#ezra brownstone

[coatedinhoney]

Happy Birthday To The Twins!

The twins invited all their friends and family to the water park to celebrate their birthday on the first day of summer!

Kenya has the musical genius aspirations and gained the Music Lover trait whilst Amaya has the Best Selling Author trait with the Bookworm trait.

[reality-detective]

You won't see or hear this 👇 on your tv, in fact you probably won't see it anywhere...

The below is the first of a series on the Deep State Cabal’s Underground DUMB Tunnels used for US illegal bioweapon labs and Child Sex Trafficking, Organ and Adrenochrome Harvesting.

· On 20 Feb. 2017 Julian Assange unveiled a bombshell on Fox News Hannity, alleging that Wikileaks had hard proof that former President Barack Hussein Obama, along with his sidekick Joe Biden, operated and participated in a pedophile ring based in the White House.

· On New Year’s Day 2021 and a few weeks before the Biden fake Presidential Inauguration that was partially filmed on a Hollywood movie set, Delta Forces (under direction of President Trump) had raided Joe Biden’s 200 acre property in the Ukraine. The Military found a maze of underground chambers and tunnels that ran for miles in every direction. Bits of necrotic flesh hung from ankle and wrist shackles bolted to the walls. Seized laptops were said full of evidence of Biden’s massive international money laundering, gun/ drug running, child/human trafficking scheme – that appeared connected to other high powerful elites.

· Within this last month the recently arrested Satan worshipping Jeffrey Epstein of Hollywood, P Diddy, was exposed by his daughter Ally Carter. Ally was a survivor of pedophilia and human trafficking and she dropped a bombshell: there’s an entire network of tunnels that spans across the United States, connecting cities such as beneath the White House in Washington DC and Disney World Florida. These tunnels, Carter claims, are being used to traffic humans, mainly children.

· Since at least the end of World War II, an extensive Worldwide network of DUMB Underground Tunnels used for Child Sex Trafficking have been financed, built and run by members of the illuminati, Deep State, or Cabal using US taxpayer dollars funneled through a CIA Black budget.

· This was about child sex rings and blackmail at the highest levels of government. Evidently President George H.W. Bush orchestrated a child sex ring to blackmail Congress and top officials. It was named “Operation Brownstone” and “Operation Brownstar”.

· A secret US Military Operation trained for over a year on how to rescue what became millions of horrifically abused children from that extensive network of Underground DUMB Tunnels. It ran across the US, Canada, Mexico, South America and then throughout the World. Recent operations centered beneath major cities in New York, California, Florida, Washington DC and Disney World in Florida.

· The vast Worldwide child rescue missions was headed by President Trump, the Pentagon Pedophile Task Force, US Special Forces and Marines in cooperation with Interpol, and various nations’ special military forces. They included arrests of pedophile perpetrators and destruction of the underground tunnels and bases through bombs that caused minor earthquakes.

· The rescues began on Oct. 16 2019 when US Marines, Navy Seals and Special Forces rescued over 2,100 caged babies and children beneath the China Lake Navy facility in California. The children and teens were said to have been sexually abused, tortured and killed to collect their adrenaline.

Secret Underground Tunnels Beneath Florida! Sat. 12 Oct. 2024: EXPOSED: Secret Underground Tunnels Beneath Florida! The Hidden Network Under Ybor City You Were Never Meant to Discover.

And after hurricane Milton blew through, Ezra Cohen who has been a very accurate source posted 👇

I'm going to try to keep up with this series, and let's see what comes up about Taiwan 🤔

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Fade Into You, Chapter One: New York, New York

pairing: bookstore owner!ezra x f!reader

rating: M (talks of strange familial relationships, lots of introspection with a touch of angst, brief talks of gender identity/homelessness)

wc: 2.9k

series masterlist

You’d always dreamed of autumn in New York. There always seemed to be a special kind of magic in the air, the browning leaves melting into the brownstones lining the streets. Even in the midst of the city’s chaos and incessant bustle, the season seemed to offer its own comfort to any soul looking for it.

You couldn’t think of anyone who needed that sort of comfort more than yourself.

Grad school was never in your plans, but neither was becoming a writer. You always imagined yourself as something more practical, not because you wanted it, but because practicality had been drilled into you since you were a child. In truth, the dreams you’d buried with your girlhood were the furthest from practical.

You wanted to be a singer, a designer, an actor, a painter, even a fucking astronaut for a couple years after watching an Apollo 11 documentary at the impressionable age of thirteen. Anything that would give you an exit from the life you’d been born into, a life born with the weight of generations of struggle and hardship on its shoulders, seemed like the dream.

You’d been all set to head into an accounting program after graduating high school, satisfying your blue collar father’s dream of stability and your all-too dependent mother’s dream of raising a daughter who didn’t need to rely on a man for survival. You had burned every thought of a life filled with passion and fulfillment to make their dream come true, the guilt of being the eldest daughter outweighing your own desires. But the minute you stepped onto campus, you could feel yourself breathing in the air that they never did, the air that tasted like freedom and choice, and knew you’d let them down.

It took one semester of accounting to know that while you could spend the rest of your life doing this, you weren’t sure if you could live with yourself if you did.

The year that followed this revelation was spent trying on every hat you could.

You tried to satiate your need for adventure by consuming as much of the party life as possible, hoping that perhaps all you needed to feel okay with this sacrifice of desire was to live a little, but that only made you feel more lost. It wasn’t until you stumbled upon a creative writing class that you first felt that spark inside of you, the little kid you’d long buried clawing its way up from the ground to breathe.

You dived head first into these new waters and were surprised to find you were quite decent at it. With a professor's help, you managed to self-publish a poetry book, juvenile work at worst and promising at best, in hindsight, but it was that book that got you into the creative writing program at Columbia.

Into the autumnal magic of New York city.

It had been such a long time since you’d felt this brand new. You had no ties to anyone or anything beyond the tiny studio in Harlem that you called home, and though you weren’t absolved from feelings of loneliness, you felt a surge of confidence blossom in your chest at the thought that you could be anybody here. And so, you would.

Mid September

Needing something to do besides sitting on your bed that doubled as a couch, desk, and table, you found yourself wandering through the slowly cooling city streets. None of the trees showed any signs of preparing for the upcoming season, Central Park’s astounding green acting as a beacon as you got off the subway at 125th street.

Walking down Madison Avenue, you pretended to be cooler than you felt you were, not that any passersby would look at you long enough to notice your effort. In fact, everyone’s lack of perception or care put you at ease. To them, you were just another face in the crowd, and just another face in the crowd caused no hurt or offense, just another face in the crowd was simply that—a person, good or bad, cool or uncool. Your insignificance meant your existence wasn’t staining, and as someone who’d allowed herself to get splashed and tarnished by the colors of the outside world for so long, you never felt freer.

The sound of Mazzy Star’s Blue Light guided you down Madison Avenue much further than you anticipated you’d go, your plans of an afternoon spent in Central Park being derailed by the sudden desire to check out the Guggenheim Museum.

It was this small misdirection, this impulsive journey that led you to his bookstore, the place you’d come to frequent for an entire month before you ever learned his name.

It was a small shop on the first floor of a brownstone, it’s antique golden sign hanging over the shop door reading: Prospect Books. The building’s red brick blended in with its surroundings, leaving you to question this spark of intuition burning in your belly as your eyes fixed onto the sign, your feet slowing on their own accord until you were standing still in front of the window display, blindly staring inside. A couple—new if you had to guess solely based on one man’s chivalry and the other’s smitten smile—opening making their way out, the doorbell jingling with the swing of the wood, caused you to break free from your trance of sorts. Looking down at your phone, you figured you had plenty of time left in your afternoon to make a quick stop into this tiny relic from the past, if only just for the sake of exploration.

“Welcome in,” a voice called from somewhere in the shop, but you couldn’t spot anyone behind the checkout counter.

Rather than speaking back to air, you kept quiet and moved slowly about the room as if a movement too haste would ruin all the history these four walls carried. Finding your way to the fiction section, you finally spotted the owner of the voice that had greeted you, a young person with a jet black shag and round glasses, their smile easy and welcoming as they approached you.

“Need help finding anything?” they asked. You glanced at their name tag reading “Jay” before meeting their eyes, a friendly smile growing on your face as you shrugged your shoulders.

“No, not really looking for anything in particular,” you said. “I’m new here, so, kind of just exploring.”

“Oh, yeah? When did you get into the city?” they asked.

“Last month,” you said, earning a look of understanding from Jay.

“Well,” they said, gesturing at the room around you. “This was a great pit stop in your explorations. We have a ton of events, and I’ve actually met basically all my friends here.”

“Oh yeah?” you probed with a smile, feeling a sense of ease in their presence.

“Yeah, we actually have a couple things going on this weekend if you wanted to check them out,” they said, walking you over to the register so that they could point out the monthly calendar taped to the glass counter. “The last Friday of every month, we have a little mixer, always themed,” they said with a grin. “This month’s theme is Gothic Literature, so we’ll have all of our gothic literature for half off and free wine. Can’t go wrong.”

“That actually sounds like so much fun,” you chuckled, surprised by the way the afternoon was unfolding.

“And then on Saturday afternoons, we have our book club meeting. It’s a group of probably fifteen people, all ages, all types, very inclusive. All you have to do to join is fill out this little “Meet Me” card and purchase the book of the month, but since the month’s almost over I’d just buy it now and get a head start.”

“Well, what's next month’s book?” you asked, following them with your eyes as they jogged around the counter to the display on a table in the middle of the room, picking up a used book and handing it over to you.

“Jane Eyre,” they said. “Have you read it?”

“Oddly enough, I haven't,” you smiled, flipping through the annotated and well loved pages. “Someone sure seemed to like it.”

“Yeah, all of our books are used and scribbled on like that,” they chuckled. “The owner is this old money rich guy who works on the board of the New York Public Library, so most of the books here are either throw-outs from them or donated by the community.”

“Well, that’s a very interesting life to lead,” you chuckled. “Honestly, all of this sounds like so much fun, so…count me in.”

Jay beamed and nodded, ringing up your copy of Jane Eyre that came out to an astonishing total of $2.99.

“I think this just became my favorite place in New York,” you said as you watched them slide your new book into a paper bag before reaching behind the counter to grab your “Meet Me” card. Quickly filling out the basics: your name, age, pronouns, favorite book, favorite movie, and favorite color, you handed over a five dollar bill and moved to leave with the event calendar tucked into your paper bag, but a man walking behind you caught your eye and forced you into lingering.

He was an older guy, his hair graying in patches on his beard and in his brown curls, but he didn’t look any older than forty-something. He was wearing a vintage tee and a pair of well loved jeans, his sneakers just as scuffed. You couldn’t help but admire and fall for his casual coolness, the kind you always tried to emulate and never felt close to nailing.

“Hot date?” Jay teased the older man and earned a smile from him.

“Something like that,” he smiled, not giving you more than a blink of attention. “I’ll be back before closing.”

“Sounds good, Ezra,” Jay nodded, joining you in watching Ezra leave the shop before catching you staring a little too long. “That’s the shop owner.”

“Oh,” you managed, your eyes still locked on him as he stood in front of the building, his eyes glued to his phone as he typed a text. “Figured he’d be older.”

“Yeah, he’s a cool guy. If I hadn’t met him, I’m not sure where I’d be. He gave me this job, let me stay at one of the apartments he owns here when I was homeless…just, really cool guy,” they gushed, a sort of admiration in their eyes that had nothing to do with romance and more to do with respect. “Hopefully you’ll get to meet him properly at the mixer, he’s always there for that unless his godkid’s in town.”

“Well, I’ll be there,” you smiled, albeit bashfully. “It was really nice meeting you, Jay.”

“You too,” they lifted your “Meet Me” card and read your name off with a smile. “Don’t be a stranger!”

When Friday evening rolled around, you found yourself in a full face of makeup and dressed to the nines as some sort of vampiress, your lips stained blood red and body squeezed into a black lace corset and black jeans that left little to the imagination. You weren’t sure why you’d gotten so dolled up to go to a bookstore mixer, but figured if the handsome owner, Ezra, was going to be around, you needed to stand out.

It wasn’t until you opened the door to the shop and walked in that you realized how severely underdressed you were.

“Hey!” Jay beamed, making a beeline for you in their Frankenstein costume, their face painted green. “You actually came!”

“Everyone looks so cool,” you whispered in awe, earning a laugh. “I thought I overdid it.”

“No, there’s no overdoing it here,” they laughed before gesturing at your corset. “The corset is stunning, you’re gorgeous, let’s get you some wine. Red or white?”

“Red seems on brand for the costume,” you said, earning another laugh. “Is, uh, is the owner here?”

“I think so,” Jay said, looking around the room. “He’s dressed as The Phantom.”

“Love that,” you smiled, accepting the glass from their hands. “So, what’s, uh…what’s his deal?”

“Oh, no,” Jay laughed, shaking their head. “He’s single-ish. I’ve seen lots and lots of dates but never a long-term thing.”

“Well, rich and attractive,” you weighed your head to the side. “Why would you want to settle down?”

“I think he’s the type of person that makes a much better friend in the long run than anything else,” they said. “He used to go out with one of my friends a few years back and he said that the best moments were the ones where they were just friends. The romantic aspect of it all left a bad taste in his mouth, I guess.”

“Really?” you asked, too absorbed by Jay’s candor to notice Ezra dressed as The Phantom from The Phantom of the Opera walking past you and out of the shop with a woman dressed up as Marian Halcombe from The Woman In White until they were already outside.

“Yeah, he just…he’s not good at serious stuff. He comes from a long line of divorcee’s and doesn’t really believe that people can have successful long term romantic relationships, at least that’s what Ez told me after they split up.”

“How did you meet him again?” you probed, unsure why this man had taken such root in your mind and piqued your curiosity.

“We met when I was an art student at NYU,” they said. “I had a few pieces in an exhibition and nobody stopped for more than a second to look at my shit except for him. He offered to buy all of my art, and at that time I was female presenting so I just assumed he was a rich creep or something, but over time I realized that he’s just a lonely guy who loves to support young, queer artists in whatever way he can. After graduation, I was broke and in debt and homeless, and the minute he learned I was struggling, he offered to let me live in a studio in the building he owns next door, gave me a job here, helps me network with art dealers and galleries. Really just…has been a great friend and mentor to me. I’ll get choked up if I talk about it too much.”

You watched Jay in awe, the twinkle in their eyes as they spoke of their unique journey and this rich man that could have done what most would’ve done in his position and turned a blind eye at them, but he didn’t. You could see the respect and admiration there, and though the news that this Ezra wasn’t necessarily a great romantic partner dampened the image of him you’d drawn in your mind, the reality of his heart and intentions when it came to his friends only made you want to know him more.

“Anyways,” Jay laughed, wiping the corner of their eye. “He’s a good guy. Just, if you’re looking for romance with him—at least a lasting one—I’d forget about it and just try to get to know him as a friend. There’s really nobody like him.”

“I’m coming to realize that,” you chuckled, putting the image of him in your mind on the shelf so that you could focus on the room around you instead. “Thank you for being so friendly to me, I really like your entire vibe, Jay.”

“I like your vibe too. I think you and I are gonna be good friends,” they said with a smile. “Do you want me to introduce you to some of my friends here?”

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

After that night, you had a new set of friends, and a best friend in Jay. This group of eclectic creatives and interesting minds took up most of your time, almost to the point where you didn’t even wonder about their handsome older friend. After a couple weeks of waiting for your chance to meet the mysterious Ezra, you’d become worried that he’d disappeared into thin air, but quickly found out from Jay that he’d only left the city to go upstate and would be back by the start of October.

In the meantime, you continued to explore and try on as many hats as you could. You and the group that adopted you went out to speakeasies and art galleries, you went to museums and comedy shows; Jay even invited you to go volunteer at the women’s shelter they stayed at for a while after graduation.

It was easy to forget the life you lived before this, the faces of your family and friends blurring into the background of the tapestry of your life. You tried not to think about their opinion of you, off running wild in New York City, and while you were able to hush that voice of inherited self-doubt most of the time, you couldn’t manage to silence it when you were all alone. When it was just you in your tiny studio apartment on the third floor of an old, overpriced building, you didn’t feel as invincible as you did around your friends. The thought of becoming an imposter, of abandoning yourself, loomed over you like a constant dark cloud. It took daily reminding from Jay that you weren’t impersonating anybody but the person you felt most comfortable being.

“You’re still you, just a more you you,” they’d say.

You hoped they were right.

[frannyzooey]

Kelly!! I’m going to NY for an extended work trip and my mind is SPINNING thinking about walking around the same places birdie and ez are, the nyc magic, feeling the love in the springtime air 🥹 I can’t remember but do you have a post sharing all the locations you mentioned or thought of while writing? Would love to walk in their footsteps 💕

omgomgomgomg — you are living my DREAM 😍 I’ve often daydreamed about going back and taking a sort of “In The Dark” tour

Here is the official In The Dark Guide:

Chapter One:

NYU (Cee and Birdie's college)

The Guggenheim (Birdie's dream museum)

The Bean (the coffeeshop where Birdie and Cee eat lunch together for the first time)

Chelsea (the neighborhood Ezra's brownstone is in)

Chapter Four:

Chelsea Farmer’s Market

Strand Books (bookstore where Ezra corners Birdie)

Chapter Five:

Brighton Beach (neighborhood where Ezra scouts antiques)

Tribeca, Greenwich Village, West Harlem, Midtown (all neighborhoods)

Chapter Six:

Sofreh (Persian restaurant where Ezra celebrates his birthday, and drinks their signature cocktail: a Sekanjabin Martini)

Breads Bakery (French lunch stand in Bryant Park)

Chapter Seven:

The Library (punk bar in East Village)

Chapter Eight:

Central Park, the section along 59th and 6th, The Museum of Modern Art and La Bonne Soup (Ezra and Birdie's date weekend)

Chapter Nine:

The New York Public Library, East Wing (where Cee hides after finding out)

Chapter Ten:

The Museum of Modern Art (specifically the painting, The Dream by Henri Rousseau, which is actually also Pedro's favorite and he used to visit it a lot when he lived in NYC). Inside the museum, there is a section of windows that face a courtyard and that was where Ezra was pacing during his phone call with Birdie.

Chapter Eleven:

Hudson River Park, between 100th-125th St (cherry blossom lined paths where Ezra and Birdie walk)

The High Line (they also take walks here, you should def check this out)

Chapter Twelve:

NoMo SoHo (hotel where Ezra and Birdie spend their last night - it's gorgeous)

I think that's everything! A lot of the inspiration for this story came from just walking around the city with @krissology - the graffiti, the sounds, the endless streams of people, the architecture, the train, etc. A lot of the photos I used in my moodboards for this story were taken directly from my camera roll. ❤

If you end up going to any of these places, let me know!! I wish I could come with you and I hope you have a ton of fun! ❤

[fearsmagazine]

BROOKLYN 45 | Trailer, Poster & Images - A Shudder Original

Friday, December 27 ,1945. Five military veterans gather in the ornate parlour of a Brooklyn brownstone.

Jeremy Holm as ���Archibald Stanton”, Ron E. Rains as “Bob Sheridan”, Ezra Buzzington as “Paul DiFranco”, and Anne Ramsay as “Marla Sheridan” in Ted Geoghegan’s BROOKLYN 45. Courtesy of Shudder. A Shudder release.

Best friends since childhood, they’ve reunited to support their troubled host–but when his invitation for cocktails turns into an impromptu séance, the metaphoric ghosts of their past become all-too-literal.

Larry Fessenden as “Clive Hockstatter” and Ezra Buzzington as “Paul DiFranco” in Ted Geoghegan’s BROOKLYN 45. Courtesy of Shudder. A Shudder release.

Trapped in their host’s lounge, the Greatest Generation now finds themselves put to one final test, with their only route to freedom being more bloodshed.

Anne Ramsay as “Marla Sheridan” and Kristina Klebe as “Hildy Baumann” in Ted Geoghegan’s BROOKLYN 45. Courtesy of Shudder. A Shudder release.

BROOKLYN 45 is written & directed by Ted Geoghegan and stars Anne Ramsay, Ron E. Rains, Jeremy Holm, Larry Fessenden, Ezra Buzzington, and Kristina Klebe.

Jeremy Holm as “Archibald Stanton”, Kristina Klebe as “Hildy Baumann", Ezra Buzzington as “Paul DiFranco", Ron E. Rains as “Bob Sheridan”, and Anne Ramsay as “Marla Sheridan” in Ted Geoghegan’s BROOKLYN 45. Courtesy of Robert Patrick Stern. A Shudder Release.

BROOKLYN 45 streams on SHUDDER beginning June 9th, 2023.

[marleybosswitch]

“What? No, I haven’t read the book,” Marley grimaced. Her confession earned her an appalled look from the man she was talking to. The sweater vest he wore should have probably been her first clue that she shouldn’t have struck up a conversation with him upon spotting his Christopher Street tote bag, but she’d pushed on anyway, eager to tell him her own little funny anecdote.

She watched as he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and gave her an appraising look.

“And yet you claim that…”

“That my dog is the reason the whole of BookTok is up in arms about who the book is about,” she finished for him, sounding far too pleased with herself. 

The frown he wore only deepened further when he asked her, “What’s BookTok?”

She stared at him, suddenly too aware of the fact that this man definitely did not want to hear about the BookTok girlies and their sexy hockey romances. In fact, she doubted he wanted to hear about anything that wasn’t tragic, gay literary fiction that he could brag about having read. Which meant that the two of them were already at an impasse. Marley wrinkled her nose, bored with the turn the conversation had taken.

“Anyway, I think the book’s about the boxer. Oh look, I’m empty!” Marley said, wiggling her half-full cup of soda and giving the man a wave as she walked away.

She didn’t really know who else to talk to at the party. Truth be told, their little group was only here at the request of Jared, who liked brushing shoulders with pretentious sorts from the Village. None of the people at the party had laughed at a single one of Marley’s jokes, which was why she knew that this wasn’t her crowd. She wondered how much longer she had to endure before it was no longer considered impolite if she’d left. Ezra had already made his escape, not giving a damn about manners, and Sephy had refused to let Marley convince her to tag along in the first place.

Wandering into another room to see if there was anything to keep her entertained for the meantime, her jaw dropped in utter delight when she came across two collie pups tussling with each other.

“Oh my god, hello!” she crooned, immediately crouching down so she could greet them. She let them sniff at her fingers first of all before giving them the pets they so desperately wanted. One of them started biting at the hem of her jeans, tugging on it furiously like the piece of denim had offended him. The sight made Marley throw her head back with a laugh, the night suddenly becoming a lot more tolerable.

It only seemed to get better from there. Marley lifted her head and beamed at Jessie when she showed up.

“Hey, you!” she greeted her. She smirked at the girl’s words and nodded back to the two dogs now wrestling with each other, making happy yelping noises. “Oh, definitely the puppies!”

She relaxed into Jessie’s hold, delighting in the casual display of affection. When Jared had first introduced his girlfriend to the group, Marley had worried they wouldn’t get on. Not because she didn’t think Jessie was nice but because Ezra had informed her, with all the authority of someone who didn’t know what the fuck he was taking about, that as Jared’s “girl best friend”, Jessie would automatically feel threatened by Marley’s presence in Jared’s life. She’d thought that was fucking stupid since she’d never felt an ounce of romantic interest in Jared and not just because she knew she was a lesbian before she knew the capital city of Texas, but because he was so… Jared. He was her friend but sometimes she felt like they had no common ground. Thankfully, Jessie had been warm with her from the get-go and Marley was surprised by the easy affection the girl bestowed on her, but didn’t take it for granted.

Jessie’s lips tickled her cheek and she scrunched her face up in amusement.

“Ugh, I thought it was just me!” she said. “I mean, what twenty-five-year-old can just afford their own brownstone in Manhattan?” She looked around the room, at the high ceilings and windows and once again had to wonder what the hell kind of company Jared kept.

“Let me guess, he’s talking numbers again?” she asked, fidgeting a little in Jessie’s arms so she could look around enough to give the girl a sympathetic smile.

Jess sighed, the sound leaving her before she could think the better of it. She absently registered the side eye that Jared gave her, immersed in his own tangent as he was. He was telling the whole room a story, everyone so captivated by whatever shit he appeared to be spewing, but Jessie was bored. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her boyfriend – she did, she was sure of it! – but she couldn’t deny that he was a little... uninteresting. He was an accountant, meaning that every day he’d come home, talk to her about his day, and Jessie would be quietly imagining a world where she actually gave a shit about the things coming out of his mouth. It was tragic and cruel, she was all too aware, but she could feel her eyelids growing heavier by the minute, the soft buzz of the few glasses of wine she’d had helping ease her into a gentle lull beside him. 

Just as she’d been slowly drifting off, tucked into his side and pointedly disinterested in the looks of irritation that were being directed at her by their circle of friends, a noise from the kitchen caught her attention. Jess would recognise Marley’s laugh anywhere, and the familiar sound seemed to ground her, dragging her back to reality as she tore her gaze away from the living room and over her shoulder. She could just about see the outline of her friend’s smile, a glow so captivating that it was almost dizzying, warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of her. 

With a lazy, half-hearted peck to Jared’s cheek, Jessica pushed herself up off of the sofa, mumbling something about needing another drink, and ambled towards Marley and her party of one. She already knew that whatever was keeping the pretty blonde distracted on this side of the house was a damn sight more interesting than anything anybody else was doing, and her own presumptions were confirmed the second she rounded the corner, seeing two border collie puppies rolling around at her feet. 

“I actually don’t know what’s cuter. You or the puppies,” Jess laughed, making her presence known. 

In her usual, overly affectionate manner, she joined Marley from behind and wrapped her arms around the other girl’s waist, tucking her chin against her shoulder as she took in the sight that had kept her so amused. 

“See, this is where the real party is at,” she teased, pressing a playful kiss to the other girl’s cheek. “It’s a literal snooze-fest in there. Thanks Jay-Dog.” 

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

 *****As ALWAYS, if I have added you to the tags and you wish to be removed, just ask and I will do so immediately******

      * Warnings: SMUT (mutual masturbation, PIV sex), some plot too, comfort

      * Summary: Ezra’s recovery continues. You introduce him to a new way of living, one he cannot immediately embrace.

      * Word Count: 2800

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE* *Part SIX*        *Part SEVEN*  *Part EIGHT*

PART NINE

     Ezra spent an additional three weeks in the hospital after he’d awakened. His recovery was arduous, but his medical team remained impressed by his sheer determination. The same drive he’d shown on the cursed moon to harvest, to succeed, to survive, he showed to recover. Recover he did, working diligently with doctors and physical therapists seemingly around the clock.

    You only went back to your loft to shower and change. You had rented a cot, not dissimilar to what you’d been used to before, and you slept beside him each night. You couldn’t stop yourself from awakening several times in the night to ensure he was still there, still breathing. He’d long since been moved out of the ICU and into a room on the Med-Surg unit. He’d proceeded to charm each doctor, nurse, custodian and aide with equal amounts of wit and candor. They would make special trips to his room to sneak him his favorite treats and second helpings of his favorite meals under the guise of “needing to put weight back on.” Ezra would thank them graciously, grinning conspiratorially.  

    The first time he’d walked three laps around the unit without any assistance was the day you finally knew he was going to be okay. He was told that afternoon that he would be going home in a week. You had thrown your arms around him as he’d laughed and knocked sideways into his bedside table.

    That night, you’d crawled into his hospital bed, squeezing in beside him. You nestled yourself into his warmth, his arms reflexively winding around you to pull you closer. Ezra sighed and hummed into your hair. You’d thought him still asleep, until he whispered softly into the darkness.

    “.....Dove. Can’t wait to be home with you….” His large, warm hand rubbed up and down your back before circling around your hip, then your waist.

    “....can’t wait to be in a bed with you. A real bed.” His fingers spread, his hand coasted lazily up your abdomen and palmed your breast. Your soft gasp echoed into the dark hospital room as you arched into his palm. His fingers zeroed in on a nipple, tugging through the thin material of your tank top. You mewled, hot explosive breaths against his chest. When he craned his head down to bring his mouth to yours he kissed you slowly, deeply, his tongue darting and curling. You bit at his bottom lip and gasped into his hot, sinful mouth.

    “Ezra, you’re killing me.” You felt his lips curl wickedly upward. He began to speak to you lowly, in hoarse whispers, punctuating each thought with a nip to your throat, all the while pinching and pulling at you through the fabric of your shirt.

    “....Been dreaming of you. How you lose the ability to speak when I’m splitting you open. The sounds you make. The sounds that cunt makes when I rock into it. The way you shake when you fall apart….”

    He had nudged his knee in between your legs, and you found yourself rhythmically rocking your core against his thigh. The burning fullness between your legs was making you leak your fluids onto his skin, your clit grinding desperately onto him. You were certain he could feel you through your cotton shorts. You whimpered pitifully as he continued.

    “It’s killing you that we can’t do any more than this right now, in this bed. Anyone could walk right in, Dove.”

    He released a filthy groan against your mouth when you reached down to wrap your fingers around his hard length through his underwear.

    “Careful...be careful, darling girl. I’m not in a mood to stay demure and restrained. I sincerely encourage you to continue if you wish for this whole building to hear our intimacy.”

    “Ezra….fuck, I want you. Please, I need to touch you.”

    Ezra knocked his forehead against yours. You knew his eyes searched to catch yours in the darkness.

    “I need you to wait and be patient for me, sweetheart. When I take you next it will be in our own bed like you deserve.”

    You leaned forward and bit his shoulder through his shirt. He gave a startled gasp before chuckling darkly. You groaned in frustration.

    “I need something, anything…..s’been so long…”

    “Lie down on your cot, Dove. Touch yourself for me. I want to hear how slick you are as you get yourself off to the thought of me buried inside your sweet little cunt. Touch yourself, and I will do the same. Let us fall apart for one another until I can express my desires to you properly.”

    You barely hesitated before moving off his hospital cot to remove your shorts with shaking hands. No sooner were they discarded than you were splayed on your back on your cot, legs spread wide, wanton. You heard rustling from Ezra’s cot as he maneuvered his shorts down to free his cock. You heard the rhythmic, wet sounds as he began stroking himself in earnest.

    You moaned when your fingers dipped down to your entrance, marvelling at how soaked your slit was. Scooping your arousal with two fingers, you began to circle your hard, aching clit. The wet, sinful sounds of your aroused core reverberated through the room as your fingers circled, pressed. Your breath hitched, your hips arched off of the cot and thrust of their own accord. You both moaned and gasped into the still air.

    You could hear Ezra’s cot creaking. He was mumbling half- sentences, pausing to whimper and you could hear him stroking faster. You pictured his hips cana was as  ting up as he fisted himself.

    “Fuuuuuuuck. Fuck I’m so close. Can you hear me Ezra? I need you to hear what you’re doing to me.”

    “Divine cunt. Mine….I can smell it. Smell you….. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holyshit…”

    He stilled, screaming lowly as he reached his end. Gasping, breath hitching.

    The fingers of your other hand pushed themselves into your passage as your other hand, still circling your clit, began fast, rough. The rhythm of your hips faulted as your orgasm suddenly slammed into you. You bit your lip so hard you may have drawn blood. You gasped and groaned as you felt your cum spill out of your seizing hole and coat your hand.

    “Ohhhhh.. Oh fuck. Oh fuck…….” Your breaths melted into whimpers as your hips slowed their twitching. Finally spent, you yawned deeply and turned on your side to face Ezra.

    “Still not the same,” you whispered up into the outline of his face. “But if we ever do this again, I want to see you.”

 ***

    You got to the hospital as early as you possibly could on the morning of Ezra’s discharge. You had helped him pack what meager belongings he had the evening before to bring to your apartment. You’d cleaned every surface furiously, and adorned your balcony and interior surfaces with wildflowers and vining greenery you’d purchased from a local nursery.

    You brought with you new clothing, something comfortable and casual for him to wear, as well as a pair of loafers lined with fleece. You did not know what he preferred to wear; as well as you knew him, you’d never really seen one another in anything other than threadbare sweats or protective suits. You smiled to yourself as you thought of Ezra being able to buy himself nice clothing, of purchasing music he’d talked to you about for hours on the Green. Large, glossy hardcover books whose spines cracked when you opened them for the first time.

    You knew you still had a lot of firsts coming with Ezra. You walked into the bustling lobby and quickly found his room. Ezra was pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath. When you entered he’d immediately stopped and came to you with a wide, beautiful smile.

    “I have dreamt of this day for countless stands, sweet love,” he crooned as he wound his arms around you, crushing you to his chest. “My feet will deign not touch the earth in my haste…”

    “Slow down a bit, Ez. I brought you some clothing...I hope you don’t hate them.”

    He gazed down and you saw how his eyes shone in the early morning light. You loved him so much that your chest ached.

    “I could never hate a single thing that passes from your hands to mine, Dove. They are perfect, as are you.” He craned his head down to ghost a kiss across your parted lips. It was chaste, soft and brief, yet you still felt the jolt settling low in your belly, growing warm and tight. You had not forgotten his promise to you during that one desperate night.

    Ezra changed quickly as you waited. There was no need to excuse yourself- you’d both been through too much to be bashful. When he’d finished, he stood before you grinning with hands on his hips.

    “How do I look, Dovie?”

    “Like an angel.”

 ***

    You could tell that Ezra was overwhelmed by the bustling streets of Central. His head whipping around, unsure of what to focus on. Eyes darting, mouth set in a line. You’d grabbed his hand and led the way through undulating throngs of bodies that squeezed, nudged, jostled. Your heart ached with sympathy as you recalled the chaos of your own first experience. You knew he needed time, as you had.

   You wasted no time when you arrived at your brownstone building, briefly greeting the doorman on your way through the lobby. Confusion crossed Ezra’s face as he took in lush carpeting and the ivy that wound itself up an exposed brick wall.

    “Pray tell, who was that man at the door, Dove?”

    You giggled, pressing the button on the elevator. “That is Brice. He’s the doorman, he’s very nice.”

    His eyes were wide. “We have a doorman?”

    “I know, crazy, right?”

    You entered the elevator. As the door whooshed closed you noted apprehension on Ezra’s face. You reached out to squeeze his hand reassuringly, and his features smoothed once more when he caught your small smile.

    Soon enough you were at your door. You turned to Ezra and handed him a thick metal keycard.

    “This is yours. Try it.”

    He paused only momentarily before swiping the card. He reached out to the door handle, holding his breath. You bounced on your heels like a child, pushing him forward.

    For one of the few times in all the days you’ve known Ezra, he was speechless. He roamed slowly through the wide open foyer, basking in the natural light streaming through the windows. He reached out a hand to gingerly caress a granite countertop. He caught site of the doors to your balcony and stood before them, hands hanging motionless at his sides.

    You sidled up next to him, winding your arm through his.

    “Do you like it, Ezra?” you asked softly, looking out over the city beside him.

    Ezra turned to you, holding your eyes steadily. His hands moved down to grasp yours.

    “I could never have imagined something so grand. This hardly feels real. Truthfully, I am unsure that I did not perish on the Green…” His hands moved up your arms to cradle your face. He leaned in slowly, exhaling into the cup of your ear.

    “Show me our bedroom, Dove. It’s been long enough.”

    You grabbed his hand, pulling him behind you down the hallway. He reached out to grasp your shirt as you stumbled and bumped into walls, desperate to feel you. You assisted him as best you could, and when you entered a room easily four times the size of your former tent, you heard his gasp.

    You had spent an especially long time considering what you had wanted in a bed. It had been far too long since you’d had a proper bed, and so you spared no expense in finding the softest mattress, the sturdiest headboard. Your bed extended down an expanse of wall, covered by soft, downy blankets and piled with pillows.

    “It’s...magnificent,” he murmured, reaching down to run his hand across the silken texture of the coverings. His hand moved up to hastily push aside the pillows and pull down the blankets. He hastily disrobed, shoving his shirt up while you joined him in freeing him from his pants. You divested yourself of your own and he caught your lips in a desperate kiss as he tumbled you backward onto the bed. You rolled him onto his back and straddled him, grinding your hips against his hard, swollen length. Ezra was moaning loudly, straining up to maintain contact. Between the sinfully soft blankets and mattress at his back and the heat from your cunt as you spread your arousal on the throbbing skin of his cock. You leaned forward to capture his lips, your hands restlessly moving over his shoulders.

    “My beautiful man,” you crooned. “This is what we deserve. You are worthy of this. I need you.”

    “Then take me. Ride me, sweet girl. Bless and baptize my cock with your heavenly slick.”

    You positioned your dripping core over his head. You sank down slowly, feeling his thickness stretching you open, breaking you. You could not hold back the low moan bursting out of you as his cock reached the end of you. You stilled, after so long you had to allow yourself a moment to adjust to his size. You panted in low groans as your walls twitched and fluttered around Ezra’s incredible length.

    Ezra gazed up at you reverently, biting his lip. He whimpered when your cunt squeezed him, hands reaching out to fasten on your hips.

    “Fuck….f-fuck, sweatheart. Forgot how fucking perfect you feel. Sweet Kevva. Use me, sweet girl...take what you need.”

    You drew yourself up until he was almost out of you, keeping his head trapped in your leaking hole. Without warning you slammed your hips down. The sound that left Ezra’s mouth was feral, animalistic. You began a steady pace of lifting and dropping, eventually falling forward onto Ezra’s chest. You started babbling in between your desperate whimpers and sobs. He hit that one spot inside you in this position, you quickly discovered. It made you roll your eyes back in ecstasy, mouth hanging open between bursts of speech.

    “Hngh….oh...my...fucking Gods, so good, you feel so good how is this soo goooood…”

    Ezra met your gaze with his eyes wild, teeth gritted. He threw his head back, his hands gripping your hips as he urged you to move faster, harder, while he spoke out into the air in a broken, shaking prayer.

    “So good for me, please come for me. Come on my cock, sweet Dove, mark me, soak me before I paint this fucking perfect cunt…”

    You were covered in a sheen of sweat, movements faltering from the sustained effort of using him the way you needed. Sensing this, Ezra wrapped his arms around you and crushed your chest to his. Shifting under you, he began to piston himself into your slick, hot sex as your cries became sharp and loud. You lost the power of speech as your breath left your body in explosive gushes against the side of his straining neck. You came with a strangled scream, Ezra struggling to keep you atop him as your limbs shook and bucked of their own accord. You dimly felt the gush of your come running out of you to soak his swollen cock

    “That’s iiitt, let it happen, so good for me, taking your pleasure with me so…..deep….insideyouSHIT….” He stilled as his own orgasm crashed around the both of you, head back and groaning loud enough that his voice rattled your soul, your racing heart beating a staccato beat within your chest. You worked through your highs, your bucking hips and shaking legs slowing down incrementally. Your breath eventually slowed, and you stayed nestled against his neck as he, too, came back to himself.

    You stayed like that, with him softening inside of you, as he reached down to cover you both with a blanket. You felt limbless, untethered, so mortally sated that you did not care if the world around you was burning to the ground. You barely felt the ghost of Ezra’s lips on your forehead as you drifted out of consciousness. One word, repeated through the haze of dwindling thought was your anchor to everything around you that you had killed and bled and cried for, unbelievably real and soft and unflinchingly kind.  

    Home.

[colonialconnecticutgravestones]

This crisp brownstone marker for Nathan Woodward dated 1792 was carved by Ezra Stebbins of East Longmedow Mass.  Stebbins owned one of the East Longmedow quarried that produced a durable red sandstone that weathered far better than stone quarried further down the river like the Portland/Chatham Quarries.  Stebbins was the dominant grave carver in Central/Western Mass, particularly in the Longmeadow/Springfield area during his career from the 1760’s until the 1790’s.  Stebbins had several different design types, this style being the most common, a nonchalant almost innocent expression in the face, lobed flared wings and the crown of righteousness.  Other design types include a similar face with feathered upswept wings, and profile-type stones.  The Stebbins Shop’s popularity extended into some northern towns in Connecticut, particularly common in Somers, Tolland, Suffield, and Enfield among others, though scattered examples can be found in such towns as Woodstock, Hartford, Thompson, and even East Haddam.  Stebbins died suddenly in 1796, though his shop continued operating for another 25 years.  This stone is located in the Grant Hill burying ground in Coventry Connecticut, one of two examples of his work in the town, the other being at the Nathan Hale Cemetery.

[brutlist]

ruinaa​:

she’d never thought of being a mother until she’d met roman –– it sounds so cliche, something she’s loathe to admit, the sort of thing she’d roll her eyes at if she met herself years ago and heard this version of herself say it, how much she had allowed another person to change her. she’d spent the first part of her life looking after elliot, caring for him, tending to him, making sure he had what he needed for school, that he arrived on time, that his permission slips were signed when their own mother worked too late or forgot. she was the one who helped him move into his dormitory his freshman year of college, the one who helped him choose sheets and a comforter, a hamper for his closet, who bought the toiletries, the shower shoes, the well-deserved extravagance of a leather backpack when she and shilah were in florence for a week before his semester started. she did those things without thinking of them; they were just a part of who she was, what was expected of her. she’d never thought of it as mothering. she still doesn’t consider it so now.

but then ridley. she and roman and their conversations in the dark, the giddiness there, the possibility in it. he’d cried when she’d told him, when she’d taken another test, just to be sure. they hadn’t allowed themselves the chance to hesitate, after everything. they had pushed aside the doubt, the fear. they had felt like they deserved this, finally.

she’d expected it to be easier. naive, and a little misguided, and she’d wanted it to be different, had wanted motherhood to come to her more naturally than it actually had. ridley consumes her: his needs, his wants, how he had cried and cried and cried and now, how he only quiets when she holds him, walks him through the brownstone in the middle of the night. she’s so terrified of making a mess of this but, if she allows herself a longer moment of self-reflection, she’s terrified of being so needed, too.

“none of the books talk about this.” she laughs, feels so ridiculous. she’d read them obsessively, put post-it notes on page after page. “i mean –– i think about the times my mother disappointed me. or hurt me. and how she probably didn’t even realize it or doesn’t even think of it now. what if that happens with him one day?”

𝐠𝐨𝐝 , 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 , 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 , 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭 . something goes out with it , a niggling thorn she's jimmied loose , the crack of it thumping against the back of his tongue , and god , it shaves off pounds from the yoke . he still has those books . buried like a dead thing in a cardboard box in the dusty parts of his closet , some closet . “     you spend the rest of your life trying to make up for it.  “ the tears were the worst . none of the books ever talk about how to cope with the terrifying tears that well fat and endless at the scrunched corners of a babe's eyes who couldn't possibly be trying harder to screech itself out of it's skin , and god , who could blame it . it was thrust into life with no agenda but the one that had come before it , no language to articulate the incomprehensible confusion of becoming . heugh would be just as inconsolable . and it helped nothing to know it . the nursery was a sentence , at one terrifying time . the bigger his belly grew , the more hellish that door looked . " sometimes , we're supposed to fuck up . there's nothing we can do about it except try to be better . " that's what he'd told himself , anyway . it's funny now --- the thought of being traumatized by a child like ezra , a happy boy with a mop of golden hair , a zeal for athletics he had to have gotten from one of his fathers ; not heugh . there are instances when he will look at his son and recognize the specter of a time he'd long since put behind him --- he still struggles with that . ezra isn't winthrop . and with the grace of his mother's kind tutelage , his patron saint of panicked phone calls and bringer of reprieve as she swoops in to carry his beloved children away when the fray threatens to send heugh plummeting back into that tarry place he'd worked so hard to claw his way out of , he never would be .

his mother had never been perfect either . not even when it should have been her protecting him , instead of his child's fingers scrabbling over that gun in that drawer . " --- did something happen ? "

[that-wimpy-cowboy-doll]

Lokane: AU 5, trope 3, prompt 1

CEO!AU, meet cute, “Are you sure this is legal?”

“No - Frigga dearest, wait - ”

It was too late.  Loki’s daughter had already caught the runaway tabby in her arms, the monstrous furry creature almost as big as her, and was bouncing her way toward delivering it back to the woman who just moments ago had come running down her front steps with her hair still packed tightly into curlers.

“Oh,” she said, stunned, when Frigga lifted the squirming cat into the air in front of her.  “Oh, thank you, sweetheart, I - he just got away from me.”

Loki had caught up by now, and the moment the beast was back in its owner’s arms, took Frigga by the wrist.  He flashed the woman as charming a smile as he could, flattening the front of his suit with his free hand.  “It appears you have a bit of an escape artist on your hands.”

“I guess ‘Houdini’ would’ve been a better name than Galileo, then.”  The cat seemed to soften once it was in her grasp, purring softly as she slid a finger over the base of his head.  The woman, on the other hand, had tensed, slowly climbing her way back up the stairs that led into her brownstone.  “I’m sorry to cut my thank you short - I kind of have a meeting today - but what number are you guys?  I’ll drop off some cookies after work later.”

Frigga’s bright blue eyes turned on her father, and her small mouth formed the word cookies with the reverence of a child in worship.

“It’s no trouble, miss, really” - his daughter tugged impatiently on his sleeve - “but we’re in 1377.”

“1377,” the woman repeated, committing it to memory with a thin line in her brow.  “Got it.  Well, thank you, again, I’ll see you both later.”

Before Frigga made her way through the front doors of her school, she clung to Loki’s hip.  “Papa, can we get a cat?”

He smiled, brushing the stray strands of deep brown hair away from her forehead.  “If you promise to clean her litter and snip her claws and let her sleep in your hair.”

Frigga raised her eyebrows at him, then sternly reminded him that she was nearly nine, certainly old enough and responsible enough to scoop poop every so often and snuggle with a cat.  Loki pressed a kiss to her forehead, assured her that he’d think about it, and waved from the driver’s window as she disappeared into the school.

As it turned out, he didn’t, in fact, think much about getting her a cat until his second meeting that morning, when a familiar face, only missing the curlers and the large tabby, strolled into the room to present her grant request for a clean energy study based on stellar atmospheres.  When she saw Loki sitting between his partners Val and Ezra, a thin pink flush climbed up her neck, but she continued about her presentation with more grace, poise, and intelligence than he had in his little toe.

By the time the meeting had finished, Val and Ezra declared that it was time for a lunch break, but instead of joining them in the breakroom like he ordinarily would’ve done, Loki hung back to help his neighbor - Dr. Foster - pack her things.

“I had no idea you were an astrophysicist,” he mused, inspecting the gyroscope she’d brought with her.

“And I had no idea you were a CEO.”  She didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the small duffel bag of scientific equipment, emblazoned with the large white letters, CULVER UNIVERSITY.  “Am I allowed to ask you how I did?”

“Oh, you certainly impressed us all.  Though...I might be better persuaded after tasting those cookies I was promised.”  Dr. Foster turned to face him now with what could only be described as a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You sure that’s legal, Mr. Odinson?  Accepting a bribe to put through my grant?”

“Certainly not, Dr. Foster.  I’ll also accept you explaining how much work your Galileo is to my daughter, if you’ve got the time.”

[coatedinhoney]

Fear of Failing Tests

It's their last year of high school so Ezra has been helping the girls prepare every week but Kenya has developed a fear of failing tests.

[kindledspiritsbooks]

My Month in Books: December 2019

The Queen of Nothing - Holly Black

Power is much easier to acquire than it is to hold onto. Jude learned this lesson when she released her control over the wicked king, Cardan, in exchange for immeasurable power. Now as the exiled mortal Queen of Faerie, Jude is powerless and left reeling from Cardan’s betrayal. She bides her time determined to reclaim everything he took from her. Opportunity arrives in the form of her deceptive twin sister, Taryn, whose mortal life is in peril. Jude must risk venturing back into the treacherous Faerie Court, and confront her lingering feelings for Cardan, if she wishes to save her sister. But Elfhame is not as she left it. War is brewing. As Jude slips deep within enemy lines she becomes ensnared in the conflict’s bloody politics. And, when a dormant yet powerful curse is unleashed, panic spreads throughout the land, forcing her to choose between her ambition and her humanity…

Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson

Moving forward and backward in time, Jacqueline Woodson's taut and powerful new novel uncovers the role that history and community have played in the experiences, decisions, and relationships of these families, and in the life of the new child. As the book opens in 2001, it is the evening of sixteen-year-old Melody's coming of age ceremony in her grandparents' Brooklyn brownstone. Watched lovingly by her relatives and friends, making her entrance to the music of Prince, she wears a special custom-made dress. But the event is not without poignancy. Sixteen years earlier, that very dress was measured and sewn for a different wearer: Melody's mother, for her own ceremony-- a celebration that ultimately never took place. Unfurling the history of Melody's parents and grandparents to show how they all arrived at this moment, Woodson considers not just their ambitions and successes but also the costs, the tolls they've paid for striving to overcome expectations and escape the pull of history. As it explores sexual desire and identity, ambition, gentrification, education, class and status, and the life-altering facts of parenthood, Red at the Bone most strikingly looks at the ways in which young people must so often make long-lasting decisions about their lives--even before they have begun to figure out who they are and what they want to be.

Katherine by Anya Seton

This classic romance novel tells the true story of the love affair that changed history—that of Katherine Swynford and John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the ancestors of most of the British royal family. Set in the vibrant 14th century of Chaucer and the Black Death, the story features knights fighting in battle, serfs struggling in poverty, and the magnificent Plantagenets—Edward III, the Black Prince, and Richard II—who ruled despotically over a court rotten with intrigue. Within this era of danger and romance, John of Gaunt, the king’s son, falls passionately in love with the already married Katherine. Their well-documented affair and love persist through decades of war, adultery, murder, loneliness, and redemption. This epic novel of conflict, cruelty, and untamable love has become a classic since its first publication in 1954.

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn

Libby Day was seven when her mother and two sisters were murdered in “The Satan Sacrifice" of Kinnakee, Kansas. She survived—and famously testified that her fifteen-year-old brother, Ben, was the killer. Twenty-five years later, the Kill Club—a secret secret society obsessed with notorious crimes—locates Libby and pumps her for details. They hope to discover proof that may free Ben. Libby hopes to turn a profit off her tragic history: She’ll reconnect with the players from that night and report her findings to the club—for a fee. As Libby’s search takes her from shabby Missouri strip clubs to abandoned Oklahoma tourist towns, the unimaginable truth emerges, and Libby finds herself right back where she started—on the run from a killer.

House of Salt and Sorrow by Erin A. Craig

Annaleigh lives a sheltered life at Highmoor, a manor by the sea, with her sisters, their father, and stepmother. Once they were twelve, but loneliness fills the grand halls now that four of the girls' lives have been cut short. Each death was more tragic than the last—the plague, a plummeting fall, a drowning, a slippery plunge—and there are whispers throughout the surrounding villages that the family is cursed by the gods. Disturbed by a series of ghostly visions, Annaleigh becomes increasingly suspicious that the deaths were no accidents. Her sisters have been sneaking out every night to attend glittering balls, dancing until dawn in silk gowns and shimmering slippers, and Annaleigh isn't sure whether to try to stop them or to join their forbidden trysts. Because who—or what—are they really dancing with? When Annaleigh's involvement with a mysterious stranger who has secrets of his own intensifies, it's a race to unravel the darkness that has fallen over her family—before it claims her next.

Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane

A profoundly moving novel about two neighboring families in a suburban town, the bond between their children, a tragedy that reverberates over four decades, the daily intimacies of marriage, and the power of forgiveness. Francis Gleeson and Brian Stanhope, two rookie cops in the NYPD, live next door to each other outside the city. What happens behind closed doors in both houses—the loneliness of Francis’s wife, Lena, and the instability of Brian’s wife, Anne—sets the stage for the explosive events to come. Ask Again, Yes is a deeply affecting exploration of the lifelong friendship and love that blossoms between Francis and Lena’s daughter, Kate, and Brian and Anne’s son, Peter. Luminous, heartbreaking, and redemptive, Ask Again, Yes reveals the way childhood memories change when viewed from the distance of adulthood—villains lose their menace and those who appeared innocent seem less so. Kate and Peter’s love story, while tested by echoes from the past, is marked by tenderness, generosity, and grace.

Well Met by Jen DeLuca

All's faire in love and war for two sworn enemies who indulge in a harmless flirtation in a laugh-out-loud rom-com from debut author, Jen DeLuca. Emily knew there would be strings attached when she relocated to the small town of Willow Creek, Maryland, for the summer to help her sister recover from an accident, but who could anticipate getting roped into volunteering for the local Renaissance Faire alongside her teenaged niece? Or that the irritating and inscrutable schoolteacher in charge of the volunteers would be so annoying that she finds it impossible to stop thinking about him? The faire is Simon's family legacy and from the start he makes clear he doesn't have time for Emily's lighthearted approach to life, her oddball Shakespeare conspiracy theories, or her endless suggestions for new acts to shake things up. Yet on the faire grounds he becomes a different person, flirting freely with Emily when she's in her revealing wench's costume. But is this attraction real, or just part of the characters they're portraying? This summer was only ever supposed to be a pit stop on the way to somewhere else for Emily, but soon she can't seem to shake the fantasy of establishing something more with Simon, or a permanent home of her own in Willow Creek.

Oh My God, What a Complete Aisling by Emer McLysaght and Sarah Breen

Aisling is twenty-eight and she’s a complete ... Aisling. She lives at home in Ballygobbard (or Ballygobackwards, as some gas tickets call it) with her parents and commutes to her good job at PensionsPlus in Dublin.

Aisling goes out every Saturday night with her best friend Majella, who is a bit of a hames (she’s lost two phones already this year – Aisling has never lost a phone).

Aisling spends two nights a week at her boyfriend John’s. He’s from down home and was kiss number seventeen at her twenty-first.

But Aisling wants more. She wants the ring on her finger. She wants the hen with the willy straws. She wants out of her parents’ house, although she’d miss Mammy turning on the electric blanket like clockwork and Daddy taking her car 'out for a spin' and bringing it back full of petrol.

When a week in Tenerife with John doesn’t end with the expected engagement, Aisling calls a halt to things and soon she has surprised herself and everyone else by agreeing to move into a three-bed in Portobello with stylish Sadhbh from HR and her friend, the mysterious Elaine.

Newly single and relocated to the big city, life is about to change utterly for this wonderful, strong, surprising and funny girl, who just happens to be a complete Aisling.

Emer McLysaght and Sarah Breen, the creators of the much-loved Aisling character and the popular Facebook page 'Oh My God, What a Complete Aisling', bring Aisling to life in their novel about the quintessential country girl in the big smoke.

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

Far beneath the surface of the earth, upon the shores of the Starless Sea, there is a labyrinthine collection of tunnels and rooms filled with stories. The entryways that lead to this sanctuary are often hidden, sometimes on forest floors, sometimes in private homes, sometimes in plain sight. But those who seek will find. Their doors have been waiting for them. Zachary Ezra Rawlins is searching for his door, though he does not know it. He follows a silent siren song, an inexplicable knowledge that he is meant for another place. When he discovers a mysterious book in the stacks of his campus library he begins to read, entranced by tales of lovelorn prisoners, lost cities, and nameless acolytes. Suddenly a turn of the page brings Zachary to a story from his own childhood impossibly written in this book that is older than he is. A bee, a key, and a sword emblazoned on the book lead Zachary to two people who will change the course of his life: Mirabel, a fierce, pink-haired painter, and Dorian, a handsome, barefoot man with shifting alliances. These strangers guide Zachary through masquerade party dances and whispered back room stories to the headquarters of a secret society where doorknobs hang from ribbons, and finally through a door conjured from paint to the place he has always yearned for. Amid twisting tunnels filled with books, gilded ballrooms, and wine-dark shores Zachary falls into an intoxicating world soaked in romance and mystery. But a battle is raging over the fate of this place and though there are those who would willingly sacrifice everything to protect it, there are just as many intent on its destruction. As Zachary, Mirabel, and Dorian venture deeper into the space and its histories and myths, searching for answers and each other, a timeless love story unspools, casting a spell of pirates, painters, lovers, liars, and ships that sail upon a Starless Sea. 

The Swallows by Lisa Lutz

What do you love? What do you hate? What do you want? It starts with this simple writing prompt from Alex Witt, Stonebridge Academy's new creative writing teacher. When the students' answers raise disturbing questions of their own, Ms. Witt knows there's more going on the school than the faculty wants to see. She soon learns about The Ten--the students at the top of the school's social hierarchy--as well as their connection to something called The Darkroom. Ms. Witt can't remain a passive observer. She finds the few girls who've started to question the school's "boys will be boys" attitude and incites a resistance that quickly becomes a movement. But just as it gains momentum, she also attracts the attention of an unknown enemy who knows a little too much about her--including what brought her to Stonebridge in the first place. Meanwhile, Gemma, a defiant senior, has been plotting her attack for years, waiting for the right moment. Shy loner Norman hates his role in the Darkroom, but can't find the courage to fight back until he makes an unlikely alliance. And then there's Finn Ford, an English teacher with a shady reputation who keeps one eye on his literary ambitions and one on Ms. Witt. As the school's secrets begin to trickle out, a boys-versus-girls skirmish turns into an all-out war, with deeply personal--and potentially fatal--consequences for everyone involved. Lisa Lutz's blistering, timely tale shows us what can happen when silence wins out over decency for too long--and why the scariest threat of all might be the idea that sooner or later, girls will be girls.

[clayology]

send  🛩  for  your muse  to  surprise  mine  by  making  it  home  for  the  holidays . - from Phi

Clay had caught the last flight he could from California, had someone managed to get the last rental car at the airport, loaded it down with his bags and presents and had driven three hours from the only airport he could get a flight into.

He’d somehow managed to find a spot in front of the brownstone and headed inside, aware of how late it was and the fact that the whole house was probalby asleep.  Ezra had arrived just in time to keep Ophelia occupied while he’d gone on his last minute trip but ... he was home now.

Clay dropped his bags in the front entry, stepped into the living room ... and smiled when he saw Ophelia asleep on the couch.

[essexcttour]

19. The Connecticut River Museum. The old Steamboat Dock in Essex was built in 1878 by Phoebe Hayden, widow of William S. Hayden. Originally a warehouse and general store, the building has been used for various purposes over the years. In 1944, it was acquired by the Lovell family, owners of the nearby Griswold Inn, who put a restaurant on the second floor. The Steam Boat Dock served the Ely-Lyme ferry. After they sold the building in 1962, it began to fall into disrepair, but was eventually saved and converted to become home to the Connecticut River Museum.

Town Dock: Moored at the Town Dock is the a replica of the Onrust, Dutch for “unrest” or “restless” built by Adriaen Block in 1614. Site of Essex Elly’s Ferry to Lyme, CT.

20. Hayden Chandlery. 1813. Captain Richard Hayden‘s Chandlery in Essex was built in 1813 and originally stood at the corner of Main Street and Novelty Lane. Constructed in the Federal style, it served as a chandlery (a store selling supplies and equipment for seamen and ships). Built next to Hayden‘s shipyard, the building continued to be used as ship’s store, although by the early twentieth century the upper floor housed a tenement. The first floor windows and the projecting windows on the second floor are later additions. The building was moved to its present location in 1949 by the then owners of the Griswold Inn and placed on a more modern foundation. The chandlery and nearby steamboat dock warehouse were purchased by the Connecticut River Foundation in 1974, in order to preserve the historic waterfront. Renamed the Connecticut River Museum, the institution restored the chandlery in 1975 to display exhibits. Thomas A. Stevens, a former director of Mystic Seaport, died in 1982 and left his library to the museum. That same year, the warehouse had been converted into a museum building and the chandlery was again renovated, this time to hold the Thomas A. Stevens maritime research library.

21. The Oliver Cromwell ship. On June 13, 1776, the ship Oliver Cromwell, built by Uriah Hayden, was launched in Essex. The ship was one of the largest full-rigged ships built for the state after the establishment of Connecticut’s navy. The Navy was formed after the start of the American Revolutionary War in July of 1775 when the Connecticut General Assembly authorized Governor Jonathan Trumbull and the Council of Safety to purchase and outfit two armed vessels. The General Assembly later authorized the purchase of more ships including the construction of the Oliver Cromwell. All of the ships of the Connecticut Navy were captured or destroyed by 1779. The Oliver Cromwell, in its service to the Navy, captured nine British ships, the first being the brig Honour, before it was itself captured in July 1779 off Sandy Hook by three British ships and a brig after a two-hour battle.

22. Robert Lay House. Built in 1730 on land homesteaded since 1648, it is one of the oldest surviving houses in Essex. The estate was broken up in 1820. It is now owned by the Connecticut River Museum. The Lay wharf was to the North west. Once known as the beehive because of the large number of rented rooms, the house has been restored and is now part of the River museum complex.

23. Commercial building. 53 Main Street. Dates back to 1720, according to Town list.

24. Parking lot. Former site of Old Red Balloon building, Guy C. Wigan’s studio?

25. Thomas Millard Homestead. Thomas, a ship figurehead carver from New York City built this smaller gambrel style house in 1802; it is one of three houses he built on lower Main. Now part of Griswold Inn complex and home to a coffee shop.

26. Timothy Starkey, Jr.’s house, now part of the Griswold Inn complex, was built in 1800, when he leased land from Samuel Lay to build his home on the corner of Main Street and Ferry Street (the latter street being laid out in the 1820s, after the house was constructed). Starkey later bought the land and property extending along Main Street to the wharf, developed Pratt Street and was involved in various business ventures. Timothy Starkey married his cousin, Mary Ann Hayden, a daughter of Uriah Hayden. Starkey owned the Hayden-Starkey Store with his brothers-in-law, Samuel Hayden and Ebenezer Hayden II. Timothy’s brother, Felix Starkey, lived next door to him and married Esther Hayden, who was also a daughter of Uriah Hayden. The house later passed to Timothy’s daughter, Phoebe, who had married William S. Hayden. The house remained in the family until 1974 and is is now used for businesses.

27. The gambrel-roofed saltbox house at 43 Main Street, facing toward Ferry Street in Essex, was built in 1801 by Ephraim Bound. In 1828, it was purchased by Timothy Starkey, Jr. (he lived next door), who erected a store connected to the house and at a right angle from its northeast corner. The store was operated by Starkey’s son-in-law Joseph Ellsworth and then by a grandson, Timothy Starkey Hayden. The Hayden family occupied the house until 1926. The original store, destroyed in the 1920s, was replaced by a new commercial building in the 1960s.

28. Thomas Millard house, 41 Main Street. The original structure dates back to 1805 when it was Millards house and workshop. Architectural changes were made in the 19th century and it housed attorneys offices and Essex Town offices.

29. George Jewett House. Built by Thomas Millard in 1803, the house became the residence of Jewett in 1814. Jewett commanded the Potopaug militia. Jewett, a Mason, is thought to have cut a deal with Captain Richard Coote, Commander of the British invading troops, who was also a Mason. The deal is thought to be that the militia would not engage, if the British spared the town and people. Jewett left town one year later.

30. Dr Ezra Mather house, federal style, was built on Lay land in 2815 and housed the village doctor. Shown in top photo of the blog.

31. The house at 29 Main Street, 1850. A few doors down from the home of Dr. Ezra Mather, on Main Street in Essex, is a house he had built for his son, Mortimer Mather. The 1870 house is a late example of the Greek Revival style.

32. The house at 35 Main Street in Essex was originally built in the late eighteenth century with a gambrel roof. It was enlarged sometime before 1810 by builder Thomas Millard, likely for the newlyweds, Nathaniel Wilson and Temperance Lay. It has been converted into offices.

33. Ezra Clark Homestead. The small house at the front was constructed by Ezra in 1827 on what was an animal pound. It existed as a tenement house in the early part of the 20th century until it was purchased by Robert Carter, an architect who renovated it and built the large rear ell.

34. St. John’s Episcopal Church. Built in 1894 in the Richardson Gothic style, of Portland Brownstone. The congregation itself was originally housed in a church in Centerbrook, where the Witch hazel building now stands. The congregation then moved to Prospect street, where our Lady of Sorrows now stands. The church was largely financed by the Haydens, who later donated the Rectory house. The deed shows that the original Main Street formed an ell, following the course of what is now Pratt street and Cross Street.

35. Shailer Store.

36. 21 thru 1 Main Street buildings was the site of the first rope walk. The buildings and homes were constructed circa 1820 onwards, reflecting the commercial growth of Potopaug point. Construction in this section accelerated after the War of 1812. Their siting reflected the relocation of Main Street itself, which had roughly followed Cross Street and roughly parallel to what is now Pratt Street.

37. Black Seal. This building was once operated by the Mack family as the Thelma theatre showing silent pictures.

38. Prentice Pendleton, originally from Middlebury Vermont, built a house in 1819-1820 on Main Street in Essex. He had married Almira Pratt of Essex, but sold the house after her death in 1826. It was later owned by Captain Cornelius Doane. Part owner of the ship Cotton Planter, Capt. Doane was a pioneer in the Mobile packet and cotton trade. In the 1850s, he turned his attention from the declining shipping industry to the commercial development of Essex, where he became president of the Saybrook Bank in Essex. Starting in the later nineteenth century, Main Street in Essex began to develop as a retail area and the Doane House was owned by several local businessmen. In the twentieth century, a small store was attached to the house on the east.

39. The old Post Office was located here until 1922. Other business include the Burrows Store.

40. Essex Banks. These two institutions were founded within three years of each other in 1848 and 1851, as the Saybrook bank and the Essex Savings Bank.

40. 1 Main Street. Built 1880 and housed the Hall’s Store.

41. Essex Square. Shoreline Electric Railroad Company, started service from Old Saybrook in 1910, routed through Essex Main Street, and extended up North Main Street, past the Dickinson Offices. The trolley line extended north and west through Centerbrook, Ivoryton, Deep River, and Chester.

42. The Talbots building and adjacent buildings were once the Benjamin William Jr. Homestead, 1814. Originally there was a small two story house at the top of the old rope walk. In 1925, the Essex Square Theatre was built, to present motion pictures and house offices in the rear.

43. 3 & 5 Essex Square. Miner Block; Samuel Ingersoll Building; Benjamin Williams Jr. House. The two buildings facing the square have housed Essex pharmacy, an Oyster House and other businesses. A large structure for its time, it was built as a store complex in 1835 by Elias Redfield and joint owned by Elias Parmalee in 1842. Albert Miner purchased the business property in 1871, and built an elegant house behind it on Prospect Street. Thus, the commercial structure was known as "Miner's Block," the site of the 1874 oyster house. Miner took on a clerk named Charles Mather, who later became his son-in-law and took over the business as Mather's Store through the early part of the 20th century, specializing in hardware and appliances, later becoming an early home of Essex Hardware. The upper floors of the multi-level structure saw a number of uses come and go, such as a school room, various apartments and for decades, the third floor served as the meeting hall of the local Odd Fellows chapter and the Freemasons.

44. On North Main Street is the Arkin Block, built by Jacob Arkin, 1919, at one time housed a grocery store and other shops.

45. Farnham Parmalee house. 12 North Main Street in Essex, was originally located about 150 feet south of its current location. Built by Farnham Parmelee in 1818, it was purchased by Jacob Arkin in 1919, who moved it to make way for the Arkin Block, a brick commercial building.

46. site of second Ropewalk.

47. After the second ropewalk was destroyed by fire, this commercial building was moved to this location. It has housed several businesses, including a shoemaker, flower shop, and clothing store.

48. Baptist Church Conference Hall, 1837. This building was built just below the brick Baptist House on Prospect Street. When destroyed the local Point school, located where the Essex Savings bank now stands was mysteriously destroyed by a gunpowder explosion, the Baptists sold the building to the Town to house the school in 1845. It operated as a school until 1910. This is now the home of the Essex Art Association.

49. Samuel Lay House. Built in 1754 by Samuel Lay, the son of Robert Lay, Jr., the house at 17 North Main Street in Essex was altered the nineteenth century to conform to the popularity of the Greek Revival style. In 1924, the house was purchased and again altered by E.E. Dickinson, Jr.

50. Smith-Dickinson House. In 1841-1842, Charles Whitmore Smith, a merchant, built a Greek Revival house on North Street in Essex. In 1888, the house was purchased by Edward E. Dickinson, whose E.E. Dickinson Company dominated the nation’s production of witch hazel. The company was started in 1866, when Rev. Thomas Newton Dickinson saw an opportunity to bring the benefits of witch hazel to the general public. Born and raised in New England, Thomas Dickinson understood the powerful healing properties of the native plant, which was used by Native Americans. He opened his first distillery, bottling witch hazel in Essex Village on Prospect Street.

E.E. Dickinson wintered in Florida, where the wealthy community of Palm Beach was being developed at the time. In 1927, Dickinson enlarged and remodeled his house in Essex to resemble Whitehall, Henry Flagler’s famous mansion in Palm Beach. The house was owned by the Dickinson family from 1888 to 1971. It was originally built in the Greek Revival style, with a one story porch wrapping around the front. In 1927, the house was dramatically enlarged. The immediately adjacent Braddock property was demolished to allow for the expansion of the house. The columns were added and garage areas were added.

52. Walcott Pratt Homestead. Opposite the Dickinson Mansion. Once all Lay land, this house was built in 1796, when Wilco’s Pratt married Wolcott Pratt.

53. E.E. Dickinson offices. In 1865, the land and a store located here was purchased by the Dickinson Family. The store was moved to Plains road in 1925, and the current Dickinson Office building was built by E.E. Between 1898 and 1902, the storage (and bottling) building was built by the railroad depot in Centerbrook, and the brick factory on the other side of the tracks was purchased.  His son, E. E. Dickinson, Sr., succeeded him, and was responsible for the huge growth of the company.  By 1914, there were more than 6,000 barrels of witch hazel stored in Essex. Photos of 1911 show the trolley tracks running past the old office.

54. Next to it are the Dickinson garages, 1925 The family owned much of the land on North Main, including well past the River View cemetery, and including the cemetery itself.

Dickinson Park.

[50yearsoftop40]

My 40 favorite Top 40 singles of 1995 (spotify link)

All these songs hit the Billboard Top 40 for the first time in 1995. Or rather, in an issue of Billboard with a 1995 street date. Close enough.

YouTube links below:

Brownstone, “If You Love Me” (1/7, #8) Sheryl Crow, “Strong Enough” (1/28, #5) Notorious B.I.G., “Big Poppa” (1/28, #6) Oasis, “Live Forever” (2/4, #39)* Changing Faces, “Foolin’ Around” (2/4, #38) Brandy, “Baby” (2/11, #4) Dionne Farris, “I Know” (2/11, #4) Adina Howard, “Freak Like Me” (2/25, #2) Montell Jordan, “This Is How We Do It” (3/11, #1) Nirvana, “The Man Who Sold The World” (3/11, #39)* 2Pac, “Dear Mama” (3/11, #9) Bush, “Everything Zen” (3/18, #40)* Craig Mack, “Get Down” (3/18, #38) The Cranberries, “Ode To My Family” (4/15, #39)* Annie Lennox, “No More ‘I Love You’s’” (4/15, #23) Method Man featuring Mary J Blige, “I’ll Be There For You/You’re All I Need To Get By” (5/13, #3) Monica, “Don’t Take It Personal (Just One Of Dem Days)” (5/13, #2) Blues Traveler, “Run-Around” (5/20, #8) Collective Soul, “December” (6/3, #20) Naughty By Nature, “Feel Me Flow” (6/24, #17) U2, “Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me” (6/24, #16) Better Than Ezra, “Good” (7/1, #30) Alanis Morissette, “You Oughta Know” (7/1, #13)* Live, “All Over You” (7/8, #33)* Seal, “Kiss From A Rose” (7/8, #1) Green Day, “J.A.R.” (7/8, #22)* Skee-Lo, “I Wish” (7/29, #13) Gin Blossoms, “Til I Hear It From You” (8/5, #8)** Montell Jordan, “Somethin’ 4 Da Honeyz” (8/19, #21) Take That, “Back For Good” (9/2, #7) The Presidents Of The United States Of America, “Lump” (9/16, #21)* Groove Theory, “Tell Me” (9/23, #5) Mariah Carey, “Fantasy” (9/30, #1) Dave Matthews Band, “Ants Marching” (9/30, #21)* Bush, “Comedown” (10/14, #30) Edwyn Collins, “A Girl Like  You” (11/14, #32) Everything But The Girl, “Missing” (11/11, #2) Smashing Pumpkins, “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” (11/11, #22) Goodie Mob, “Cell Therapy” (11/18, #39) Blues Traveler, “Hook” (12/30, #23)

*airplay chart peak, not released as a physical single **airplay chart peak in ’95, reached #11 as a double a-side in ’96

[beanarie]

wip meme: glance, hold, invite

He glances at Silver, who isn’t focused on muchbesides his struggle to move forward, then departs with a nod. 

Three uniform units outside the brownstone. An untold amount of people in his house. His partner and daughter not in view. None of the officers are recognizable at first glance. 

~

She withdraws her hand, but he knows instantlythat she isn’t done so he decides to hold off on the sigh of relief.

Miranda’s delicate hand takes desperate hold of the front of his shirt, nearly choking him, and he sees that he was wrong.

~

“Absolutely not.” Betty tugs Brucecloser. “Our friend is not invited.”

Ezra backed out of the doorway and spread hishand toward the kitchen in invitation.