#rosewood cast

[hollywoodoutbreak]

There are only two actors who have appeared in all four of the Beverly Hills Cop movies, including the new Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F. One, of course, is Eddie Murphy. After all, what would the franchise be without him? The other is Judge Reinhold, who plays Billy Rosewood, the detective with whom Axel Foley was originally paired in the first film and who has, over time, become a trusted friend. That would make Reinhold the "buddy" in the "buddy cop" genre that has defined the franchise, and Reinhold said that's been a big part of what has made the movies -- and especially the 1984 original -- so special.

Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F is currently streaming on Netflix.

[aberooski]

The thing about Harrington that I hate the most, apart from him just kinda claiming Alexis is his girl and getting mad at Jaden literally just for talking to her when they are literally friends, is that he's voiced by Jason Griffith so he and Atticus have the EXACT same voice.

Like if I don't constantly look at the screen and actually see that it's Harrington talking, when he talks my brain just assumes it's Atticus talking and it sounds like it's her brother who's in love with her this episode and I haaaaaaaaaate it 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[sabrinatheteenagewitchsworld]

012 rosewood

[ur-mag]

So Long Rosewood! See What the 'Pretty Little Liars' Cast Is Up to Now | In Trend Today

So Long Rosewood! See What the ‘Pretty Little Liars’ Cast Is Up to Now Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[jackalopesao3]

HCs For What The Obey Me Cast Smell Like 🌹🌼

Characters: everyone that has had a face reveal

This has been in my drafts for over a year. I finally finished it. Enjoy!

Lucifer

A cologne with a signature mix of fresh scents with some notes of leather. When he’s tired, he’ll occasionally switch to a cool cologne with minty notes to perk himself up. There’s also a faint aroma of tea or coffee in him depending on what he’s brewing to stay awake to burn the midnight oil to finish his endless work.

Mammon

Money Hmmm…a luxury cologne for sure! We all know he has a taste for high end items. I think he’d go for an old school fragrance, maybe something citrusy with a hint of tobacco.

Leviathan

Say it with me: Axe Body Spray

When Asmodeus yeets his axe into the void like the good little brother he is, he will gift Leviathan with cologne he thinks he will like. This means anything that comes in an anime-style container. So Leviathan’s scent will vary.

Satan

New book smell, old book smell, catnip - it depends on what he’s up to. I don’t doubt for one second he always has at least one pouch of catnip on him. He probably has some nice cologne too courtesy of Asmo or his various connections in his social circles.

Asmodeus

He likes to burn vanilla, sandalwood, and amber scented candles and incense so he has those scents on him. Asmo also has a variety of colognes and perfumes so his scent changes almost daily.

Beelzebub

Beel could smell like the most heavenly cupcakes ever baked or the greasiest burger ever fried. It all depends on what he just ate. Because of how much the boy eats he tends to smell like the food he ate.

No one is to give him food-scented cologne because he will just eat the bottle. He uses neutralizing scents to bathe so the scents don’t get in the way of him enjoying his food later.

Belphegor

Fabric softener with notes of lavender. He needs the softest of sheets with the most relaxing scent possible. Sometimes he’ll opt to use a lavender and eucalyptus scented pillow mist too so that scent will cling to him.

Diavolo

A woody cologne to go along with his naturally smoky scent from his constant use of fire magic. Sometimes he changes it up with warm scents like cinnamon and ginger or something lively like citrus.

Barbatos

If he were to wear cologne at all it would be something very subtle with notes of bergamot that closely matches earl grey tea. The notes are calming yet revitalizing at the same time. Sometimes it’s whatever pastries he’s just baked. He smells sweet and warm. Barbatos can also smell very clean like tea tree oil with notes of mint. It just depends on what he’s doing at the time.

Simeon

Most mornings he smells like pancakes since he’s constantly making them for Luke. Simeon also likes refreshing scents with minty notes or anything with an “ocean” or “sea” label as it helps him to relax and focus on writing.

Solomon

He is constantly burning sage, patchouli, nag champa, or frankincense to cover up the smell of his various potions and experiments so he smells like an incense hippie shop. (I highly approve btw!)

BUT I could also see this weirdo quickly spritzing Old Spice on himself as well.

Luke

Little angel baby bakes a lot so he smells sweet with notes of whatever it is that he’s baking or like the pancakes he loves to eat!

Thirteen

It depends on her mood! Some days it’s strawberries like her favorite strawberry shampoo and body wash. Other days she goes for something different like amber or a floral scent.

Mephistopheles

On days he pulls all nighters working on the newspaper, coffee: black, medium roast. Besides that he wears a posh cologne brand with notes of rosewood and tobacco.

Raphael

Pine trees and woody notes with a hint of spice. Is it cologne, his body wash, or his natural scent? You’ll have to ask him!

[inkykeiji]

character: fyodor x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, bratty reader, toxic relationship, impact play: caning, blood, physical abuse (fyodor breaks one of reader’s bones), jealousy (feat. nikolai), princess used as a pet name, reader does not know russian or ukrainian, size difference (fyodor is bigger than reader), one instance of Sir

words: 2.7k

You’re getting restless, he can tell; can see it in the way you’re running your index finger along the spines of the old, crumbling books as you listlessly pace around the library, collecting dust on your fingertip; can hear it in the way you sigh, soft and delicate, wistful and weary, shoulders deflating a little with the exhale. 

Bratty and bored, that’s what you are, casting longing side glances at your Daddy from the corners of your eyes, desperate and hopeful for him to take notice of you, of your current state, and relieve you of it. Bratty and bored, but brats don’t get Daddy’s attention, especially not when they know he’s busy. 

He wonders how long you’ll hold out before you succumb, how long you can reign in your inherent selfish and spoiled nature before the restraints finally snap beneath your yearning for attention.

Not very long, he wagers. 

“Nikki,” you whine a mere moment after the thought passes through Fyodor’s mind, the nickname stringy and drawn out.

“Yes, princess?” Nikolai responds without tearing his gaze from the pages of his book. 

“I’m bored,” you grumble with a pout, sauntering over to the plush armchair Nikolai is snuggled in and perching on the edge, ass and thigh pressed up against his resting forearm. 

The action surprises him slightly and he looks up at you, a question lingering in his mismatched eyes. 

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “So I came to see what you were reading,” you continue as a way of explanation, leaning forward under the guise of getting a better view of the book between his palms, swelling breasts—perky and practically spilling out from that slutty milkmaid dress Fyodor loves so much—pressing into Nikolai’s cheek as you do so. 

The curiosity on his face develops into something wicked, eyes darkening and smile furling in on itself as he casts you another glance.

Oh, he knows exactly what you’re doing. 

Holding out the book further, he leans into your chest, nuzzling your bosom ever-so-slightly. 

“It’s called Evenings on a Farm near Dikanka,” he says. “You can read it with me, if you’d like.”

“I can’t read Russian, though,” you frown, sounding as if you’re genuinely disappointed.

With a shake of his head, Nikolai laughs gently, the melody both fond and condescending.

“It’s not Russian,” he says. “It’s Ukrainian.”

At your lost look—eyes widened, brows wrinkled, head tilted, so precious, so pathetic, like a stupid little puppy—he laughs again, releasing a corner of the book and holding his arm out, welcoming you into his lap. “Here,” he beckons, nodding his head a little in indication. “I’ll read it to you, then.”

Holding his stare, you hesitate for a moment, as if you’re weighing your options, carefully considering your choices and determining which packs the most heft, the most hurt. 

Then you’re settling onto his lap a moment later, a little palm planted high on his thigh as you lean forward, scanning the page. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, resting the hinges of his jaw on your body, his back pressed flush to yours. When he speaks again, you can feel his voice vibrate against his ribs. 

At the commotion, Fyodor looks up from his rosewood desk across the room, pen hovering above his papers as he observes, dripping splotches of ink across the page.

Nikolai’s murmuring to you, slowly, softly, lips grazing the cartilage of your ear as he reads, too low for Fyodor to make out the words flowing from his mouth. 

But he doubts Nikolai is actually reading to you, your sweet little giggles and bashful fluttering lashes telling him as much, Nikolai nosing along your jaw as his lips continue to move, the ghost of a smirk playing with the corners of his mouth. 

And, for a little while, Fyodor allows it to continue, jaw flexing infinitesimally with every hushed sound you emit, nostrils twitching, on the verge of flaring with each calculated exhale. 

For a little while, he’s alright; for a while, he can handle it. 

But you all knew it wouldn’t last long. 

A little squeal breaks in your throat in response to something Nikolai’s done or said, chest hunching in on itself only stopped by Nikolai’s large hands on your waist, fingers splayed wide and keeping you upright, so long they’re overlaying your ribs, thumbs just beneath your breasts.

And that’s all it takes, really.  

The sound of wood scraping wood has your body snapping into action, a switch flipped—automatic, inherent—and you slip from Nikolai’s grasp easily, flitting out the door with the grace of a single dove feather. 

Echos of your bare feet slapping against marble fill the wide hallways, tangled with breathless bubbles of laughter and the muted stomp of his rubber soles against the pristine floor. He’s panting behind you, pushing his body to the limit as he shoves himself forward, lungs aching, outstretched hand missing the hem of your dress by the width of a hair, again, fingers curling into a fist of nothing. 

The muscles in your legs are burning—his own legs are longer than yours, his strides more adept as they cover a larger area of ground, but you won’t give in; not until he catches you. 

And he’s close. 

Giggles are barreling up your throat and past your lips, an endless stream of amusement only slightly stuttered by your gentle, uneven huffs of exertion. The soles of your feet skid audibly on the marble as you sharply round a corner, skin squealing, but you don’t stop, not until you round the next curve in the knotted hallways, not until you realize that he’s no longer following you; that you are, suddenly and abruptly, all alone. 

Your feet scuttle to a stop, heaving chest adorned with dewdrops of sweat, glistening prettily in the warm lamplight of the manor. The silence is dense, ears ringing with the pressure, your own breathing muffled by it. The silence is heavy, crushing, almost, burdened by the immense scale and size of the manor, the whole structure so monstrous, so massive it feels nearly suffocating, like it could swallow you whole in a single gulp.

“Daddy?” you call out, voice small and hesitant, eyes darting around the empty space. The lamps on the walls waver for a moment, as if a breeze had somehow passed through the bulbs, but the air is stagnant and still. 

You turn slowly, balls of your feet sticking to the polished floor, gaze careful and cautious as it searches for any signs of life. 

“Daddy, where’d you—”

A large hand claps over your mouth and smothers your words, long fingers wreathing around your jaw, jagged nails digging into your cheek, and yanks you back against thin muscle and hard bone, engulfing you in darkness a second later. 

It all happens so quickly, so unexpectedly that you hardly have any time to meditate on the instance before you’re being whirled around, spine slamming against drywall, your body caged between the surface and the steady rise and fall of your Daddy’s chest. 

You had forgotten that this place contains many secret passageways and hidden rooms. 

You had also forgotten that Daddy knows all of them, and you know none. 

He’s got a large hand cuffed around either of your wrists, pinning them to the weathered wallpaper, warped and peeling, just above your head. 

You struggle a little, wriggling in his grip, and his fingers tighten in warning, palms pressing your limbs further against the wall, the bones of your wrist ground together in each of his hands, your features tweaking in a suppressed wince.

“Why are you on such bad behaviour today?”

“I’m not.” 

An eyebrow raises. “You’re not?”

“No. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He laughs, nothing more than a gentle huff, and it sends chills skittering up your spine.

“You know how many lashes lying to Daddy gets you, don’t you?”

“Fifteen,” you answer dutifully.

“Yes. And how many lashes does flirting with someone else get you?”

“Twenty five.”

“Exactly. And how many lashes is that total?”

“Forty.”

“Forty,” he repeats slowly, as if he’s tasting each letter, molding it with his tongue. “Can you handle that? Do you think it was wise to act out in such a manner while Daddy was working?”

“You weren’t paying attention to me,” you say in simple explanation, though your voice is solemn, words filtered through a petulant pout.

“You have my full attention now.”

“Good.” 

Blinking twice, both eyebrows quirk. “Would you like to add to your current sentence of forty lashes?” 

“Depends. What else do you got?”

His tongue runs along the front of his teeth, curling over the edges, bulging beneath his top lip as he considers. “How about an extra ten for generally pissing me off?”

“Fifty.” you say plainly. “I’ll take them.” 

“Yeah? You won’t be able to sit properly for about a month or so.”

“I don’t care. Give them to me, I want them.”

Fifty it is.

He smiles at you then, and it’s sharp, it’s sinister, curling up at the corners and nearly furling in on itself, his eyes glowing. 

He says nothing as he latches a large hand around your bicep, grip just hard enough to be uncomfortable, just hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have a pretty cuff of all four fingers and his thumb, seared into your skin in brilliant blues, by the following morning. 

But then he tugs, and a yelp cracks in your throat despite your best efforts to keep it from happening. His fingers twitch, tighten, and you grind your teeth together, an attempt to keep from making another sound. 

Because you didn’t miss the telltale flutter of the edges of his mouth when you cried out, the way his chest puffed out just a little further, raising him to his full height. 

Because as well as he knows you, you know him, too, and the last thing you want to do is give him any further satisfaction; not after he ignored you all day, acted as if you didn’t exist, nothing more than a slightly irksome ghost lingering around the edges of his consciousness, gaze only occasionally flicking up from his thick books and crumpled papers and ink-stained fingers to trail you for a moment—to make sure you were still there—before returning to his work.

“I will not be restraining you,” he tells you, as nonchalantly as if discussing the snow outside, soles of his boots echoing against the marble as he stalks towards the wardrobe. “You move so much as an inch and I will add an additional five lashes. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

And you can’t suppress the smug little grin that slithers across your face as you assume the position—hips bent at a ninety-degree angle, chest pressed into the mattress, cheek nuzzled against the silk comforter—feeling exceptionally proud of yourself for remembering the Sir, for not giving him another reason to lengthen your punishment. 

“Good,” he says, and oh, you can hear it, that minuscule barely there tremor of fury, wavering in the word like a maggot under his skin. 

He decides on his favourite cane, black ebony wood with the silver handle, made of pure platinum and topped with a sphere. This is a uncommon occurrence; he rarely uses this cane, for fear of breaking it on you, as he’s done to so many other so many times before. 

He’s unrestrained today: which is to say, he has decided to be unrestrained today, a conscious choice to be harsh, cruel, messy with it all. 

You know not to mistake this with true lack of control; he could be constrained and neat with all of his lines if he wanted to be, but he doesn’t want to be. 

Not today.

You don’t deserve it.  

Every smack of the cane against your ass leaves raised, swiftly swelling welts in its wake, first materializing in thin lines, then in thick, before the skin finally begins to tear, spanked raw and rubbed down from the constant friction. 

They crisscross over your backside, crooked slashes and streaks embellishing your bum and the very tops of your thighs. Each stroke of the wood leaves a sharp sting searing across your flesh, followed by a dull, deep ache, the pain so dense you fear it may never fully leave you, throbbing as it burrows into your skin.

He doesn’t demand you count aloud, nor does he order you to keep quiet, and for this you are thankful, little whimpers and soft cries building as the punishment proceeds, evolving into full on shouts and sobs, fingers sore and stiff from clenching the edges of the mattress, desperate not to move. 

Only five left, you’re thinking to yourself in an effort to self-soothe, when the end is finally in sight. Only five more, and then it’s over; and then I’ve taken it all.

The next hit comes not with the heel but with the handle of the cane; a sphere of dense platinum, heavy and hard as it thwacks your tailbone, higher than any of the other strikes have been thus far.

A scream splinters in your throat, and you shove your face in the mattress, a feeble attempt to smother it, whole body recoiling from the impact.

You can feel the bone fissure, sending bolts of jagged pain shooting through your backside, sharper than the blunt ache the wood commands. Your fingers curl in the sheets, teeth sinking into the plush flesh of the bed, quivering muscles gone rigid as you try not to move around too much, lest Fyodor add another five lashes to your nearly completed punishment. 

He makes a masterpiece of your backside, a landscape of dark violet and navy blue, glittering scarlet pooling in the grooves of fields, fragile skin split from the constant whack of the cane. 

“Beautiful,” he breathes, fingertips skimming over his work, catching on the rapidly expanding bumps and ridges, bulging and thickening as blood rushes to cushion the injuries.

He digs a jagged nail into the wound, drags it through the hollowed gouges and collects blood beneath the sawtoothed edge.  

In a week or so, after the final bruise has fully developed and the blood has seeped through several layers of tissue to the surface, your shattered tailbone will serve as a massive moon, hanging low and heavy over the landscape. 

It will be one of the most stunning pieces of art he’s ever created, he’s sure of it.

It will be one of the most painful, extensive punishments you’ve ever endured; he’s sure of that, too.

It was fucking foolish to have challenged him, you knew it was right from the start, but—as expected—you just couldn’t help yourself. The whorish need for attention was too potent, too strong to resist, to ignore, to shove away into a corner of your mind and let it fester. 

But technically, ultimately, you got exactly what you wanted.  

Because when it’s all over, when you’ve taken your fifty lashes like the good little girl you are and you’re sobbing into the mattress, smearing spit and salt across the silk sheets, he collects you in his arms easily, scoops you up against his chest with a bicep cradling your neck and an elbow hooked beneath your knees and begins carrying you towards the small in-house infirmary.

You wail into his neck, little fingers curling in the collar of his sweater and yanking, desperate to pull yourself close, closer, as close as possible, finding comfort in your very own monster, your personal hell; delicious, decadent, devious. 

“Daddy, Daddy, Da-Daddy!”

Tender hushes fall from his lips, soaking into the crown of your head as he scatters placating kisses across your hair. And he’s so gentle, he’s so careful, minding your fractured bone as he hugs you to his ribs, rocking your shuddering body in his embrace ever-so-slightly, grip tightening as another one of those rough sobs rips through your chest.

Most of his anger has calmed now, beaten from his chest with the whip of the cane against your supple skin, but a few cinders of fury remain, simmering low and hot and quiet in his words. 

“Maybe next time,” he begins, softly seething, accent thicker than normal, “you’ll think twice before pressing your tits into Nikolai’s cheek, yes?”

[actualdiscord]

Introducing the new contestant - Hairdresser Octopus! She's bringing a whole new flavor to the cast, sure to chop down the other girls on her path to the crown!

Cartoon drag race founder is my bestie @golden-heart-beats. Blog to document our progress on this over @cartoondragrace!

(Previous contestant/host promo looks - Bugs, Coilette, Phaggie Pattie, Violet, Katanya, Morning Rosewood)

[jaywonjuice]

📄🖇️ — without you ~ p.sh

pairing ex!sunghoon x gn reader (feat. bf!jay x gn reader)

genre non idol au, angst, crack (model!hoon ?!), oneshot

request summary: ✉️ sunghoon never moved on, but you did. you bump into your ex at a cafe, only for him to realise you’re here with… your new boyfriend.

warnings none ??

wc 945

a/n wow,, tysm for 100 followers !! :’) endlessly grateful for u all enjoying what i write <333

🎧 Without You — Oh Wonder

the smell of sweet syrups and ground coffee beans hung finely in the air. you inhaled deeply - you loved this cafe so much. the dark rosewood floors, the warm, open-bulb lighting; there was such a perfectly cosy atmosphere in this place that no other coffee shop in town could replicate, no matter how hard they seemed to try. you’d take it over a starbucks any day.

you’d managed to snag your favourite spot, an old, but extremely comfy, large grey sofa in the corner of the cafe. as you surveyed the rest of the shop, you noted how it was impressively busy for an ordinary tuesday morning in this small town, and you were glad to see business was doing so well. you felt a twinge of guilt.

no thanks to you. you hadn’t dropped by in quite some time now. not since the breakup. you and sunghoon used to come here for coffee at least once a week back when you were dating… anyway, it felt good to be back, at least.

‘y/n?’ a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

you turned, eyes widening as you were greeted by sunghoon, standing at the end of the sofa. he looked good - great, even. in just a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans, he still managed, somehow, to look effortlessly put-together, as if he’d just strolled straight off a runway and through the doors of a coffee shop.

‘y/n,’ he repeated your name awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. ‘hey, it’s been a while... how are you?’

you did your best to push past your shock at seeing him again so unexpectedly, and forced a smile.

‘hoon! i’m doing good! how have you been?’ you gestured for him to sit, and he took the seat opposite you.

‘i’m not bad yeah, been working a lot.’ he set his iced latte down on the table in front of him. ‘no drink?’ he added with a slight eyebrow raise, nodding to the empty coaster in front of you.

‘i’m just waiting on it,’ you replied, tilting your head towards the collection point by the coffee machine at the end of the bar. your smile came a little more naturally now - sunghoon had always been so observant when the two of you were together.

‘you look great,’ he said, honestly. feeling his gaze on you, your cheeks flushed slightly. ‘uh, thanks. you too,’ you admitted after a moment. because he really did. you had to make an effort not to stare; the way his dark hair was styled parted, framing his face quite perfectly.

‘so you’re still working down the office then?’ you cleared your throat, changing the subject. you felt a stab of sympathy, knowing how much of a bore he’d always found his desk job.

‘actually, no,’ he smiled, stirring the ice around in his glass with his straw, causing it to clink softly. ‘i’m actually… modelling now,’ he glanced up and shot you a sheepish grin.

‘be serious,’ you replied, gawking in disbelief. ‘what?! how?’

‘i got cast just, y’know, on the street. some guy invited me to the agency, said i had the face for it,’ you thought he almost looked a little shy as he was telling you this. ‘i thought it was a bust at first, i almost didn’t go along, but… that was a few months ago now. i’ve had some bookings since then.’

you caught yourself with your mouth still hanging open in shock, and shut it quickly. you tried to gain a little composure. ‘who could’ve guessed: hoon the model,’ you teased, and he flashed a grin back at you before poking his tongue between his teeth cheekily.

‘oh, that’s it right there, that’s the face he must’ve been talking about!’ you laughed as sunghoon leaned into your teasing, continuing to make silly faces at you from across the coffee table.

when you’d finally managed to stop laughing, sunghoon smiled to himself, secretly pleased at how relaxed you still seemed around him even after all this time. he took a sip of his drink as he watched you glancing around the space that the two of you had spent so much time in together. he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t miss it. didn’t miss you.

‘and you?’ he prompted. ‘anything new and exciting going on in your life? any contenders to top my news?’

you looked down, suddenly feeling embarrassed. ‘uhm, not really. nothing much has really changed for me, except-’

‘here you go baby,’

a tall, angular young man with slicked back hair leaned down between the two of you, placing two mugs down on the table before sitting beside you on the sofa.

he slung an arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek.

‘who’s your friend?’ he asked, with what sunghoon thought was an irritatingly charming smile.

‘um, jay, this is hoo- um, sunghoon, he’s an old friend, sunghoon, this is jay, my… boyfriend,’ you bit your lip hard, watching sunghoon’s expression carefully as you relayed this information to him.

for just a split second, you thought you saw hurt flash across his eyes. but then it was gone. he shook jay’s hand when it was offered, before promptly excusing himself. as he got up to leave, you caught his eye, and for just a moment he gave you a small, sad smile. and then he was gone, leaving you staring holes into his back as he exited the coffee shop.

‘swear i’ve seen him somewhere before,’ jay muttered, stirring a spoon around idly in his mug.

‘mm, he’s just got one of those faces,’ you murmured quietly.

a/n okay okay so hear me out: i have half a mind to make this into like a longer series, maybe a two/threeshot with slightly more action…? so if you’d be interested in that then let me know,,! ;)

TAGLIST ೃ⁀➷ @thejakeslayla @shawnyle

©jaywonjuice | do not copy or re-upload my work on any platform

[oneshotnewbie]

Spencer Hastings finding Reader on the ice doing her favorite sport to get her head off from the time they were kidnapped by A. Spencer knows that Reader is suffering the most

ᕚ---ᕘ

The winter darkness enveloped the streets of Rosewood in a silent, frosty embrace as Spencer began her search for you. The street lamps cast diffuse, yellowish shadows on the freshly fallen snow, which crunched beneath her boots. A chill that was not just from the weather permeated the young brunette as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself and lowered her head to shield her face from the icy wind.

You had withdrawn yourself since your release from A's dungeon, and she recognized a silence that was louder than any words. Spencer knew about the internal struggles that all of her friends had, including herself. However, it had hit you the hardest. The side effects of the trauma had intensified for you in the last few weeks and it was like you were trying to hide from the dark waves that were inexorably coming towards you.

She roamed the familiar streets, looking in cafés where you had spent quality time together and other places that were meaningful to you. But everywhere she looked, she found no trace of you. The snow began to fall thicker, the cold became sharper, but she did not give up. Spencer had to find you and show you that she was there for you before you destroyed yourself.

The cell phone in her pocket had remained silent since this morning. No message, no call from you even though there was not a day before the incident that you did not write her. Worry wrapped around the brunette like a heavy cloak; she knew the lonely depths you sometimes fell into when demons overwhelmed you.

Her breath puffed in the icy air as she walked faster, eyes searching intently for a clue. Finally, her instincts led her to a park where an ice skating rink was being built at the time. At night it looked like an enchanted winter landscape, embellished with large fairy lights. The snow covered the trees, the paths and the benches around it. And there, on the ice, you were skating around on your skates. Spencer's breath hitched when she saw you, wrapped in a beige coat, your hands fisted deep in your pockets. You stared at the cool ice beneath your feet, eyes empty and far from reality. The snow had accumulated millimeters thick on the ice, with fine lines in between that showed your path.

The eldest of the group approached slowly, cautiously as she tried to not make any abrupt movements that might startle you. Spencer carefully stood at the ring of the ice ring without saying a word. The cold seemed to fade at that moment as she felt the tension inside you slowly ease as you noticed her. "Hey Spenc. What are you doing here?“

"I am sorry for being so persistent in looking for you," Spencer began softly, her teeth chattering in the cold between each word. You did not react, keeping your gaze fixed on the ice as an uncomfortable silence hung between you. The brunette sighed until she finally found the courage to speak her thoughts, her worry casting a dark shadow over her voice. "I am worried about you, y/n. These last few days.. you were so absent, so far away like never before."

You flinched, barely noticeable, but it was enough for Spencer to let her know she was heard. She continued with her one-sided conversation. "I know you are going through an incredibly difficult time. Probably harder than any of us, judging by your injuries. And I just want you to know that I am here. That you are not alone , no matter how dark it feels."

Her words hung heavy in the cold air and you remained silent, but she felt your wall slowly crumble as you inched closer to her- a silent gesture of closeness and acceptance. "I can see the suffering in your eyes, y/n, and it breaks me to see you like this because I know how strong you usually are. But it is okay to not be strong as long as you open up to someone you love."

With those words, a single tear glistened on your cheek before you turned away, as if to prevent Spencer from seeing you. But she gently placed a hand on your upper arm, an attempt not to put any further distance between you. It was an attempt to provide comfort, even when words were not enough. "I will not force you to talk about it if you do not want to, but promise me you will not walk through this darkness alone. Promise me you will look for me for support and comfort when you need it. Please, y/ n. I can not bear to lose you like this."

"I am sorry, Spenc." You slowly lowered your gaze, your shoulders shaking slightly in a silent sob. It was a moment of opening, of allowing weakness in the midst of the strength Spencer gave you. "It is okay. But do not let yourself hang. I am here for you. Through better or worse," she quickly wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into a tight hug with a deep connection that spoke things that could not be said. In that moment, you felt the burden you had been carrying on your shoulder alone feel a little lighter.

[multifandomfix]

Zelda Spellman Fluff Alphabet

A = Aroma (What do they smell like?)

Zelda smells of rosewood and patchouli.

B = Babe (What would they use as pet names? Do they use them a lot?)

Darling and dearest are often used when she wants something from you. She uses pet names on a regular basis, but usually when the two of you are alone.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Sometimes, when she’s in the mood for them, then hell yes she’s a cuddler, but when she’s not feeling it, best keep your distance.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? What would they think about living together?)

She wouldn’t mind settling down, though she does fear that will make her seem old.

E = Emotion (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

She’s affectionate in subtle ways. A whispered praise, a quick peck on the cheek. She doesn’t like to make a whole public display of it.

F = Flirt (How do they flirt? Are they smooth or awkward?)

She’s an incredibly smooth flirt. Direct and seductive.

G = Gifts (Are they a gift giver? What kind of gifts do they give?)

She’s not a huge gift giver, though boy oh boy does she love being on the receiving end. She’ll occasionally buy you flowers and the occasional surprise gift.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She’s alright with hugs, and she does give good ones, but they’re not near the top of the list on her favorite types of affection.

I = I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It’ll take a while to get that out of her. She might be thinking and feeling it, but it does take some time for her to admit it to herself, and even longer to say it to you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She can get majorly jealous. She’ll snap at whoever brings out the jealousy in her and it can be amusing to watch. She gets all red in the face and kind of possessive.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you?)

Zelda’s kisses are generally very passionate when it’s just the two of you. When around others, she tends to let it be more casual and chaste.

L = Little ones (How are they around children? Would they want some of their own?)

She’s good with children, though doesn’t often consider having her own, considering how Sabrina is such a handful. But she could be reminded of their better points and be convinced to give it a go with you to help out.

M = Meet (How did they meet you?)

She met you in the woods. She was preparing for a celebration with the church of night and you were out picking herbs and flowers. You caught her eye, smiled and she struck up a conversation.

N = Nurture (Are they good at taking care of you if you’re hurt/sick?)

She can be, though she often assigns that sort of thing to Hilda, who is better at it. She’d want you to have the best care possible, rather than her care.

O = Out (What’s a typical date night with them like?)

Candles, an incredible meal and slow dancing to an old record. Classic romance, but perhaps with a bit of a darker twist.

P = Propose (When do you/they propose? How does the proposal go?)

You propose the night before her birthday. She’s so busy worrying about what her family will have planned for her that she doesn’t see it coming. Though she does graciously and tearfully accept.

Q = Quirk (What small habit/feature/quirk do they have that you find especially endearing?)

The way she pays so much time and attention on her appearance when she has such natural beauty already. Watching her put on her makeup or choose an outfit is an art form that you never get tired of seeing.

R = Routine (What does a typical day together look like? Routines, schedules, habits?)

Your bedtime routine often involves you helping her unwind, which she is eternally grateful for.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

She can be protective, casting spells to help ensure your safety or having Hilda keep an eye on you when she can’t.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, etc?)

She can really go all out if she has a mind to. She’ll plan everything down to the last detail to impress you, not that she has any need to go to so much trouble.

U = Unique (What’s something they’d only do for you?)

Wear pink. She is adamant that pink is not her color, and she’s right, but if for some reason you wanted to see her in it, she’d begrudgingly oblige.

V = Vulnerable (How long does it take them to feel comfortable being vulnerable around you?)

It’s definitely going to take Zelda a while to really open up to you. She can be fairly closed off until she gets to know someone.

W = Wardrobe (What would they wear to impress you?)

A suit. You’ve seen her don a million beautiful dresses and skirts, so if she really wants to blow you away she’d do it with a designer pantsuit.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Zelda isn’t a morning person. You don’t dare wake her until she’s good and ready to get up on her own.

Y = You (What are some things they would like in a partner?)

Zelda wants someone who won’t threaten her independence. She still wants to maintain her own life and interests outside of the relationship and if you can’t get on board with that, she’s out.

Z = Zzz (What are their sleep habits?)

Zelda can be a deep sleeper, and she does on occasion softly snore. She’d deny it if accused, but it’s that kind of snoring that is more cute than bothersome.

For @zennyreadsbooks

Zelda Spellman (CAOS): @derry-n, @riveranddoctorsong123, @jona-lea, @allthemoresapphic, @akeldamasemele, @320viada, @theroyalgaymess, @lady-darkswan3

[theoutcastrogue]

19th century Sheffield bowie knives

A HUNTING KNIFE, JOSEPH RODGERS & SONS CUTLERS TO HER MAJESTY, SHEFFIELD, CIRCA 1860 with tapering blade formed with a spear point, stamped with the maker’s details on one face, and ‘The Hunter’s Companion’ in script, rectangular ricasso struck with star and cross mark, German silver hilt comprising recurved quillons with flattened scrolling terminals, cap pommel (fitted with later copper alloy oval), and spirally-bound fishskin-covered grip, in its leather scabbard with German silver chape and locket, the latter with a belt hook, 23.5 cm blade

A HUNTING KNIFE FOR THE AMERICAN MARKET, MAPPIN & WEBB, SHEFFIELD, CIRCA 1880 with robust blade formed with a clipped-back point with false swage, notched at the forte, stamped ‘Celebrated American Hunting Knife’ in capital letters, ‘Self Defender’ in script on a scroll, rectangular ricasso stamped with the maker’s name and ‘Trustworthy’ on one face of the ricasso and ‘US’ on the other, German silver oval cross-piece and chequered horn scales retained by six rivets, in its German silver mounted leather scabbard with locket and chape each engraved with groups of three lines, and the former with a stud for suspension, 25.3 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, LATE 19TH CENTURY with single-edged blade formed with a pronounced clipped-back point, etched with a Federal eagle and inscriptions on one face including ‘America The Land of Freedom’ and 'The Patriot’s Self Defender’, recessed ricasso stamped ‘Best Quality Rough & Ready’ German silver guard, ferrule and pommel, the latter chased with flowers, and rosewood grip, in its tooled leather scabbard, 19.8 cm blade

A SMALL BOWIE KNIFE, JONATHAN CROOKES, SHEFFIELD, LATE 19TH CENTURY with broad blade formed with a clipped-back point, recessed rectangular ricasso struck with the maker’s name and heart and pistol mark, German silver hilt comprising recurved guard, ferrule and pommel each decorated with scrolling foliage in low relief, and mother-of-pearl grip, in its German silver mounted leather scabbard with belt loop,14.5 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, JONATHAN CROOKES, CIRCA 1880 with straight blade formed with a clipped-back point, slightly recessed rectangular ricasso signed by the maker and with heart and pistol mark, and natural staghorn grips (perhaps an early replacement), 15.3 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, JOSEPH RODGERS & SONS, CUTLERS TO THEIR MAJESTIES, NO. 6 NORFOLK STREET, SHEFFIELD, LAST QUARTER OF THE 19TH CENTURY with broad blade formed with a clipped-back point, struck with the maker’s details and star and cross mark on one face (small areas of light pitting), oval German silver guard, and natural staghorn scales retained by five rivets, in its leather scabbard with large German silver locket and chape, 20.8 cm blade

A DAGGER, MARKED MAZEPPA, PROBABLY SAMUEL HANCOCK & SONS, LATE 19TH CENTURY with broad blade formed with a clipped-back point, recessed ricasso struck with a figure strapped to a horse’s back and ‘Mazeppa’ on one face, German silver hilt cast in low relief, comprising guard and pommel decorated with scrolls, milled copper alloy fillers and hardwood scales, in its tooled and gilt leather scabbard,17.2 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, LINGARD, PEACROFT, SHEFFIELD, PROBABLY 1870 with single-edged blade formed with a clipped-back point and part swaged back-edge, rectangular ricasso stamped ‘Lingards Celebrated Bowie Knife Pea Croft, Sheffield’, German silver hilt comprising two-piece guard and pommel each cast with scrolls and foliage in low relief, brass fillets, staghorn scales, and vacant German silver escutcheon, 21.0 cm blade

AN ARKANSAS BOWIE KNIFE, MORTON & SON, SHEFFIELD, CIRCA 1850-60 with tapering blade of flattened-diamond section, recessed rectangular ricasso struck with the maker’s details (worn, partly illegible), German silver hilt comprising ‘split’ cross-guard and two-piece pommel each decorated with scrolls and foliage in low relief, and a pair of small bone scales retained by two rivets, 22.7 cm blade

A BOWIE KNIFE, WRAGG & SONS, SOLLY ST, MID-19TH CENTURY with broad double-edged blade, recessed ricasso signed in small stamped letters, German silver cross-piece and pommel, the latter cast with an alligator-horse on each face, and horn scales (restorations), in its tooled and gilt leather scabbard with German silver mounts, 30.8 cm blade

tinyurl.com/yr4hd4pr

[ophelian-darling]

hiiii!! can you write something with giorno with prompts 46 and 63? in which giorno lets darling out after months to meet up with some old friends (of course he has to be there too) and one of them (either girl or boy, it's up to you) is wayyyy too touchy with darling? and he gets jealous and possessive, wanting to go home as soon as possible.

and darling tries to calm him down, telling him that she only loves him and they cuddle & kiss aajahhaaha

you can also do it with gn reader, but i would like female. how you are more comfortable with!! much love <3

"I don't like them, don't ask me to be nice"

"A friend ? you call them a friend when they have their hands and eyes all over your body ?"

TW: Jealousy, Obsession, Possessiveness, Implied emotional manipulation.

enjoy ♡

The room basked in a warm shade of morning sun; casting its joy through the air to your smiling face as you stood in front of the vanity mirror, admiring your dolled reflection with glinting eyes. Giorno blessed your morning with good tidings: you were finally allowed to go out- not exactly what he told you, but it meant having some gentle breeze and sunshine caresses nonetheless.

Your Sweetheart said that he had an important matter to attend to, and it would be nice if you accompanied him (There was no way you'd refuse, memorizing the corners of the Villa exhausted your mind) and you gladly accepted. He mentioned the presence of his most trusted subordinates and close friends, and you couldn't be happier, a sweet excitement blinking in your eyes.

"Aren't you the prettiest?" it fell from his tongue, sugary in words and adoring in tone. Everything he says casted a certain magic on you that made you forget how intolerable he was with his jealousy and strict with his instructions concerning you: from your clothing, choice of words and comportment. Blamed be anything that pulled on the strings of his head whenever it was about you: other people's stares, pricks of the tiniest thorn or could be even a drift of air; to him, you were something that meant to be put on a pedestal, more of a porcelain marionette that its sob was a shatter. 

A shy smile toned your lips while a heat bloomed on your cheeks. These simple words felt like a pink cloud; soft and loving in a way so special another human couldn't know how to offer. Despite all of his thorns, Giorno carried a constant love for you, for all your flaws and each speck of dust you stepped on, for every breath you took and word you uttered. His tiring Jealousy was dark, but a side to the brightness of his affection's moon; none of it was out of pure malice.

He plastered a quick kiss to your cheek "We're not going to take long, just five minutes and we will come back home again. If you're a good girl, I'll consider taking you somewhere nice" 

You nodded. the same dreamy smile contouring your face with warmth. 

"Buongiorno, Don Giovanna!" a brunette greeted, with a soft voice of a spring rain. as you both stepped into the small orchard, her appearance welcomed you next.

Lovely. She was lovely, in every letter of the word and in every meaning of a tongue. 

Her skin, tan as a cloud's shadow, glowed under the morning's sun, refined as fine silk and smooth as fair sand. Her eyes sang for most of her loveliness- sorrel shade of brown, one of a rosewood or an orchid flower. you couldn't help but to stare. she smiled at you, revealing a row of pearls in her mouth.

"Welcome, Signora Giovanna, it's a pleasure to see you at last!" she swan gracefully, showing her full front; up from her amphora-shaped neck, middling to her tender cleavage and down to her hips that wrapped felinely under a pencil skirt.

Your shy smile must have conveyed something else for her. as she extended her hand for you, you took it a little stronger than you intended, causing her to pull you a little bit closer as to ease your nerves with a friendly gesture. Now looking at her through a distance she deserved to be beheld at, you noticed how a dark mole complimented under her left eye, as if it was a speck of black pearl's dust.

"Nice to see you Belladonna" 

"T-thank you" you gave her another grateful smile. 

"You're as pretty as I heard. no wonder that the Don is being such a genie" she chuckled, pulling on your heartstrings even more "He has quite a fair treasure. you're really something yourself, Signora" 

A laugh was all that you had to offer, words on your tongue weren't enough to mirror her flattery, one that kissed heat on your cheeks. She was just so sweet. 

"Tesorina?" It jumped to your attention now that her hand was still on yours. 

You glanced at your side, where Giorno stood up: his face twisted into sullen lineaments, green eyes darkened just a tad under. you conned all of his expressions as much as you remembered the palm of your hand; your heart sank at how a pleasant walk outside was bound to be ruined from the very first minutes, all thanks to a woman you barely knew. 

He pursed his lips in one tight line. as he ushered with his head to his side, you caught the drift and walked up to him.

"We're going home, now" 

"You do seem eager to gloat yourself in other people's attention, as if I don't give you enough already" 

"She was just being nice! none of what you're thinking was actually happening!" 

"Now having the audacity to lie in my face and deny what I've seen?!" 

"Nothing actually happened!" your hands flew around your head, while you did your best to compose your tone to be still. While he maintained his own anger at times you argued, he didn't want to hear your voice get louder at him in return. experiencing quarrels with him many times before, you knew that you were able to pacify things from your side by not fighting back, and saying what he wanted to hear the most.

"Gio…" you drew a meek smile "I don't have eyes on her at all. in fact, I don't see anyone else aside from you" 

His face remained still, clearly unimpressed by your words. you had to try better than this, and taking a step closer to him would start it.

"I'm really sorry if you've seen something you didn't like, but please believe me when I say that she didn't do anything direct to me, nor did I like her in any sense. She was just acting like a friend" 

He quirked an eyebrow "A friend? you call her a friend when she has her hands and eyes all over your body? you can't be this naive"

You felt a flutter in your heart. surely his paranoia was concerning ; yet you couldn't help but to feel a pang of guilt at letting him think that you weren't interested in him anymore. The idea of you preferring someone else over him was still carved in his head, and probably will never be erased unless you manage to prove your true loyalty to him. 

"Did she? I didn't notice at all. but can you please be a little nicer next time in front of others? it was rude to treat someone like that" you rested your palms on his shoulders, now looking straight through his eyes.

"Don't ask me to be nice, everyone knows who you are and who I am. I don't like how she expects you to simply speak to her as if you aren't my wife" 

"Aww!" you just laughed, planting a kiss in hopes of softening his rigid face. He is handsome- a smile on his lips meant a heaven full of stars to you.

Warmly, he enveloped you in a tender embrace, thumbs cosseting the sides of your cheek. You let yourself melt in his form, feeling his lulling pulse and kneading lips on your ribs and face, never feeling so revered than ever. 

The description of the female character included in this piece was inspired from this oc.

[ur-mag]

So Long Rosewood! See What the 'Pretty Little Liars' Cast Is Up to Now | In Trend Today

So Long Rosewood! See What the ‘Pretty Little Liars’ Cast Is Up to Now Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[frozen-heart]

Thoughts on episode 7

Here we go again :D

Choices were definitely made with Dr Sullivan's backstory. I'm dissapointed they didn't mention the original A and cast. It would've been the perfect opportunity. I'm not sure why but it feels out of character for Archie to go after Dr Sullivan for years? Why would he kill her son? Why wait until he was like 16? I don't buy it being because she couldn't do more for him and his mother. Didn't he like hate his mother or something? Was Clanton involved? Where is Clanton? Did they get the idea for A, because Archie followed Dr Sullivan to Rosewood back when the original A attacked her?

Also, why would Dr Sullivan assume that it was Archie who killed her son? Especially with the 'A' scenery that got created allegedly by Archie. Wouldn't she assume it was Mona or any other A from the original PLL? She didn't know yet that Archie would call himself 'A' in the future.

I'm also feeling conflicted about her suddenly feeling the need to 'prove' her story to Imogen. Showing her allegedly dead son's grave doesn't prove anything btw. I somehow sympathize with her wanting to help Imogen and seek redemption for her mistakes, but something about it also feels off. And her suddenly dissappearing is giving me flashbacks to the original PLL, when she got threatened by A to dissappear.

This teacher right here is getting on my suspect list. He has technical knowledge for the SpookySpaghetti site, he could help Bloody Rose with the texts that are being send by people that are already dead and he could've had access to the girls final tests that they failed, to keep them in Millwood for summer school.

I wonder if these Rose's are from Mrs Beasley and Kelly or from Bloody Rose. It's implied that they're from Mrs Beasley, but we never exactly saw them place the flowers there.

I was also wondering, if the killings and Bloody Rose could be connected to Karen. Like how last season it was connected to Angela. It would make sense to test the Liars, to kill Sandy and the Pastor in connection to Karen. Not necessarily Nick and Sabrina tho.

I was wondering about the killings in general. The first two killing are Sabrina and Nick, who were mentioned on SpookySpaghetti and are meant to represent Bloody Rose's children Angela and Archie. But I don't think there were any mention of other people that were killed, like Sandy, on SpookySpaghetti. Where's the connection between everyone that got killed? Now with the Pastor getting killed and Kelly being attacked by Bloody Rose the killings/attacks seem to be random?

Why would Bloody Rose attack Kelly? Was this supposed to be a test for Kelly? Or is it because Faran told Kelly about Bloody Rose? Is that why Dr Sullivan dissappeared? Because Imogen told her about Bloody Rose? How did Bloody Rose know where she is? Also, why are they only warning Kelly now? They could've tried to warn her about another killer at least after Faran's test!

I hope Kelly will survive. I have a strong gut feeling that she will. The way Bloody Rose attacked her doesn't fit her. No stabbing, no blood. And she left her behind it seems. She never leaves a body behind, as we know. And we all know that she takes good care that no one finds out about her victims, because of all the text messages she keeps sending Sandy's mom for example. I've seen some people say that it might be a doll, that's what I thought when I saw the trailer for episode 6-8, but from the actual episode it actually looked like Kelly. Anyway, she needs to survive and redeem herself with the girls.

Faran x Greg... Why are they doing this? Kelly and him broke up like yesterday in their timeline. At least Greg broke up with Kelly before going after Faran ig.. This situation reminds me of the Caleb/Spencer/Hanna situation

Watch her drop the biggest bomb next episode and then dissappear again. She'll at least give a major clue on Bloody Rose. Her showing up at Mouse's house was so random lol. And why did Lola look so out of it? Did Rose tell her something disturbing?

Soo.. Let's take a deep breath and adress the elephant in the room:

Noa x Jen - Just getting on my nerves. After last episode there's no redemption for these two. I wish we could've seen the confrontation between him and Jen. I remember back in season 1 he got aggressive with the boys from Rosewood, so I guess it wouldn't be completely out of character. Especially considering he got cheated on and lied to. But when Noa trashed his car and their entire confrontation lacked that aggression. I thought he would definitely get another outburst when Noa went out of her house, but he just didn't, which feels contracting. And seemingly he also let her get away with trashing his car. I don't know. They could've handled it better. Noa trashing his car also felt like an overkill. Jen never said that he threatened her. It was so obvious that he would find out about them, get angry and would want to confront them.

Shawn is honestly just spitting facts right here:

Not related to this episode, but:

Everytime Mrs Langsberry suddenly pops up on the screen I got reminded of the Pretty Little Liars Spoof series! Some characters kept popping up out of the blue there too and it was hilarious every time.

[grungelvrr222]

what i think the dps boys each read at the meetings

okay so the poems i picked i wrote the whole poem so its a longggg post (i worked really hard to find a poem i thought suited each of the poets)

neil: When I read the book by Walt Whitman

When I read the book, the biography famous,

And is this then (said I) what the author calls a man’s life?

And so will some one when I am dead and gone write my life?

(As is if any man really knew aught of my life,

Why even I myself I often think know little or nothing of my real life,

Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews and indirections

I seek for my own use to trace out here.)

todd: A dream by Edgar Allan Poe

In visions of the dark night

I have dreamed of joy departed—

But a waking dream of life and light

Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day

To him whose eyes are cast

On things around him with a ray of

Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream— that holy dream,

While all the world were chiding,

Hath cheered me a lovely beam

A lonely spirit guiding.

What thought that light, thro’ storm and night,

So trembled from afar—

What could there be more purely bright

In Truth’s day-star?

pitts: The last word by Matthew Arnold

Creep into they narrow bed,

Creep, and let no more be said!

Vain thy onset! all stands;

Thou thyself must break at last.

Let the long conversation cease!

Geese are swans and swans are geese.

Let them have it how they will!

Thou art tired; best be still!

They put-talk’d thee, hiss’d thee, tore thee.

Better men fared thus before thee;

Fired their ringing shot and pass’d ,

Hotly charged— and broke at last.

Charge once more , then, and be dumb!

Let the victors, when they come,

When the forts of folly fall,

Find thy body by the wall.

knox: An explanation by Walter Learned 

Her lips wear so near     That what—else could I do?  You’ll be angry, I fear, But her lips were so near— Well, I can’t make it clear,      Or explain it to you,  But—her lips were so near       That—what else could I do?  charlie: I am he that aches with love by Walt Whitman 

I am he that aches with amorous love; Does the earth gravitate? does not all matter, aching, attract             all matter? So the body of me to all I meet or know. 

meeks: How pleasant to know Mr.Lear by Edward Lear 

“How pleasant to know Mr.Lear!”      Who has written such volumes of stuff! Some think him ill-tempered and queer,       But a few think him pleasant enough. 

His mind is concrete and fastidious,      His nose is remarkably big; His visage is more or less hideous,      His beard it resembles a wig.

He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,           Leastways if you reckon two thumbs; Long ago he was one of the singers,       But now he is one of the dumbs.

He sits in a beautiful parlor,       With hundreds of books on the wall; He drinks a great deal of Marsala,       But never gets tipsy at all.

He has many friends, lay men and clerical,               Old Foss is the name of his cat; His body is perfectly spherical,    He weareth a runcible hat.

When he walks in waterproof white,      The children run after him so! Calling out, "He's come out in his night-              Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!"

He weeps by the side of the ocean,      He weeps on the top of the hill; He purchases pancakes and lotion,      And chocolate shrimps from the mill.

He reads, but he cannot speak, Spanish,     He cannot abide ginger beer: Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,      How pleasant to know Mr. Lear! cameron: I used to think by Trumbull Stickney

I used to think The mind essential in the body, even As stood the body essential in the mind: Two inseparable things, by nature equal And similar, and in creation’s song Halving the total scale: it is not so. Unlike and cross like driftwood sticks they come Churned in the giddy trough: a chunk of pine, A slab of rosewood: mangled each on each With knocks and friction, or in deadly pain Sheathing each other’s splinters: till at last Without all stuff or shape they ’re jetted up Where in the bluish moisture rot whate’er Was vomited in horror from the sea.

[justforbooks]

John Ashton

American actor best known for his role as Sergeant John Taggart in the Beverly Hills Cop films

In several action comedies of the 1980s, John Ashton, who has died aged 76 from cancer, played disgruntled, buffoonish or flummoxed figures caught up in chaotic situations not entirely of their own making.

The first, Beverly Hills Cop (1984), was originally intended as a dramatic vehicle for Sylvester Stallone: “Stallone was going to make it ‘Rambo Blows Up Beverly Hills’ or something,” said Ashton, who first auditioned for the film in that form.

When it was subsequently retooled for the overnight sensation Eddie Murphy, it became a comedy in which other cast members were also permitted to be funny. Among them was Ashton, who played the dyspeptic Sergeant John Taggart. With his partner, Detective Billy Rosewood (Judge Reinhold), he is assigned to keep an eye on Murphy’s irreverent Detroit native Axel Foley, who makes waves as he hunts a killer in Beverly Hills.

Foley runs rings around the pair. During a stakeout, he inserts bananas into their car’s exhaust pipe, causing the vehicle to stutter and stall when they try to follow him. Ashton’s irritability was nicely offset by Reinhold’s peppy naivety. One of the pleasures of the film was seeing Taggart gradually come around to Foley. Having begun the movie at loggerheads, they end it as allies.

After witnessing the enthusiastic response to the movie at an industry screening, Ashton and Reinhold stopped by a Los Angeles cinema a few weeks later to see how it was going down with the public. Seated in the balcony, they marvelled at the audience “hooting and hollering and screaming and yelling”.

Directed by Martin Brest and released in the US in December 1984, Beverly Hills Cop took $316m worldwide, and was one of the country’s top 10 highest grossing films in 1984 and 1985.

Ashton and Reinhold returned in Beverly Hills Cop II (1987), as well as the recent fourth instalment, Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F (2024), in which Taggart has now been promoted to police chief. “If we were gonna do [another] Beverly Hills Cop, the only way it could happen was if all of us were in it,” said Murphy earlier this year.

Less commercially successful than Beverly Hills Cop but far superior was the buddy movie Midnight Run (1988), also directed by Brest. It starred Robert De Niro as a dishevelled bounty hunter transporting a turncoat Mob accountant (Charles Grodin) across the US. Ashton was superb as the comically coarse Marvin Dorfler, a rival bounty hunter who tries repeatedly to intercept the duo and claim the money for himself. Dunderheaded the character may have been, but Ashton also showed convincingly that he could be intimidating when the need arose.

The role had been written as a straightforward heavy. “But that’s not how I played him,” said Ashton, who approached Marvin instead as someone who was simply doing his job. It worked: though the character died halfway through George Gallo’s script, Brest ordered a rewrite. “About a month in, Marty said: ‘We can’t kill Dorfler, the audience will hate us!’” Ashton recalled. He was spared and given additional scenes, including a memorable appearance during the tense climax.

Seeing Ashton square off repeatedly against De Niro was among the film’s highlights. It was also vital to him to win the role in the first place. He had arrived at the audition to find “about 30 guys in the hallway going, ‘I can’t believe I gotta read with Bobby De Niro’. Everybody’s freaking out.” Ashton, on the other hand, was champing at the bit. “Nobody’s getting this role but me,” he decided.

During the ensuing improvisation, De Niro was meant to hand him a set of keys. As he went to take them, De Niro tossed them on the floor. “Fuck you!” barked Ashton, sparking an escalating exchange of obscenities. “I know every other actor picked those up,” he reflected. He later discovered that, once he left the room, De Niro had told Brest: ‘I want him.’”

Ashton was born in Springfield, Massachusetts, to Edward and Eva (nee Wells), and raised in Enfield, Connecticut. He was educated at Enfield high school and Defiance College, Ohio, then studied theatre at the University of Southern California. In 1970 he won a scholarship to travel abroad, and appeared in theatre productions across Europe.

He always referred to theatre as his first love, and it was in that medium that he won his only prizes: a Los Angeles Drama Critics Circle award in 1973 for A Flea in Her Ear, and a Drama Logue award in 1982 for a production of Sam Shepard’s True West, in which he starred opposite Ed Harris.

His first film was the slasher thriller An Eye for an Eye (1973). He then became a familiar face with guest spots on TV shows such as Kojak, Columbo and Starsky & Hutch. In 1978 he appeared in six episodes of the soap opera Dallas as a crony called upon to do the dirty work of JR Ewing (Larry Hagman).

Film work included the acclaimed cycling drama Breaking Away (1979), the Charles Bronson thriller Borderline (1980), John Schlesinger’s chaotic comedy Honky Tonk Freeway (1981), the monster movie King Kong Lives (1986) and several John Hughes projects: Some Kind of Wonderful (1987), She’s Having a Baby (1988) and the children’s comedy Curly Sue (1991). In 1989 he played a worried father whose seven-year-old son is kidnapped in the factually based TV drama I Know My First Name is Steven (1989), and at a press conference to promote the film, tearfully recounted his childhood memories of being followed home from school by a stranger.

There was much talk of a follow-up to Midnight Run, and even a script that Ashton read but felt was not up to snuff. A trio of undistinguished sequels were eventually made for TV without the original personnel. In the first two, Another Midnight Run and Midnight Runaround (both 1994), Dorfler was played by Ed O’Ross.

Ashton worked continuously in film and television. Notable parts included a prison guard in Instinct (1999) with Anthony Hopkins and Cuba Gooding Jr, and yet another cop in Ben Affleck’s impressive thriller Gone Baby Gone (2007). Ashton’s final performance was as a judge in two forthcoming westerns: Hot Bath, Stiff Drink an’ a Close Shave and its sequel, Hot Bath an’ a Stiff Drink 2.

He is survived by his third wife, Robin Hoye, and two children, Michelle and Michael, from his previous marriages to Victoria Runn and Bridget Baker, both of which ended in divorce.

🔔 John David Ashton, actor, born 22 February 1948; died 26 September 2024

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