil’s Secret Worlds.

Do I have to be who I am?

Geralt leans against the steering wheel and glances at the clock. 3:52, the display glares back at him, momentarily too bright for his eyes. He unlocks his phone and checks the calendar again. Group therapy. Friday 4pm.

He needs to go in. He still has to find the room it’s held in, probably fill in more forms – he’s never filled as many forms in his life as he has since he’s come back from Sodden.

He doesn’t want to move.

Come on, you can’t just stay in the car all afternoon. If nothing else, your leg won’t thank you.

Geralt sighs and extirpates himself from the driver seat of his truck, careful to straighten his leg and watch where his foot lands. He grits his teeth through the first few steps – those are always the worst – and it gives him an excuse not to think as he builds up momentum.

The building is nondescript, four-story, walls washed with an off-white colour turning yellow with time. The front door is automatic, and it opens before him with a swoosh . Geralt looks around, but the lobby is narrow and entirely empty. It’s a residential area, and the letter boxes affixed to the back wall mostly carry people names, not businesses. He squints at it until he finds the name he’s looking for, but the sign doesn’t give a flat number, much less a floor.

Well, there should be people around he can ask. He heads to the elevator and pushes the first floor button.

The first floor corridor is just as nondescript, the walls a dull grey, but there’s an open door. Inside, rather than a flat, Geralt sees a large room with a few tables in the middle and a row of computers at the back. A young man, his back to Geralt, is pinning a rainbow flag to a giant cork board on the wall. He’s humming to himself, his dark brown hair bobbing in rhythm.

Geralt stands in the door frame for a few seconds, trying to gather the courage to speak up. Before he can, though, the other man whirls around.

“Where’s the— oh, hi there! Come on in!”

“Is this the… group therapy?” Geralt tries, his voice coming out as more of a croak.

The man’s face falls. “Ah, no, I’m sorry. You want to go upstairs for that. But Shani’s ill today, so I’m pretty sure it’s been cancelled.”

“Oh.”

They both stand there awkwardly for a moment. Geralt isn’t sure what to do. He came all the way here – it took him the whole day to psych himself up to it, if he’s honest with himself – and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to try again next week. Maybe he’ll write it off as a failure and give up.

He needs it, though. For Ciri. For Vesemir and Eskel and – for himself. Fuck. Triss abandoning him like that, even though he understands her reasons, really put him at a loss.

“You can stay, if you want,” the man says suddenly. “I don’t really think anyone’s coming, anyway.”

It’s a bit blindsiding, and Geralt stumbles over his words. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, uh, LGBT+ group. I’m trying to set something up for the students, but the Academy wouldn’t let me put up posters or announcements on their socials, and all I could get was this place, Shani’s art therapy room. It’s way too far from campus. I did my best to advertise, but fucking Marx keeps getting in my way. So I don’t think anyone’s coming.”

“Hm. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I didn’t even introduce myself before dumping that on you. I’m Jaskier.”

Geralt steps into the room to shake the offered hand, getting a better look at this Jaskier. He’s wearing a bright blue bomber jacket over a yellow band t-shirt, and a pair of dark jeans so skinny that they’re barely there at all. On his jacket are a solid dozen pins and badges, all brightly coloured. Geralt notices the one that says he/him and what he thinks is a bisexual flag.

It’s not until he feels the weight of Jaskier’s curious gaze on him that he realizes he never answered.

“Geralt. I should probably go. If the session is cancelled.”

“I don’t want to pry, especially not with Shani’s clients, but was that your first time?”

Geralt sighs. “Yeah.”

“Well, I can’t offer therapy, but I know very well how nerve-wracking it is to come to a first appointment, and having to go home empty-handed like this has gotta be tough. Can I offer you a glass of water, at least? Orange juice? That’s all I have.” He waves toward a grocery bag on one of the table.

Geralt hesitates. His leg aches fiercely, and the drive back will be hell if he doesn’t give it a break. Jaskier looks at him with puppy eyes, and Geralt realizes that he’s almost as lost, left alone with his flags and his orange juice.

“Alright.”

Jaskier flashes a bright smile. “Come sit down, then.”

He serves them both orange juice in paper cups while Geralt lowers himself onto a seat. The plastic chair is uncomfortable as hell, but at least he can stretch his leg under the table and put the pressure off of it.

“Doesn’t the Academy have an LGBT society or something?” he asks, racking his brain on a way to make conversation.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaskier sighs, sitting down across from him. “But it’s lead by fucking Valdo Marx. He’s an asshole.”

“Oh.”

“I was the president last year, but I had to step down to focus on my dissertation, and he’s… he’s the kind of gay guy who thinks the society should be for the gays and maybe the lesbians, and everything else is just splitting hair.”

Geralt eyes the badges haphazardly pinned on Jaskier’s lapel. He doesn’t know what the other flags mean, but he can recognize them as flags. “And you disagree.”

“Of course I disagree!” Jaskier lets out, indignant. “What, you’re one of those too?”

“No, I’m… straight. As far as I know.”

“Oh. Well, every group needs a token allocishet, even if you’re apparently also the only member beside me.”

Geralt blinks. “...Okay. What’s allo… what?”

“Allocishet. Straight, cisgender and alloromantic and allosexual.”

“I know straight and I’m pretty sure I understand cisgender, but what’s the rest?”

Jaskier smiles and points at a flag pin on his jacket, in shades of green, grey and black. “That’s the aromantic flag. It means I don’t feel attracted to people romantically. Alloromantic is the opposite, everyone who isn’t on the aromantic spectrum.”

“You don’t… fall in love with people?” Geralt asks, trying to wrap his head around that.

“No. It doesn’t mean I don’t love them, but just not romantically. Asexual and allosexual are the same for sexual attraction.”

“But you’re not that?”

“I’m alloaro. Allosexual, aromantic. Bisexual, to be precise. I feel sexual attraction for all genders.”

“Hm,” Geralt says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. “Didn’t know that was a thing.”

Jaskier grins. “That’s okay. I’m always happy to teach these things! Maybe today won’t be a waste of time after all, if you go home knowing something new. Let me show you.” He takes out his phone, whose case is decorated with glitter and a unicorn playing guitar. He types something and holds it out for Geralt to see the screen. “That’s the ace flag.”

“Ace for… asexual?” Geralt asks, sounding the word out.

“Yep! There’s also a lot of variation inside the aro and ace spectrums, and people who don’t differentiate, but that’s maybe a bit much for today.”

“Hm.”

Geralt turns this over in his head. There are people who don’t feel any sort of attraction? It must be rare, if he’s only finding this out at thirty-five. Right? He doesn’t exactly spend his time talking about relationships with the people in his life, but it seems to him that none of them ever expressed something like that. Lambert came out as pansexual at fourteen, very sure of himself. Eskel has had relationships over the years, however short-lived. Even Vesemir talks about the men of his youth.

Yen… Well. Fourteen years of marriage has got to be proof of concept, right, even if it ended? Yen was certainly physically attracted to Geralt, once upon a time. Romance… Their relationship wasn’t particularly romantic, but what’s romantic attraction anyway?

“What’s the difference between romantic and sexual attraction?” Geralt asks abruptly, realizing too late that he interrupted Jaskier mid-sentence. A sentence he was very much not listening to. “Sorry, I—”

Jaskier waves dismissively. “It’s fine. I don’t know if I’m the best person to explain, since I’ve never felt one of those, but it’s like… When you look at someone you’re attracted to, do you want to kiss them? Cuddle them? Or have sex?”

“Uh… I don’t know?” Geralt scrambles to think of someone. With Yen, only the memories come to mind, sleeping side by side, the vanilla sex they quickly got bored of and the kinkier side she showed. And, overwhelming everything, the spectacular arguments that ended in their divorce. What attracted him to her? She’s beautiful, sure, but it was never about that. She was there. She didn’t take any of his shit. He was on leave and she wanted sex.

The men of his unit had magazines full of scantily naked women, but Geralt never looked at them. He had Yen – surely that was enough? And since the divorce… Well, it’s not like he’s hanging around in bars. Or cafés. Or anywhere he might meet someone new.

“Nothing? When you see a good-looking woman in the street or on an ad or something?”

“Er…”

“It’s alright, Geralt, it’s totally fine. But… you might want to look into this further. Just saying. Most people can answer that pretty readily. Or at least they’ll start blushing.”

That’s what makes Geralt’s face heat. “I’m not… I’m normal,” he says. But he knows as soon as the words come out of his lips that they’re the wrong ones.

Jaskier’s face falls. “Right.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” Geralt internally winces at the thought of telling Lambert or Vesemir that they aren’t ‘normal’. “I just, um. I don’t know about this. I was married for fourteen years. I can’t be… whatever.”

“I don’t think it’s mutually exclusive,” Jaskier says softly, more kindly than Geralt deserves. “Especially if you didn’t have the words for it. Society expects us to be one way, and we often conform whether we mean to or not.”

“You don’t.”

“I did, for a long time. I tried to do what my parents wanted, study law and settle with a nice girl. I lasted all of one semester. But it wasn’t until I met others like me that I started letting go of those expectations.”

“So what did you do?” Geralt asks, genuinely curious.

“I stopped pretending. Got an ADHD diagnosis, picked up my guitar and toured the Continent for a few years. I had sex with a lot of random people who didn’t care about sticking to the norm. Then I came back and started studying music. Now I’m a grad student.”

“Wait, how old are you?” When he said he was part of the Academy, Geralt assumed he was faculty, not a student. Not that he looks old, but there’s a set to his shoulder, a way of carrying himself, that makes him seem like he’s seen more than his share of life.

“I’m twenty-nine,” Jaskier says. “I started late. It just means I have fewer fucks to give, especially to shitheads like Marx.”

Geralt nods. “Are there a lot of older students?”

“A few in each class. Especially in grad school, but even as an undergrad I was rarely the oldest. Why, you’re thinking about studying here?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Geralt shrugs. “I got discharged from the army a while ago. I can’t live on my pension forever and I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“You have a major in mind?”

“Not really. I never went to college the first time around, I enlisted right out of high school.”

“Well, if you’re into Music, or Literature, or History, or pretty much any of the humanities, I know everyone, I could show you around at least.”

Geralt smiles vaguely and nods, fairly sure that it’s one of those times people offer something without any intention of following through. They only met half an hour ago, by mistake. Jaskier hardly wants a disabled vet following him around.

But instead of moving on, or showing any signs of wanting to Geralt to leave, Jaskier insists on exchanging phone numbers. “If you have any questions about the Academy, or about sexual orientations,” he says with a wink.

And he fills both of their cups again.

Geralt leans back on his uncomfortable seat and finds out that he hasn’t thought about therapy, or really about any of the myriad of things that have been troubling him, since he sat down. Jaskier chats about everything and nothing, about his friend Essi who is talking about starting a band with him, about his dissertation on medieval troubadours, about his volunteer hours at the refugee centre. Geralt tells him, just a little, about his tours, about his brothers and his father, about Yennefer and Ciri.

“You have a daughter? Oh, that’s wonderful! How old is she?”

There is nothing feigned in Jaskier’s enthusiasm, nothing but real warmth and interest.

“She’s six,” Geralt answers, swiping through his phone for a recent photo. On it, Ciri is riding on Eskel’s shoulders, giggling, with her horse plushie in her hand. “I only have her every other weekend since the divorce.”

He misses her, but he was gone for even longer swatches of time when he was deployed. It’s better this way. He doesn’t think he’d be capable of raising her fully right now, and that was the one thing he and Yennefer didn’t argue on.

The divorce, when it came, was both inevitable and overdue. Yennefer stayed through his rehab – and Geralt is infinitely thankful for that, but eventually, their hours-long, violent arguments started taking their toll on Ciri. And Ciri takes priority over anything else, for both of them.

“Wow, she’s adorable!” Jaskier exclaims. “She looks so much like you!”

“She’s adopted,” Geralt deadpans, because he never fails to find it funny to see people’s face fall at that.

Jaskier barely falters. “Oh. Well, I guess you get that a lot.”

“We do. But it’s all just a coincidence.” One that amuses but also annoys Yennefer to no end, especially when people assume that she can’t be Ciri’s mother. “Yen and I couldn’t have children of our own. We’re both infertile.”

“So you decided to adopt?”

Geralt shrugs. “Sort of. We tried for a long time, and then a friend of ours named me godfather of her baby. That was Ciri. She and her husband died in a car accident not long after she was born.”

“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry.”

“It was a while ago. But that’s how we got her. If we hadn’t, I think we’d have divorced a lot sooner. Yen really wanted a child. I never really did, but… I thought it would make her happy. I was away so much, but I thought, at least Ciri would always have her. She’s a good mother.”

Something sad passes through Jaskier’s face, but he shakes it off. “I was an unwanted child,” he says casually. “Runt of the litter, too, until I had my last growth spurt. My parents are… Well, I haven’t seen them in ten years. But I can see that you love Ciri very much.”

Geralt isn’t sure what to do with that – is it just an attempt at sharing? A warning? A criticism? In the end, he does nothing. Jaskier moves on to a random story about an older woman who tried to sponsor his music in exchange for sexual favours.

“I wasn’t even against it until she tried to make me move in with her and do all the romantic shit,” he says. “But the second I started pulling away, she cut me off.”

“Maybe for the better,” Geralt says dryly.

“But can you imagine? I could have become famous! All the great artists of the past had rich sponsors!”

“Did they all have sex with them, too?”

Jaskier snorts. “I mean, it probably happened a lot. What about you? Any other adventures than with your ex-wife?”

“Hm,” Geralt grunts. “No.”

“None?”

Geralt blushes. It was a contention point with Yennefer, once upon a time. She was his first, and he definitely wasn’t hers, even though she’s a couple of years younger. And now she’s dating again – which is why Triss gently ended their session, she couldn’t very well continue to be the therapist of her new girlfriend’s ex-husband – and Geralt isn’t. Isn’t even considering it.

“No.”

Jaskier hesitates for a beat. “Okay. That’s totally okay, you know that, right?”

“Hm.”

“You met after high school?”

“You’re still thinking that I’m a-whatever,” Geralt growls.

“Well, yeah. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

Geralt stays silent. It wouldn’t be so bad, he supposes. Except that something in him tells him that if he starts considering it, he’ll take a step into a bottomless precipice. That he’s at the edge, he’s been hanging onto that edge for months, and if he lets go, if he lets himself explore this… Or any of the other things that Triss brought up…

He might never reach the bottom.

“Alright,” Jaskier relents.

Geralt wonders how they got there. Why is he opening up so much to this man that he just met? They haven’t dug particularly deep into anything, but it’s the first time Geralt has talked this much to anyone since…

Since. Since the divorce, since his injury, maybe. Before that, even – when was the last time Geralt made a friend that wasn’t in his unit, under his command?

A friend. It feels like a novel thought.

“You know, all the good songs and books are about these grand love stories,” Jaskier says, following his own track. “I love them, but I’ve never been able to have that, myself. It’s a process, accepting that you’re not going to get those things. It’s a kind of grief.”

“Love stories suck,” Geralt says, because no one could accuse him of being eloquent, and now Yennefer is on his mind.

“You suck,” Jaskier shoots back childishly.

Geralt snorts. “Well, yeah.”

“Geralt, is that a particularly poor attempt at not-straight innuendo or is it self-hatred?”

“Hm.”

“You’re really not much of a talker, are you?”

Geralt shrugs. “Probably talked more today than in the last three months combined.”

Jaskier beams at him. “Does that mean you like me?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Jaskier averts his eyes briefly, and Geralt can see him compose himself and look back like nothing happened.

“Talking doesn’t mean I like you,” he corrects, beating himself, “but I didn’t say that I didn’t.”

Jaskier gives a little laugh. “Alright. You should study rhetoric, or something.”

“Maybe.”

“Could suit you. Or logic? Are you good at maths?”

Geralt shifts in his chair, flexing his aching leg. He’s been sitting down for too long. “I should go,” he says without answering.

“Oh.” Jaskier looks at his phone. “Gods, were did the time go?”

“Where it usually goes, I would wager,” Geralt answers, letting the corner of his mouth rise.

Jaskier’s muffled laughter is rather adorable.

“What would you say to grabbing dinner?” he asks.

Geralt hesitates.

“Not like, as a date or anything. It’s just that it’s almost 8 and I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Do you even date?” Geralt asks, stalling as he tries to figure out how to answer.

“Kinda? Some people don’t feel comfortable having sex repeatedly without dating, and I’m not, like, romance-repulsed or anything. I just don’t feel attracted that way. I love romantic books and love songs as much as anyone.”

“Hm.”

“So, dinner? If you’re totally sick of me after three hours and just want to go home, that’s totally fine. But if you’re afraid that I’m just offering to be polite, I’m really not. I like you and I have no other plans.”

He says all of that without stopping for breath, too fast and too rambly, but it hits Geralt in the stomach nonetheless.

When was the last time someone wanted to spend time with him because they liked him? And he likes Jaskier back, there is no denying it. Not in any sexual or romantic way – though, would he even know? – but he likes Jaskier’s unashamed attitude, his enthusiasm and his awkwardness, his empathy. It’s been three hours and it already feels like they’ve known each other forever.

“Alright. I can do dinner.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #echo's fanfiction

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monikeroneast · 2 years ago

Photo

A getaway to the small fishing village of Ballycotton on the Eastern coast of Cork. The Cliff walk from the village to the Ballyandreen beach is flanked by green meadows on one end and the Irish, Celtic Sea and the wild Atlantic on the other. The bird trail is often frequented by people and their lovable dogs 🐕. There are a number of spots along the trail, namely Paradise, The Hut, Ballytrasna, Stone Bridge and The Hump. We got down near the waters at Ballytrasna, approximately 2 kms into the Cliff walk. The views are absolutely stunning! Do have a good pair of shoes for the walk as the trails are often muddy. Mine were literally "sole-less" and tied together using a hair band by the end of the walk 😂. The tides rise in soon enough so start early. The walk isn't a loop and one needs to get back to the village. We skipped the Pier for food. The folks at the car park area in the village often greet you as you walk past. An elderly couple were kind enough to suggest few lovely places to eat at. Do try The Schooner Tavern and B&B, Skinny's Diner Restaurant or the Seachurch Restaurant in the village. Pic Credits: @snehasampath_10 @naina_nair10 @tanishka.talekar ❤🤗 PS - It was in Ballycotton village that the MV Alta, a ghost ship got washed up on the rocks during Storm Dennis in the Atlantic in the year 2020, two years after it was abandoned. By 2022 the hull had already split in two. #ballycotton #cork #ireland #walks #trails #cliff #ocean #trips #friends (at Ballycotton Cliff Walk) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnId88YqqzR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#ballycotton #cork #ireland #walks #trails #cliff #ocean #trips #friends

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libidomechanica · 2 months ago

Text

Untitled (“But she made the bed to me, that shall well follow”)

A limerick sequence

Stanza I

Seas, and bede hym charred on me. But she made the bed to me, that shall well follow heat revives: her veil, and dig deep trenches in a rabel in armez, he kyssez.

Stanza II

While he told of cups and gay, a martial indemnification for al watz ryche: þe lest his body as he sprit forth by the swift Hebrus to the deadly wound.

Stanza III

That, from me, when by degrees: The Roman Lucrece therein Leander viewless servants puzzling frail, discuss’d, the only see him spreading the mind. My dearest pledge?

Stanza IV

She wept upon him a wand’ring, at eve, and limped down in with carp he coȝed ful clere were not curb’d to the flesh was flesh and bihinde eke. And take to breede. Of the night.

Stanza V

Likewise your wordez were radiant Sister of a stone? At vch farand fest amongst men, til hit watz he neuer, and schewed hym lyȝe þere schulde heldet hym lykez.

Stanza VI

The trees of all the kingly way? I marvel of the dinner-bell hath rung, and daffadillies and orient to sette þe sydez swyft fro þe haf wroȝt anger.

Stanza VII

For a still vnto the rest, he smiled on my lord love my Highland lassie, O. At every swain. Be still less greater for the fresh fire, till their pride that might drown all side.

Stanza VIII

With pryde, gurde with Sorrow. Why stand a world ends a bee circle, the serpent— Ha, the sofa: digestion thus. And sayde, Quat schulde helder. A straw into the sky.

Stanza IX

In well-raisde notes entendeth, which doe there was in love were but yours, the Ruddock warbled alone and plytes ful ȝerne, and now the difference use, treat thou to walk here.

Stanza X

I sawe Phoebe’s sapphire melts, and apish merriment. ’Er her a letter. Of the faithfullest bride from off each night start no mon myȝt vnder couertorez ful ryue.

Stanza XI

For hit is not: you are; likewise I have fled? For as much a chintz exceed Love, I know her burdez. Less with þe stablye, þat wyȝ vpon wodcraftez kepes, of alle.

Stanza XII

Listening, like this face con makes or fills! I pray yow, for whom grimy naked polish’d marble towre, and wash my ear; but never short or tall might down your eccho ring.

Stanza XIII

Is dry cork, and cease not Cupid his craps and love and mynstralcie boþe, a schelde hit in thy sweet posterity, whom heauenly haue bene principall. He kissed to croon.

Stanza XIV

Wherewithal. Another for he is come, for in her eyelids stretch around us spread out the Future cries, our music the solitary bard sits lonely Hell.

Stanza XV

Let our way has not dependant? A fat fen vicarage, and heralds are, most worthy to bed. To byde bale with holy fire, O heart, which made its veterans rewards!

Stanza XVI

He foundered the Lord of no rescowe. And Madeline asleep, and Music shall I thee? The scent in his cortaysye croked were of sum auenturus, oþer burne to here.

Stanza XVII

Me þinkkez. Grant mercy non vses, for true life enisled, with necks unyoked; nor is it not for ȝe haf trauayled, ’ quoþ þe fre lorde, Now, since him doth scorne to heart.

Stanza XVIII

On a Saturday in June? To knowe, ȝe kest his bulk aboute; hunteres vnhardeled bi statute of those Lovers in the hoary mountain show to the Heaven.

Stanza XIX

Which inwardly, and silver voice again; but Phillis was quite well. But I wad hae their fountain should be, as if at meridian heights, as ever things below.

Stanza XX

With all to me huge, and ay þe lappez and brings troubled rest, saving a tower. On þe morn, as if it is to be moved with blood and troubled your eccho ring.

Stanza XXI

As Juan said, Yes—no—rather—yes. For he is furious, lovely argument deserve, yet greatly scorne to hear thy voice, and kind, as in a bonke þe brode ȝatez.

Stanza XXII

Hit is superficial. The bridal car wheels round it in, for darting friend of all-judging Jove; as he passed. And then to burn in loue. Til þou me telle men foȝt.

Stanza XXIII

Who are false or not so she agreed. Thousands to themselues will enlarge, encline their eccho ring. But as Lord Henry wish’d for a minutes slowly; and her grace.

Stanza XXIV

The sweets, an’ it winna let a body be. I con not hit a fest for þe wyȝtest of death. Ah, Friend! Writing darkness forth hyȝe hode þat glemed ful wel connez.

Stanza XXV

But mad Leander rude infidel. To be run between two worlds light and moist, and didden hem þe ryche of þe londe is lyȝt and the morning down that moment too?

Stanza XXVI

And rage, danged down too. From whom she favored hat. That space, that was of scatter’d weed, of small reward. Much pypyng þer repayres; vche mon hit prayse at more than wit.

Stanza XXVII

Yet, we’ll gently o’er her this dissimulation, maybe that’s eleven. Which Pan the presence made the cause, as þay metten, loude ladyez. Would say more than catches.

Stanza XXVIII

With gresse in some divine. On her hair caught my poor soldiers stand amazed stand ye still, for you. And sing on wanton winds, as in full, right feet slippers warming Chloe.

Stanza XXIX

It irk’d him with his muthe, as ȝe wolde. My paine thou have done in her e’e? An’ thy powers of former lay to set off every sight to see them, his Jewels with the vow?

Stanza XXX

And syþen þay han mayn dintez þen any grounde greue yow no more bot snyrt hym noþyng lowe; þat oþer hales in a storm his hair the chamber, shorn of love. All ready for thee!

Stanza XXXI

And lo! It means, a Season gone. Not in your hand she’ll adore your hands and wat’ry star is blotte. And the which passes ghost at least her dead, a kingly tribute take.

Stanza XXXII

Call to me aside was—pardon crave that grows passion with us, your vows above. Too quick despaire hath this storms behind dust, like crimsin dyde in his armes embrac’d.

Stanza XXXIII

His passion makes me giddy, makes oft thy flame apparently was thine. To trust, fair creatures must have loved hills round me then, bosom’d in jollity, and drank—Young man!

Stanza XXXIV

For more a-roving by taking addition thus. Lifting up the Veil from her lot to bear on what closde withoute dabate of brest like a missal where Venus none.

Stanza XXXV

Forehead morning. Came jasper stonde hym wel semez. The squirrel’s granary is full of hopelesse rueth. Deep waters which a thing, all garland weaves a glist’ning out.

Stanza XXXVI

But she seem’d far better ha’f o’t. There apart, gathering rose and the slow poison’d and my Eccho ring. Of old! Pay to her bonie lass that the window peepes?

Stanza XXXVII

Of those part Doppelganger trying to slepe, þis morning down. Own mind thou great Voices roll in yonder mountain showers and al beuer-hwed, sturne, stif on þe buskez bylyue.

Stanza XXXVIII

Wet fingers good-bye and not avail thorough you this sweet, maggoty minus and delight before. And now þou fles for alle þo rich breþer, without lovers hate.

Stanza XXXIX

But as they died, gone to pick. And ofte al þeroute, and þou know the other person! Yet when he set he hade muche on þe launde, on a lawe, loken vnder high places.

Stanza XL

Let him off as he though unfit, he sate with þe nek, and once she will not discover the high Midsummer shining bright? So— But Fate that never wauks. I should fail.

Stanza XLI

I say Drink Me I say it to me, i’ll never learnt how to hand came many ornament, when birds sing. And I am down, her who masks and after went away.

Stanza XLII

Doth fall to thee she pours to thrust from me, and deprece your sacrificial move—all the discolored mead. ’Opera, not for, let other that dignity with power?

Stanza XLIII

Mission to be disclosed, and so ȝepe as ȝe haf þe gate, þat a haþel for þe los weldez? For nothing interesting hand upon a lea; the enamoured.

Stanza XLIV

Great priority is always be. —And to him was all think it has ever told by rings even in these, thou art Were will swell of the rising from thence.

Stanza XLV

Gaily through, though some sublime that danc’d the next December. Most worthy bidden guest. For unawares come the tears for you three fields to resist they that depth in lays.

Stanza XLVI

Ye power, which vse therein t’ave had such a Banquet order. Avian, to syringe-feed the Dorian shepherds lost but in dying the faded hierarchy!

Stanza XLVII

Somewhere he droȝ doun his compeers by night paint Woes black and so had ben aboute þe hal dor, his neck unto a miller with blushing strip with tapers use to be!

Stanza XLVIII

His jokes, recounting thus bent on the fire, with blis. With sweet posterity. But long look a ready with any of the cloud, glimpse fire and gone. Tho’ I should restore.

Stanza XLIX

Our bombers had cheapen’d it, but it seems, your soft ringlet of a lawn’s cast by winter rude! He com hider, wyȝe, þat on ray, as her body like a fin of fish.

Stanza L

No heat from cages pull the world know I bear my Highland lassie, O. When I sleep, as I am here. The debt I owe thee doth give! Looking slightly, that was that.

Stanza LI

They hurried all, maz’d, curious in each wish of my heart, my ownest own, farewell each evenings of Love. How chang’d by elves, so to be the fields to resounds from yours.

Stanza LII

When you come what to human concern? Pale grew the loud revelry, as many they play, and in the night-wandering, for speak without beauty; others doo excell.

Stanza LIII

After þe swyre, chymbled ouer his head doth restless county town, her own best alchemy—Witch, you can cause these tardy plume, that through griefs of the twisted chimney nook.

Stanza LIV

For vneþe watz lopen of his hed out nectar she requests to her ear. The kettle-drum, and as she has no eyes can see, the ioyfull day, the grassy harvest’s done.

Stanza LV

So sayde Cros Kryst mot yow defend. To þonk; he had heard Miss That or This, or Lady T’other, as hit come and his bedde behoued at þe kerre syde, rocheres þay found.

Stanza LVI

Calming its haunted for grain and out allay. And much it grieve from flowers; and atheism and rechles merþes. What, has he found lacking in the bed to me.

Stanza LVII

Of þe world another rennez, and pardon, I am halden þerinne, he bryng me to þyseluen. The love-hat relations, white towers, torches, kindling fires.

Stanza LVIII

And koyntyse of þat sale to remene. Thou never remember’d dear, the kettle- drum, and once delight and maiden virtue, or am I borne before than catches.

Stanza LIX

Thou never rue my transferr’d and bears. Mid city-noise, not, as when twas possible in one color. On bent þat doȝty, dredles, deruely þer hym wel lyked.

Stanza LX

Doe bathe youth abstain, but that had robbed us so, thus bent be not. And round the blood-shed fly, and hold them ease his brains out, and no more? Made Norman stones will be truth.

Stanza LXI

A lively heard, the very powers the sun, and look as thou art made for luf let no buzz’d whisper tell: Northward heart, Love’s mother. To keep it alway to cloud it.

Stanza LXII

And of hir fetures and of calm surprise. She snatch’d that ye do, albe it good or ill. Yet this: Once you, love. Within the love of any freke þat I haf huntes.

Stanza LXIII

In Tempe, lying on your eccho ring. Of hore okez ful selden. And seeks the spring; begin, and tears; this blest with his countenaunce, I schal not rise or fall.

Stanza LXIV

But to hymself, kachande his bow, and waited the meadow and, despise the louder comely face; she look, give me that stone. And given vp for slept in her bereft.

Stanza LXV

Much more. Those curtaining whose necke becomes such burne and couþly hym keped, boþe þe mon rynez, with their glowing cold, and rotez þat we fest watz and he crush’d, cool’d?

Stanza LXVI

In view and wash the same film over all the secrets should be sung in deepest grass, beneath their joyous days; they thinly places. The carpet—but the martyrdom.

Stanza LXVII

A park is purchase; also a lawsuit upon the law of your mirrors. Can lend you are aiming music, the daily by degree, I know that needes thou one.

Stanza LXVIII

Jokes were open, and chastity, but thou, being up, he took her home, gleaning. And laȝter myry, as wyȝ þat wone when þe dyntez sore ȝe may not for the longed.

Stanza LXIX

He was free to commemorate, should brag how the Fyfield tree, under the shepherds lost in their seasons, and kiss the silver mixed to one, passionate love is slain.

Stanza LXX

Sere segge, I say yow forȝelde. I’m going to the grave among þe castel, þer þoȝten. And never mended. He answers, las! Since all their glens, on stayneth!

Stanza LXXI

—A dove for nothing bright thy whole life may be poor—Robie and see, back’d by the conjuror play wyth derely out ȝeden, and I schal amende. Weep and carrot.

Stanza LXXII

’St thus in the two distant electrons. ’ One will stop its waving or firebombs, or fall. Could get wherein Leander lay, whose necke lyke some will of mine shall drop in.

Stanza LXXIII

Therefore, as I trowe; gawan and fayre fylyolez þat ran on race. Hit hym syȝe; hit watz blawyng of þe proude of þe same journey to the boating the frozen stream.

Stanza LXXIV

And vchone; so in the enema. Human sound exceptions to those on the deed to your body: seem’d my flames, how that straight on my chest, save the shepheards delighted.

Stanza LXXV

And heȝly of his head doth fill they be the faery-roof, made with th’abhorred shears this book this littel quile, I schal telle men foȝt. Want outwork of the dead.

Stanza LXXVI

—And so entrance the globe may I ne’er entrance hero—for what is call’d an ancient Beadsman’s fame: with many a sally. We saw the man who loves receives rain still.

Stanza LXXVII

He abideth nightly can descried. Parts of arithmetic are they repose, and cunningly tributaries; I know you not enter, healthy as tragedy.

Stanza LXXVIII

Before the your merry Larke hir mattins sings one! Let the table, and hade belt he bere þe faren, oþer burnez bysyde, bi a forȝ of a fascinating kind.

Stanza LXXIX

In the candle-light alone, where hath half als, and vnreuealed pleasure, and sparrows perched her sing then let no semblaunt be, as in furrows I behold how goodly beams.

Stanza LXXX

And sayned hym þe broun bleeaunt, enbrauded ful þik, þat pared out to you, to you, to you. To the lyric sound, and, as help me God and unawakening darkness.

Stanza LXXXI

But beware! I haf hit hym þonkkez: of such belief from myself laid understand a sad and stel to his awen chambrez with lotez þe court us nourish!

Stanza LXXXII

Now what cannot rejoice keen as grain in the grim Swiss denied. Gentlemen, esquires and majestie of sacred light, doe ye this night-gown, which sparks of infamy.

Stanza LXXXIII

The features, such worchip he wolde yow! And he ful hyȝe; wroþe wynde of þis trwe knyȝt at his spere lenþe, þe lettrure and worth we send, we owe to models of anger, strove.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #204 texts #limerick sequence

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