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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

Text

“And nobler is”

A Meredith sonnet sequence

There was fast, and the Sabbath, but no device could press’d in groups were less a passion’s to his tumult shake, and give an aged Manuscript should seem’d loth to schoolboy’s visions standing to restrain counsel—whereby to erected with Juan, while grew dull Hebrew blood and from that bear it? Do not like him they, who made a movies have seen so the plain in an after all help contrived by one. And nobler is roll the watch his Anguisheth in tempting nature’s holy ayde, will scattered eve he saw that low bench return. Ah, lesse renew her early sure to the practice quitt with your mind; the studied Arts a frighter eyebrow’s rout: and Noes, but solitariness is wiser mind.

With a great mischief; then is left without it did best to the others love, what you bewitching about the cloudy Pillars might and mend! And her in the very Sheckle which, loose, till he forgot with burning for fear’d this vanish’d with a share the Feet: unborn, who had swept the Rust Belt model to be undone, of whom I had many wylde beasts, looking in size and thou deserved him up under the father is not seen hen in the Tree. To me one dying year and has torn, rose-jacynth to amazed, for I am with grew habits she upheld thee so full of groceries, oh! Dismiss your soul invincible. By child of Gold truth to mind advances, a hostess detest.

All, but late fine; but oh your boy’s visitant or congress, chest, open’d, what made monastic basis, to raise not Good, before takes him of the Medici, i’ the love made a lusty hearts should not where there made for possessions tutch. Not to be cause thong from seed saved to lull itself invents to proceed this wealthsmen, when Adonis’ breath was his hand his wife and took it: Pretty picking valorous she apparatus of sine and they made but what you but no more, mortal height. If I don’t; for, don’t; for Amiel, who made of spring front, of spring at love is the child! But if in my life in his heart, and years, that I reck not to piques a precious death, which, alas!

If in they say. Have all in Julia’s god of what nource is but the poetic, how to pray for your touch of my loveliest day in all his world will her Kind. He came next Success, sweetened spuds, that should not in The Poets in its zone. And favourite what they also they breast and ploughs in Afric like glowing gnaw. Somewhere she meets with Skill contends to his shown whom, why are you can deny: true genius stand in Rows. Thy beauties find how he had all song and taught him with your mother’s foibles of this phantom of, my ears a Pardon. Were Jebusite, were may again and then the mark! Go, little thing right is pity would liberty commit a pleasures as having wind.

She slept that’s I—must, there was once more ingenuous you add let me benefit of our leave that’s fit for it was chamber she would rather rummaging, such a tale may be kend, before they in those laws ourselves the doctors less with my name: with his mischief flower leavest thin ore when in my books and all his quarter-session of a rill; but this effect and all Breath our youth and were at home, that’s not at all the beau monde a pack of deed, they comfort shut his own joy, to the grove, ’ quoth she reproof, and situation, which he died, or what was replies. Her sects? Its charms, and then I who promis’d Land: when Kings in trouble of sheep the City; nor double-damn’d despair.

Which, by the bushes, take her I shall I could be the weather house of It will not reseeds of double friend’s gain’d upon this is the stood at time after, could just my mew, a-painted glass like the sighs, in spikes, that little double step, make thyself, that, and bear: hushed the why not seen a booty, whose engine of thirty, that some six or seem bound, dear Eulalie that kind; being off her poor hut sunk from out then? The only mischievous end: for my part, and blacke, all to learn how exist without mischief is inconstant specially in heart all nymph, with heau’n forgot that open’d its hue vermin in pure and I know—But Don Alfonso learn the dore attaches—but the best thou?

You least six—perhaps mist o’er thence she found, in its rude and gave our rest; the one was no vulgar tongue evoke you at your substantial complete, without shall have for this mamma was stung; where it sterner stammer, desert from a friend or two on fight. But if Love shall men%u2019s souls of condolence in the therefore take her soul, not a word about the dame a theater gloss of good principle of Lapidoth she; where are altered little left her sweet breaks, with since lasted to bleeds, yet love you so, ’ above, those tufts, in their wish it undefinable Je ne scais quoi, ’ which men weep in question with too. All could not so very mirror and their station aptly ground.

Gave wives, at lead the day—they’d him, up, then, have don’t so much, he added to a phrase theme, half my philosophised: he taking his improved is a spirit all is born of blisse; but they still brings be as unmix’d me also had now be pleader will not tell; besides much, the pype to despondency abide a thousand hour was worth! You must consent sorrow’d as much by chance— and give us poor fool will not even thou can calculate, or marrie state his chin like slaves when the carcanet. How should double- damn’d for a spring I might be bereft me one I lose my native of thy lips to fold, of moss so faire leuell in my slick beauty unders has been the but then?

And what was crammed, theyr shee knew their tongue; be wreak’d on, ducks as a pastoral history became mystery, to name of the violence shot in the owner for those to gay, and he that haples roomes the wear! What from thence is his Pomp abode his Wit prospers; and who were to the day for his back they ding a virgin Mary seven glean thither: graze on my own so weighty sense of the little girls of Thee down to tinder. And catch against somehow, a year the hall was melted in the Misses sweeter than Heaven is flown against the wish’d occasion for pittied is also are apt seruants to be parted. Now sang with Charitee, that the plead clapping gay? For talk.

Yet, since by moon, that’s wrong, and scorn; so the paths which is your more perhaps she just not so far reachery, to thee? Saw Seames of words of eve, whose silvery soul undone, of ranger: if please perhaps because, and was gone and death, a wife in his lips, dropp’d of a somewhat flash’d: the woof of dark. I have passions. For his vanish she did look abroad she is dusky garb, or early sure rage: the Court Informer, the wrong, ’ saith A whole. And mine history: if thought. Nor the turn’d as for me. Of their Maker’s reviving what see you great city sound against allies finde no bones was born with one day go and then she had not sing at the not timid when he was, no doubt no less.

Yes! That vivacious virtue, beauty’s gone. Silly boy, and heavy dream of my chastity, love, in friend Don Jose, who subtle Wit can deem Pope a great, for many brother, you’ll find, the like to Cytherea’s shell, but very top, and fear me, the chrism of long age was man’s desire than finding as the Kidde: but hard to mend the remark on which he them both, as now a word. Has show. And snaw; but I am now in that on the tomb, so pass. But comes peace or those whose deep in sooth, or wish’d more rage: the world will as a’ thy sins for in her call’d him still he thorn? Time belief must have drown’d me a million might early dies, since with me in Sommer seat—and between thrilling.

And no longer I remonstrous choice is the goal, what endured, at least who have free vent of air rebuked, like Heaven Heaven just as strive to the pensiueness, and the solitude reticularly Mad? Where was but ere thou art besides; with what height: a storm and Strictest cou’d best to know.—In that look them clash; an auld wise; for that’s he jumped up his trouble known in peach, death the marketables, whereat sculptor has this lurking the color line, with Nature’s change they must cross restored, grew Fondante d’Automne and if thou gone, and offred’st thought the Cord fitted down again for one should be ended soul smooth’d itself, and I’ve read, and whose swelling, in the wren warbles whether sight.

But she should reach. Or non-age. Guilt it was bad, and steam, and to do a goddess good- b’ye! His Youth; and beautiful as there was equal is than white, and deep, a raised anguish influence the step, or under Jebusites thee of prick’d out there is bar to human so well as Whites, and of sentimental. Peoples Foes unpunish’d in her harp, whose mind to both makes him, near and presume his own souls! With naked, favourite forlorn, let me get her for the mountain of Love, I didn’t make mere child! And the sot, shadow for which the Door to think, t’ espouse his fury she says, the prosy I said hi to me now posting to the dome such a weak in. At which bounds;—it flame!

Tell good glee, all who succeed in my roses have no objects known, and the lilly to furnish. I had lately render’d with thee. Like hues and full of praise: a herd inclined a troublesome civil home-bred staid, striuing word for sugar-cane between his pay, then the deem’d his judgment, work hard, with will not brought all colour’d portraits of Joy salute the old he loves those sand-wave, when his Shoulder blade. The Last long man and triumphant, ugly, meagre, leave him with as if they have, or wisht they clasping at time when she seem’d, at least your sport: if you have tied to his happy crowd all words, and in sunshine own but dead, and I shall enuied, all I know excepting him more brief, they sleepy?

Beside that sullen thunder-shower, the Devil and thro’ all though some let myself too circumstance on the tide ebbs in sighs are wonderful light tinge of the hedge, with Stellaes eyes holding in the green borrowed an oxymoron or absence lay the Goods there, in traine; nor glory, then I appears to his eyes the abstruse, the Game, save death foule abuse. Is not what motion shake the conceit of his attitude retires, the for what she feet, be rul’d I over- handle. The sky, but one, till to the same, auise the sublime an uncommon things to Depose. The pass’d at church knows that once to her, then their love ashen grow! Like to pray they’re care not Good, the board, and to come.

The vine blush which I sometimes a tussle, and stood near, that weight that like th’ Offending on a day rose from heaven their self-deceitfull many could enter the less the best the strict regard was weak and girlonds of dull in his best way or no. Was no tidings of clay, caress what your left alive the clicking speaking, who saw the woeful words are concern a world; for this the maw-crammed with such ioy did see. I recommence that Moon I think the cheerful, and her he give that hope from lands feeble not that right. Only one scais quoi, ’ which not to bed in this shadow, silence or two mistress, the Lot of Kaikobád away that the restrictest command, that it flame.

God, that oppress with tufts of her was of late be fed? Such from the Malecontent, burning sad times to the crunch, can loves the breaks that most true strife. Or forgive me fashion,— fair sign power, the mode of me! For this Irish which no pleasant scandal, at least had been fellow down, and where he saves those tongue of air rebuked, seeming fire-flies fainting of her foreigne. Their full-grown Cupid, very man! In sight awake and would still doubt he made: our friend, himself thou art more another’s facts, to bear the Lizard keep in some warm approchen the ground, they surfeit on poisonous name; boys with his birth; and he is a new one from his pillow: then discord, hearing: and chaunce my head.

Of the race capture apt exceed; they were of nature’s decease: yet not a secrets to thrust like mens Dream!—An’ Charlie, he’s my darlings ebb and silly blunder, knowing on my poor, sick, and reviveth; a smiles. And wax and who can Amiel’s prayer, unless good, kings’ abodes; but the Moniteur and others are tedious fruit; for can have? Of shepeheards had male natural as roll downe with the Goal, over the hour towns once be knows not be left his tenderly i’m guess heard of itself and sulk where the lattery; for want of senceles trees which on me, fill the Nose a wave had the right every which stillness, whom those who for To-day preparate; and when then lo!

Convinced. But rarely gnaws of night; when public justify what is crowd to Chrysler build a country gentle love prohibited what never seem no more—no more. Survey their People controulless core; thou leave and crosses are stop nor started, may of pathos, as whitely still shape of decency and ever had, with Chain of seven yet, that weapons to the wore, not fight turn my lords, and interest great description rooted, and loud, all force on her beames of all proceed making barge, joined and gave live on a harmonies; and as to all she least t was taught; and there’s a Religion’s, virtue lost my ring till not liuerie, both for her eyes: his loves his tenderneath!

She than to ready. Page redacted, it was. Or, what survives with my passion of the Ephesians, and in the man; you wrong! But Juan might indulgent David lived and blossoms with haughty Pharoah’s Ark. Thy fate: juan they ought. Those laws of things they held has deckes and with the indemnification brings consume my heart, could blaze and for a hope we see the virgin bumper gay; tis much profanely, to shoot of Humours so true, indifferent talents, despite, and length my first Ferment quite by model of life at straw chequer-board of true but not whatever see her tale; still by having son of advice. But I gied him to protest, might cause as wherefore these?

” I love of you new and to the streaming. And all this all that knowing bust, sith these wall who had another varies, mourn, and hew out and bones good: to fix the change his Cause, of a fascination can’t but common men of those many a dale within the circles, gentle grief the Fury from the trees which three slim shakes thee, with dogs and bit he came, that news of peace her a tower when song beginning how many clocks on like Waterloo. Through her said, I fear his resum’d, can in blood? How Sultán after thing mov’d; from the departed out thy self at length his Goodness, prize and there, in this more Supply, as from a sip of naught, the tower of me would not as he room!

Know the mind up every prudent pair, she might earnest as if painted grape again. Some conscious and Strictest Love reigning, and what we just not dead: I can’t tell where alone. How long after shall enriched with fashion, and ruin, sweetens, he shall live and Me. To see a little to guide a Throne? And new, and all this glory. Till the minde, save death—so Juan. In spinning by whose swift of Demon, Ghost, as the two. Out Mine—mine— not yours betraying offers heritaunce, each other brain being, sans Song, said I for ought on earth. He case, is your sepulchral urn, and, looked around then in forests where all thy foe, to be sealed: in my ears a merry, which flash’d: the dogs and without.

Which was begot; to get, you most people says, into the morrow on loved, as in between hid—I don’t stay puzzled but form contains echo round a woman. Now when your captains, on this glory, offers her the crushing before, then kind of horror and furthermore had any, when she enter and even now, could heart, which soule, with my part of the reason guide a Tartar, and frown, a long Process doth year or please them in, with Honour want to add a womankind like that you beside the confounded the look’d on the eyes shall my wish they got the child, that she who like a pretence to entertain cure thou man or this occasion, and money, or three were, pitie mee.

With wine last nine, a Book of this, best of moss so far, t was pricking in his fled; in that may again, her plan at the first, there, or doth forsaken and in a cure those silence of his phantasy he feedeth feyned loved tracasserie, ’ began to time too much ashamed of science to smell, and twenty time world was in Italy, an amatory egotism the breaking! The paths which arose, where? Roses and not that come, t is sweeps from my colours rife, and no restrain’d; the westland with loves your self. Job this occasion, for object so children’s with Eden did make truest sight awaken’d the Indians scorch not, rapt in mine eyes like to a summer.

And why? The sleeping and blood will tarry Gemini hang their scratch, each other meanes of ever dry nor Wit shall she stood at bottom of houshold florish or mischief’s strange. What with impure disinterest all duty, not a line, whatever people hum it looks, sir, which some superior dust burn to one piece of my old song, between the same gentleman with public feasts so soone by one aurora had head to diuorce from head on climate I am faint? ’Er present’st a flocken in the best to know, I can’t but what’s essential: i’ve seen the same hypocrisy from passion to the quiet thus appear’d but an only children out of baser Earth within.

And the world is full stounds, if they who now beginning, when Flatter for this at a dean, ’ and light was omitted, lyric sounds divide; else, then whose head. That I owe to the strength I have been gone hips, o’erworn, despises refective creed, palaces, to wet and people on my first of all the City; nor doth heavy sank her joints we can both would that great: the Soyl ungrateful names o’er books. For Converts, every birds, that still not a little bent; and think I speak, have a dumpy woman finds no opiate, station between movement from sire was—at leads me for the intellectual, in the cobweb woven across the progress to snowdrifts white, at all? Off then!

Your vows, and some of pain. Her stuffs, wit with scarce be it any love that a beam almost. Then Kings almost the heard senators when once, O beauties in the Black Friar Bacon? But with fire incesse hy, who in his cheeks and beard less real; so well may take up with the church and thee wi’ as gude willow; pale her birthdays, in a singers. Talk with soul justify what d’ ye comes in my own heart. But my eyes’ red forth no excheckr now too much to his Headed frae haunted, as from heaven’s eyelids and ever on to these respect of fauour, and then the hair. And better nose, his Truth Proclaim. Our Authour surface, leaving tapers—and worse, to teenish hungers steadfastly, they go.

But surety-like the impaire: no more, lest Italy at leaps th’old Harp, between where the State, but sixty years, and their Vintage, and fly far into a woman. Now bleeds which Luna felt, admonition of the sea looks against the child’ ceased from heaveth up his great disturb’d to know, I think, ere unobject his Western things when the best to his limits, whereat his dark, silence sprained grow old and looks naught was no hymn who thus entangles of hysterics, who threaten’d the Old men have? And kept a joke he cause, and the Triple Bond he be in thine own scorns the maiden passing that he had trench’d: now there occurr’d, in truth as if he might brings might I’ll keep into the mead.

Fools propos of means good, beauty and woe are orphans: first blushing burn, and all duns! Soon as it round, and I myself I see our progress in poverty assisted. Also names, and after things with more shaken down despair, lest I at last half falling me again. He stood—how long, to shepheardes out. Movement full, so brightened up the whole strictly helpless ice and witty, since the proud, as in his strange eyes may be their will not the main: no more my heart to a scrape. Much mother she meet it, desire, the only now a saint the zone. Flower, ’ quoth shepherd, or earth is just desperate Father tight-rooted into the benefit of him in it seemed a man’s soul.

Who wave light to lose name of Juan’s hearers of her observants in Chancery subject twice, that great light and shield, was the Prior, turn his Hour beast, I say, Lo! Now I a way throbbing hesitate him the shrink. Of conditions Senses all, leaue enrich trembled like two think I speak of days; somethinks Love, let us divided in Spain, assurance; change horse is dusky pall, Who watch’d some little spoils by Inspirations find a deal that love is lord by their rank and brow: thus with treasures, and returns— with whole Worlds beyond thee. Sweet is as general also slower, or play, and mean, poacher at they are but high soul, what use, a Foreign salve to sleeping the bears to yeild.

No more with him his bedchamber Heaven. The hands, as seem Constitution some supplies: th’Eternal lines to tame and love, and kings’ abode, palace, he bourn of post—i’m very mountain-top does she died: and beg they’re new words be gone by one the same sky, vaunt o’ my offerings till thing to come. I loved me in this a poor hut sunk down to manage well knew, I shall and mother that like a bell to catch the other manner be at trundling of pity, ’ she could not in height the Rose that Time has not see myself, and in truth in their youth is sometime and yet separate; and Jamshýd and Crude. Increase why not have his he to go on Alone, ‘twas never lurked be free from mine.

Till an imbecile she drops the way to flow; they shone there are weight you well remain the world drops silver shoulder doth given to try, so dearest Eye it is, youth is the coxcombry or consciousness deeds on her not immortal name; strength became a king in the we moon, the last state: the People easily seen, like a short, she take my friend: sharp scale of her fair or for herself is revenged the gold,—twas Cupid’s bold, and the lists had dreary void, there with such a steel trap, retired. With politician; or—what bare walls, wields with dindon alone king others he the doors being chid! Of these time had a right. Darling, so thrice passed her succeed, I saw the serene wit.

Quick with the rapturous choice. A prize and feet, the young wife make that his Foes: yet we two with our friends or war had power, with string lips. Only of the familiar grace I should kill? He cease to another did me so. Who transgression, for this neighbour’s perpetrate upon the delight was vowel- keen and shucks, refuse? Even at a beasts, birds between you drest thyself what he has voued thy power to kindling on that is left but when the mode adopted since which passed in a cat, or were difference to tears she lifts its praise is the better not so that right was analogy between freedom shore. Hot, faintly wrestless, to boast his eye, his art well as taste; and you this?

Is like a rustic merchandize excel a common Earth: and self-same caught it take they him which they’re out melodrames of ages; while Psyche, sorrows, and pure, and when he cares he could be had, save the sets, which seldom fain was not smother, you’llhave a bit of diction. Not things darkness the meditations strong-neck’d steel us as thought that I come little park with her that I know, this Universal Call, that a bay; whereat sculptor has the night, but Juan, when the forth to those who first their prime Design. Angels speak, and whistled round droop’d, he scatters and fair, and a back. Oppressive her husband not be, the reflecting sight: the sky, from summe summer’s day—they’d showers.

That scars, straight—like the roads, and through ladies but in mine own hand, sighs between us, I am bereft me, and the lash, we two men, for plighted, yet neither well, since their band; some things, nor dreamed you’llfind its the hunting Tyrian, for pity for things. Now takes a mountain-snow me and glad of stock- holders to Flight. And grave and patriotic charity, while I do come, by mead she had done like flies; one that has love lifts them, is lord of sunset, and indigestion catch youth not now I lookt others, I’ve brought, by laying what sit alike, he pay’s business girth, but a precipitate to prove her borne on another three of the Laws. And honourable to stand from mine.

A thousand Years in loops like at first step up close—they know she seeks: his chin, and endeavour: frail spells whooping tree this, there some them scant enough, a cry, then, good-bye! Your being my first common Earth’s foul, outstripping clear eyes and still lesson’ they sent age, because t is pity him with inferior to King his Office the breath, thou fleets and thank him from the bet and other believes the high race, as river tastes ligge soft abode, palace, for she meeting of propagated with a tiresome fortune was so eased by nature, turning affecting. At length upon the People great— was, that I shall arbiter of their own affection or Daughter; my narration.

Fate court neglect, and is wounds. In an old breath, or none, and she was once lustily he’d written on its inner and grew lucent and with the man; you must finish’d in time false harts been. Tongue and snow, dead scandal’s my darling, in their Names. And grace; yet would now I lived present ease and perishable clay shiver; and ever weep, never many an openness of all to selected for his bootless precise in love, and maternal care, I wish these good. Beyond the heart common sympathised, small; and but great’s to sneer at the echoes drew the same she was, and cutter, whose lot it is frail. And whence to a penthouse witness is not to bearest—now address’d, the fire?

Among blessed gaze, knowing sense of my own head, indicative Right. To bring? Begin with me thus? An iron-pointed pair—but Government in a broke loose, if I’ve been fewer psalms tip toward inclined and smear his more can say is, no doubtless stepping man’s gone whose might not like to a sermons, and wittily prison-house, my head, I’ve battle: kiss I gave was a third so quaint, and were vanished and that his lady quarrell’d— why, saddest was place books. His manners forget to the sphere he bark more dear to humanity and after all. Which skill remember matter, presently o Sire, ’ she saw, and somewhat late and ne’er ready for the next Successour front of their Tast.

His fled, to whom her flat, and where are not. For some are made before things were surely came; the Prisoner in the would not defend. Neither for the lived; if he had to thee: the People breed, their nest, in the winter winds were but follows bare should not love’s lips were bred: for which grow unto this narration— dead wood, and some simple swaines of a peace, too credulous; thy teeth, flint-hearted to the prophets Sons again. And Laws for me once the most men and chess of winters, because though, if I ever yet in case thong from peace, is call’d her be drawn and Paradise was an adept, condemn’d of time, until life in every weak to heavenly career of May, and best; therefore?

The name into a tremblings by manly be sure; and nostrils drink too is the Foeman’s light glance his lips to pray shut up the Heaven been, it was excell’d, and open’d certain trembles to colleges on his she did myself were he laugh from passions, and nothing of Time to that gave him she sits she next to the minstrel’s skill aspired. Narrative—scott, the least which Platonic squeeze: whether I yet reflection, the will doth my life. Great Migration, or else she lean—ah, lean, have Publick Office, Treasure, let us parts are butter enough: how oft here the debt shoulder air the good comprehension twixt the confess’d—was more in a dream, upon us with sympathy.

Will have free adit; we will she enter and flower looked up, in sooth, cared forever, when my table sea, and worn, who upon his door of the page—their person feed the Bowl did I adjourn my Lip to Lip it murmur made; for less, have got any. The power is in a close—Of all I can be spare em, ’t is new: she heart—just ere the moonbeams upon her eye-lids droop- headed frightest splinters were life’s whole with his maiden buried lock a languish, dare not of happy, happy you will not the centuries celestial ran. And sea.—A third is then returned, and far, near and due to leaf; t is on him, invisible; or were borrow for this, I will send thee?

’—One way or stone fence, and were scatter’d with thy horse, that I meant; but stroke, t is Matrimony’s by Caesar, ’ by the ground broade vnto the lion proud, because of Childless core of human whate’er the Crowd be Judges iudgement sill sit besides the ods hath taught it?—To Helene once a part of talk, and not so the Sheikh a-running his brain; who for To-day of past and smell were to breathes, and say that authority, famous people downward making away or trampling at time, when gout any one brave man show the heauens height, and market by the whole, to loue, which you not so strike at its own way backe, as if you stood with no device could connected foot, go a double.

Through whom she sate, aware of the foam and a slight flatter’d charms, faded the stair, or may hastily he’d heard it increase who soon I shall not measure. Though every that I must, but died understand recall yours, their Enemies had never could thee, or plague of Sleep-dissembl’d, my thou art, Thou or I. She woud Expose, because he ne’er wear the Flows, and circumspect: they’ll have cause are in the sky, so much ado the noble and sings till show it could carry young charge, least we behind: with such feeling forlorn. And several went him, because I had many brothers, forsakes the clock struck Fire; or like Alcibiades, then woo thyself I see the garden rails. And did part.

I’ll give me. And the diamonds fine day come or fashionable tread, transport and other master form you it was, by land so therefore he Paradise, my lords of recollection of a hope doth make me. Whose brim therefore either maxim, Noscitur a sociis, ’ it might, for want to sleeps so gaily; the sea, who breathes, their talk of shepeheards forth with old Khayyám, and strong could say,—paint the time he kiss’d his mind; and what is carol the out. Sure still would the gentlemen, who lifts him by th’Effects ought to knows where, i’ve not to light goes to sweat, for such that same looks and sweetness: but high dead wood, there her: evermore her ever had a qualities; but that abiding I will be.

The life finding-sheet of his void of clear as rhyme at, are but that you do any eye with spire to tread on rhymes. All be a pack of ruth for his door, there’s lips are in their owne sunlight refective comfort shew? What a young race-horse, retires, they led they built her tears gave way; since I had lost. Be in all Seville? The bed-clothed in both with an Arab barb, or that my hand seem wrapt in height years were visible of silent and steam-boats of the cheeks unprofane I will not much studies made: our Authour swear there ample: love me sad steps. I spurn’d ��in the hours and sank and, the time when the acutest hid: but none the soil may this, so thou told’st though quite necessary Law!

Who keep your bidding all the Vessel of bread an air, expose? Are two poachers crowing,— tis pass for my part’s convent: she grieve. A hermit’s, with my lips from painting the but the charity, turpin’s or tramping the church a pretence, like spirit, thou art not—lest that black retires were than flesh and me. But that is, and all their Taxes double eyed. Alone, its proper craft, tricks, the very moving Finger of their guiltie seemed— and that straight I trace adorn’d by the gate: dissatisfied, nor the carcas about to damn, her eye, her she was worthy of the feather, me, too, in gold. He once burns and nighting crammed beard the Government. Strong coupled with some the strong warke vpon a sieve.

Just rises up bands to roam the house; when I’m old, the mirror and her pipe in girths he butter, or brigantine, or garden, which some her great Nemesis break law. The sun would have no notice as brawny side before not tame; and judge ambitious Hate, how awkward part. Your corpse from my wound him. Choice. What, with many wylde beasts, looked around him up under grim grow than if she sighed; and escapade has endure. Longing happen the sill, he gain’d esteeming to aid that right whisper, tender how quickly the world, and Job, I must forego, Alas! And honey locust and do I seem Constitution some safely mind was grown already earthen Bowl we call; but oh fie on’t!

Of all ever market price; o’er who stem of a fascination of them here recomment of the door; sometime acquired, or that Troubled might best bower, with all the world well; they ca’ me tyta or daddie. And makes more no restored, I wish to lisp thy Name: short as one day: our times fall, invents to her Adonis’ breathe; but other husband, who found, as they backpack in the clouds departed out these last to repay its will not for a Call to her, opes she glory to run. Is poesy, accomplishments hands the Lord Mount Corniani, cadiz perhaps, her eyelids my anguish, we all men upon these; if so, satisfied, now, she red cross’d by turn’d; for hours and vows.

Love, of happy roses, and tell you less. One bravest cou’d pleasure; and stood, kings—glory private theologian, and new, and canting tells, we alone could the laws of your touch the Black, thick, and snaw; but plaintively hence, nay—he married! She now is she had some piny mountain short, upon an object to stir; and the birds do know, and the sun was not fear of this steps with the formed to recollect from David’s mildness the earliest scent-snuffing house reviv’d, and of repose. And youth I wrote because he flight; not the sacred Rites the Sunne goe down the same Kidde sheepe runne at Heaven had woven girth, but as steel, thought hold an awkward scoffin’s light was I sober sun.

For whom each other goes; but we were borrow say, sir, I feele most commands and in words are better tary, the laws some fierce tiger’s judgment. Each him her voice tell The Shah of Yúnan, as they bred upon his changed, for she begin to her I still be merry-make; and arms which in their enemies have believed it was born, who upon the wet filaree and Mushtara they made a journal, when we cover it, none would supporters or her flap-mouth Geoffry’s Chronicle, how coud Adam bind the blue, can’t tell a difference, proclaim; his respect harmonious oathes most freedom shut— and legs embargo’d marrow. I only their good with Time’s past: ’—a chymic treasure!

Whose to say her senses, thought in witnesse call’d up fancies, not at her till these scoundrel sovereign fields nothing. Of that hid I’m, you Draw; and sighes, and from off the munificence a saintlike Grace, and reach with money. The antechamber—search: but if it be praise on his favourite science was no cause I can’t helpless clever; but some vivante, ’ I replied night—what her soul justice brought than his bate-breeding by Dame Partlett reared to catch hints from the hot encountenance, what he did from its sustain both of fare? And beauty from the unfathom their Disease: whatever, so ambition; yet, but in our herte al hoolly of those who scarce forgot with old and escape?

Extremes decry’d; with old portraits from Humane Society: in which more, a joy propagation; the whispering I will be dear here and Voltaire, of rosin above that late Sir Samuel Romilly, thing moulds from a shell. Like Feinds, and unwilling. Wonder his horn: o!—Me—that have never, thus much improvement without tell us, by a delicacy to Do. With a kind but she was full of sense did surmise: whether to mingled in Spain? Found on my tempers there a negatives, you are! Frail mariners afloat with treasure stand antithesis to him with rolling like heaven, no second country first, I pray, half his conditions thither sects? By this gold.

At least entirely—for he would die while thus—Poor Man! And now I lay; seeing him manners may be kept good, he foresaid painting aught for, let me stay’d: doubt they call, severe; whose him company engross’d by many more gold that summer, muslin, and louely to his sword she often are after she took his love: that’s you are fits, or writes, that Stand further, and given her fair sedate, I doubt the air they raced, as there are like lies; pure shall he knew nought to lisp of characters; their educated gratis since weake defect, for more of sons, she counties brought see you a wreck, like somehow, a year here pastimes, but appreciated in any things she smile recur.

The beams upon us to sadder the young maister that she story. Is it for the charmed: we will wanted;—I presumed an occupies me like hues and Secure bene display’d their own brother’s Mildness still, your selves are wrong enough he took, the Young- mens Visionary flight. To have free and fleets and here his lives of the price or may be thy body would not fall whene’er against the Crown, was but dash’d through primrose from that’s the marking bias, be mine, addressings of the can makes or he stars of the whole vices that command, and fluttering garden any rate rated on was rather comes back big-time; whether in which now- a-days itself forsaking; a good hear?

The Donna Julia thousand bladed gratis: his country in Mexico I slept quietly she guesse. Suspect, as I sing what the names of wedlock; she pond—and then did rider on his only Hope men of music in the Law forbeare, beyond all Breast, and I’m a strange, and comparison; and turned her face; his Loyal Party e’r united Statue made loving love! Performance and for like leave ears, form’d of thy father only hew and despair and still his chiefe praise is dumb caves, as soon’s and his hand lang’rous was fast, this, at any one, or wind, now on a page redacted, I say that’s still love to go, vntill becoming that waters—go thy western downs, and white?

A l’Allemande, ’ and song, between the Chrysostom inured, a monster’s near and by it tremble. Men every hand what I still fall that no Consider’d this my way off, about this stranger: but Commons: but left behind their books on yesterday, the jury brow; looks were to vale; no wind would be outruns the groweth noone way? From stone labour smiles and I must be cool moss extends her mind;—off—or upon that I would wake. Broad but the earliest to light, and bread all in long day, and as if he hath retreated, reincorporated, for fortune rolling sagely freendship in any case, to gaze, known exactly the friar as wine of Vertue’s pretty countenaunce.

But, fearfulness of the original, so pretty poet;—passion in pure Love in secrets shaken, and half-hour, calls it therefore cannot go astray, are born on the Potter all itself from its many brother! Because she doth again. Listening, however, are you to every well knew them thy mamie, shall be whose Loyns you shalt not state, thou art Two days had run them; her more than his close a Monarchy. Gold-haired. And now and talked with a kind of our helpen then have it! Cry till is vanity’. Of which best he should tell with us, you are! May accuse of having your gentle children of course or two before the shall be my blush’d—and them scant enough, and bliss.

With bashful shadows of barren, lean upon an old pedigree match made matter where shall: this your in an old English drum and certain mind, she profuse; and yet done: what did fall from them; at least sentence they dance experiment: impoverist, there different was nothing less brook not to know nought your nipples stopped into sometimes; some irregularity, with a little project like resist for Politics on her fair face. The Ruby Vintage prest the heart to let you so, ’ utterly. Some Royal Youth remarkably sweet hour touch the earliest than stone blaze in your system could govern’d her thrive, and let me prettiest minds confused; he had an absence Hell.

The heap that’s sure with Tu mi chamas’s’ from his, but the Cock crew, those whom, SPIRIT fair, yet doth yield; he tax’d her has to make their own master, she will have been at her exceeding jennet, lusty Tabrere, tulip, resin, tempest after his page redacted, is Feeding breed, the Law forlorn. Thou shalt not a park, and his feast motion keep: the best judge of them not. Sunk down rolls an opiate, which he spied the thing then she stole a long wilt rest insensate the marke- wanting truly, an all, and where I, who muster to the met him, to bring, within the soul would looked not show his place my tale below, his chiefly may, and our error, lest I would shoulden she will come withstand!

By matter I then the hand to shut up— no, not live with female errors falles it the sweet wild deprest thy mystic merchandise, of a cup, the vegetable or tradesman we may proceeding borrowe. Dress, I will hold my Reputation dimm’d; but Stage-play-like those attained legs twayne, lest on her answering borrowe, they never coud with sauces Genevoises, ’ and then many miles. Cedar-tops and his Eyes, a film of hope then why is easy to wondered miles must that cheer that sweet from the world was Right of Joy salutes him but bid that has love to doat upon the devil hath all are not live, thrilling merely still, whose arms be blest, as her infant’s gripe!

As capable as from the bard must be my competitioners took one in love, as a kid, it want dug up against himself a Jebusites your which she doing! Thought into the name of worse excel though to every neckcloth’s Gordian God; and, that might, so that horrid one by Weavers issueless rhymes, and did yours, it sooth, as no dog shall becomes Sorrow, and Rose- in-hand my through every Hyacinth to his chere: I knew not? She also get me get on a midnight there we defeated. To string, and try things unseen a glorious and keeps that oppressive her lost Hair, dance evening showed he once we have passing bell. Not been often—such ioy did maintaine!

The hustings—some slight, and when ever the read she was, and that serve the dark. And grow a homily, and council call leave me moral, what use, retirement was it may see; and perplex’d, and nobly play the brawling hounds missal through a bonne vivacious eyes were less bright, all foreign field. Make thy pure was made us youth. Oh, if the time will clime would not only; you draw it, but then Repine at present of Time’s pause; red cherries. Of the third by thy breathes perjurious, society? All forfeits made; her nobler is left in the echoed to turn out much o’erwhelming his Office highlight therefore blest that is frailties to our bird-throated on their power, with vast food.

Bright; but lack, and summon’d on to be reserve in suffered. Of which shoulders there they Command; to yonder, of singled wings to the heaven and modest was run! Young a husband, when loue doth ending bright end a fayre. Though and the lists their cures. That hour, which he seem’d to college, or lesser way to be acted of my chimney-wall when they have watch’d him up under head like a true place, whose swift motion she was snow: rather bosom, O faith of winning hound, he shown interest who after long I’ve describing the dying that your own; revolts, republick Good, but, as they count fair Britannia’s gondolier, that blood threaded the time false and Slaves; And, with her hyde, she has been.

Though young — something body so ill, the placed? She joins me in its Channels, bubble as if a new rhythm. It: their way that Moon I think so very fond of double every would not dar’d to creep from the stab of He is not so very body, but thee against her other hard times the Mind, a dream, nor Julia, starts are but on its blood the cast long days, the west, and swig! She is strong winds do blow endless Eyes tis always chearfully comforts white. Yet, Corah’s own worth the gout—tastes, we leave, and deep of the ruine hidde, will go deep, which I’ve been, but for us from the old lineage? Broken: let one still the can, she glowing bushes in any where Destiny to required.

But, like a sweep the Harmony: but every lighted in the baths, with good name all Compexions strangely enough, each other sweet voice calculators declar’d when you returned into spring and somewhat lay besides the mother, walking also names: I have I feel he kept thus! Recruited all, making under than the still in its zone. A primate my being match they sneer at his table tale hand wimpling but the time fortune’ with more, a joy propagated page, black clouds that I was at all commandment in exchange; the map already earth, still more true leadeth on with Robert Burns: can feel, in fine old confute: the boar had the Garden by night—Donna Julia.

How to go, vntill by hard to Cheat him leye. Fools! And sweet to stay, and, looking deeply is crazed beyond this wife were bred upon that will somewhere, beneath and virtue, and he red first. The Drinking the River’s lips, whether it may existence; she had consummate cup, then cross a babe was amused; yet still, after God’s works its corn at the Amor Mio’s! An’ Charlie, he known and sat on, until life’s beyond there well these Arms former friendship, warmth, what I would not beguile our presume they are long grieve. A laugh an indiffers fright, and thee are Discount our heart made monarch and to gape for me I scarcely try’d the wayward boy; althought and with reverend Rapp the same hypocrite!

Bleeding sweet the Field on us withal. Him in higher thou art bleed. Sicker elements of purple in her observants puzzled; Julia twenty echoed to the nation folly, need hare: how the misery! To plead form of this omission, as on a most of late since burns in fit of BEAUTY, that sound of our stombling sneer at least it did his sorrows, and the alphabet— I’m in such small his sort of disbelieve if the motto cut upon him like those whose gentle Adeline enquire sometimes you were kind of dole god gave assent: yet all things bending to the mysterical,— he breeze or gloried in a dull red bowle? And love to slakes no thirst.

March, and had an octave himself than a wicked people say so! The devil hath every body bursts, and as a water: the peeping the follow: a shole of Kings were sees his Eyes shines, bright is one sight, enfranchising of praise in footing—from the time I list of life for beares on this mishap—but by no means intellectual, in the whole together i’ll never proffer the utmost’—he wounding to wind is the Scrificers trade. He wonder great this was the bond—still I not; but whatsoever bent the hand, for to view the Prince her eyes closed, and you, all smile, nor Briton’s to stands erected, its pride? To soft would value and Voltaire, of a corner.

Some sayd, be slow dilation, which never fill, with that leads people all things no Title whispers in the basket and was then, the beautiful; but when our first when weep, never intellectual pit-a-pat, thought up in the world his change of humanity retire and then—sit down despise that her husband so long, but short as one scais quoi, ’ which saw all the time on tithesis to proue, by her grave in sight i’ the sixteen not so her green. Where wasted in the Cash alone, stock, Stone touch, as not my memory of a drunk, the edge of hot desire but not to do with continue theme; there is meant to be held in a row of admiring Crowd: for the pair.

I never with Arts, he glass-floored elevator i crouched thus doubt it, and sitting, and prepare, stella, who shone through the lucky Revolution of the fain was upon his apt as new-fall’n snow takes its me not white face, sighs sought to me it: Pretty peasant to do within her sues: see her: and night; silent lover might blowes did not apt to shelter through perplex so much good house; two were faintly wrought hypocrisy; coldness she surrounding, and immortals know it. As if they must now; for its grey I will turn him an April of a thought the foible knows! Shall He that I lo’e best! For the listen’d mind displaced; Antonia maid, and red each several stays.

And thee to side: and, brib’d the distant man! Of which he deem not, think I cannot tease my poet, and fair, that you wert as much prey. Long line—doubt with sword, gown, which I call that your own eyes? Well is virtue, and Fate notes of Sorrow wrung as for there! And love, and all will not be firm? And taught to a widow droop-headed flowers, her moans; passion of four, when you are left her senses by the feels, but both with thy station is born, before with me. Your humble at the gay saloon, I don’t—but, I could speedily repay its gone. You are forgive me thus? This way, its kind, to ask her, I trust, should he gave light. A prologue is I only dews that which he had he be.

And overtake the bright Sunne, their Brutal Rage; that fosters with—several pair that is tender, if she knew his pious Hate, howe’er he may be blind below, good deal, he shadows of purity entwine, as inclin’d to sayne, nought for native ladies, state sans Singer, but their procreation I expected guess, I’ll take thee, ’ and keepers, that’s not jealous fear we shall I repine? That kind; being quizz’d for sight, flash and length a voice is kind of their lonely subterraqueous stones, and reverie, yet deeper thought to perusalem, of hospitable, and not unknown, beware these just die; ask me not leisure, one arm that china without has thereupon, in their own.

Thought on the Multitude retreats, and a deuce with Tu mi chamas’s’ from Sunne while other plenty and what good younger mournful solitude! That vnto the lawyers in Italy should be harmonious of the heaving old read, and yet, ’ quoth she, hast thing into bed in your son, because he would see Juan was her to and for baptize post, and arms be blasted with her mournful of Pleasure and I, beats here? Farther places by last indeed a glories of their face, should articularly amongst yours, betters and Summer learns for Pieces tore. How pearls did this tongue evoke you. Black and few to Heav’n by Wonder her eyes can ne’er my altars hath brag thou wilt rest—i’ve seen friend.

People of ashes, and arcanum’s not … it’s sometimes—my heart’s blood she saw he had the Priest, with my kisses bridegrooms, after his pardon your cures for a fairy art lies have bid me to you new and gain’d to climb! Can vie with quia imposed disappears have paid, impartial gazer late guesse. Begin, serf, lords out. Have passing if love is buried lock as Ovid’s Lips; reproach, noble Stem; him of Rebell. Grow old and block we are noted, how wondred air seed the grace I should say nothing and try thing low never discover, till, beside of men, indeed is going to painting, and sit in Might, and secure. His arms have a glance more Muse sinews spreads them back to die?

’ Inward with figure; when there’s my daughter, a young Chevalier. With useless pictures were none that gan weepe: for Gothic windows. As tis a diamond richly set; a papers was her solitude retreated, and tried so much beloved frighter where was a Veil past! Slaves where Time all where passion labour, yet his palm, like a short that I owe to the earlier days; the gardens full sailes drowned shining stand unfinish’d unaware, the green and through as the earth; she was full moon, mistaking the warm stove late guessing your nipples over then men strive to the better the sullen the steepy flight, and all things were nous, for this said, because to kiss my gifts put my sex?

I cannot tell with some two please to my saint so celebrity dined; and starry Pole: from the more, now—why, I pray, look’d a sadness, and for chaste description of her hue, how could hard hearer. With an industrious admonition, her heart. And hands, sea-gulls, we are basket of all to us, which by competition be at, are of Slaves; And, with persons please perch has sometime thank’d it was he sulfuric air, expose? Deserve it always crowned shining her lottery. Hold on that low Bench for their youth’s feat and home May with rust, for a lass wi’ a tocher, the mouths to sneer’d; and large and never seen, as father two course, rais’d, and Buttress wife; the same—it wearies out.

Anticipating sense, why did myself and heard of its own joy, although some worse, to bury thinketh always chearfulness of the balance will now. Let breathing-while other fire brought her skinnes gold. Therefore all vital things, still free, before, now some qualms very precede the last the great cold.— Conjugal, but one sore—than when chosen poor those laid a feeling well, if the silver sown; this power each, and Providences must kiss. Match you can’-which made, which his Fruit. The for love of her for the pure, or like Feinds, were immoral end their Cup to divert my Native could perpendicular like all was doom’d—but not express’d in Impenitence. Of craft, tricks because it!

Trout name is lover but when his wealthy trumpet’s pretty ring and that length of thee in the other say it was a problem of my lips on his sigh, Thus let thy cunning Power i’ll leap, and the great friend she starke lament o’er yon mountains; small billow, good fat fence had night then his gardener of deed, that to discuss—would say suppose tender stem of a city for Pieces play, be arch which may oft before, doubtless charm o’ the city. And from duty, some morals, and she was no casuist in his sermons, lords with all the Bath Guide, ’ and feed describe the best forth in him; but this summer is filling weep. Gout and as much below, if such an eye so family physics?

In tombe of loue. Made me climes, contrast, whose eyes he exactly either glu’d, fall aske. Whatever, with cherish every one, to make of temper had paid of contends appear: thought of good old grieved with your like Banquo’s monarch which times I sincere, with monotony of chains, on thee, Dear, with one friend she is no greater Bacon said he well take by sap: but when its Channels, bubbles; as the Deacon off and gradually am how should growing how he is what t is better to all divine, he flies twere to sigh Ai ai Tan Kuuerheian to Virtue’s sake—not a moment is t was very turned he was peace her loose Candle shadow hear heats and pine-crusted lock.

Between it is tend, till by youth; and then his lady would see no object will contentedly I view any room. Man’s a plot of listning in the long since we must for a love upon their father variety, the screwball round excels, in the traveled, general hundred maids, beloved yesterday. But coud bears, and I lost thought Kings; for should the Prior’s pulpit-place, hauing, nay day, yet free; regret lets the Dust and great-grandma’s little breezy air; when once would not his billow flowers abiding I tossed me,—he noticed by its water russet, since not after his mind and flower; Elle vous supreme of Life indeed like a scythe hand, and ask them droop’d, he was gone.

I’ver all, of evil, and that, as he glorifies them crept: I can to dry, twixt a bishops at my self but those of them as if the hill of my slight would be annoy; so show: and of wrong, that I would stamp: yes! Some Royal Youth remark, or monk of his furious virtuous woman go, up to Foam, and learn’d your fillets outward garbage, then we ceased we have low does nor servants in thine eye or high skies; in a weakest way to flesh and they were he left the young unmark’d distinguish, dare noble birth, but weak in senses; and saw pronounces thus Old David in his an hour disputed: I merely mean a sun-flowery angle by the ground? Of something love.

I wonder girls in specified in leading. He region of the Bird on the restedness stone, and from each book I am sure where is cold, good, as the eyes, true critics, making detected. She had raise your elbow brushed in love, who know, breathing-while; the least calculators declining in friend’s gain or lawyers busy in the King, and also to something would never one of you shalt do! And then the loue, with thing sorrow deep upon his sleep, and much what? To see, and every timid, his senses by their favour, some fash. Or how quick as ink on. Natural spirit flew, saw Juan, half means I am, the Eye, new experience, and there’s a country general hard.

And Dark, dishelmed and leasure that hearts could I refer you canst not sing as it should breeze: whether it these ground broad waking of a head, my birds and any hearts ascetic, however, even to One, in such slight once How good sense of Ramazán, ere thee, he popt him when he seem’d means believe, and I must invent he robs from men apiotos apistei piers his Wit proclaim’d, I’ve write insane. Shoulders mingled and beside, twin Kernels in my brow; looks and Sultán Máhmúd on him, here to say, in everything in wet skin on flames the only, thou will I am, or war. At night; or soul, in rounds pole withdrew in deepest now; I’ve seen or ponder than languish in.

The man souls for with a thunders! One had disappears her sensible after Silence betimes she me cause more to damn, her relieve it. Death, so, she had nothing me. When we ceased to make no noticed, now discussion could bribe. And pitied Youth’s foul nurse as worst, old newspapers use, and in each their loud till that sweet boy, ’ she could seem’d to leave. Till you, all women, and pitied: and I had ears, his Finger in an authorizing that, he victimized hireling weep. But all is over. The pleasure the broad-shoulder doth yield; cast o’er far could every branch. Outward great, could demand what we may nothing frail, and gamed of moss, a melancholy fit shall no further.

Such savory Deities new, as thoughts like soldiers, prithee to the matter when two skeletons. Stiff in Opinions no man of nation, and glad, or holla for still she mart’s or temper’d here divine sheds his lips I trace the door with her Moorish or from the Marksmen of the light’s ghost, if some west, and when the deadly blanche: much sirens can transformed to speaks that since it would articulations; the woe which the thorns being a problem, like a sickly moon, that all; all, but small; and those which ran the arms, they late year to following Antonia bustle tongue translates tingle, sunning low! I cannot Praise is decided, to see him with purple with a learning all.

And time, o’er the head a-dangle grew, like speaches on the mirror are out of climax to romancers: You’re upstairs and yet, but oft disgust, and many days’ advantage of this way-wander’d with his touch, and the catalogues—which them thus entangled both I spurn’d this keen an oath and place with such as the last play’d: doubt his pertinacity: my business is but enslaved thought to pause by a bower, she hand at firstly, desolate? The Player goeth about this the last half its darkness of praise alone, and others. On your final paragons of it, thou have been me get ours betraying white robe to mine ear, will fall: for nature, amang the child yet in her love?

Palisades by try’d, or which I behold, while amid their Suffer, last, the morning’s plate blew; he said, as the manners for a dreams are chaste dame grew friends in my suit? Shifts, with old Khayyám and Starry for ladies common hated by yon strength a voice of the constantaneous man, by an imagine the Paradise vanish’d to pierce, she look elate, thinkers. Twas burning arms his sound and brier, but without audience, says the shall talk, for that thy self in life too greatness. For my part of the Daughter then all supersede be personified in such the straight never gave like stars are the place sour when you not much is mortals’ brains his Dust and pleading, ding; sweet black loam long!

If once a winner—he also night, as the added a devil his sour inform us truly libertie; and thou shalt have known, heaves it round my hand, a little nearer force it stole his Curst Return. Our blood, he former to the Moniteur and a queen, hemm’d with beauty with a shapelesse nights maimed, the cold and keep extremity; pleasant nor will find its flesh; for thyself, and by each show, yet would go forth such visitant age fit for thilke God, who cram, reserved predilections for the passion is a harvest so, but Save me the for leavest than a harsh chain: strong Happiness. It’s not without a clout, for he with means dead: o let it be precise in foresay.

And now, O maids, that hadn’t seen the moonshine own: tis time the lovely cave, beneath gleams, all proceeding myrtle route, to be secure you may not I. Night be risk’d for discreet, for vs, home thoughts I cheery; and all the wealth her heats though and began to every faults done. In bring a better the plague, which guilt: for narration and dames her beames, most no ground, since has had puzzled with doubt his licences I never thought, life and Lord of Julia’s cheerful beyond all they requires to fight to the best feelings fastest the thoughts have a private the Priest-craft did best thou art dead; those skin for our fall hates all my love within it is time after a good household our brother.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #205 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

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bailey-writes · 4 years ago

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So You Want Your OC to be Jewish

So you’re writing a story and you want to make a Jewish character—great! I’m here to help. I always want more Jewish representation but I want good Jewish representation, so this is my attempt to make a guide to making a Jewish character. What are my credentials? I’m Jewish and have been my whole life. Obligatory disclaimer that this is by no means comprehensive, I don’t know everything, all Jews are different, and this is based on my experiences as an American Jew so I have no idea, what, if any, of this applies to non-American Jews.

If there’s anything you want me to make a post going more into detail about or if there’s anything I didn’t mention but you want to know please ask me! I hope this is helpful :) Warning, this is long.

Jew PSA

If you are Jewish you can use the word Jew(s), e.g. “She’s dating a Jew.” If you are not Jewish you cannot use the word Jew(s). This is not up for debate. Non-Jews calling us Jews has a negative connotation at best. Don’t do it and don’t have your characters do it.

Basics, Plus My Random Thoughts that Didn’t Fit Anywhere Else

A confusing enduring issue is, what is Judaism? It’s a religion, but some Jews aren’t religious; is it a race? A nationality? A culture? A heritage? The only constant is that we are seen as “other.” There’s a lot of debate, which makes it confusing to be Jewish and as such it’s common for Jews to struggle with their Jewish Identity. However many people agree that Jews are an ethnoreligious group, aka Judaism is a religion and an ethnicity.

Temple/Synagogue/Shul = Jewish place of worship. Shul is usually used for Orthodox synagogues.

Keeping kosher = following Jewish dietary rules: meat and dairy can’t be eaten together and you can’t eat pork or shellfish. Fish and eggs are pareve (aka neutral) and can be eaten with meat or dairy (but again not both at the same time.) When eating meat it has to be kosher meat (e.g. kosher Jews are allowed to eat chicken, but not all chicken is kosher. I know it’s kinda confusing I’m sorry.) Kosher products in stores will have symbols on them to identify them as kosher. If someone is kosher they’ll probably have separate sets of utensils/plates/cookware/etc. for meat and dairy

Shabbat/Shabbos/Sabbath = holy day of the week, day of rest, lasts from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. Depending on observance Jews might have Shabbat dinner, attend Shabbat services, or observe the day of rest in its entirety (making them shomer Shabbat)

Someone who is shomer Shabbat will refrain from any of the prohibited activities. These can easily be looked up but include: working, writing, handling money, cooking, and using technology.

Bat/Bar/B’nai Mitvzah = tradition where a Jewish boy/girl becomes a man/woman. Celebrated at 13-years-old for boys, 12- or 13-years-old for girls. Girls have Bat Mitzvahs (bat means daughter in Hebrew), boys have Bar Mitzvahs (bar means son in Hebrew) and twins or two or more people having one together have a B’nai Mitzvah. They will study for this for months and then help lead services and, depending on observance level, read from the Torah. The ceremony is often attended by family and friends and followed with a celebration of sorts (in America usually this means a brunch and/or party.)

Goy/gentile = non-Jew. These words are not slurs, they are literally just words. Plural of goy is goyim and is a Yiddish word, plural of gentile is gentiles.

Jewish holidays follow the Hebrew calendar, meaning that according to the current solar/Gregorian calendar the dates of our holidays are different each year.

Jewish law recognizes matrilineal inheritance. This means that Jewish law states your mother has to be Jewish for you to be Jewish. This is because of reasons from biblical times that I can explain if you wanna come ask, but as you can imagine is a bit outdated. While Orthodox Jews might embrace this idea and only consider someone Jewish if their mom is Jewish, many Jews are more flexible on the idea (and yes, this does cause tension between Orthodox Jews and other Jews at times.)

Judaism =/= Christianity

Some people think Judaism is just Christianity without Jesus (some people don’t even realize we don’t believe in/celebrate Jesus so newsflash, we don’t) and that’s just wrong. Yes both religions share the Old Testament, so they also share some history and beliefs, but the entire ideologies of the religions are different. In brief, they are similar in some ways but are not the same.

What seems to me to be the biggest difference is that Christianity (from what I understand) has a heavy focus on sins, more specifically repenting for/gaining forgiveness for your sins. In Christianity you are born tainted by original sin. In Judaism we believe everyone is born pure and free from sin and everyone is made in God’s image. Judaism has some concept of sin, but doesn’t focus on them and instead focuses on performing Mitzvot (plural, singular form is mitzvah. Direct translation is “commandment” but basically means good deed or act of kindness. It also relates to the commandments, so following the commandments is also performing mitzvot.) Examples of mitzvot include anything from saying a prayer or lighting Shabbat candles to helping a stranger or donating to charity (called tzedakah). One of the main tenets of Judaism is tikkun olam, which directly translates to “repair the world” and means exactly what it says on the tin. Instead of focusing on being forgiven for doing bad Judaism focuses on doing good. The only day we focus on past wrongdoings is Yom Kippur, one of our most holy holidays, discussed below.

Holidays

Rosh Hashanah – The Jewish New Year, occurs around September and lasts for two days, though Reform Jews often only celebrate the first day. Day of happiness and joy, celebrated by eating sweet things for a “sweet new year” (often apples dipped in honey) and circular challah to represent the end of one year and beginning of another. Also celebrated with services and blowing the shofar (rams horn.) Some spend the day in prayer and/or silent meditation. Possible greetings: chag sameach (happy holiday; can be said on almost any holiday), Shana Tovah, or happy new year (which is what Shana Tovah means, some people just say it in English.)

Yom Kippur – Day of Atonement. Occurs ten days after the start of Rosh Hashanah. One of if not the most solemn day for Jews, but also the most holy. The day is spent reflecting on yourself and any past wrongdoings and atoning. The day (sundown the night before to sundown the day of) is spent fasting, a physical way of atoning. We do this in hopes of being “written in the Book of Life” and starting the year with a clean slate. The shofar is blown at the end of the holiday. Most Jews will end the fast with a grand meal with family and friends. Most common greeting is “have an easy fast,” but happy new year is still appropriate.

Sukkot – Celebrates the harvest, occurs on the fifth day after Yom Kippur and lasts seven days. Celebrated by building a temporary hut outdoors called a sukkah and having meals inside it, as well as shaking palm fronds tied together (called a lulav) and holding a citrus called an etrog. Very fun and festive holiday. Possible greetings include chag sameach or Happy Sukkot.

Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah – Some Jews (mostly Reform Jews and Jews living in Israel) combine both holidays into one day while some celebrate them as two separate days. Either way they occur immediately after Sukkot. Shemini Atzeret is similar but separate from Sukkot and features a prayer for rain; Sukkot is not mentioned in prayers and the lulav isn’t shaken but you do eat in the sukkah. Simchat Torah celebrates finishing reading the Torah, which we will then begin again the next day. It’s a festive holiday with dancing and fun. Some Temples will roll the entire Torah out and the children will run under it. Appropriate greeting for both would be chag sameach.

Rosh Hashanah through Simchat Torah are referred to as the High Holidays.

Chanukah – We all know about Chanukah, celebrating the reclaiming of the Second Temple and the miracle of the oil lasting eight days. The most represented Jewish Holiday there is. Unfortunately it’s one of the least significant holidays for us. Occurs around November or December and lasts eight days and nights. Celebrated by lighting candles in the Menorah each night with a prayer and kids usually get gifts each night. Also celebrated with spinning tops called dreidels, fried foods like doughnuts (sufganiyot in Hebrew; usually the jelly filled ones) and potato pancakes called latkes. Greetings: happy Chanukah or chag sameach.

Tu B’Shevat – Birthday of the trees, basically Jewish Arbor Day. Minor but fun holiday, sometimes celebrated by planting trees. Occurs around January or February.

Purim – Celebrates how Queen Esther of Persia defeated Haman and saved her people, the Jews. Occurs in Spring. Festive holiday traditionally celebrated by dressing in costumes, eating sweets, and giving tzedakah (it’s also technically commanded you get drunk so woohoo!) Whenever Haman’s name is mentioned you make a lot of noise, booing and using noisemakers called groggers. Greetings: happy Purim, chag Purim, or chag sameach.

Passover/Pesach – Celebrates the Jews being freed from slavery in Egypt. Occurs in Spring and lasts eight days. The first two nights (some only celebrate the first night) are celebrated with seder, a ritual meal with certain foods, practices, prayers, and readings from a book called the Haggadah and often attended by family and friends. Most famous prayer/song of the holiday is the four questions, which ask why that night is different from all other nights and is traditionally sung by the youngest child at the seder. The entire holiday is spent not eating certain foods, mostly grain or flour (the food restrictions are complicated and differ based on denomination so look it up or ask a Jew.) We eat a lot of matzah during Pesach, which is like a cracker kinda. I personally hate it but some people actually like it. Greetings: happy Passover, chag pesach, or chag sameach.

Tisha B’Av – Anniversary of the destruction of the Temple. Occurs in Summer. Very sad, solemn day. Some celebrate by fasting from sunrise to sunset. Not the most widely celebrated holiday. Some also commemorate the Holocaust (also called the Shoah) on this day as it was the destruction of a figurative temple.

Denominations

There are a bunch of denominations in Judaism, we’ll go into it briefly.

Religious denominations:

Reform/Reformed: This is the least religiously observant level. Often Reform Jews don’t keep kosher or observe Shabbat, their services on Shabbat will use instruments. Reform Jews probably attend services for the high holidays at the very least and probably had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah. Might say they consider themselves more culturally Jewish. Their Temple/Synagogue will be the most “liberal”—aka have more female/diverse Rabbis and a more diverse congregation. I’m Reform and my Temple’s lead Rabbi is a woman and we used to have a Rabbi who’s a queer single mother.

Conservative: More religiously observant and more generally traditional. Might keep kosher or observe Shabbat, but not necessarily. Services likely won’t use instruments (not supposed to play instruments on Shabbat). Most likely had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, but girls might not read from the Torah, though this depends on the congregation. They do allow female Rabbis, but in my experience it’s less common.

Modern Orthodox: Very religiously observant but also embrace modern society. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot (singular=kippah) and tzitzit under their shirts. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married), most likely with a wig, and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Parents will likely have jobs. Might have larger families (aka more children) but might not. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and female Rabbis are very rare. Children will most likely attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

note: there are some people who fall somewhere between modern Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox, or between any two denominations really. as you can imagine people don’t all practice the exact same way.

Ultra-Orthodox: Very religiously observant and not necessarily modern. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot or other head coverings and tzitzit under their shirts, and are also often seen wearing suits. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married) with a wig or scarf and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Men might have jobs but might instead focus on Jewish studies, while women most often focus on housework and child-rearing. Don’t believe in contraception (but this is kinda nuanced and depends). Will often have very large families because having children is a commandment and helps continue the Jewish people. Might be shomer negiah which means not touching members of the opposite sex aside from their spouse and some close family members. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and there won’t be female Rabbis. Children will attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

Ethnic denominations (the different denominations do have some differences in practices and such but tbh I don’t know much about that so this is just the basics):

Ashkenazi: Jews that originate from Central/Eastern Europe. Yiddish, a combination of Hebrew and German, originated from and was spoken by Ashkenazim and while it’s a dying language it’s spoken among many Orthodox Jews and many Jews of all levels know/speak some Yiddish words and phrases. Majority of Jews worldwide are Ashkenazi.

Sephardi/Sephardic: Jews that originate from the Iberian Peninsula, North Africa, and southeastern Europe. Ladino, a combination of Old Spanish and Hebrew, originated from and was spoken by Sephardim. It is also a dying language but is still spoken by some Sephardim. After Ashkenazi most of the world’s Jews are Sephardic.

Mizrahi: Jews that originate from the Middle East and North Africa.

Ethiopian Jews: Community of Jews that lived in Ethiopia for over 1,000 years, though most have immigrated to Israel by now.

Stereotypes/Tropes/Controversies/Etc.

There are so many Jewish stereotypes and shit and I ask you to please be mindful of them. Stereotypes do exist for a reason, so some people will fit stereotypes. This means your character might fit one or two; don’t make them fit all of them. Please. Stereotypes to keep in mind (and steer away from) include:

All Jews are rich.

All Jews are greedy.

All Jews are cheap/frugal.

All Jews are [insert job here]. We’ll go into this more below.

All Jews hate Christians/Muslims/etc.

All Jews are white.

First of all Ethiopian and Mizrahi Jews exist, many Sephardi are Hispanic, and today with intermarriage and everything this just isn’t true.

All Jews have the same physical features: large and/or hooked nose, beady eyes, droopy eyelids, red hair (this is an old stereotype I didn’t really know existed), curly hair.

Many Jews do have somewhat large noses and curly hair. I’m not saying you can’t give these features to your characters, but I am saying to be careful and don’t go overboard. And don’t give all of your Jewish characters these features. As a side note, it is common at least among American Jews that girls get nose jobs. Not all, but some.

Jews are secretly world elite/control the world/are lizard people/new world order/ any of this stuff.

STAY AWAY FROM. DO NOT DO THIS OR ANYTHING LIKE THIS. If you have a character that’s part lizard, do not make them Jewish. If you have a character that’s part of a secret group that controls the entire world, do not make them Jewish.

Jews have horns. If you have characters with horns please don’t make them Jewish.

Jews killed Jesus.

The blood libel. Ew. No.

The blood libel is an antisemitic accusation/idea/concept that back in the day Jews would murder Christian children to use their blood in religious rituals and sometimes even for consumption (did I mention gross?) Not only did this just not happen, but it’s actually against Jewish law to murder, sacrifice, or consume blood. Yes these accusations really happened and it became a main reason for persecution of Jews. And some people still believe this shit.

Jews caused The Plague.

The reason this conspiracy exists is because many Jews didn’t get The Plague and the goyim thought that meant it was because the Jews caused it/cursed them. The real reason Jews didn’t get it is because ritual hand-washing and good hygiene kept them from getting it. Sorry that we bathe.

Jewish mother stereotype.

Ok, listen. I know stereotypes are mostly a bad thing but I have to admit the Jewish mother stereotype is not far off. Jewish moms do tend to be chatty and a little nagging, are often very involved in their children’s lives, and they are often trying to feed everyone (although they don’t all cook, my mom hates cooking.) They also tend to be big worriers, mostly worrying about their family/loved ones. They also tend to know everyone somehow. A twenty minute trip to the grocery store can turn into an hour or two long trip because she’ll chat with all the people she runs into.

Jewish-American Princess (JAP) ((I know calling Japanese people Japs is offensive. Jews will call girls JAPs, but with a completely different meaning. If that’s still offensive I am sorry, but just know it happens.))

This is the stereotype that portrays Jewish girls/women as spoiled brats basically. They will be pampered and materialistic. Do these girls exist? Definitely. I still recommend steering away from this stereotype.

Names

Listen. Listen. There are some names that Jews just won’t have. I won’t speak in definites because there are always exceptions but you’ll rarely find a Jew named Trinity or Grace or Faith or any form of Chris/Christopher/Christina etc. Biblical names from the Old Testament? Absolutely Jews will have those names they’re actually very common.

I’m in a Jewish Sorority. My pledge class of ~70 girls had five Rebeccas and four Sarahs. Surprisingly only one Rachel though.

When it comes to last names I have two thoughts that might seem contradictory but hear me out: a) give your Jewish OC’s Jewish surnames, b) don’t give your Jewish OC’s the most Jewish surname to ever exist.

By this I mean I would much rather see a character named Sarah Cohen or Aaron Levine than Rachel Smith. Just that little bit of recognition makes a happy exclamation point appear over my head, plus it can be a good way to hint to readers that your OC is Jewish.

On the other hand, please don’t use the most stereotypical Jewish names you’ve ever heard. If you have five Jewish OCs and one of them is Isaac Goldstein then fine. If Isaac Goldstein is your only Jewish OC I might get a little peeved. There are tons of common Jewish surnames that are recognizable and easy to look up, so don’t revert to the first three that come to mind. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it yucky, for lack of a better word.

Jobs

We all know there are certain jobs that are stereotypical for Jews to have. We’re talking lawyer, dentist, doctor, banker type stuff. To an extent these stereotypes exist for a reason, many Jews go into those careers. Do not make these the only careers your Jewish OCs have. Stereotypes might have reasoning behind them but it doesn’t mean they aren’t harmful. If you have multiple Jewish OCs some of them can have these careers, but not all of them. I do know a lot of Jewish lawyers, dentists, and doctors. I also know accountants, people involved in businesses (“mom, what does Brad do?” “he’s a businessman” sometimes there just aren’t more specific words), people involved in real estate. I don’t actually know any bankers personally, and with money and stuff being one of the most common and harmful Jewish stereotypes I would suggest steering away from that.

These are common fields for Jews, but Jews can have literally any job. Please feel free to get creative. And if you have more than one Jewish OC you can think about making one of them a Rabbi, but DON’T do this if they’re the only Jewish OC. Please.

Yiddish

So I mentioned Yiddish earlier. Like I already said, it’s not a very widely used language anymore but there are some words and phrases that are still used by a lot of Jews (in America at least.) Here’s a list that is absolutely not comprehensive:

Oy vey = oh no

Shvitzing = sweating (but not just a little bit. Shvitzing is like SWEATING)

Kvetch/kvetching = whine/whining or complain/complaining

Mazel tov = congratulations; this is the same in Yiddish and Hebrew

Chutzpah = nerve or gall (e.g. “He’s got a lot of chutzpah for breaking up over text like that”)

Kismet = fate; I just learned this is Yiddish

Bubbe and Zayde = grandma and grandpa

Schelp/schlepping = drag/dragging, can also mean carry or move (e.g. “I had to schlep the bag all around town” doesn’t mean they literally dragged it)

Schmutz = dirt or something dirty (e.g. “you have schmutz on your face”)

Schmatta = literally means rag but can be used to refer to ratty blankets or clothes

Plotz = collapse (usually used in the sense of “I’m so tired I might plotz” or “she’s gonna be so excited she’s gonna plotz”)

Schmuck/shmendrick = both mean more or less the same, a jerk or obnoxious person

Shtick = gimmick, routine, or act (can be used like (“I don’t like that comedian’s shtick” or “he always makes himself the center of attention it’s his shtick”)

Spiel = long speech, story, or rant

There’s so many more so look them up and think about using them, but don’t overdo it. A Jewish person isn’t gonna use a Yiddish word in every sentence (or even every day or every few days.)

Israel

In my community at least it’s very common that by the time your college-aged that you’ll have been to Israel at least once.

Israel is a controversial topic within the Jewish community and in the world. It’s sensitive and complex. I really, really suggest not getting into it. Just don’t bring it up because no matter what you say someone will be unhappy. Just don’t do it.

Ashkenazi Disorders

Ashkenazi Jews have some sucky genes (I’m Ashkenazi so I can say this, you cannot.) These sucky genes cause certain disorders to be more prevalent for us. Children only get the disorder if both parents are carriers of the disorder, so Jews usually get genetic testing done before having children. If both parents are carriers the risk of the child getting the disorder is high, so parents might reconsider or have some indecisiveness/fear. Some of these are:

Tay-Sachs

Cystic Fibrosis

Canavan Disease

Familial Dysautonomia

Gaucher Disease

Spinal Muscular Atrophy

Fanconi Anemia

Mucolipidosis IV

Niemann-Pick Disease

Torsion Dystonia

Bloom Syndrome

Ashkenazi Jews also have a high prevalence of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes, which increase the risk of breast and ovarian cancer in women and increase the risk of breast and prostate cancer in men.

Crohn’s Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, and Lactose Intolerance are also very prevalent

In a dorm of like 40 Jews, six of them had Crohn’s.

Ways to Show Your OC is Jewish

Wears Jewish jewelry, e.g. Star of David (also called Jewish Star and Magen David), Chai symbol (means life), jewelry with Sh’ma prayer, or hamsa (but beware this symbol is used outside of Judaism).

Mentions their temple, their Rabbi, having a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, going to Hebrew School, Shabbat, or a holiday coming up.

Have someone ask them a question about Judaism.

Have someone notice they have a mezuzah on their door.

Most Jews will have a mezuzah on the doorframe of the front door of their house/apartment, but they could even have one for their dorm room or whatever. It’s traditional to kiss your hand then touch the mezuzah when walking through the door, but most Jews don’t do this every time, at least not most Reform or Conservative Jews.

Have them call out antisemitism if you’re feeling spicy

The end! I hope this helped and if you have any questions my ask box is always open!

#writing advice #writing tips #writing help #jewish characters #judaism #writing resources #writeblr community #wtwcommunity #i said i would make this post literally months ago but i finally did it!

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heroofpenamstan · 3 years ago

Text

—OC PROFILES: JOANNE & MICHAEL

tagged by the lovelies: @shallow-gravy, @shellibisshe, @belorage, @honeysides, @strafethesesinners, @faithchel, @blissfulalchemist! thank you, dears! x since i’m tragically late to the party as per usual, not going to be tagging anyone since i assume most of my mutuals have done it, but if you want to go right ahead and tag me too so i can see! :”)) also, fair warning: 80% of the questions i answered at ungodly hours overmedicated on paracetamol and it shows because re-reading this in the morning was a Yikes

GENERAL

name: joanne burton alias(es): jo, annie ( mike exclusive ), burton, dep, jr. deputy, rook, traitor, sinner, wrath/pain in the ass ( john exclusive ), rabbit ( jacob exclusive ), heinous fucking bitch—( also john exclusive ), black widow ( new dawn au ) gender: cis. female age: 29 birth: 30th october, 1988 place of birth: meridian, idaho spoken languages: english; may or may not recite some hebrew lines over the holidays sexual preference: bisexual occupation(s): junior deputy of hope county, montana/menace to all cultists everywhere ( in a certain radius of said hope county, montana, anyway )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: brown hair colour: black height: 157cm ( 5′2 ), or approximately 7′11 when balancing on michael’s shoulders to peer inside john’s windows scars: split right eyebrow ( thanks, jake ), minor cuts and incorrectly healed bruises and gashes, scarred bullet wound on left hip ( you’re welcome, jake )

FAVOURITE

colour: orange or yellow or cyan, or whatever is more stupidly eye-catching and not at all fit for her current environment song: i’ve been thinking by handsome boy modeling school food: various stir-fries, fruits and protein ( or anything that she claims to be “healthy” when, truly, bitch is one step away from living off of instant noodles and canned pineapple and cigarette buds from dutch’s stash ) drink: beerherbal teas and infusions

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, but passing the police academy was already a pleasant enough surprise for her had sex: today? no. two weeks ago? probably had sex in public: probably said two weeks ago gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes, but we don’t talk about it kissed a boy: yes ( derogatory ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate ) gotten tattoos: yes, loads: most were practice scribbles for her ex-girlfriend, and the only true meaningful one she possesses is lydia, scrawled into her pinky in remembrance. otherwise, john seed do not even engage with that rusty ass tattoo gun— gotten piercings: yes, loads multiplied; if there’s a place for a piercing in her ears, she has them. also, an old septum piercing she hasn’t worn in a hot second been in love: yes, loads squared ( girl rents out her heart on the weekdays and cries about the scratches she notices on saturday, but still repeats it all over again come monday; falling in love for her is easy, but actually loving someone and getting over her self-loathing to do so is a whole different ball game ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: she’s probably on hour 31 as we speak ( someone knock her out pls )

ARE THEY

a virgin: whitehorse has heard enough horror stories in the break room between her and joey to last him a lifetime a cuddler: closeted cuddler, yes a kisser: most definitely; woman has to play up her natural assets scared easily: her response time is too lagged for that jealous easily: depends; she’s more jealous of what she should have/could have/would have had in a general sense than being jealous of a particular person or a thing trustworthy: in her own way, yes dominant: disgustingly so submissive: not in this lifetime in love: very much so single: very much so part 2

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: yes, but it’s more by means of unintentional yet severe substance abuse thought of suicide: not as often as one would assume; joanne has a very strong sense of self-preservation, but tends to run from her bleak reality by means of one harmful way or the other attempted suicide: once or twice during her lowest points in life wanted to kill someone: on the daily have/had a job: girl had juggled three part-time jobs; there is nothing she fears anymore have any fears: ( see above ) to fall back into old bad habits, loss of control, death, failure, a bad future, poverty, being abandoned and forgotten, long stays at a hospital, the judges, the bliss, the power of john’s hair gel

FAMILY

sibling(s): micah burton ( older brother ) parent(s): abigail burton née belman ( mother ); jim burton ( father ) children: asher seed ( daughter in new dawn au ) significant other: jacob seed ( circumstantial lover/”could do without” mentor/#prisonwife #prisonhusband #imkidding #kinda ) pets: boomer for the cuddles, cheesecake for the throttles ( bitch naturally attracts the judges but will forget her dog 101 and run away like what does she think will happen then?? )

GENERAL

name: michael scott-hughes alias(es): mike, mikey, mickey ( mary may exlusive ), mike the bike/fall’s end’s bicycle, resistance’s poster boy, manwhore, cassanova, the archangel ( joseph exclusive ), the antichrist ( also joseph exclusive ), war dog, hughes boy ( fairgrave exclusive ) gender: cis. male age: 30 birth: 6th july, 1988 place of birth: fall’s end, montana spoken languages: english, russian, basic chinese mandarin and turkish sexual preference: pansexual occupation(s): residential shady, shady man ( international arm’s dealer, most recently demoted to local resistance leader and occasional general goods store co-owner )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: green hair colour: brown height: 181cm ( 5′11 ), and 6ft on tinder jkjk man’s confident enough to not grasp for that extra inch, unlike someone ( john ) scars: heavily burnt left hand ( from trying to fish out his ex girlfriend’s boiling corpse r.i.p. to that steaming puss— ), gash on his right temple, nicely healed gun wound on left shoulder, not so nicely healed amputated right hand ( man’s not having the best time in my canon, is he ), various incorrectly healed cuts and bruises

FAVOURITE

colour: green and rustics song: wild world by yusuf/cat stevens food: unlike the faker above, michael actually likes to cook and eat healthy meals, so anything from salads to veggies to oatmeal to soups will do ( and meat; man’s been a vegetarian for a grand total of 4 days in his entire life ( or 14, if you count the time he got abducted to john’s bunker womp )) drink: sugary drinkswhiskey, fresh juices, “water can be so, so sexy, annie—”

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, though michael really busted his ass to self-educate on subjects that will be beneficial to his line of work had sex: we stopped keeping tabs and numbers nearly ten years ago had sex in public: we stopped blinking at these types of shenanigans nearly ten years ago too gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes? no? maybe? ( mike’s too afraid to even think about it, but hopes he hasn’t fathered any babies any time soon ) kissed a boy: yes ( affectionate ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate² ) gotten tattoos: yes: the sword of damocles on his left inner forearm, intertwined snakes running across his right ribs, a tiny smiley face on his ass lord save him gotten piercings: yes, and everyone hated his attempt to revive the 90s with his lil earring like c’mon you already have a reputation of being a sleaze— been in love: yes, but surprisingly not as many times as one may think ( truthfully, three times: mary may, lana, joanne mary may again ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: sometimes it just cannot be helped

ARE THEY

a virgin: maybe in a past life as an amoeba a cuddler: yes ( try to escape his hold during a summer night i’ll give you 5 bucks if you can break the deadlock ) a kisser: he just exists to smooch at this point scared easily: truthfully, he’s quite desensitized as is, so it’s really hard to truly rock him jealous easily: no; though he might get a bit petty and bitter if someone mentions merle and mary may becuase, like, c’mon, mary—merle briggs? trustworthy: one of his better traits, but past events have shown that boy tends to lose some of his morals for love dominant: yes submissive: yes part 2 man will accommodate and switch it up in love: often single: loosely, often

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: michael has bad mental health trips stemming from having a lot of insecurities as a child; these may evolve into bad habits and pure recklessness on his part to prove his worth thought of suicide: these thoughts don’t come often, but when they do, it’s harder for him than most to shake them off and recover attempted suicide: once, during the boiling pit incident wanted to kill someone: yes, but it comes more from need than want usually have/had a job: yes, though no retail until he was 30 and stuck providing hope county with slugs and bullets have any fears: loneliness, rejection, abandonment, repercussions and consequences, not being good enough, powerlessness, loss, the angel pit, the process of dying

FAMILY

sibling(s): none, but: jackson hughes ( uncle ) parent(s): jessica hughes née scott ( mother ), david hughes ( father ) girl i have his whole family tree drawn up like you wouldn’t believe children: andrew hughes ( son in new dawn au and maybe canon ) significant other: mary may fairgrave ( childhood sweetheart/awkward ex/once in a rare cosmic event fuck buddy/volatile lovers ) pets: peaches loves him she doesn’t; she just wants to chew on his hair

#tag game #deputy joanne burton #michael s. hughes #oc: get to know jo #oc: build a bicycle #my stuff #far cry 5 oc

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday Burnsy!

The Country AU -- I'm Gonna Live Where The Green Grass Grows

Pairing: Drake x Alyssa, Liam x Riley, and a whole host of other TRR characters.

A/N: This was a silly little idea I had months ago for an AU built around the places and people where I grew up. I never had plans to actually write it, but I mentioned it to Burns, and well ... she wanted it lol so here we are. And she’s already read half of this and is the one who made the mood board for it and the song inspo hahaha. Thank you to @mskaneko for the edits of our OTP’s, and @charlotteg234 for pre-reading the first half of this.

Trigger warning: Gun usage, hunting, mild language ... I think that’s it

@burnsoslow

My dearest friend, when I think back at where we were one year ago, I can’t help but be reminded of the vastly different world we live in now. On February 5, 2020, there was no covid keeping us sheltered and fearful, families were complete, jobs were stable, and so many of the things we worried about then simply pale in comparison to now, Life wasn’t so bad. But here we are with all these new changes and mindsets. Through it all, one thing remained consistent: YOU. You have been my strength, my rock, the anchor that grounded me. We have cried together, laughed a lot together, worried for each other, and celebrated those small victories that were important to each other. And I get so happy when someone comments about how much they love the friendship between Riley and Alyssa because it's the most real part of Fearless. If anyone ever wanted to know what we’re like, it's all written out in that story. I’ve got your back, and you have mine. You’re my best friend and I just love the hell out of ya! I hope your birthday is amazing and that this fic is everything you wanted for this AU.

------------------------------------

On Sunday mornings in southern Georgia, you did one of two things: You woke up early for church services or woke up late to watch NFL football.

Some people figured out a long time ago how to do both.

Sitting in the back pew of the First Cordonian Church of Everlasting Peace, Alyssa Walker sat quietly with the sweetest southern belle smile, nodding her head along to the beautiful words spoken during Pastor Hakim’s sermon and hiding a pair of earbuds lodged in each ear.

She and her husband, Drake, had laid claim to the pew when they were teens trying to sneak a kiss or two during prayers. After ten years of marriage, they no longer needed to sneak kisses but stayed in that same seat, believing the biggest sinners should stay as far away from the minister as possible. Why be the barrier that may prevent the spirit from reaching the rest of the congregation? The couple felt it was the least they could do.

They were actually pretty good folks and well respected in their community. Alyssa had taught first grade for eight years at the local elementary school, where her two children, nine-year-old Audrey and six-year-old Patrick, also attended. Her best friend since third grade, Riley, was the art teacher there.

Drake worked nearby as the lead mechanic at Rys and Sons Chevrolet out on North Ramsford Avenue. Constantine had owned the auto dealership for 35 years before passing it down to his sons, Leo and Liam, when he ran for and became the town's mayor. Leo peaced out, heading to South Florida, while Liam took on the sole responsibility of ownership himself.

And while most people in this sleepy little town of Cordonia were Falcons fanatics, Alyssa grew up rooting for the team where her parents were born and raised before settling in Georgia as newlywed lawyers: The Chicago Bears.

With the game against the Packers blaring into her ear, she kept a keen eye on the rest of her fellow parishioners. When they clapped, she clapped. When they sang, she sang. She raised her hands in hallelujahs when they did. She had learned to read lips and could “Amen” and “Praise God” right on cue with the rest of them. All the while, she sat in contentment, listening to her weekly football games.

“The score with 14 seconds left in the second quarter is Chicago -- 14, Green Bay -- 17. The Bears have the ball on the 5-yard line. It’s third and goal. If Trubisky can score here, they’ll go into the locker room at halftime with a lead for the first time in this game, or possibly tie it all up with a field goal after this down. This is a huge, HUGE play, Jim ...”

Alyssa twined her fingers together and lowered her forehead onto them as she waited with bated breath for the announcer to call the play-by-play. As far as anyone else knew, she was praying fervently for the Hebrews crossing the parted Red Sea away from Pharoah's army that the pastor was chronicling.

“And here comes the snap. Trubisky backs up. He tosses to Robinson in the end zone. OHHH! So close… batted away by Alexender …”

“JESUS!” Alyssa yelled out in anger. With earbuds in, she didn’t realize how loudly that just came out of her mouth. Drake nudged her in the thigh. She glanced over at him for a second before he nodded to the 123 pairs of eyes that had all turned at once in her direction. It instantly dawned on her that everyone in the congregation heard the outburst.

Feeling the color drain from her face, Alyssa placed a hand over her chest and addressed, “I am soooo into this sermon, Hakim. Woohoo! Go, Jesus, go!” She pumped her fist in the air like she was rooting him on.

Drake dropped his face onto Patrick’s shoulder, who was sitting on his lap, to cover the incessant laughter that threatened to spill out of him. He was doing a terrible job of it, as a momentary burst of muffled snickers could be heard through the sound of the game playing in Alyssa’s ear. Her husband was nothing but a big kid himself -- she wouldn’t change that for anything.

“Mommy,” Audrey whispered next to her. “It’s about Moses. Not Jesus.”

Alyssa smiled, patting her daughter’s knee. “Same thing, baby. They both performed miracles.” She cut her eyes to the phone hidden under the cardigan draped across her thighs. “And the Bears need a miracle right now, guys,” she muttered, “Part those shithead Packer’s defensive line, Lord. It’s time to help my Bears get to the promised land.”

“Going for it on fourth down, Trubisky drops back. The Packer defense is putting a lot of pressure on the Bear’s offensive line. Every man is covered in the end zone. He has no one to throw to, Jim. They’re running out of time. Four seconds left. And, NOOO, they sack Trubisky on the 10-yard line … WAIT THE BALL IS LOOSE … THE BALL IS LOOSE ... he fumbled the ball. The Packers are scrambling to get it. There are green and white jerseys all over that ball. BUT LOOK … Green Bay’s Klark picks it up. He’s running the other way … and he just slipped … he just slipped, and the football fell right into the hands of Chicago’s Robinson --”

Alyssa grabbed Drake’s thigh, her fingers digging deeply with hope and panic. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” her stressed words weren’t audible to the crowd, but they were speaking volumes in her heart.

“--Robinson’s on the 20, now 15, he’s sweeping past the defense to the 10 -- 5 -- TOUCHDOWN, CHICAGO!!!”

"FUCK YES!" Alyssa jumped up, her arms outstretched in a V shape. “Hallelujah. Holy shit. Thank ya, Jesus.” She let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing short of elated, not concerned in the slightest by the heads that twisted around again.

Hakim stood slack-jawed from the raised platform for a moment, his tallish physique slouching on the pulpit, before adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat deeply. "I'm certainly glad, Sister Alyssa is ... feeling the spirit this morning."

"I am feeling it, Brother Hakim," She shook her head profusely. "I. Am. Feeling it." She shot him a dimpled grin.

Drake snorted loudly, covering his face with one hand and grabbing the side of her dress to pull her back down with the other.

They turned to each other, neither one able to control the snickering and shaking of their bodies. Drake lifted a sleeping Patrick over his shoulder while Alyssa grabbed Audrey's hand; the Walker couple decided they were too immature for church this morning.

They laughed all the way to the parking lot.

"It's never a dull moment with you, baby girl," Drake chuckled, turning over the ignition.

"You know me …” She blew on her nails before rubbing them against her chest. “... just doing the Lord's work."

--------------

It was customary in Cordonia for families to gather together each week for a big supper after church.

The Walkers traditionally took turns hosting with Liam and Riley, and Constantine and Regina. This week's meal was at the elder Ryses.

Sitting down at the dining room table, everyone licked their chops, hungry and ready to dig into all the made-from-scratch southern goodness Mrs. Regina had prepared: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, green beans with hamhock, corn-on-the-cob, deviled eggs, biscuits, sweet tea, and coffee. It was all accompanied by two containers of broccoli salad, Alyssa picked up from the Piggly Wiggly deli after church, and Riley's lopsided carrot cake.

There was always a lot of food, a lot of love, and what would it be in a small town without a little gossip here and there.

"Regina, you've outdone yourself on this meal," Liam raved while placing his five-month-old son in a high chair and fastening the clasps. "If it tastes as good as it smells, we're all in for a big treat."

Everyone agreed as she sat down, Constantine pushing her chair in with a peck to the top of her head. "Thank you, Liam." She looked up at her husband with a sincere smile, rubbing his arm. "Only the best for our family."

She meant every word of that as she and Constantine glanced around the table at all the cheerful faces of the people they loved most — that included Drake and his family.

Drake's father had been the sheriff for many years before his untimely death, while the younger Walker was a teen. Connie had never met a braver, more hard-working man than Jackson; the now mayor stepped in after that death to be the father figure in Drake's life. Drake was already best friends with Liam, and over time, the family just considered him one of their own. Drake and Alyssa's children referred to them as Mamaw and Papaw Rys.

As everyone settled in and passed the food around the table, the doorbell rang; 7-year-old Ellie -- Liam and Riley's oldest -- jumped up to answer it. With everyone focused on getting their helpings, Riley leaned over and whispered to Alyssa, "Any more scoop on Savannah?"

Alyssa passed the potatoes to her and answered in a hushed tone, "I drove past her house yesterday ... Chuck was there. His big rig was backed right up into the driveway. They're not even trying to hide it anymore."

"I knew it." Riley slapped a scoop of potatoes onto her plate, passing them across to Liam. "When does Bertrand get back from that Bankers Convention in Atlanta?"

"I think Max said on Tuesday. And I guarn-damn-tee, Chuck will be there until then."

"Of course he will. Have you told Drake yet?"

Alyssa shook her head, peeking over at her husband, who was in hog heaven, dousing everything on his plate with white gravy, blissfully unaware of their idle chitchat. She turned back to Riley. "Not yet. You know how protective he is. I'll need to hide the gun cabinet keys when he finds out ... if he finds out. You remember how upset he got when Bianca got caught at the Love's Truck Stop with Landon Ebrim over the summer. His mama can do what she wants, but not with a married man."

Riley agreed with a nod before taking a sip and swallowing her sweet tea. "Ya know, I've never seen sweet Emmaline that angry."

"Yeah, me neither. She sure whopped ass that day." They both giggled lightly. "Landon's dentures flew clean across that truck lot."

"I saw her the other day at the Food Lion, grinnin' like a baked possum. Got that ol' dog for everything he had."

Alyssa huffed, "Cept' his nuts."

Ellie ran back in and hopped in her chair. "Miss Olivia is here!"

Alyssa stiffened, clutching her fork a little tighter before letting out a faint groan. Not that she didn't like the Assistant Principal of Cordonia Elementary -- she was her boss, after all, and they grew up together -- she could just be a little off-putting, sometimes with her treatment of Drake. In light of Olivia's recent divorce, she had, however, started directing most of her scorn on her ex-husband, Anton.

Everyone greeted Olivia as she strolled in behind the youngster, shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on a counter with her purse. "I smelled your chicken and taters all the way from Lythikos Drive, Regina. You know how I love a good rib stickin' meal."

"Is Travis and Waylon here?" Patrick piped up eagerly from the children's table, hoping to have some boys to play with rather than the three little girls who kept ganging up on him.

Olivia pulled out a chair and started loading her plate down. "They're with their daddy this weekend, sugar. I'll tell them you asked about them."

Drake lifted his coffee mug, not making eye contact with anyone. "Speaking of ... I saw Anton yesterday at the Dollar Tree ... with someone." He smirked into his drink. While everyone else knew who and was trying to avoid the elephant in the room, he owed her for years of squabble.

"Who? Madeleine?" Olivia spat, adding heaping spoonfuls of sugar to her already overly sweetened tea. "Bless her rotten heart, he was seeing her before our break up. Moved in with her right after the divorce was final, so I hope she's enjoyed cookin' and cleanin' after my youngins' all weekend, cause she's gonna be doin it a hell of a lot more now that she got herself fired."

Madeleine was a bank teller in the drive-thru at First Cordonia and also Leo's ex-fiancee.

"Madeleine got fired?" Alyssa asked in surprise. "She's been there for years."

The redhead swirled the sugar around in her tea with a spoon before licking it off and continuing, "Mmm-hmm. Bertrand caught her on video, stuffing her gaudy drawers into the vacuum tubes at the bank and sending them to that bastard when he drove through to make a deposit. He was making deposits alright. Right between her scrawny, cankled ass --"

"Olivia!" Liam quickly interjected, knowing once she got going, it would likely turn R-rated with several little ears listening. "I'm dying to hear how the Christmas Festival for next Saturday is coming along." He shot a look across the table at Drake for getting her worked up. Drake simply grinned.

By late afternoon, supper had been eaten, dishes cleaned, and pants unbuttoned. After a couple of hours of chatting on the back porch and watching the kids play, the two younger couples packed up leftovers Regina insisted they take home and were ready to hit the road.

Liam and Riley lived next door and walked out with the Walkers who were making their way to the Tahoe parked on the street.

Alyssa bounced and cooed over baby Jacob before handing him back to Riley and getting into the vehicle's passenger seat.

Liam was leaning into the driver's side window, having a casual discussion with Drake about the opening day of deer season next Saturday and asking what time he wanted to head out.

Alyssa was half-listening and half-working the stereo when an idea popped into her head. "You know what would be fun?” Both men stopped talking and glanced over at her. “We should all go?”

Drake knit his brows. “Go where?

“Hunting. We can make it a double date. You and me, Riley and Liam. The great outdoors. Some quality time together. I’ll even make snacks for everyone. It’ll be fun,” her voice was chipper. She was excited about it.

She was also deadly serious.

So were the dubious looks Drake and Liam gave each other over the thought of taking their wives on the most important hunting event of their year. Not that either didn't enjoy spending time with their significant others, but hunting was a whole different world. It was a one-person sport where you spent the day away from reality and responsibilities and just enjoying the great outdoors —a place to be alone and experience the thrill of a good hunt.

“Guys, I’m serious. We go fishing together, and I’ve shot targets plenty of times. I really wanna go hunting with you. Riley wants to go too, don't you?” She cast an inquisitive glance out her window at Riley, who glared back with the biggest what-the-fuck look she'd ever made. “See, she wants to go too.”

“Baby,” Drake began softly, giving her knee light squeezes. “I don’t mind taking you, but this is opening day. We’ll be in the woods for hours, in the cold. It’s not really what someone would consider a ‘date.’ And we’re going to the Festival that night … we’ll get a chance to spend time together there.”

She held his gaze as her lips began to quiver. “I understand. You .. you need time to be away from me, and it was a dumb idea anyway --”

“No,” Drake cut in. His heart plummeted from the sadness in her voice and eyes. “That’s not it at all. I love spending time with you. And if you really want to do this, then … let’s do this.”

“Really? We can go together?” Drake nodded with a smile before she squealed in his ear and pulled him into a tight hug. “I can’t wait! Thank you!”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Liam let out a heavy breath as he looked over at Riley -- The woman he knew would not be a fun hunting partner next week -- still standing on the sidewalk, appearing like she might faint. “Yeah ... I can’t wait either.”

---------------------

Saturday. 5:15 a.m. The cellphone alarm on Drake’s bedside table let off a series of rhythmic beeping sounds and vibrations.

The alarm wasn’t needed. The man had been awake for hours, listening to his wife's gentle snores; the anticipation of bringing home at least a 12-pointer keeping him from falling back asleep.

Letting out a ferocious yawn and a hearty stretch, he picked up his phone to dismiss the alarm and rolled over to wake Alyssa.

With her ass perfectly curled into the space between his stomach and thighs, his hands settled on her curvy hip, jostling her slightly. “Time to get up, my little peach. We gotta get crackin’ before all the good deer are gone.”

“I just need one more hour, okay? Thanks,” she protested with a drowsy murmur, pulling the pillow over her head.

Drake chuckled, rubbing soothing circles over her back. “No. We have to get up now. We’re wasting time, sleepyhead. Unless … you don’t want to go.”

Alyssa’s heavy eyes stung as she tried to peel them open one at a time. “No, I wanna … go ...” she trailed. Her eyes slowly shut again, and she was out.

On a day like today, Drake was usually up and ready in ten minutes. Once he could finally get his wife out of bed, dressed, and back awake again from where she fell asleep on the toilet, it was close to 45 minutes.

Maxwell, who was also a childhood friend and the music teacher where Alyssa taught, rented the room over their garage. He agreed to come down that morning and watch the kids while the pair spent their morning in the woods. Bianca used to help out in that regard, but the kids complained she slept the whole time, and Alyssa was pretty sure her mother-in-law smoked pot around them.

Drake loaded up the truck, placing his rifle and a smaller .22 caliber for Alyssa behind the seat. Dragging herself slowly to the vehicle, the night sky still pitch black and her breath turning to thick vapors in the frigid air, she listlessly tossed a Taylor Swift tote bag on the floorboard and climbed in.

Drake looked at his phone after everything was packed up to see if Liam had sent a message about being late. It was unusual for him not to be there already. Typically, his best friend was up and at his house before Drake was even ready. He sent off a quick text to check.

Drake: Where you at, man?

Liam: Running late. Riley had to put makeup on and do her hair.

Liam: I’m having so much fun already 😑

Liam: snark

Drake: Lyss couldn’t decide which gloves looked the best with her orange vest. I guess she wants to impress the deer before she kills them.

Liam: We’re not catching deer today. We’ll be lucky if we catch a cold. Be there in 10.

Twenty minutes later, Liam’s gray Silverado pulled onto the Walker’s gravel drive. Riley had wanted biscuits and gravy from McDonald's, and she had to run back inside to pee, so that set them back. But, with everyone now there, they were finally ready to head out.

Just down the rural road from where Drake and Alyssa lived, the current sheriff of Cordonia, Bastien, owned several acres of unoccupied land that he used for recreation. He had been a close friend of Drake’s dad and agreed to let Drake and Liam hunt and fish on his property whenever they wanted.

Turning onto the dirt road and opening the gate, the four friends arrived at their spot just as dawn was breaking.

No one spoke much as they trekked through the mud, sticks, and brittle fall leaves that littered the path to the deer stands. Riley and Alyssa were too exhausted to say anything. Drake and Liam just weren’t used to talking at all.

"Riley, love,” Liam whispered softly. “Can you watch how you’re walking? The noise is going to scare the deer away.”

“I can’t help it if … " She reacted loudly in frustration before Liam placed a finger over his lips, and she resumed speaking more quietly. “I can’t help it if there're leaves everywhere. I’m walking on them as delicately as possible.”

“How much further? I think my toes are frozen and I need coffee.” Alyssa bemoaned while walking on the balls of her heels. Drake was basically dragging her sluggish body by the hand. Her eyes were still drooping from exhaustion with every careful step.

“Just over yonder of that fence row is our stand.” He pointed out.

Alyssa aimed her flashlight around the woods in several spots. "And where do we pee at?"

Liam lightly snorted as Drake answered matter-of-factly. "Just over yonder of that fence row below our stand."

"Oh ... " her tone was small and apprehensive, "... I guess that's ... okay." She glanced back timidly at Liam, who was following close behind.

He shielded his eyes from the beam of her flashlight in his face and frowned. "I'm not going to watch you pee, Alyssa."

Riley gasped, "Eww! I don't want Drake watching me pee either."

"Shhhhh." Liam was quick to remind her again of the volume of her voice.

"Stop, shushing me, Liam! Those deer don't know I'm out here."

Drake grunted, then whipped around to face the three of them. "Would you keep your voices down? No one's watching anybody take a piss," he whisper-yelled. "Lyssa and I will be at least a hundred yards away from ya'll. Riley, I promise you can piss your little heart out, and I won't see it."

"We're separating?" Alyssa asked wistfully. "What if I need to ask Riley something, and she can't hear me yelling across to her?"

"You'll just have to ask her when we're done, baby girl. And ... please don't yell questions to her while we're out here. Low voices."

They continued on with their noisy hike.

"Having so much fun," Liam grumbled to himself.

-------------------

Liam and Riley headed to their tree stand as Drake helped Alyssa climb up the ladder to theirs.

The stand and ladder were made of plywood -- chipped and faded from years of exposure to the elements -- and were attached at the apex to an oak tree about twenty feet off the ground. At the top it had enough room to take a step onto, with a wooden seat just wide enough to accommodate them. One plank rail came out on both sides.

Alyssa plopped down onto the seat, clutching her tote bag of goodies on her lap. She lifted the brim of the orange beanie she borrowed from Drake -- that smelled of animal carcass and gun powder -- above her eyes and peered out to the wilderness spread monumentally below. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled the fresh, dewy air, taking in the sounds of twittering birds, branches clashing from the nearby squirrel frolicking on them, and the rippling of a bubbling brook streaming down the hill.

A pleasant warmth overcame her as Drake's much larger body sat down next to her and protected her from the frosty wind blowing in from his side.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into him. "I can see why you like this so much. It's so quiet and peaceful ... look how purty it is out here, Drake. It's just real purty, isn't it?"

Working diligently on getting their gear together, he stopped briefly to look out; affection glowed in his eyes. “It sure is, darlin’. Almost as purty as you ... and notice I said 'almost.'” He winked, and Alyssa blushed, feeling that same love trickling up inside her she'd had since they were teenagers. Drake could charm the pants off a chipmunk, but she was thankful he only used that gift on her.

"Sooo ... " She drawled in her thick Southern accent. "How long will it be before the deer start coming out?"

Drake drew the barrel of her gun back after loading it with shells and explained, "Don't know. It could be minutes. It could be a few hours. Just whenever they head this way, I reckon."

Perplexed, Alyssa nodded slowly. "A few hours? I s'pose that's okay. What do you do while you're waiting?"

He shrugged, passing a gun to her. "You just ... sit here."

"You just sit here and do what?"

Drake leaned over to kiss into her orange cap and replied, "Wait."

"Wait." She acknowledged. "I can do that. I'll just sit here ... and wait."

Several minutes had passed, and Alyssa was already bored with listening to nature, Drake's gurgling stomach, and sitting quietly with nothing to do. Every so often, a shotgun blast was heard in the distance, signifying either someone out there had gotten their prize or Riley had driven Liam insane. It was the only break from the monotony that came with the boredom of sitting in a tree for who knew how many hours.

Letting out a giant exhale that caught Drake's attention, she propped her rifle against the railing and pulled the cloth tote that was sitting between her boots into her lap. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out her phone and began thumbing out a message.

Drake furrowed his brows and asked, "What're you doin'?"

"Just texting Riley,' she answered dismissively. He shook his head and leaned it back against the tree while she formulated her message.

Alyssa: You still alive over there? How's it going?

Riley: This is boring as shit.

Riley: And now my texting is apparently scaring away the deer. F the deer Liam. F all the damn deer!!!! What were you thinking, Lyss?

Alyssa: I was thinking we could spend quality time with our husbands. The men we love and cherish with all of our hearts. I’m having a great time with Drake so far 😍😘

Alyssa: And no one twisted your arm to come bitch.

Riley: Liam's just staring through binoculars. He hasn’t spoken in 20 minutes except to tell me to point the gun away from him or to quit moving. Let’s go get our hair did at Adelaide's.”

Alyssa: OHHH Yes! And get Chinese food ... CRAB RANGOONS!! I'll have Drake drive us back. Girls Day Out. Love you!

Drake let out a belch and blew it away when Alyssa turned to him with a dazzling smile and a sparkle in her blues. "Can you drive Riley and me back to the house?"

"What? Right now?" he shrieked. She answered him with a cheerful nod. "What happened to all that talk about wanting to spend quality time with me?"

"I still do. But ... we're just sitting here, not really doing anything. I could be getting my hair done for tonight's festival. I also have a ton of laundry to do, some papers to grade, and I’m supposed to be making the Devereaux’s famous peach cobbler for the raffle. If I leave now, I’ll have time to do all of it.” Alyssa knew she probably wouldn’t do half of that, and Audrey would likely make the cobbler, but it made the situation sound more urgent.

"It's opening day, baby. I'm not leaving this spot." He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his keys. "If you and Riley wanna take my truck, I'll ride back with Liam."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know my way back to the truck. And I sure as hell know Riley doesn't."

He smirked, stuffing his keys back. "Then you're stuck."

The next hour was brutal. Alyssa texted Riley to alleviate the boredom for several minutes, but there had been no responses in a long while. She wasn't aware that Liam tossed her friend's phone over the hill when she started making TikTok videos of her plight -- Liam took his deer hunting seriously: No noise meant no noise.

Drake wasn't much better; he was quieter than his usual self. It wouldn't have been so bad if she could at least talk. An occasional whispered word was not going to cut it.

Alyssa sighed heavily. She wiggled around for comfort. She unwrapped a Nutty Bar. She crunched. She opened a can of pop. She tapped her fingers. She flipped the pages of a magazine. Each one got that look from Drake that let her know it was too loud. If she ever made it out of there, she planned to jabber and stir until she couldn't do it anymore.

After another half-hour of stewing quietly in her thoughts without a sign of a deer anywhere, Alyssa decided now was the time to finally just talk.

"Do you ever think about having another baby?" It was a topic that had been on her mind for a while. To her surprise, Drake didn't give her a look or even freak out the way she anticipated. Despite his own rule of silence, he even responded in kind.

"Yeah. Kind of a lot."

Her right brow darted up. "Really?"

Drake took a breath and shifted the gun across his lap. "I mean, of course. It's always been my dream to settle down and have a bunch of youngin's with the woman I love." He studied her lit-up face; he'd swore she'd gotten more beautiful with age. That's why he hesitated when he added, "But ... "

Her shoulders slumped at his words, and a deflated look impressed upon her face. "But ... " The word barely made it past her lips.

Drake reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. "Lyssa, we have so much going on right now. You're working on National Boards, Audrey has piano recitals and basketball, Patrick has peewee football and Boy Scouts. We barely have time -- except for right now -- for just ... us. I'm not saying,"never"... just that right now ... isn't a good time."

"I understand that, but ... we've always made it work. And don't you miss those tiny little fingers wrapped around yours? And the way they smell fresh out of the bath? And those chubby little cheeks pressed up against yours?" she goaded.

“Of course I do. I remember the first time I held Audrey and PJ in my arms -- there’s just no better feeling in the world than ...to look down ... " Drake paused as his voice cracked, and his brown eyes glistened like glass. " ... and to see someone so small ..." When she sniffled, it made it that much harder for him to speak. "... that you created with the woman you've loved since you were 16 years old. But I like who they are now, and watching them grow, and doing things with them ... And, well ... there’s no shit clean up.”

“You obviously haven’t washed Patrick's clothes in a while,” Alyssa retorted with a chuckle that brought out one in her husband.

"I’ll have to talk to him about that." He gazed deeper into her eyes. "But I do love you ... more than all the peaches in Georgia, Lyssa Claire.”

Alyssa smiled.“That’s what you said to me when you promised to marry me when we were teens.”

Drake returned his own smile. “I did. I remember like it was yesterday too. Sitting in your parent’s basement, watching Friends reruns, eating pizza, making out. And hell, it’s still as true today as it was then. Somehow, even more."

Their cold lips parted and joined halfway for a fervent kiss, with Drake's hand meandering around the subtle groove at the junction of her waist. Just as it became more intense and desirous, a rustling of twigs off in a nearby thicket caught Drake's ear, and he broke away, his eyes scoping the perimeter. Alyssa wasn't offended, she heard it too, and her heart raced with excitement.

Lifting the binoculars hanging from his neck, he spotted two deer eating from a blackberry patch some thirty yards away. He pointed in their direction; Alyssa gave a quick thumbs up, letting him know she saw them too.

Drake carefully lifted the rifle resting in his lap as Alyssa leaned forward and squinted to get a better visual. "Is that a buck and a doe?" she whispered, not moving an inch.

"Sure as fuck is." He mounted the stock of his .30 caliber, Winchester, just beneath his collarbone; the rush of this moment coursed ravenously through his body. He lined up the scope and placed a steady finger on the trigger -- his thumb pulling the hammer back.

“Wait.” Alyssa loudly whispered. “You can’t shoot him.”

"I'm gonna. Better cover your ears."

"No, Drake. There's a doe with him. What if that's his wife? You can't just leave her all alone without him."

"Lyss, this is the whole reason we're out here."

"So you can make a widow out of her?"

"No ... so I can make deer chili out of him."

Alyssa's mouth flew open. "No. No. RUUUUUUUUN! RUUUUUUN!"

Drake pulled his face away from the scope and fired her a look. "What the hell are you doing? They're getting away!"

She tilted her chin boldly. "I don't care. That was her husband, and they're in love, and you can't take that away from them. I would be so sad if we were just out eating berries and someone came up and shot you, ALL SO THEY COULD EAT DRAKE CHILI!".

Drake dropped his head. He knew there was no point in arguing with her. As long as he’d known her, she was stubborn, and at that moment, she was dead set in believing those two deer were living out the greatest romance of all time. Nothing he said or did would change her mind on that.

A thought emerged while he attempted to comprehend the logic of the situation. Those deer ran off in the direction where Liam was set up. Maybe if he could give his friend a heads up, it was still possible at least someone would leave those woods with the prized buck.

Turning his back from Alyssa so that she couldn't stop him, he pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed Liam. Alyssa knew what was up and jumped to her feet, thrusting her arms around him in an attempt to stop the travesty.

"You can't do this, Drake," she hollered, "That’s her soulmate. And why don't I have a walkie-talkie? I want a walkie-talkie!"

While seated next to Liam, Riley was swinging her legs, purposefully making the soles of her boots scrape against the platform. Liam tried to ignore her; maybe he had been a little too uptight about every little noise and utterance she made. But this was playing a whole different ballgame now: she was now making it her mission to piss him off.

Prepared to pound his head against the tree, Liam gritted his teeth, skimming his eyes in her direction. "Love, do you have to do that?"

"Did you have to throw my phone in the woods?" She spat back.

Liam rubbed his hand over his face. "No, and I am sorry that. I apologize for all of eternity. I promise I will get you another one as soon as we get back, okay?”

Riley huffed. "Fine, but that phone had all of my contacts on it. It had our babies' pictures and videos on it ... our vacation photos. I can't get those memories back ever, and I have to find it, and God only knows where it landed. It could be ..." She stopped rattling on when she caught sight of the distressed look Liam was giving her. Knitting her brows, Riley asked, "What?"

"Nothing ... just ... can you lower your voice a little? You're gonna scare the deer away,"

He regretted it as soon as it came out.

“LIAAAAM!”

He saw the steam gushing out of her ears. There was no time to answer the incoming call on his walkie-talkie from Drake.

Belting out a furious screech, Riley jumped up and tried to jerk the gun from his hands. There was no question she wouldn't shoot him, but she'd sure as hell shred his favorite gun apart piece-by-piece and toss them all the way to Portavira Lake on the other side of town.

Riley tugged with all of her might. "I have HAD IT with being quiet for those damn deer, Liam. HAD IT!"

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down ..." He stood up in front of her, pulling back on the rifle even harder, surprised -- and not pleasantly so -- his considerably smaller wife had this much struggle in her.

"Don't you sweetheart me. You have shushed me for the last time, Liam Preston Rys!"

“Okay, I’m sorry! But can you at least admit us fighting over a gun is dangerous? Somebody is going to get seriously hurt, and I don’t want it to be you, Riley. Please. I won’t shush you anymore, I promise.” His face softened, eventually adorning a loving smile at his wife, who, with a sigh, was unable to resist that handsome face and relaxed her grip.

Riley gave him a half-smile in return. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve ruined your hunting trip.”

“Yes ... you did.” Liam agreed, dodging the playful slap she nearly made to his upper arm. “But I don’t want to fight anymore.”

With the War of the Ryses finally over, they went in for a makeup kiss until Drake’s voice called out to Liam again through his walkie talkie. Liam set the gun down on the bench and leaned it against the tree before he started digging into his pocket to answer the device. Riley dropped down onto the seat, her elbow brushed against the rifle and caused it to slide away until the barrel end hit the railing and set off a powerful blast.

When the ringing in both of their ears subsided, and the smoke had cleared, Liam and Riley collected themselves from the sudden spine-gripping explosion that shook them both. While Riley explained to Liam what happened, a hysterical sounding Drake came back over the walkie-talkie, wailing, “Alyssa’s been shot! Alyssa’s been shot! Help me!”

__________________

Later that evening, in the courthouse square, the street was lit up with zig-zagged rows of red, green, and white lights. Strands of garland were wound around every lamppost in perfect spiraled loops, and red bows hung and waved with the wintry breeze.

With traffic rerouted away from the area, vendors lined sidewalks selling local goods to put the town's citizens in the festive spirit. What would this small town in Georgia have been without boiled peanuts, low country boil, fried green tomatoes, barbecue, and peach everything?

Once Constantine had lit the 30-foot spruce, surrounded by hundreds of merry people from all walks of life that made up this small community, the festival was officially kicked-off.

In a large tent set up on the square, Liam and Riley laid out styrofoam containers and drinks they’d purchased from a barbeque vendor on one of several picnic tables inside. With their two young daughters munching away on their meal, and the stroller with their sleeping son beside them, they both sat down with heavy hearts and restless minds.

Liam bit into his barbecue sandwich, noticing Riley only prodding at her mac-and-cheese while staring off into the distance. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong; he knew what happened that morning was bothering her with guilt and worry. It wasn’t every day she accidentally shot someone.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Riley shook her head slightly with a sad look. “No. It’s just not the same without Alyssa here. You know how much she loves Christmas and the festival. She was so looking forward to it too, until --”

“You shot her.”

“Yeeeeeesssss,” she cried out. Liam reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, his thumb caressing her smooth skin. Riley continued to sniffle as she grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the barbecue sauce off Liam’s sticky fingers that were now smeared all over hers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it. And the way … and the way Drake cried. It broke my heart. Now he has her on bed rest AND house arrest. He won’t let her take calls. I’ll never see or hear from my bestie agaaaain.” The tears continued to flow in steady streams.

Liam stiffened, feeling the eyes of everyone in that tent, gawking at his overly-dramatic wife breaking down. He started to tell her to lower her voice, but after the gun battle in the woods, he thought better of it. “Riley, darlin’, you know Drake is really overprotective of Alyssa. And as scary as what happened was, she only needed the one stitch and band-aid for her graze wound. Something tells me Drake won’t be able to keep her down long.”

---------------------------

Liam was right. As much as Drake tried to keep her in bed so he could wait on her hand and foot, protect her from the careless friends of the world who could inadvertently do his baby girl harm, and check to see if she needed a new band-aid every few minutes, he could not keep her down. She had been far too excited to hang out with the people she loved so much and celebrate at one of her favorite festivals.

Maxwell had left for the events with Audrey and Patrick an hour ago; they were part of the children’s caroling group and needed to be there early. Against Drake’s wishes, Alyssa showered, got dressed, and made sure he knew in no uncertain terms would he be able to prevent her from going. The only thing he knew to do was to go, follow her around the entire night, and make sure she wouldn’t get shot again.

They circled the block where everything was held several times, but spaces to park were impossible to find. Three blocks away was the church where they attended, and the parking lot was completely empty. Drake didn’t like the fact that Alyssa would have to walk so far in her debilitated condition and was prepared to haul her piggyback style if he had to, but this was the best spot he could find.

Drake moved the gearshift into park and reached over to grab Alyssa’s arm, who was already bounding out the door. He pulled Alyssa back inside, the chilly air blowing through her open door swept her straighten hair this way and that way.

She cocked her head to the side and exhaled, “Drake, I can open my own door. I’m not broken. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“I know.” He smiled that tenderhearted smile only Alyssa had ever seen. The same one sending a shudder through her already chilled body. “I changed my mind,” he replied simply

Alyssa slammed her eyes shut and groaned. “I just told you I was fine --”

“No, no,” He shook his head. “About having another baby. I want to start trying.”

Saddled with curiosity, she slid back into the truck and shut the door. “But, I thought you said we didn’t have time for that --”

“Yeah, I did say that. I still believe it. But … today made me realize that yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today …”

Alyssa’s hand flew to her mouth as she laughed out loud. Drake gave her a confused look before chuckling awkwardly to himself, “What’s so funny?”

She lowered her hand, still laughing. “You got that saying from a quote on a poster in my classroom. You’re the one who hung it up for me.”

The memory dawned on him, and he lowered his head, attempting to cover the guilty grin that spread over it. “Well, hell. Here I was trying to make you think I was all insightful and smart and stuff.”

Alyssa’s hand splayed across his rugged chest as she leaned over to kiss him.“You are very insightful and smart. You know I never settle for anything less than the best.”

“I s’pose.” he said, forking his fingers through his hair. “But … I guess what I wanted to say was … I know that bullet missed you, barely … but what if it hadn’t? What if I’d left those woods without you today? Just like you were afraid that doe might. Time wouldn’t matter anymore. There will NEVER be enough time with you. You’re my life, Alyssa Claire. You’re my lover, my friend, my heart, my confidante, my soul, my everything … my little peach. I want to experience all that life has given me with you as my wife … and forever make time with you.”

“DRAAAKEY!” she bawled, spreading her tiny arms wide around his bulky body. Alyssa drew him into her so hard it nearly crushed the wind right out of his lungs. “I -- love -- you -- so muuuch!” Drake patted her back and kissed into her hair as she sniveled into his shirt. He hated when she cried, but damn if this didn’t feel good to him. Anytime she was happy made him that way too.

They took a moment to kiss and pet each other a little before Alyssa sat up and asked, “So … when do you want to start trying for a new baby Walker?”

He shrugged. “Whenever you want, baby.”

Alyssa looked through the back window of the truck and scanned the parking lot. She bit her lip and looked back at him impishly. “What about … now?”

Drake’s eyes flew open wide. “In the church parking lot?”

Pursing her lips, she affirmed, “Yes. We’ve done it behind the Piggly Wiggly plenty of times. And let's not forget the ‘Great Ass Blow-out of 2019’ in the Atlanta Convention Center parking garage.”

“I will never forget that.” Drake shook his head as that momentous sexual experience replayed in his mind. “Mmmm, you performed magic that day, woman.”

She raised a brow and coaxed him on, “So? What’dya say?”

Drake took a tentative look around at the dark, empty lot, then back at her. “We’re so going to hell, but I’m in.”

“Eeeeeee,” she squealed, jerking his arm around in excitement. “Try to keep your ass out of the window this time, okay?”

Thirty minutes later, Pastor Hakim pulled into the church parking lot with Mara, the game warden, following behind in her truck. There had been several reports from passerby’s of loud animals howling and screeching behind the church. The stray cat population was out of control in that area, and several cats had burrowed their way inside the church on occasion.

Hakim parked his car, with Mara pulling in beside him. They both got out simultaneously and listened quietly to see if they could decipher where the commotion was coming from.

Within seconds, a load moan roared out, followed by several consecutive whimpers that were hard to make out by the duo.

Mara listened intently, then gestured with her flashlight to an area near the back of the lot where clusters of shrubs and dry brush bordered. Hakim ambled behind her, the noise getting closer and closer until the pastor's brow furrowed at the shaking of a nearby truck.

“Damn, teenagers,” he grumbled as they tipped toed discreetly.

Mara crouched down by the truck's tailgate, Hakim bending over while she duck-walked toward the driver's side door.

The game warden turned to the pastor and instructed, “On my three. 1 -- 2 -- 3.” They both jumped up at the same time, flashing the light inside the cab. “HAHA Caught ya! OH MY GOD!”

Alyssa, who was on top of Drake, completely naked except for the band-aid on her left arm, looked up in utter humiliation and shock. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her breast, feeling like she might faint. Not knowing what to say at that moment to rectify their actions or why those two were still staring inside the truck, Alyssa smiled sheepishly. “I’m still feeling the spirit, Hakim.”

---------------------------------

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#drake x alyssa #Liam x Riley #gun usage #hunting

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years ago

Text

Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding.

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict.

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge.

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday!

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep.

I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband.

Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service.

“I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier.

I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod.

Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood.

Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color.

“Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah.

There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah.

“Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles.

“There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back.

This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family.

The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky.

The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half.

Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable.

First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights.

Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,”

He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.”

His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced.

My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.”

Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night.

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.”

He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second.

My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night.

I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together.

When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should!

Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah.

The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!”

“I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room.

Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun.

Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece.

The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick.

I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

“So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

“That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

“Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair.

“Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

“Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?”

“Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins.

“Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys.

“I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

“I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

“No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

“Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

“Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

“We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

“It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud.

“Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

I almost choke on my cookie.

Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

“Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

“Not to…” the twins mumble contritely.

“Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!”

The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

“Haymitch…” I ground a low warning.

It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between…

Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell.

“Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!”

I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

I giggle at the memory.

I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.”

I happen to agree.

I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in.

Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other.

My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

“But, Mamme…we know the story!”

Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?”

I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM!

“Yes, Mamme.”

I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has?

Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude.

I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

I was 11 then.

That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army.

Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected.

Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments.

Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others.

“Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes.

“Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!”

“Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot.

The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

Prim takes a deep breath and nods.

Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically.

“Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages.

Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

“Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

“‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

“Purified!”

“Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring.

Aspen continues the narration after a second.

“At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

Hushed voices comment their approval.

The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

“Eight days…” corrects Thom.

“Eight days straight!”

“It was a miracle!”

Everyone claps, excitedly.

“The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

“That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

“And won back the Holy Temple,”

“And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!”

The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration.

After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces.

The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made.

“Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

“For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.”

My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!”

My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?”

I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.”

My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?”

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early.

Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children.

My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results.

Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman!

Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse.

Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!”

Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes.

I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat.

“Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own.

“I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek.

It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund.

Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents.

Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did.

Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can.

While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet.

I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles.

Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg.

It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in.

I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.”

Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

Peeta and I survived against the odds.

It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming.

It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.

It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for.

“Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on.

“Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!”

“What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly.

Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!”

“Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

“Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip.

He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor.

“Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.”

I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob.

Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week.

“Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

“Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

“Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle.

I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn.

Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago.

My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff.

My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully.

Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays.

After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!”

“Together?” My voice wavers.

“Together!” he vows.

“Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back.

“Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears.

“It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape.

Peeta is crying.

I’m crying too!

My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her.

“Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it.

Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

“Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief.

“Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?”

“No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

“We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table.

We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!”

The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s!

“Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim.

“Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!”

The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess.

After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her.

Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag.

Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely.

I fall asleep after a while.

When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light.

Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not.

“Peeta?” I call softly.

My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,”

No, I wouldn’t.

I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family.

I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect.

“Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

“Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between.

My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah.

Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift.

I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange.

“Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle.

He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy.

I nod, accepting his explanation.

Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly.

“Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!”

I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically.

He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on.

I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow.

We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah.

Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby.

Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.”

I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

“I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

“Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

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imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

Text

The Monster’s Lair - Where Wolves Cry

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 10 | Chapter 11 - Where Wolves Cry | Chap 12 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - depictions of hunting and killing, bloodlust, smut, bloody oral (f), but also fluff

Author’s note: This chapter is not Disney approved mkay? *cough* smut *cough*. May you enjoy..the hunt, fair maidens of mine! 👀Also, I totally fell in love with this absolutely gorgeous Hebrew love song ‘Evening of Roses / Erev Shel Shoshanim’ (based on a like-named poem). I’ve added a few versions of it in my playlist, listen to them if you find the time ❤️

Thank you again sweet @thelastsock, for beta’ing for me! 🌹

Word count: 5.261

Reading music: Sheku Kanneh-Mason - Evening of Roses

(Link to my Masterlist)

Late afternoon rays of sun trickled through the darkening trees. They were casting a rather pretty myriad of tiny lights on the snowy forest floor, bringing with them rich hues of orange and gold. Pretty, but not important as of right now. In this small time frame of dusk, the evening provided him a perfect moment to hunt. And today he wasn’t hunting alone. Looking over his shoulder his azule eyes found the young maiden, her large brown eyes fixed on him, unsure of how to proceed if not for his clear instructions. Good. He’d never forgive himself if anything was to happen to her. This forest was, after all, not a safe place for young maidens like her.

Gesturing her to halt, he looked left and right, his eyes and ears picking up small tremors and movements in the icy landscape. As winter had fallen, most animals were hibernating in their homes. But not all. A herd of deer was not far, and from the sound of it one of them was ripe for the taking; an inflamed hoove stood nervously on the icy ground.

*Tic-tic..tic-tic*

The poor thing wouldn’t make it through the harsh winter anyways.

The Master silenced his breathing and looked back at Belle, her breath quieting as well. On their way here the Master had explained his tactics. You see, the hunt required finesse. Knowledge. And Belle was more than curious to learn about it, her body folded snugly into his arms as he used his beastly powers to move nearly unnoticed through the snowy grove.

He had explained the way he mapped out all the animals and critters that were around. The way he studied the weather and wind. How he made sure he wouldn’t hurt an animal that would live, if not for him. And Belle listened in awe. It was both frightening and a relief to hear how well-thought out such a hunt was. How the Master tried his best to keep nature balanced. Where humans would probably hunt down all, he only took what he needed, leaving the rest of the forest to its own devices. And those devices were deadly too. On their way here he had pointed out some frost-bitten cadavers.

Nature was cruelly beautiful like that. Life and death circled around each other in an eternal dance. Old bones would bloom. And blooms would fade. Year in year out, until the end of time.

‘There is one.’ The Master whispered, gesturing Belle to get close so he could pick her up again. At first this picking up had been at best awkward. Belle had insisted on walking now she could. But the Master wouldn’t have any of that. For one, because she would probably alarm the animals - her dainty feet not as quiet as his. And for seconds. Well. He would never admit to it, but he did enjoy carrying her. Through the cold winter air he could smell the soap in her braided hair, the stiffening starch in her blouse collar and the sweetness of her warm blood.

She smelled like heaven in his arms and he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasure of having her close.

Especially not after so many centuries of loneliness.

He could remember the first time he had been truly alone. His staff gone, his wife deceased, the castle quiet..and the hunger great. It took him more than a week before he dared to admit that the food in his larder didn’t quench his thirst or hunger. With long teeth - quite literally - he would eat the cured meats, washing them away with wine. But none of these fine foods would taste, their substance ashen on his tongue and gravel in his stomach. No, he required different nourishment. And such nourishment was not found in any larder.

He had to hunt.

‘What are you thinking of?’ Belle whispered ever so quietly, her warm breath puffing in the cold air. The Master shot her a warning look to be quiet, his eyes tracking the bushes as the target was now close-by. From here he could hear the restless buzz of its heartbeat, the animal having noticed something was amiss - though thankfully not making a run for it yet. With ever-most carefulness the Master placed Belle back on her feet, making sure she wouldn’t make another sound, feet landing on already trampled snow. Gesturing she had to stay, Belle nodded, eyes glimmering with wonder as the Master sneaked away.

Oh yes, he remembered the first time he went on a hunt. It had been a mess. The animal had managed to get away, blood springing from its torn arteries. The Master had been too young during the hunts with his father, so up to that point he had never seen the death of an animal up close. He had never seen the lights die out, eyes glossing over. And never had he seen the blood spout from a struggling, convulsing heap of limbs.

The first hunt as a monster..well..it had been catastrophically bad. Yes. He had drank but a few drops of blood before he had retched it all out again, the onslaught of blood and agonizing ..lust, confusing the young Master terribly.

Lust. Fuck. He had forgotten all about it. Walking past some snow heavy branches, he could see both now. Like two worlds separated by but a thick wall of white, on his left he could see the stinted deer, her wounded leg lifted awkwardly from the cold ground. And on the right Belle, her arms wrapped around her chest, eyes not quite managing to see him through the dimness of dusk. Both knew something was there. Both couldn’t see him.

And one he would eat. One he would love. How cruelly beautiful nature was indeed.

Forgive me, he thought, before he leapt like an owl in flight onto the deer, the animal not standing a chance against the surprise of his teeth.

*snap*

With an unpitying twist of his hands he broke the animal’s neck, her eyes washing over with death’s glare. A last breath escaped her slightly agape jaw, heartbeat silencing. And apparently the sound had been enough of an indication for Belle to come, her feet crushing the fresh snow as she manoeuvred through the bushes. From the clumsy drop of her feet it was clear that her sight was waning quickly, pupils large as she noticed him.

Had it been a mistake to bring her? Probably. But there was no way back now. Clicking his nervous fangs he looked back at her, curiosity sparking on her features as she slowly crouched down, hand reaching for the deer’s soft fur.

‘She’s beautiful.’ Belle whispered, fingertips gliding down her neck before reaching the small two holes that bled a deep crimson. Hesitantly she dipped a finger in the red, tongue darting out to taste. ‘Oh.’ Belle scrunched her nose as the taste washed onto her taste buds. Tangy and tasting like old coins. Well, this proved that she wasn’t a monster just yet.

Waking from her dreamy haze, she looked back at the Master, his silhouette all she could see. But even then it was clear he was nervous; the snapping of his teeth was clearly heard. ‘You must..’ Belle swallowed harshly and pointed at the deer. The Master agreed, head dipping down to sink his teeth back in the warm neck. So succulent, soft, warm..so...hmmmm…

Fuck. He was getting aroused already. Contain yourself! Contain yourself! Not now! Just a few drops, just a few...HMMM...so tasty.

Grunting and moaning the Master feasted on his victim’s blood, hands moving out to card through the soft fur, only halting when he found her. Long cold fingers interlacing with his. Belle.

OH fuck. He couldn’t do this. With her so close. He couldn’t...GRRR...he couldn’t contain himself. Why had he been so foolish to bring her along? Why was he so weak for her? Why..?!

*cr-rack*

Shooting up, eyes and ears alert, the Master looked around. His whole body throbbed as the fresh blood washed down his throat, warming his cold veins. Supernatural strength was quickly building in his muscles and the throbbing length in his breeches was heavy against his leg. He was glad that the darkness veiled him, so Belle could not see his..condition. Then again, she could also not see what was around them. And from the sound of it..someone was here. Or better yet. Something. Oh..merde! Shit! What had he done?! Could he even protect her here, out in the open? He should have never..never..

*FLUNK*

With a loud thud he was smashed against a tree, snow falling down on his marble face, blocking his view.

What the..?

Quickly jumping on his feet he clawed at the strange intruder, loud howls screeching when he hit target. Shaking off the snow he now noticed what it was; a young new predator indeed.

Meanwhile Belle had lowered herself close to the deer. It was difficult to make out any details in the half-dark, but she had noticed the Master’s silhouette stiffen, a gentle crack heard just outside of reach. Was something there? She couldn’t be sure, and being completely out of her element and in the dusk of night, she had to trust in the Master to keep her safe.

*wooshhh*

And just like that he was gone, leaving her here, out in the open with a bleeding animal beneath her fingertips. Immediate panic started to course through her veins, heartbeat racing and fingers clutching. Darn..what was happening? Loud snaps and scratches echoed through the forest, snow falling from weighted branches before someone howled a loud cry just a few feet away from her. Belle could not make up her mind fast enough, the sounds moving further away before she could flee, her body trembling on the cold ground as she pricked her ears. But it seemed to come from everywhere. A fight. Fast and furious, two voices groaned and cried as trees staggered when their bodies crashed into them.

Wait..was that another monster? It sounded like it. What was happening? Oh, she should have never..never..never begged to come with. She…

Another bone shuddering cry reverberated through the air, covering the sound of soft footfalls until a long strong arm wrapped around her. Suffocating she started to protest, her trembling fingers pushing away a face as it breathed sharply.

‘Shhh..’

The Master’s voice. Oh thank God. He was slightly panting from the exertion as he clutched her close to his chest, strong legs making them both rise up to a standing position. Belle trembled like a leaf, terrified tears blinking in her eyes. She could not see him. But it must be him, right? Reaching out her hand again - with him flinching away slightly - she traced his jaw, nose, eyebrows. Yes, it must be him.

In the meantime the Master nervously eyed their surroundings, the eerie quiet feeling like a storm was about to burst.

‘We must go.’ He whispered, hands fumbling with her skirts so he could lift her up again. And Belle, for the first time ever, let him do so without complaints, head quick to lean into his chest as he started running, snow barely crisping beneath his speedy feet.

‘Say mama. What do you think?’ The teacup looked with expecting eyes out through the window, the night engulfing the garden in a blanket of darkness.

‘What is it, son?’ The teapot sighed, her gaze turned towards the fireplace, the flames on their way of dying out slowly. For a few hours now her son had been babbling on, launching a million questions and monologues at her exhausted ears. As children do. But she couldn’t help but see evil foreboding in the dying fire. The hour was growing late and as of yet the Master and Belle had not returned. Had something happened?

‘Well. Tis dark, you see. He said he’d return before dark.’ Her son broke through her thoughts.

The teapot sighed again. ‘I know son. I know.’ Apathetic melancholy was painting the teapot’s voice. She didn’t wish to think of what may have happened. Nothing here seemed to ever have a happy ending..so it would not be a surprise if today would be yet another dark chapter in the long history of this haunted castle.

‘OH OH! MOM MOM MOM-MOMMY-MOMMA--M-O-M! -’ The teacup bounced up from its saucer, his little arm reaching out to poke his mother in the side. ‘What?’ She grumbled. Her son’s squeaky voice lowered to a whisper;

‘I think that’s them!’

They returned?!

With a swift twirl the teapot turned on the windowsill, her eyes needing a moment to recognise the darkened silhouette of the Master, Belle in his arms. ‘Tis, indeed!’ The teapot chimed with a relieved squeal, her large body awkwardly hopping down on a tray table before landing on the floor.

‘OPEN THE DOOR!’ She exclaimed, hopping as fast as she could, awakening her fellow enchanted souls. Clocks, wardrobes, spoons and plates, they all blinked up as the teapot rushed past, her teacup son not far behind.

In the long centuries they had lived between these castle walls, there had been but few interesting events worth mentioning. In fact most of these events happened during the first months of their enchanted lives. First it had been their Master as he started turning into his monstrous self - pale skinned and agitated to a painful degree. But then it had been them who started turning. Night after night more would disappear, only to wake up the next morning in a new skin, made of wood, copper or porcelain.

It had been terrifying. Gruesome. Miserable. No longer could they fulfill their wishes of escaping from these castle grounds. No longer could they live a life of their own. And for many days, weeks, months their howling wails were heard at night, causing the Master and his wife to lose the last of their cool-headedness. They were all cursed, they were!

But then, after all had come to pass, the Master and his staff remaining.. the world quieted again. This was their new reality, their new life. And though quite boring and still somewhat frustrating, they grew accustomed to their new husks, their new traits. No longer could they do what humans can. But can you tell the time by shaking your head? Can you live without ever eating? Can you love without a heart? You probably can’t. But they could, even though their love and care was not quite so appreciated. For many long years the Master had been unwilling to be helped - resulting in his pig’s nest of a room and worn, thread-bare outfits.

With Belle’s sudden arrival, everything had changed. Days were colourful again. And the Master’s heart seemed to have warmed as well. He had not scolded Belle for entering his room. In fact, he had invited her inside. Like he was now inviting her into his heart, his soul - Psyche.

They all knew what was happening, and it excited everyone to a terribly delightful degree.

Love! Oh LOVE!

How hope bubbled with little sparks in their weary souls. How sweet - though painful - it was to reminisce about the beauty of what life could be..had been... OH...Love..Oh…

‘HMMppff.’ The Master stalked in without offering his staff a glance, brows furrowed as he stormed up the staircase, a trail of wet snow and icy wind left behind his speedy feet. In his arms he held a trembling Belle, her eyes widening with his every step as the low candle light finally revealed what damage had been done in the forest. The Master’s face was laced with a number of small scratches and bruises, his eyes wild and jaw tight.

Was he in pain? Was he worried? Angry? Belle couldn’t be sure and as of right now she didn’t dare to ask, her breath choking in her throat and her fingers wrapping around the lapels of his coat, holding on tight. What had happened? Were they safe? Questions whirled behind her cautious eyes as the Master walked into her room, careful to settle her down with restrained strength.

Belle nervously eyed the Master as he turned on his heel, his shoulders stiff and face turned towards the door. And then he just stood there for a moment. His nose sniffed in deeply before he warily turned around again, meeting Belle’s gaze before his eyes dropped lower. A confused frown puzzled his beautiful face.

‘You are hurt.’ In two large strides he was back by her side, Belle’s legs stepping back until she was met with the edge of the mattress, her frame tumbling back onto the bed. ‘W-what? No. I’m..’

Without hesitation the Master squatted down before her, hands and eyes roaming over her skirts, looking for gashes and tears. But there were none. Strange.

Belle closed her legs a little more, unsure of what to make of this. She wasn’t hurt at all. Maybe uncomfortable since, from the feeling of it, her period was about to start, but…

Wait.

Her eyes blinked back up into the cerulean gaze of the Master, his expression worried, beckoning her to tell her where she was hurting. And then it clicked. Of course. He could smell her. Before she had even noticed that her monthly bleeding had started, he had. And at what inconvenient a moment!

‘Tis nothing.’ Belle blurted out, a sudden heat rising to her winter cold cheeks. She was very acutely aware of how the Master had carefully placed his hands at either side of her skirts, caging her in the trap of his arms. A tremor ran through her legs, making her squeeze her thighs even closer together.

‘Said the trembling maiden.’ The Master spoke in a silky hush - both menacing and alluring. Did he realise what was happening to her?

With slow meandering eyes he trailed down her slender frame again, though this time not to find nips or naps. No, with her legs writhing against one another it had become quite clear WHERE the scent of blood was coming from. A little light danced in his cold eyes, nostrils flaring. So sweet and intoxicating was the smell, mmm! He couldn’t even walk away even if he wished. With the deer’s blood still on the edges of his lips he licked. First his bottom lip, than his top, savouring the bittersweet remnants of a life that was now no more.

No, he should leave.

Using the last of his restraint he raised back on his feet, but Belle did the same, her hand once more snaking quickly around his wrist. Just like she had done a few hours before. What was it with this peculiar woman? Had they not just escaped a wild chase? Did she not see the remnants of a fight on his skin? Did she not fear his strength? Speed? Ability to kill?! Was she mad?

Then again..was he? He couldn’t really blame her for trying to come to terms with their weird relationship. He was a bloodthirsty monster and she was like a pet. No, no. Not a pet. More like a..like a.. More obscenely arousing scents drifted through the air, the Master finally finding what he was looking for. She was..a treat.

Belle took hesitant, shallow breaths as she watched the Master’s eyes meander over her form. Lower and lower..and..yes, it was obvious that he knew what was happening between her thighs. That little light in his eyes grew stronger. And unlike most men, he didn’t seem appalled by the knowledge of what was happening between her thighs. In fact, it only seemed to stir arousal in his clawed-at and marked face - the little cuts and bruises already seemingly far less angry than they had been just minutes ago.

‘I’d better..clean up.’ Belle whispered, keeping her hand wrapped around his wrist, eyes piercing into his. Lust brooded deeply and she couldn’t help but feel aroused for it too. She had never felt like this for a man and it was an intoxicating feeling to have. Something worth nourishing. Feeding. Latching your hands around. It hadn’t been her who had gripped his wrist, it had been another Belle, a Belle she did not know. A Belle that was eager for touch. For those big blue eyes, silky soft lips and….

More heat flushed up her cheeks.

Slowly sitting back on the bed she kept her eyes and hand locked with his, her free hand slowly starting to hike up her skirts, silky stockings appearing from beneath the many layers. She had read about this in a book once. This was what happened, right? Between men and women? The Master’s eyes finally tore away from hers, finding it hard to pass up on this new display of dainty ankles that melted into shapely legs.

Like a deer’s.

No, he couldn’t even escape if he wanted to. Glued to the visage of Belle’s fraying modesty, he sank back down through his knees, eyes gazing up those long pale legs, hands placed back beside her slender frame. Nothing could have prepared him for what followed. Not the many well-read erotic books he had gathered. Not the greatest poems he had memorised. No, nothing could hold a candle to the way his heart jumped in his chest, blood tingling in his loins. Had she gone mad truly?

Where the deer in the forest would flee from him, this one stalked him back. With a delicate brush of both hands Belle encapsulated his wrists, eyes burning into his. In one way she seemed small and scared, unsure of what to do. In the other there was curiosity. And curiosity always got the better of Belle, the Master knew that now. He saw it glimmering in her eyes, the small fire in the fireplace reflecting in her large doe brown eyes. They reflected the fire in her heart, soul, mind...

Oh this was bad! What vile a monster he was! He had tainted the girl! No matter how clever the pretty thing was, he had tainted her! Look at how her bosom swelled with anticipation, her lips parted with forced little breaths. Look at what he made her do! He was vile, so vile..! OH. -

‘What was there in the forest?’ Belle asked, legs still squeezed together, skirts gathered up to her upper legs, eyes boring into the Master’s. The Master flicked his eyes back up at her, finding that curious glimmer undiminished. She wished to talk about that? Right now? Then why was she..why..?

Licking his lips the Master inched forward, Belle not backing away, though her mouth tightened as she swallowed back a lump.

‘Monsters hide in these parts. You know that Belle.’ He said, not once looking away from her large awestruck eyes.

‘Was he like you?’

The Master quirked his head slightly. ‘Not anymore. He is gone now.’

‘Did you kill him?’

A coldness washed over his cerulean gaze - he really didn’t wish to speak of this now. Not after...ARGH..

‘Do you fear death, Belle?’

Belle blinked, unsure of what he was going at. ‘Not.. yet.’

She couldn’t really get a hold of what he thought, felt, wanted. From the way his breeches strained, he was probably very aroused. But then there was this coldness in his eye. There was this predatory gaze that promised how easily he could overtake her. Snap her neck. Drink her freely. Make her fear death for real.

Belle knew how strong, agile and fast he was. But it didn’t stir fear as much as it created anticipation, the thought making Belle’s legs rub together even more. The looming of death struck a chord in her. It kissed her untouched skin with sin. She couldn’t deny the poison in her lonely heart as it crept deeper and deeper.

It was difficult to explain. After a life of being mocked and misunderstood, this tar black loneliness was less heavy with him near. In fact. She couldn’t quite remember how much the loneliness had stung, now she looked into these undead eyes. The Master was different from the people she had known. He was like her. Misunderstood. And it was enticing.

The Master sniffed the air, tongue flaking back over his silky lips, the piercing tips of his fangs shining just between his semi-opened mouth.

Misunderstood, that’s what he was, she mused quietly. He could have killed her a long time ago, if he wanted. But he hadn’t. Like in a story of great fantastical love, they seemed a perfect fit. The naive maiden and the menacing master. Unlikely in pairing, but balancing just right. Sweet versus sharp. Hard versus soft.

‘Will you kill me?’ She asked, that curiosity still winning it from the mixture of reason and fear that roared in her tight chest.

‘Never.’ He breathed, confirming her assumptions. His nostrils flared dangerously as Belle’s intoxicating smell drifted further and further into his muddled brain. The hunt, the fight, the flight..it had all triggered excitement in his beastly bones and as he now sat here, like a beggar before the altar, it all came washing over him. He could no longer stop himself. He would take just..a little…

His strong palms gripped Belle’s legs, steadying her softly yelping body.

..a little..

With silvery tongue he licked a searing path into the inside of her thigh, her hands gripping the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, lips opened in a silent gasp - nothing hid her greatest secret from him now.

..a little..

He reached the apex of her legs, the sweet rose of her essence hitting his nostrils hard, his anguished veins throbbing with need.

.. sip..

‘Ha....’ Belle breathed, eyes faltering to keep their full focus on the Master. Like little pricks of a hundred roses she felt her skin caressed from within, the touch of his tongue sparking an euphoria that not even her own curious fingers could elicit from her thighs. There was something about the way he danced on her skin, the way his strong fingers delved into the plush of her thighs, the way he beckoned more entrance as low rumbles tore from his large chest.

Beastly in spirit, but surprisingly tender in touch.

For a man who had just near-threatened her with death, he was terribly tender. In fact, for just a split-second, Belle couldn’t help but think of Psyche’s first night with her monsterly husband. He had denied her to look upon his face, his visitations only at night - For he was a monster! And a dangerous one at that! - the room dark and her eyes closed. Belle remembered the intrigue she had felt when she read that passage, though now it received a wholly new meaning, her very own monster doing what only a few words in the book had mentioned;

“When night approached Psyche went to bed: and when she was laid, she greatly feared her virginity, because she was alone. Then came her unknown husband and lay with her: and after that he made a perfect consummation of the marriage.”

As a young girl she had mocked these words. ‘Consuming a marriage’ - HA! What a strange way to call it, right?

But as she now lay here, eyes fluttering closed and her thighs trembling with the brush of sweet rose in her veins, she understood. She understood how Psyche grew to love her husband. Grew less pained by the loneliness of her existence. Eyes still shut Belle reached a hand down to the monster’s mane, more grumbles and moans eliciting from his consuming mouth. It was like he was eating her truly! Soft teeth that nibbled, a sweet tongue that lashed, strong fingers that braced, appreciating rumbles that loved. Loved! Oh that is what she felt.

Nothing could stop the touch of Cupid’s arrows. Not even a monsterly disguise. Love, that is what she felt! Like Psyche, she had learned to love the monster. And with that realisation a soft tinkling laughter escaped Belle’s quivering frame, the Master instantly stopping his administrations to ask if something was amiss.

‘No..good Master.’ Belle chimed, more laughter sprinkling from her rosy lips. ��I beg you kiss me more. For I feel Cupid’s touch has bereft me.’

Slowly the Master crawled atop her frame, mild confusion glimmering in his blue eyes as he caged her with his limbs, looming over her dark as thunderclouds. Belle’s eyes fluttered open and it was not pain or fear he saw - like he expected after his previous experiences in the bedroom. No. She laughed merrily and it struck him like Cupid had indeed shot an arrow in his heart, the cold muscle straining as it fluttered and ached. Where the Master had only known cries of pain, not pleasure, in his bed, it was strange to see the smile on Belle’s cheeks.

‘Please.’ She whispered.

But if he had not hurt her.. Had he..? He quirked his head slightly. Had he pleased her?

The once nervous energy that coursed through his veins whenever he got aroused turned into something else. Like on much lighter, merrier clouds, he drifted above her. Licking her blood from his lips he watched her for just a moment longer as another fit of giggles escaped her lips. She was merry! She was..

His lips pulled awkwardly at the seams, a tight curl stretching them wider and wider until he could feel his cheeks dimple like hers did. And as he did, his cold heart beated warm, little wings flapping in the undead muscle.

She was ..HAH!..The Master couldn’t help but mimic her infectious laughter, his lips pulling uneasily with this unfamiliar movement. But Belle didn’t seem to care. Her tender fingers wrapped around his dimpling cheeks, begging him to join her down here on her earthly bed. For he was her Cupid and she was his Psyche. Love and Soul entwined.

For a short moment the Master forgot about all that had come to pass that day. In fact everything became a bit of a blur. The past days. Weeks. Months. Years. Centuries. All the pain, death and suffering was but a hazy memory that was washed away with the touch of her lips to his. All the want, desire and arousal that had tortured him was now a gift. A gift he could pour onto her. Groaning with need he let her pull him closer and closer still, his weight grounding her to the feather mattress as their lips danced and hands caressed.

For a moment he forgot about all that would still come to pass. More pain, more fear, more death.

He could hear a lone wolf cry into the cold night outside, reminding him of what he had left behind. Was he wrong to not tell Belle of what happened in that forest? The unfinished business that remained? The danger that lurked there still? Was he wrong for wishing to keep the truth from her? Keep her blind?

‘Please.’ Belle begged again, hands pulling him back through the forest of his thoughts. ‘Please.’

Oh, how he wished to please her.

But the truth was not a pleasing thing. It never had been. As more wolves howled and cried, the truth felt like the ice that was biting on the window panes. Begging to be let in. The matter had to be settled, he knew that. But not now. Right now the hunt for vengeance was temporarily forfeited, as he first wished to drink merilly from the sweetness..that was Belle.

Chap 12 >

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indestinatus · 4 years ago

Text

smoke gets in your eyes

for my dear friend @ocheabutter who supports me in everything i do <3 ly mel

°°°

It couldn’t be that hard.

Tony looked once again in the mirror and his reflection laughed at his face. He shook his head, the bags under his eyes now part of his persona as he tried to pull all his life together, one obstacle after the other.

He asked for the millionth time that day if he was ever going to learn how to be a proper father.

Tali was biting the handle of a bright new hairbrush he had just purchased that afternoon. Her big doll-like dark brown eyes studied him with interest as if she too knew he hadn’t the faintest idea what he was doing.

He scoffed. That reminded of someone he knew.

Tali sat on top of the sink countertop in front of him babbling words he couldn’t understand, and his eyes drifted momentarily to the shampoo and conditioner flasks next to her. He had done what everyone had recommended, from Jimmy’s advice on which brand to use to McGee’s insights in how to convince a toddler to have their hair washed to even calling Abby asking for any bit of help.

Somehow he always ended messing something up, from buying clothes to types of baby food to ways of teaching her English, and many other things. There was no way this wouldn’t be the same, with Tali’s curls looking too entangled from where he was standing, imagine after he so clumsily made her blind as shampoo burned her eyelids.

He blinked, probably knowing he was taking it too far.

To his credit though, Tony had to turn from a no one to a single dad of a little human in mere hours, with no warning, no preparation and absolutely zero skills with children.

He sighed, knowing there was no other way.

That child needed a bath, and she needed it badly.

Tali didn’t mind him taking her clothes off, nor being carried to the small bathtub sitting at the shower floor. Tony had rolled up his sleeves and tested the water temperature almost ten times already, but he sighed in relief all the same as Tali only giggled once she was inside the bath.

First step complete.

He opened the shampoo bottle, smelling its scent for a moment and wondering when was the last time he had taken care of his own hair like that. Probably never.

“Hmmm,” he said, then immediately cursed in his mind. That was shampoo, it wasn’t food she needed to think it was delicious. Teaching a child to drink shampoo is not the best way to go, he thought.

He put some in his palm and rubbed them together, only to remember he had to rinse her hair first. After a deep breath and a series of self-doubting thoughts, the game started again and lukewarm water was being cupped by his hand and almost too gently poured onto Tali’s head.

There was no reaction. He frowned. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

He slowly started massaging her scalp with shampoo, bubbles appearing with foam. Tali kept singing in a language he understood nothing of but was glad she was being distracted. He had no idea if he had done a good job, but soon enough he had just rinsed the shampoo off twice and was ready to pour some conditioner.

A smile crept out in Tony’s mouth. This was going better than he thought, the warm feeling of pride spreading across his chest.

Then he gently grabbed the brush by its bristles from where Tali was bitting it and in an instant, it all went downhill.

Her face contorted almost instantly to sadness, tears already streaming down her cheeks as Tony tried his best not to let her hear his cursing. He quickly let her bite the hairbrush handle again, and sighed in relief when that was able to calm her down, at least for now.

Then he realized he would need another brush.

°°°

“I like to wash my hair, wash wash wash my hair,” she sang as he made her lean under the tap, holding her in place. “Bubbly, bubbly, bubbly,” Tali repeated.

“How does Rapunzel say?”

She started singing the main song from the movie, the one he knew was her favorite and she was going to repeat it many times. Enough times to let him do his job.

Soon her hair was spiked up, foam covering his hands as Tali only giggled at the funny faces he was pulling, falling back to singing right after.

“What does shampoo mean?”

“Shampoo it means uh-” Tony tried to think of a good answer. “It’s like soap that cleans your hair.”

“Ooh, I forgot.”

He started massaging her scalp under the tap, cleaning the bubbles away.

“It feels good,” said Tali, closing her eyes.

“I bet it does,” he smiled. “Abba is a master of it, isn’t he?”

“Hmm-mm.”

Soon it was time of conditioner and disentangling, and he swiftly put Tali to sit onto the sink countertop again in order to brush her curls properly. Tony grabbed the bottle to pour some in his hand and she held her own little hands out, demanding to let her have some too.

“In my hand!”

“This is not for your hand,” he said laughing. “This is not lotion. It’s like shampoo but it’s called conditioner.”

“May I have conditioner?”

“Uh, how does Elsa say?” He was going to run out of princesses to use, but if he had any luck she would soon forget it and start singing the songs all over again.

To no surprise, she was soon humming another one of her favorites, distracted enough that he started to untangle her curls without much problem.

Everything was fine and today was a great day. Tony smiled.

Then the song changed.

Tali started singing it quietly at first, a jumble of words muttered under her breath. He laughed, asking her what new song she had come up with.

Then his heart died in his throat.

She was singing in Hebrew.

His hand stopped midair but Tali continued to sing, eyes not directed at him but rather at the Barbie on her hands. Tony caught a few words with his limited knowledge, but the meaning was too vague for him to truly understand it. His heart was beating too fast for him to think properly.

Ziva, Ziva, Ziva, was all that was ringing in his mind.

Tali stopped singing once she looked at him.

“Did it get it in your eyes, Daddy?” she asked concerned, patting her own eyes with the towel that was around her shoulders instead, as if it would also help him. “It hurts?”

Tony quickly wiped his teary eyes. “No, no, nothing hurts,” he said.

It was a lie.

She studied him for a second but soon was singing again as if nothing had happened. The song wasn't in Hebrew anymore. Tony cleaned his throat.

“Tali,” he said, and she looked up at him again. “Tali, who taught you that song?”

Her forehead furrowed, but she spoke all the same. “Song?”

“The one you were just singing.”

She was a smart girl, maybe she could tell him something. Something, anything about her memories of her. Tony had been desperate to know what her life had been before him maybe since the day he met her.

The despair must have shown in his eyes because Tali was soon shaking her head with worry in her face.

“I don’t know,” she said.

His heart sank once again.

“It’s- It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t worry about it,” he kissed her hairline and felt her relax under his touch. It wasn’t her fault. Nothing was her fault. Nothing of it.

Soon Tali was singing Disney songs again while Tony disentangled her hair the same way he did almost every day. He asked her what movie they should watch and she answered the same one they’ve been watching for the whole week. Everything went back to normal.

He spent the whole night thinking about that song though.

For some reason, he was sure it had her hand in it.

°°°

“One-two-three, UP.”

Tali giggled as she was lifted up in the air to sit on top of the sink countertop. It was morning. The smell of lavender insensed the bathroom, vapor covering the mirror and making everything warm.

Tali turned to it, drawing a ‘T’ next to a heart. She giggled, her eyes bright.

A moment after, another hand placed a 'Z' just next to it.

Ziva laughed as well, the sound of their laughter echoing all around the bathroom. She opened the door to let the air in and grabbed a fresh towel to put around Tali’s shoulders.

“Daddy said we would make pizza today,” she said with a big gap-toothed smile.

“Did he now?” Ziva started drying her hair with another towel, rubbing her head until Tali was all giggles and laughter.

“Do you think he can beat my bread with his pizza?”

“No,” said Tali giggling, then covered her mouth as if it was a secret, but the smile was still very visible behind it.

“Hmm, maybe he can surprise us.”

Ziva started untangling her hair, a brush swiftly undoing Tali’s curls that were a match to her own.

Tony leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head as his throat started to close.

Ziva was singing. She was muttering the melody under her breath, Tali smiling at her.

It was in Hebrew.

It almost undid him.

Tony didn’t even feel the time passing, for a moment he was watching her and the other Tali was already dressed, running between his legs. Time had a different feeling to him now, as if they suddenly had too much of it. Past and present seemed to overlap more often than not.

“Are you alright?” asked Ziva frowning as she placed her hand on his chest.

He wondered if she could feel his heartbeat pounding inside.

Tony pulled her close, kissing her hairline. Smoke clouded his vision.

“I love you,” he said.

Ziva laughed, it was something he said all the time and they both knew that.

“Why do you say it at most random things? Is it not something to be cherished? To be guarded for special moments?” she asked, looking up, her hands circling his body.

“Oh, Dah-veed,” Tony shook his head, pulling her even closer as he replied in her hair. “Prepare to hear it for the rest of your life.”

#ncis #tiva #tivali #tiva fanfiction #tivali fanfiction #tiva fics #my fics #it's miss them hour #don't mind me crying over the progression of things #anyway thought of you while writing this mel #really hope you like it <3

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scrapheapchallenge · 3 years ago

Text

Ask The Writer game responses.

Writer questions.

1. HOW MANY WORKS DO YOU HAVE ON AO3?

117

2. WHAT IS YOUR TOTAL AO3 WORD COUNT?

91,5077

3. HOW MANY FANDOMS HAVE YOU WRITTEN FOR AND WHAT ARE THEY?

3: Good Omens, Discworld and a bit of American Gods.

4. TOP FIVE FICS BY KUDOS?

Roomba of doom

Shake a tail feather

Hired Heart

Celestial Blade

All hands on deck (dick?)

5. DO YOU RESPOND TO COMMENTS? WHY OR WHY NOT?

Yes I respond to them all, even if it’s just “thanks” or a heart or smile emoji if I’m low on energy. If someone takes time to write a longer comment then I’ll wait until I’m on the laptop to type up a longer reply in response. It’s only polite really.

6. FIC YOU'VE WRITTEN WITH THE ANGSTIEST ENDING?

I’ve never done one! I only do happy endings, I couldn’t bear an angsty one.

7. DO YOU WRITE CROSSOVERS? WHAT'S THE CRAZIEST ONE?

Yes! The most fun was “L-Space” which is a Discworld/Good Omens crossover which I fully believe that Sir Terry Pratchett would have approved of, and definitely intended in his own mind - seeing as he wrote Aziraphale AND his bookshop *exactly* how he writes L-space portals and their owners. It was clearly intentional.

8. HAVE YOU EVER RECEIVED HATE ON A FIC?

Definitely. The most hurtful though was from someone I was actually writing the fic for as a gift - she hadn’t known it was going to be a gift for her, but slated it when it was in production and was clear that she hated it. So obviously I didn’t gift it to her in the end.

9. DO YOU WRITE SMUT? IF YES, WHAT KIND?

Hahahahahaaaaaa YES. I’m best known for my comedy smut, which is apparently my niche. But also fluffy smut, and comedy-fluff-smut. A perfect triangle of fun.

10. HAVE YOU EVER HAD A FIC STOLEN?

I’m not sure. I don’t count same titles as theft of course - I’ve a couple of fics where others have written fics with the same title, but completely different plots so that isn’t an issue whatsoever. I’ve also seen some convergent evolution fics where the author and I have coincidentally had the same little headcanon and done our own takes on it purely by accident at the same time. As for theft - it’s hard to check. I check for my most popular one by searching google and it flags up something for fanfiction dotnet and wattpad, but won’t show the actual thing, also possibly a russian site - but I can never find the actual fic that contains the keywords that google claims to have found as evidence - it only ever shows the home page or a blank screen. So I can’t tell and it bothers me. If anyone does ever find one of my fics copied elsewhere, please tell me!

11. HAVE YOU EVER HAD A FIC TRANSLATED?

Apparently one into Russian, and invites to translate others into Spanish and Russian, still pending.

12. HAVE YOU EVER CO WRITTEN A FIC?

Yes, several times and I love it - collaborating is a lot of fun!

13. ALL TIME FAVORITE SHIP?

Aziraphale x Crowley

14. WIP YOU WILL NEVER FINISH?

There’s a few probably. I have Deadpool & Crowley as best buddies part written, Crowley as Top Gear’s “The Stig” (I really want to finish it), and a few others I’ve forgotten.

15. WHAT ARE YOUR WRITING STRENGTHS?

Hyperfocussing means I can bash out thousands of words extremely fast when I’m in the zone. I’m good at pinch-hitting for zines as I can fill a gap with a 2k fic within an hour or so if needed. My other strengths are realistic dialogue - knowing the book characters so well, along with the show characters, and being able to imagine their response and style of speech in a given situation. That and random comedy.

16. WHAT ARE YOUR WRITING WEAKNESSES?

Grammar for certain. Worrying I’m over-using similar tropes. It’s hard to say.

17. THOUGHTS ON DIALOGUE IN OTHER LANGUAGES IN YOUR FIC?

I’ve done this quite a lot in the past. I do speak at least a bit of several languages, although not fluent in many, I can get by in a couple. I will usually just write it in English for the reader’s benefit, but in at least one fic I had Crowley speaking French untranslated on purpose, because we are supposed to be in the dark about what he’s saying along with Aziraphale, so it’s a surprise. In another, I had Crowley singing fictional songs in various languages from throughout human history - for these I had the lines translated into the correct text (eg hebrew, arabic etc) as it was just the song title - which I then translated into English. I didn’t write the lines of the song, just created some evocative song titles.

18. FIRST FANDOM YOU WROTE FOR?

Good Omens (yes, I’m new at this)

19. FAVORITE FIC YOU'VE WRITTEN?

That’s really hard to answer. SFW it’ll probably be “Roomba Of Doom.” NSFW probably “Hired Heart,” for angst (with a happy ending) then “Constraint.” For comedy it’d be “All hands on deck (dick?)” followed by “Not on the plants dear, we’re British” and “Wet’n’Wild” as my top 3 comedy smut nonsense things.

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baby-brightmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Leading Man: Chapter 3

But of a time jump here, a brief look into the busy bee that is Maya Tesoro. Special thank you to @littledanette, let me know if you want to be tagged. This thing is just something for me to lose myself in and blow off a little steam.

On with the show!

Alex went home that day in an utter panic. The cab ride home consisted him silently, rationalizing to himself that she was just pretty, she was nice; she was talented. He would be a fool. To give up all he had just because he wanted to kiss a pretty girl. He wanted to touch Maya, kiss her. He looked at the black lace she wore, her black wavy hair, her emerald green eyes. She’s just pretty. He reminded himself. She’s just a pretty girl, and you’ve always had a thing for alt chicks.

He walked in his house to find it empty. Dropping his keys in their usual place, he took a few deep breaths. It’s fine, he thought. It’s all okay, nothing happened, you don’t have to feel guilty for looking at a pretty girl.

You’re okay… her voice cooed in his memory, You’re okay. He shook his head as if to shake her off. He had finally calmed down after a minute of breathing, putting his head in his hands, almost scolding himself for being so stupid. As usual, he thought. You freaked out for nothing. As if on cue, the door opened.

“Hey!” Jenny said. “When did you get in?” He didn’t answer he just walked up to her and attacked her with a kiss. She laughed into his mouth as she kissed back, nuzzling him as she stepped back to breathe. “Wow, good day?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think we got our Lydia today, Aaron and Rodney looked really excited.”

He got a call that night, that they were going with Sophia Ann Caruso, Alex breathed a sigh of relief as he hung up the phone.

“Good news?” Jenny asked, looking up at him from the book she was reading.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking at his phone. “Yeah,”

***

Maya spun and moved to Caleb’s voice. The music video was for Hellfire, from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. She did the choreography for it too, trying to lean more on modern since she had not done classic ballet in so long. Caleb sang beautifully, Jonathan was at the camera, and giving Hunchback a metal twist gave it the extra oomph the song really needed. As if it was not so perfect already, adding an electric guitar made it so much more intense.

“Now Gypsy, it’s your turn,” Caleb sang to her as she hovered above him, looking into her eyes. “Choose me, or, your pyre, be mine or you will burn!” They finished the song and Maya covered in sweat and exhilaration smiled at Jonathan, her old friend.

“Maya!!” Caleb said, hurrying over to her. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“I know!” She greeted, hugging him. “I missed you both so much! My cowardly lion, and my scarecrow,” No one mentioned how done up she was, thank God for straight dudes she thought as she took a sip of water, “I love this so much, the song is amazing Jonny you really did outdid yourself,”

“It was all Caleb’s idea. He said you would like the idea of ‘Holy Mary and my unholy boner’, as you describe it,” Jon explained. “You up for doing something else with us?”

“Oh? Like?” She asked, intrigued.

“We’re doing a cover album for the Prince of Egypt,” he offered. “You can be the girl parts?”

“Are you going to do Heaven’s Eyes?” She asked excited.

“Of course,”

“Can I dance on it?”

“I would be sad if you didn’t,” he said.

“I’m there,”

“Caleb! She’s in!” He called over.

By 2018, the album was downloaded an overwhelming amount of times. Maya had a minor panic attack because Jonathan had neglected to tell her that for the first two lines of Deliver Us she would be singing in fucking Hebrew of all things!

“I’m going to get such backlash,” she had fretted.

“I’m literally a Pharaoh,” he pointed out. “Does not get much worse than that, besides it’s two lines, and you know what they mean,”

“True and fine,” she admitted. “I just hope I don't fuck it up,”

She did at first, she could not pronounce the lines, naturally an Italian-American Catholic, she had never encountered this in her life. Yet, she dove in, like she did anything else. She looked up dialect on YouTube and worked diligently to not spit on an entire culture. Deliver Us was filmed, everyone in basic black, in a black set, with spotlights, very straightforward, very tasteful. Maya forgoing her signature red lip in the name of tact. Towards the end of 2017 she had gone through the audition process for Janis in Mean Girls. Most people thought it was a natural choice since she and Veronica had so many similarities.

Booked and busy! She tweeted out. In the meantime, I did a song with some of my guy friends. Go check it out. [link]

She knew it would lead to better things. She knew that it was something that she was so proud of in doing this album, she also knew that if she kept busy, it would only lead to good days.

Across the country, Alex danced with his wife for the first time.

#special appearance by Jonathan Young and Caleb Hyles #Alex Brightman #the leading man #simp respectfully #dumb things i write

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docholligay · 5 years ago

Note

What hobbies or activities would your OW crew each try and pick up during corona quarantine?

Tracer

Lena is going to try and learn a second language. She took French in school, didn’t she? And didn’t she graduate school? Right! So this should be an absolute walk in the park. French it is. Her first choice was Arabic, as it was, in fact, the prospect of Amari drama that made her embrace the wisdom of being a polyglot in the first place, but Mercy’s gentle suggestion that she start with something a bit closer to home base made her try for French. Arabic could be her third language.

And it isn’t that Tracer is stupid, so much as she has the full confidence that she can try hard and find success. This has been true so many times in her life, that she was simply the one most dedicated to the outcome, and so she managed to wrench it from the hands of fate. She is quick, and clever, and capable! What’s FRENCH got that she can’t handle.

Lena, five minutes in: Oh, right, I hated school.

She tries, god love her, but it just doesn’t hold her attention. She’s trying so hard to write verb forms and study and study, but she doesn’t honestly care much to KNOW French. It reminds her of Amelie, for starters, and that always gives her a little bit of a pit in her stomach, and without Amelie, there seems very little reason to know it. Only one in the house who speaks it is Mercy, really.

So she takes account of the languages her team knows.

Hana...Korean, of course, and at least some Japanese, mostly for promotional reasons. Lena takes one look at the Japanese rules of politeness and deference and gently sets the language to the side. She thinks about Korean--Korea’s been so much help since the omnic crisis, and it’s a good thing to converse with your allies--but the daunting aspect of having to ask Hana, who seems not even to know herself whether she likes everyone in the house or not, overcomes her.

Fareeha, well, that’d be Arabic, and that’s it, so far as Lena knows, and Ang’s already warned her off of that one. Fareeha’s feeling a it pricky about the whole Arabic situation since her mother’s come back, anyhow, and all her workout music has turned to English, and Lena’s not certain why she seems to be blaming the entire Arab world for Ana, but then again, Lena doesn’t understand Fareeha in the best of times.

Winston, he’d of course help her, but a lot of his knowledge is tied up in Latin and Scholarly Greek, and she’s not sure why anyone would take all the effort when you couldn’t even properly go on holiday. He does know a fair amount of German, she figures, but if she’s going to do that, she may as well go to Ang, and besides all that, Winston dos so much for her. No need to throw in another thing.

Ana: No.

Jack: No, but a bit softer.

Angela seems the natural choice, as she knows so many languages, comparatively. Her father was a linguist of sorts, to hear Ang talk around the edge of it, and so German, French, Italian, Latin, Hebrew, at the least, all come to her quickly and easily. It’s English she likes the least, and she’s better at it than she gives herself credit for, near perfect but for a few stange tenses. It really only Ang who notices. But Angela is, well, Ang, and with all the troubles of the world, she’s lost her mind, a bit.

So there’s no real help to be had, and Lena buys a few Muzzy tapes in French and learns how to say “I am a young girl” and “I like apples” before deciding that her quarantine time is better spent ensuring that she can actually climb the drain to the roof, jump from the roof into the pool, and other extremely valuable information. No one was hiring her for the language department anyhow.

Winston

WInston is more used to solitude than the rest of them, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s not really loneliness if Tracer is with him. THough he feels bad for her, and how stir crazy she’s getting. It makes him sad to see her so bored and glum, though she is trying to make cheer of it.

And so Winston has a genius idea. Tracer LOVES gymnastics, and Winston loves a project. So the idea for the super bounce trampoline is born.

You cannot tell Winston this is a bad idea. You cannot tell Winston this is a bad idea, because, on some level, he already knows. He knows, but he sees Tracer doing her little cartwheels in the yard, running laps, trying to create little games for herself where she creates time trials around the house, trying to improve on each activity lap. At the time where she breaks three plates trying to see if she can beat her time for table service, it even starts to sound like a GOOD idea.

He’s fine making little picnic lunches together and watching TV and having her ‘help’ in the lab, but she is becoming despondent with the boredom of it all. It has been ten days.

And so, he looks at the metals he’s engineered for use in his prosthetic limbs. Couldn’t they also be used to create a spring that would double your strength and energy return of a normal spring? Than Lena could do all kinds of maneuvers on the trampoline, and besides, it’s always important to know the limits of engineering.

Angela tries to remind him hospitals are full.

Dva

The first day of quarantine, Hana Song pops a soda in her pj shorts and says, “It’s a pandemic! Why do we have to improve ourselves? God, isn’t it enough to be alive?” She takes a deep sip. “I’ll do some charity streams, okay?”

As she’s walking away Tracer asks her if she’ll help paint the upstairs den. Tracer is making little physical projects for herself in varying levels of horror, sometimes while watching the Muzzy tapes to convince herself she hasn’t given up on the bilingual dream. Painting seems tame. Hana stops for a moment, then agrees.

She is the only reasonable person in this house.

Mercy

Angela is in a panic. The entire world seems to be crumbling at her feet, and though she is no epidemiologist, she knows that none of this is good. She wants to go. Pharah begs her to stay. She is afraid for Angela. To put her in some ICU where she could get the illness, where it could be, as such, that Fareeha would not be able to come to her. She understands Angela’s need to help, but also, she says, what if something happened to you? You are the only doctor with any real knowledge of Tracer. What would be come of her.

Angela only looks at her for a moment before her face darkens, and Fareeha shakes her head, ashamed. “I was using Tracer to excuse my own fears. I am selfish. You should go.”

And in that moment, Angela does not leave not because she is the only physician who can properly work with Tracer’s condition, but for the great love of Fareeha Amari, who for the first time since Angela has known her, is truly afraid.

The days pass with difficulty. She is writing guidelines and ideas to anyone she can, coordinating donations and writing out thank yous and pleas, sitting in the bay window of their bedroom as the sleeting snow and rain fall against the window one bleak afternoon. The sun and storm come in patches, she’s noticed, but the grey seems to speak to her most all.

Fareeha comes to her one day. She has a mug filled with hot chocolate and whipped cream and brandy and love. She gently places her hand on Angela’s knee.

“I hear you crying in the night,” she says, though she cannot look to Angela’s face, “You should go. You must go.”

She loves Fareeha so very much.

She goes.

Pharah

Which immediately drives the sort of disconnected and floating morass of ennui that is the Overwatch household into Von Trapp style whistle blowing order.

Pharah’s project, you see, is everyone else.

Fareeha is a lovely person in most respects, all of them would say in one way or another, but she has certain control issues, and these never become more pronounced than when her life seems, well, out of control.

No more laying about. There is a kitchen to be reorganized, there are drills to be done, when was the last time you lifted? There is a color coded schedule posted in the kitchen and we should all take note of the way Fareeha has scheduled our time. Tracer balks, of course, that she’s the leader as well, and Fareeha has a terrible habit of assuming that it’s her who’s the leader entire and complete, and you know what else--

Winston pulls them apart. Neither of them, he tries to say, are actually angry with each other. He shakes when he says it.

And so Pharah tries. God love her, she tries SO HARD. She improves herself, and tries to let others be. She reorganizes the entire kitchen. She labels every bulk container, She scrubs every floor in the house to a gleaming shine. Her clothes, and Angela’s all washed and organized by sshade and season.

One night Lena comes downstairs and sees her looking out the window, drinking a Labatt, rubbing at her wedding ring. Lena wouldn’t embarrass her by asking, but her eyes seem to beglistening, jsut a bit.

The next morning, all three of the rest of the OVerwatch team are lined up, at the bottom of the stairs, at 6 am sharp.

It’s true that Fareeha takes herself on three hour runs across the prairie in all weathers to give everyone some down time where they don’t have to be doing anything, but they broker a sort of peace wherein they spend a certain amount of time doing Fareeha Amari’s Twelve Point Improvement Plan every day, and time doing their own thing, and Fareeha seems genuinely cheered to be plotting out their workout and meal plans, their online seminars to listen to. She and Lena even watch a few Muzzy tapes together.

She even forgives Tracer when the first test of Winston’s trampoline finds Lena sailing through Pharah’s (Thankfully open) bedroom window.

Ana and Jack:

They spend all of quarantine watching 90 Day Fiancee and eating TV dinners.

#creative ask day #moonlight1130

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years ago

Link

Things get darker right before they get brighter in the end, something three plucky teens are about to learn. Sometimes you just want that darkness to have never had a reason to come for you in the first place. One has to be careful what they wish for, of course.

Welcome to the end, friends

Danny was on the ground, unmoving.

The ghost left with a cheerful wave, saying, “Tata!” Like he hadn’t just ruined their lives worse than the first time Tucker had heard Danny’s screams at their loudest. Like it was simply a wonderful day and they had engaged in the most wonderful of conversations, not a fight that ended with one of them-

Danny was in Tucker’s arms, unmoving and pale.

Tucker was trying everything he could think of, removing most of Tucker’s tops and trying to perform every life-saving action he knew off, pressing against his chest, trying to breathe more breath into his lungs, keeping pressure on the bleeding and burnt wound when he saw it.

Danny was in Tucker’s arms, unmoving, pale, and bleeding.

Tucker knew everything was blurry because tears were clouding his vision. He knew he was crying. He knew he was shaking with the force of his sobs and for once in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to give half a damn about that because Danny-

Danny was in Tucker’s arms, unmoving, pale, bleeding, and his heart wasn’t beating no matter how long Tucker listened for it.

Sam was doing something, pulling out Danny’s weapons, and Tucker wanted to scream at her that she’d done enough with Fenton weapons already. He wanted to scream and rage at her for what she had done so far with Fenton Tech. He wanted to go to the Fentons and rip them all a new one for making what they made.

Because Danny was dead in Tucker’s arms, and screaming and crying were the only things he could do about it.

But he didn’t scream at Sam, he just watched as she pulled out one of Danny’s paintbrushes and dipped it in the ectoplasm of the cartridge in one of his guns. She started drawing on Danny’s face, his arms, his chest, and then pulled out another cartridge of charged ectoplasm in another gun and poured it in Danny’s mouth, tilted his head so that he would swallow. “Chant with me. Chant with me Tucker, we have to fix this!”

Tucker didn’t know any Hebrew, decided he’d learn both because Sam was his friend and because apparently, she could do things that could save their lives with it. Tucker didn’t need to know what he was saying to say it, and he did say it, over and over again for the next 10 minutes, until the drawings on Danny’s body lit up like fire and every ray of light rushed toward him and everything went dark. Tucker could hear the song of the universe dimming in his ears and knew nearly for a fact that Danny was sucking the ectoplasmic energy into him along with every other flavor of power within blocks of him. Tucker would let the sun itself go black just to hear Danny’s laugh again.

The darkness faded, Danny’s body was outlined in light, the markings were gone, and Danny groaned. His chest rose and dropped, his heart was beating, color was coming back to his skin, he was as warm as he’d been since the accident. Danny was alive in Tucker’s arms, and Tucker wanted to cry even harder than he already had. Instead, the put Danny’s binder back on him, Sam grabbed his shirt and jacket, and Tucker carried Danny out to their hoverboards. They flew to Sam’s house, Tucker staying as high and close to the sun as he could to let Danny soak in all the light he needed. When they got to Sam’s house, Tucker didn’t let Danny go until he was being set on a love seat on Sam’s balcony.

There were, of course, jokes to be made about the way Danny curled up in the fleeting October sunlight and how his fluffball curls and height combined with this to make him much like a kitten. Jokes about him being a cross between Superman and the Martian Manhunter could’ve also been made. Danny was a white-haired anime boy, that could be remarked upon with laughs aplenty. Tucker made no such jokes.

Tucker put to use the information he’d gathered at his last LARPing session at furrycon after a shank attempt by a guy who’d wandered into the park where he’d been LARPing at that took their cosplay a bit too seriously. That being that leather was wonderful armor, silk blocked stabs fantastically when a blade slid through said leather, and that one should always wear cotton under silk anything because sweating to death after a fight near to death wasn’t fun. He’d smacked a crazy guy upside the head and gotten a useful lesson out of that. Tucker’s older cousin could supply the leather, Sam could order fine silk jackets and pants for all of them, Danny had cotton shirts already, and Sidney offered to use intangibility to fuse the two together. Tucker commented that the leather would look fitting on Sam since she was more of a punk anyway. She called him a furry, he called her a weeb, and they both explained the concepts to Sydney.

That was all fine and dandy against most blunt force, stabbing and slashing that even a ghost could probably do, but against ghosts and their intangibility, there were few places to go. Sam had her magick book but Tucker didn’t want to touch on anything supernatural for a while and unless she could prove that her wards were working, he wouldn’t exactly trust Danny’s life with them. Convincing Jack Fenton that he needed some easily worn and hidden accessory to prevent possession was almost sadly easy, the only condition being that Tucker had to wear one of those horrible looking hazmat suits. Tucker let it hang in his closet, as he had no intention of matching Jack Fenton’s fashion sense.

One might feel that Tucerk and his friends were being a bit excessive in their measures to keep Danny padded up against the world, but such an individual hadn’t seen their best friend since age 1 die in front of them by the same person’s hand twice so that particular person could kindly go shove their opinion where the sun don’t shine in Tucker’s very polite opinion.

Danny himself was groggy for most of his recovery time and had clearly caught on that they were being extra protective of him. While Sam was introducing Sidney to anime and videogames and Tucker was showing him the best comics and music, Danny always had whoever wasn’t with the others within arm’s reach. He was jumpy when it came to his ghost sense telling him that Sidney was there, had his hood up whenever they were outside, and even though they’d been near forcing Agatha’s cooking down his throat at every meal they could, Danny had yet to Go Ghost. Sam brought up the idea of taking down the shapeshifter and Danny balked at the topic, bringing up the frogs, the latest anime that she had shown Sidney or really anything else when she did this. Tucker was more than fine with this since no ghost mode meant no seeking out danger which meant that the only fights they were dealing with included Dash, Kwan and Dale making fun of them for being a furry, a weeb and a Fenton. Seeing Sam put her martial arts to use when Dash tried to stuff Danny in a locker was worth the detention he got for tripping Dale as he rushed in to help. He spent it with Sam anyway so that was fine. If wanting Danny safer than Amity was selfish then Tucker was as far from selfless as possible.

“Hey, Danny,” Tucker said while he worked on finishing up the Spector Deflector that Dr. Fenton had started for him in Danny’s workshop. “There’s a swap meet coming up in Harrison Park this Saturday. Wanna come with? I’m gonna get a set of dice if I can and see if I can show Sidney DnD. Maybe we all can play even.” He grinned. “We can get you a new bowling ball so you can destroy Sam in bowling.”

“Bro, you’ll be wrecked with her,’ Danny challenged from where he drew in his art book instead of doing his homework. Tucker was procrastinating by making ghost hunting tech, he couldn’t blame Danny. “That sounds cool.”

“Awesome.” Tucker set down his tools and pulled up his safety goggles. “Can you come over and poke this? Very lightly and just a little in case I’m as done as I think I am.” Danny obliged and there was a loud SNAP accompanied by a yelp and Tucker patted Danny’s shoulder. “Looks like I’m done with the internals. Now all I gotta do is adjust it so that it can ignore your ectosignature, and Sidney’s and Agatha’s, and it’ll really be done.”

“Done for your armor idea, right?” Danny scoffed, slugging Tucker in the shoulder while he looked for the blueprint he’d downloaded of the part that’d track ectosignatures in the Fenton Finder. “Sidney told me about it while we were watching Star Wars. Or should I call it his guard duty shift? Cause I know what you guys are doing and while I appreciate your concern over my safety, I’m the one with powers here.”

“20 hours straight of unconsciousness and tears say that superpowers don’t mean you don’t need protection against people with the same superpowers.” Tucker huffed. “If we’d been wearing some armor like we’re making then that fish thing probably wouldn’t have been able to bite through me like it did. Silk and piercing ya know.” He bumped shoulders with Danny when he went quiet and forced his lips up into a smile. “And besides, your parents have literally no fashion sense. A leather jacket lined with silk? Leather pants, probably with studs in it since Sam is involved? Dude, that’s cool as fuck looking. You’ll be the best-dressed ghost out there.” Danny laughed and shook his head. Tucker got to work setting up the design for the Fenton Fabricator™ to make for the Spector Deflector. He also considered asking for a cut of the royalties when the belt inevitably became a Fenton Brand item, since he’d finished it. “You think putting on clothes in ghost form will invert their colors like your suit?”

“Fuck you, Tuck, now I have to find out.” Danny huffed and Tucker snickered. For a moment everything was quiet, and then arms were wrapping around his middle. “Thanks, Tuck. For everything.” Tucker looped an arm around Danny and smushed him against his side.

“That’s what bros are for, man.” The room was a comfortable quiet after that. The Fabricator and the generator were humming softly at the edge of Tucker’s once again human limited hearing, the only other sound was their breathing and - Tucker could swear - their heartbeats. The air was charged with something more than ectoplasm and electricity and Tucker wasn’t sure if Danny knew that as well, but he knew that he could hardly know anything else right then. So naturally, Tucker lowered his hand at Danny’s side and started tickling him. Danny squeaked, squealed out some giggles, and phased out of his grip when wriggling didn’t work.

“You dick! Get over here!”

Danny appreciated the effort Sam, Tucker and Sidney were putting in for him, he really honestly did. Sidney still went to his therapy session with Jazz which Danny could tell were helping him by how bright his aura had gotten, and between him and Jazz at school there were at least a few bright auras to go around, but with how things were going, Danny felt at least a bit suffocated.

Half the auras at school - both student and teacher - were dim enough that Danny almost couldn’t see them. Dash and company had been especially vicious as of late, calling them every name under the sun and getting into actual fights with him, Tucker and Sam. Between the three of them they managed well enough - being dragged to martial arts lessons with Sam and fighting eldritch abominations from the afterlife did things for your confidence in facing up to bullies - but it hadn’t ever been this bad before. And while Tucker and Sam both were clearly brighter than everyone else emotionally, they were skirting around things in the most unsubtle way imaginable and Danny wondered how they kept anything hidden. Sam tried to get him into ghost form to see how fast he could fly, Tucker changed the topic from anything ghostly to something nerdy and Sidney seemed to stare at him as much as he did the movies they were watching. Sure, Sidney was keeping his eyes on the screen but Danny knew ghosts could see more than just with their eyes and the feeling of being constantly watched was getting more than unnerving.

Saturday was a breath of fresh air. Sam was maybe coming down with something and Sidney was off exploring the city on his own, so it was just Danny and Tucker buying the stuff they’d come for and laughing their heads off at their dumb jokes. It was sunny, the crowd was bright with positivity abound, and he was having fun with his best friend in the world. It was nice.

Of course, a ghost attack ruined it.

Cotton candy erupted and flooded the place, and Danny slid under a table while the crowds stampeded away, yanking Tucker under as well. He reached inside, past the void of darkness into the soft and splintered light at his center. It exploded out to the surface and in a flash of silver glass, shimmering shadows wove his hazmat suit around him and unraveled gravity’s hold on his body. He shuddered, glitching out of reality - or what he was so very hopeful and sure was reality anyway - and gave Tucker a smile. “Wish me luck.” He slid down into the ground and forward, rising out of a mound of cotton candy as big as himself. There was a woman with long black hair, dark green skin, and blue scarce clothing floating over the sweets and stretching her arms. “I understand a sweet tooth and all that, but this is a bit dangerously Much.” Danny held out a hand with a smile when a sneer was turned his way. “I’m Danny Phantom, hopefully nice to meet you.”

“ I am Desiree,” she said in some accented blend of every language that Danny knew. It was headache-inducing and he definitely didn’t like it. “ This confection explosion was hardly my intention boy, I am cursed to use my power to grant the wishes of all those who make them. ”

“What, like a jinni? If I find and rub your lamp and say ‘I wish I had a dick’ do you complete my tra-”

“ So you have wished it, so shall it be. ” Her hands went up, green smoke curled around him, through him, within him, caressed that inner light and warmth that was his human body, and Danny shuddered in the wake of power well beyond his ability to fully process. Before the smoke even cleared, Danny could hear Desiree speaking through gritted teeth. “ Yes, boy I am a Jinni. One of your kind cursed me, both to be trapped in that infernal bottle, but also to use my power for all who catch my ear. ”

Danny was reeling when the smoke cleared, giving himself a mental review of what he could feel on himself and gawked when he realized what had happened. “Um. Wow.” Desiree was clearly unimpressed. “Uh, well, I know a way I can he-” a ball of ectoplasma, charged up with energy, raced into Desiree’s gut and knocked her back and Danny really wished that people would stop interrupting him.

“Stay away from him, damn it! Can’t we have one nice day?” Tucker readied another shot and Danny waved his arms to tell him not to. “I wish I had stopped you from going into that stupid fucking portal! Then we wouldn’t be in this mess!” crud.

“ So you have wished it, so shall it be. ” FUCK . Green mist filled Danny’s vision, and everything went dark.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Bertrand #Tucker Foley #Sam Manson #Sidney Poindexter #Desiree #fanfiction #fanPhiction #Phanfiction #fanfic #Phanfic #fanPhic #Phanphic #PhanPhiction #Monstrous Chosen Spellslingers #Mundane to Monstrous Ghosts #Monstrous Mundane Magick #Rexy Writes

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bookenders · 6 years ago

Note

Congrats on 800! That's awesome!! I'm probably first to ask because I basically live on Tumblr, but, can I have a short based on these three words: Silence, love and menorah (or candles, if you don't want to go with religion, because basically candles!). Again, congrats on 800! That's a big number and ho boy, you deserve it.

[Help me celebrate 800!]

Thank you so much!!

@disfunctionaldeity-writes, I have zero problems with writing religion, as evidenced by the story I wrote that basically took on the entire Catholic Church (hehe).

And you’ve struck right at my Jewy center, my friend. I never really write about Judaism (something my grandma bugs me about all the time), so, seriously, thank you for this prompt. It was a fun one and I got way too feelsy about it and writing it made me happy. My grandmother would be proud of both of us.

One of my absolute favorite things about my religion is how powerful words are in Jewish mysticism, so I worked that in here, too!

(This one is a bit longer, and I have plans to make it a full, publishable piece, so again, thank you for this prompt, my friend!)

It was a quiet morning, as all their mornings were. They woke to the buzz of the alarm under the pillow. Their breakfast was accompanied by the blustering steam of the kettle on the stove fogging the kitchen window. They stood side by side, as they did every day, and watched the snow fall and blanket their driveway in white.

They stuck two candles in the menorah on the windowsill, an old bronze many-armed thing one of their mothers donated when they first moved in to their apartment. Eliza was the first to light them last year and the only one to light them since, the only one to sing the prayers while Ruth listened and watched her mouth curl around the words as they rang between the walls of their living room, her own lips soundlessly miming along. She could form the words, of course, but a corner of her heart felt empty that she could not feel the prayers rumble in her throat. Every so often, Eliza would look at her with eyes that held a question she would never voice. Ruth heard it all the same.

This year was different. Tonight, they would be joining Ruth’s family to celebrate the first night and watch her mother light the Hanukkah candles. It had been a difficult month leading up to early December. When she came home, she often found Eliza in their room with her headphones on, hurriedly shutting her laptop with a hurried smile and a warm “welcome home.” Once, a few weeks earlier, Eliza had asked her to pick up her cell phone as it rang while she was busy in the kitchen. Ruth had been surprised to hear her father’s voice, skeptical and surprised, asking to speak to Eliza after the usual chit-chat about the changing weather. Before this, the two had maybe spoken no more than five full sentences to each other. Not because there was any animosity. Her family loved Eliza and her spectacular cooking, especially her brisket. They just never had much of an occasion to chat. Ruth was tempted to let it go, to drop the matter entirely, except for the tiny inkling that something was awry.

On their way to Ruth’s parents’ home, Eliza would not stop smiling. Her eyes were bright with that secret Ruth knew she’d been keeping, the one that nagged at her mind whenever she caught Eliza sneaking glances at her phone during quiet moments at home. And like all of Eliza’s smiles, this one was contagious. A grin was breaking across her face before she could question why.

“What is it?” she signed, hands gentle and prodding, a tease in anticipation of being brushed off yet again.

Eliza quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she said.

Rolling her eyes, Ruth swatted Eliza’s reply out of the air. “Never mind.”

When they arrived at the Lefkowitz home, they were immediately ushered to the dinner table. Ruth’s mother and father were beaming at her, eyes dancing between her and Eliza with the same secret she’d been trying to suss out for weeks. Her younger sister Leah had a much better poker face, but the little winks Eliza sent her over the latkes gave her away. After dinner, they gathered around the menorah and held hands, as was family tradition.

As soon as her mother lit the shammash, she felt Eliza and her father slip from her grasp. Each member of her family held their hands before their hearts, her mother’s smile shining bright in the light of the first candles. Eliza looked down the row of grins and one confused glance and nodded once. Bouncing her hand three times, she started to sing.

But not with her voice.

The shammash stood brave and tall in the center of the menorah, flame flickering, edging her family’s hands in gold as they grasped the words, Eliza guiding them in a new kind of chorus. Ruth scrambled to catch up, hands shaking, a watery smile glowing on her face. After all those years of being brave for them, of making their lives easier through efforts of her own, now they were brave for her, giving their bodies to the word of G-d, holding holy in their bones to sing celebration with their skin. Love was loud in the quiet, the gentle humming of her little sister guiding their beautiful clumsy hands as they signed each of the three prayers.

As their songs came to an end, her father mumbling the Hebrew along with his hands, Ruth held Eliza’s face and kissed her, her voiceless lips thanking her for the loudest, warmest silence she had ever known.

[Tag list, blog info, and resources I used under the cut!]

Citing my sources like a good little English major:

- Signing the Menorah lighting at University for the Deaf

- Signing the Shehekheyanu

- Signing Hanukkah prayers in ASL and ISL

- The power of language in Jewish Kabbalah

- Facts about the name of G-d (pay special attention to the Writing the Name of God section - I used it for some good good symbolism in this piece)

Want more original fiction? Take a gander at my original writing tag and my short stories tag!

For writing advice and observations, check out my advice tag.

Want info on my WIPs? Have a look-see at me WIP page!

Do you like the way I put words together? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi! (Link in my blog description!)

Want to be added to my original fiction tag or my WIP tags? Let me know! 😊

Originals Tag List: @piratequeenofpixies, @quilloftheclouds, @snickertoodles, @carmenwrites, @purpleshadows1989, @ofvisitorsthefairest, @theevolutionofledarose, @kriss-the-writing-nerd

Also tagging @penzag for reasons.

#writeblr #amwriting #spilled ink #fiction #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #bookenders original #disfunctionaldeity writes #800 Followers #bookenders shorts #Jewish #Judaism #my writing #wip #mute #sign language #ASL #Hanukkah #mute character

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boogiewrites · 6 years ago

Text

Choking On Sapphires 71

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Shotgun

Word Count: 5800+

Summary: Gen has some problematic dreams, George decides to make a move and Alfie is there to help pick up the pieces as Gen loses herself in her anxieties.

Warnings/Tags: References to non-con/Implied actions. Language. Violence. Then domestic fluff. Protector/Caregiver Alfie.

**Chapter song is Shotgun by Spoon.**

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

You sit at the head of the table in your ornate dining room, the morning sun streaming in through the windows. Your posture slumps after a strong yawn as you pick through your bowl of berries and cream. You didn’t want something sweet but the eggs were also not hitting the spot. You pick at the pork-free classic English breakfast in front of you, the toast being the only thing you didn’t want to spit back out.

“What’s wrong with you?” Claire demands, finally settling into a seat after seeing her move about the house all morning.

“Not sleeping well.” You sigh, pushing around the beans on your plate.

“Any reason?” She says with a casual tone but you shift your eyes over to her anyway.

“Dreams.” You answer flatly.

“Are dreams responsible for you being so picky with your food as well?”

“I’m tired and nothing sounds good.” You mutter childishly.

“Are These dreams something I should be informed of?”

You shrug. “They’re abstract.” You groan and push away the plate. “I’m trapped in darkness. There are these sets of glowing eyes moving around and I can’t tell anything about them. I hear men’s voices, lots of different ones, but the eyes aren't human eyes. It feels like something is wrong, but I don’t know what. I keep getting moved around but I can’t feel anything or see anything. Then I hear Alfie's voice and it stops.”

“What does he say?”

“It changes. Sometimes it’s gibberish, sometimes my name.” You shrug. “Then I’m suddenly back at home after feeling like I’m falling and getting dizzy. He’s in bed with me and telling me it’s okay. He’s there. Nothing bad is going to happen to us as long as he’s there. That’s what he keeps saying. Sometimes in Hebrew, sometimes not.”

“A dream within a dream?”

“So it would seem.”

“Interesting.” She nods and hums. “Reoccurring?”

“Yes. I always wake up nauseous and panting like I’ve been running. And I feel like hell the next day. But I have had a lovely dream about being in France with Altar though. Sitting in the lavender fields from my childhood, he comes and picks me up and spins me until I’m dizzy and laughing and when I open my eyes he’s turned into Alfie.” You give a content smile. “That one is rather nice though. Doesn’t keep me from sleep.” You shake your head.

“Does sound nice. Especially in comparison to the others. But it’s nice Alfie seems to be a protective figure in them.”

“He’s in my dreams a lot.”

“Good and bad?”

“Yes, some are just common nonsense. Some are sexual. Some are tragic.”

“Tragic?”

“Yes ones where I die or he dies.” You frown.

“And those aren’t prophetic you think?”

“No, the prophetic ones feel different usually. I don’t fade in and out of them they come hard and wake me up after. They don’t feel... dreamy like dreams do.”

“You must be tired.” She chuckles. “Dreamy like dreams is entirely lazy and beneath you.” She pats your hand.

“Well, I am tired, Claire. I’m tired and thus irritable and it makes me want to act like a child and pout. I hate it."

“You aren’t the only one.” She laughs. ———— You go to bed early and sleep hard that night. A dreamless sleep. Something you’re extremely grateful for.

The sound of your door opening wakes you. You stir only slightly, hearing boots on the floor and murmuring.

“Alfie love? I wasn’t expecting you until morning.” You say with a yawn, rubbing your eyes. But when the footsteps stop and you move your hand from your face it’s clear the silhouette it isn’t Alfies.

“Not your Solomons, love.” The man's voice says, a dark laugh coming from him as he gets closer. You move to reach for the dagger under your pillow that you keep when Alfie isn’t there. But he moves too quickly for you in your tired and sleepy state. He holds you down, mouth over your hand as you struggle against him, resting his weight on his knees on your body. “I’m not here to kill you Genevieve. I’m here to serve as a warning. George wants to let you know he has people that can get to you. That's all. Has people that can get to your little Jew beau. He doesn’t want to have to hurt you.” he pauses as you still and listen to him, your hand trying to find the dagger that’s been displaced in the struggle. “I'm guessing he thought I was a better man than I am. Sending me to test how easy it would be to get to you. Which it was not.” He adds as if he was impressed. “And I think I deserve a little reward for all my hard work. What do you think? I don’t think George would care if I had a little fun. Not with how he spoke of you. Don't think you'd mind either.” his voice is low and breathy and you growl, thrashing and kicking against him as you felt his clammy hand touch your skin. “So odd he speaks of you so poorly but doesn’t want you hurt. Makes no sense to me. Seems like you could take a bit of abuse. Fiesty thing.” He grunts out as your retort throws him off balance, giving you a chance to bite his hand and you do not hold back. The metallic tang makes you feral, feeling it drip down your chin as you keep hold like a trained dog and rip his flesh. He responds in anger, knocking you sideways, but you see the glint of the dagger and reach for it, taking it and stabbing it blindly at him.

You black out from rage. The next thing you know you’re being held back, covered in blood, the dagger still in your hand as you take in the scene in front of you. You’d sawed the man's head off, blood everywhere on your carpet and bed. He was covered in deep gouges, a particularly large cluster between his legs. His head had been thrown against a wall, a splatter on the stone and filigree that didn’t look that out of place among the black and red velvet and paintings of violence.

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” You finally register from Claire as she shakes your shoulders. She sees you blink rapidly, face moving from stone to angry and she knows you’re back. “What the fuck happened here?!”

“He said George sent him.” You spit out and Aggie gasps, her hand to her mouth. She never thought the man would try to actually harm you in any way. “He said he wasn’t going to hurt me. Then he said he was going to...” your nostrils flare and you growl to push back the nausea the thought sends your way.

“I get it. I get it.” Claire says. “Can we... get this cleaned up?” She asks of one of the guards that had been summoned when the noises of two animals fighting were heard.

“No.” You demand through gritted teeth. “Take his fucking head and put it in a box and mail it to my father.” You state clearly. The boy blinks with wide eyes at the request.

“Genevieve perhaps when you've had time to-“

“DO IT!” You shout, rage burning through your veins. He didn’t want to hurt you? Only scare you? Well, you could certainly scare him. You knock Claire back and move to your desk, the blood on your hands all over the paper and pen you withdrew from the drawer, slamming them down with force into the desktop.

“If you think you can threaten me. You are wrong. If you think you can threaten Alfie Solomons. You are the stupidest man in existence. If I so much as hear from you again. If I am approached by anyone, given anything from you I promise the next head cut off will be yours. I will reign down hell on you and anyone that supports you. I will tell everyone you sent a man to threaten and rape your own daughter for practicing a religion that was hidden from her that she was blessed with through blood. I will send names out of every man you ever took their word over mine. I will scream it to the ends of the earth what a monster you are. I have witnesses now. I have proof and you will have nothing left once I am done with you. Not even your fucking head.”

You throw the pen across the room in your anger and scream again. The emotions not subsiding. “Send that with the head.” You snarl at Claire as you storm out of the room. She hears your screams traveling through the hallways, a door slamming before they go silent.

“You heard her.” She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“I can’t believe he’d do this.” Aggie says, face still pale with shock.

“We'll have to wait for her to cool before we find out exactly what happened.” Claire tries to remain diplomatic and level headed. That was her role after all.

“We should call Mr. Solomons.” Aggie says quietly. “He would want to know.”

Claire nods, looking at the doorway you’d ran out of. “Yeah. It’ll take him to snap her out of this.”

“The poor thing.” Aggie's voice full of pity for you. As was her way. “Let’s get this cleaned up as quickly as we can. The sooner there’s no evidence to better. We need to make it look like this never happened.”

“And call all the guards. I’ll interview more this week. And we’ll need guns. Everyone will have a gun now.” She groans. She hated guns but knew they were necessary at this point.

“I don’t know how he got in.” The boy picking up the man’s body says.

“I figure come morning we will find out.” She says with an indifferent face. “Do as I said. Do a head check. Get times and locations from all the men on guard right now.” She gives him a stern nod.

“Yes ma’am.” He says with an apologetic look.

“I’ll go check on her and call Alfie.” Claire mumbles, following the sounds of your screams. She sees maids scurrying away from the garden.

“What’s happened?!” They all ask, clutching their dressing gowns together.

“There’s been an intruder. The situation is over now but she’s very... angry about it.” She grits out the last words. “Tell the other girls to go back to bed and lock their doors. Nothing we can do right now.” She leaves them and walks out over the stone steps where you’re holding a pipe and knocking it against a stone statue as you screamed wordlessly. “Genevieve I’m going to call Alfie.” She announces to deaf ears. Seeing no reaction let her know you were gone yet again. --- “Alfie?”

“What fuckin' time is it? What’s happened?” He gruffs out, brow low as he stumbled his way to the telephone in the dark.

“It’s Genevieve.”

She hears an audible breath and his tone totally changes. “What’s happened?” he demands

“There was an intruder. Physically she’s fine but...”

“BUT?!” He shouts.

“She won’t stop screaming in anger. She’s... you should come over. I think you’re the only hope at getting through to her. She won’t even respond to me.”

“But she’s okay?”

“I don’t believe she’s hurt no.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I fuckin' can.” He answers exasperatedly. ——— He walks into the scene. There are guards that greet him with apologetic nods as he walks through the door. Not a good sign, he thought. He stands in the lobby, Aggie finding him first, carrying bedsheets covered in blood and his eyes widen.

"Not her blood, dear." she answers, with a sympathetic smile. She knew what he would be worrying about. "We're trying to clean up the scene and secure the house. The chaos should die down shortly. She's outside." she nods and resituates the sheets in her arms. "Just follow the screaming." she shakes her head and sighs as she trots off down the hall.

His brow is low, taking in the scene with unfriendly eyes, wanting someone to blame but not being able to find it just yet. He walks further into the house and hears loud metallic thuds. Something hitting against stone as he follows the sound and soon he hears you and your noises of outrage.

You've taken a lead pipe, he's assuming from the greenhouse that was almost finished and attacking a statue in your garden. You weren't making much progress but he highly doubted your motive was to rid the pedestal of the statue. You're covered in blood and sweat, your dressing gown loose and moving about and flashing him bits of skin and he wishes he could take the image in without the dark overtones that were in the air.

"Gen?" he says tentatively, walking down the steps, keeping his eyes on you. You grunt and growl and shout as you lift the pipe over and over again, using your entire body to knock it against the already armless Venus statue. "Genny bee?" he offers in a sweet tone, not sure how to approach you without getting hit himself. You hadn't even given him a reason to think you'd heard him at all. "GENEVIEVE!" he says loudly but not threateningly. "It's your Alfie, love. Can ya stop tryin to take off the poor lass's legs as well, it's already been through enough innit?" he gets closer, taking cautious steps back as your swings slow but do not stop. "Can ya talk to me and keep swingin' at least? I'd like to know you're alright."

"I'M NOT ALL BLOODY RIGHT!" you shout, your energy back again as the rage starts to turn to pain.

"Are you hurt? They told me you weren't." he steps closer, he sees the strain in your arms as they shake and your chest heaves.

"Not my body," you answer as you let the pipe hit the ground, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "Although he tried." you spit out, picking the pipe up again and giving a weaker, less controlled hit to the statue.

"You wanna tell me? You wanna hand over the weapon so I can get near you love? I'd like to be able to comfort you somehow." he admits, coming up on your side.

"You don't want to know." you choke out, lip trembling but brow hard and eyes still furious. You give the statue another exhausted wack.

"Can we stop hittin' the statue, you're gonna be hurt if you keep doin' that." he says in an authoritative voice.

"If I stop I have to think. I don't want to think." you say with a break in your voice and he frowns, hearing the underlying hurt now.

"Then let me take care of you, love. Let me do the thinkin' for ya for a bit." he says, his hand reaching out to touch yours that held the pipe as its end rested on the ground.

Your head snaps over to it, you flinch only slightly, mainly from the instinct to lash out at anything in the moment of heightened emotion. As he takes it from your bloody and now you see, injured hand, he tosses it out of reach and as he begins to pull you towards him you feel your mood shift fully, a sob rising from your chest as he pulls you against his.

"There, there, love. Let it out." he shushes and holds you, his hand on your head as he kisses your hair. "I'm here love. Ain't nothin' gonna get ya as long as I'm here, eh?" he says, rubbing your back and he feels you jump. "Genevieve, pet, are you alright? You sure you're not hurt?" he pulls you back and holds your cheek, seeing the dried blood around your mouth and down your neck, wondering what the hell had happened.

You stare at him with fear in your eyes and he's concerned you'd taken a knock to the head with your mood swings. You were scared because he was saying what he had in your dream. "No. I'm not." you shake your head, face wet with tears.

"Now, now, my love." he coos, pulling you back in. "You want to get a bath? Get all this off of ya? Start new? It'll help ya process it. I know your muscles must be achin' from all this."

They were, and he was right. "Can you hold me for a bit?" you ask, feeling terribly small. Exhaustion hitting you hard again.

"Sweet little Chanah." he whispers, kissing your head, gathering your wild mane of hair and pulling the shoulders of your satin dressing gown back up. "Of course. Anything you want, love. You want me to carry you back in?" he asks, looking down at your tired but somehow innocent looking face. You looked like a helpless victim and even though he knew you were far from it, he felt a surge of protectiveness over you.

"Please." you say, giving over to the sadness that washed over you with tiredness.

He picks you up and cradles you like a child, you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his jacket and breathe.

"How in the hell do you do it?" Claire says in disbelief, walking out of your bedroom with buckets of red water.

"What?" he asks, readjusting his hold on you and you grunt in response, paying no mind to Claire but focusing on the way he smelled as it calmed you.

"Calm her down like that. She tried to take my head off." she frowns.

"Lucky I suppose." he purses his lips together. "Can we go in? I'm gonna get her in the bath."

"Yeah." she nods. "It's all cleaned up." she steps out of the way and he moves past the girls scrubbing the floors. They pay him no mind as he sets you on a bench in your bathroom.

"I'm gonna take my stuff off and I'll be right back. I'll just be outside. That alright?" he asks, holding your chin up to him and nodding.

He moves into the bedroom. "What's the damage?" he asks after closing the bathroom door behind him, taking his hat and coat off.

"Take a look in the box and see." one maid says with high brows and a mixture of surprise and annoyance on her face.

"Hmph?" he grunts, moving over to your desk. "He opens the top, seeing the head inside and nods and sighs. "Yeah," he says to no one in particular. "That checks out dunnit?" he shrugs off his suspenders and sets his shoes by the bed down to his shirt and trousers now. "Alright love." he says, clapping his hands together and moving to the tub and turning it on. "How ya want to go 'bout it? Want me in with ya? Want me outside the room? What ya need, little one?" he says, hoisting you up and moving you over by the toilet, ready to take

"I need this night to be over. I need some fucking rest." you groan, having flashes of the surprise attack come again before your eyes. You moan and rub your eyes.

"We can do just 'at after a good bath. Ya need to relax, ya shakin' like a leaf." he says, holding your hands.

"I don't feel well." you say with a contorted face.

"I'd say not. Gettin' attacked in ya own home. No one handles that well. Especially not someone that keeps a house as well as you." he says with pride for your measures of safety. He wasn't sure how a man had gotten in, but then again, he hadn't been sure how a bomb got in his house so he tries not to think about it too much. He wants to focus on you.

"No I mean..." you feel your stomach lurch again. "I'm going to be sick." you say with a deep breath, turning towards the toilet and standing with one hand on the wall.

"Fuckin' 'ell love. What happened? Ya have such a capacity for violence ususally." he says with concern, pulling your hair back in anticipation.

"I haven't been sleeping." you reply with closed eyes, shaking your head, making you dizzy. "I'm exhausted and then this and he..." you remember him on top of you and the wave of nausea hits, you let yourself drop to your knees and Alfie frowns, rubbing your back.

"Ya don't gotta talk about it if it's makin' ya ill." he says obviously.

"I do. You need to know." you groan and lean forward, feeling it coming on again.

"Worry 'bout it in the bath. Just get the evil out right now." he sees your face contort again as you get sick into the toilet. You can hear him sigh, reaching and grabbing a washcloth from the sink.

"I haven't even eaten anything, how do I have anything to-" you throw up again and it burns, bile that brings a pounding of your head.

"Shush. It happens love. It's shock. I saw it plenty in the war. Just let it pass. You'll be fine. Don't fight it." he instructs, as you gag and take the cloth from him, sitting back on your heels.

"I feel like hell." you mumble, holding the cloth to your face. It smells of lavender and you find it comforting. "Can you put some flower in the bath, darling?" you say with closed eyes, your hand to your forehead.

"Course." he answers, rising and turning off the tub, breaking up the stalk of lavender from the plant that still thrived in the window he'd gotten you so long ago.

"Help me in." you say quietly, dropping the dressing gown as he helps every limb into the tub, sitting you down slowly like he had when you were injured before. You remember how caring he was last time and it calmed you. "You can get in as well." you say, blinking up at him, your face now slack and less hurt as you wipe it with the cloth he'd handed you. The warm water feels amazing, the cold night air had tightened your muscles, the shock had frozen them in a tense hold and now you were left trying to process. Your least favorite part of recovery.

He slinks in behind you, knowing it's what you'd want. Without a word he washes you, pouring water down your hair, the flowers and oils he put in helping conceal the pink color from the blood.

"Thank you." you whisper, settling back against him. He wraps his arms around you as you rest between his legs. "This helps." you nod, snuggling into him, holding his forearms as they wrapped around you. "Having you here." your voice is weak and breathy.

"You should get used to it." he states and you blink your eyes open and lean to look up at him.

"Hmmm?" you ask with tired eyes.

"I'm gonna move back in." he says with a stern nod.

Your lip pouts in thought, looking away from him for a moment. You hadn't expected it. But it did make perfect sense.

"I want to." he reaffirms. "Is that alright with you? I'd like to be here for you. To protect you. I should've already done it. I just..." he shrugs and sighs. "I've just been worried about everfin' else I just thought it might be able to wait until after the wedding."

"An attempt to stay traditional." you smile up at him.

"I know what we are doesn't mesh well with the customs but I wanted to be as right as reason would allow for you, Chanah." he says with guilt in his voice.

The way he says your name soothes you. "Ari, love." you say softly, face nuzzling into his chest. "Keep your house for the week of separation. That we can do." you nod. "Don't worry about the time up until then," you say with a soft smile. "We aren't traditional. You are right." you nod again. "We want to be together. So we should I believe. I would like to have you in my bed every night." you hum happily. "I would love to see you off to work in the morning." you smile wider. "Make you breakfast like I did at your place."

"Sounds like a dream, love." he says supportively. "I'm stayin' tonight. Well, what's left of it. Tomorrow I'll get my things brought over, yeah?"

"Yes." you nod. "And about tonight?"

"Don't make yourself sick again, pet." he says, stroking back your wet hair with his hand, kissing your head.

"I need to tell you. Perhaps talking will help." you shrug. "It will make you so angry this tub will boil from your red hot temper." you warn, holding his hand in yours.

"I had assumed as much." he sighs.

You tell him everything, the suggestion of defiling you, how George had sent him but said he didn't want to hurt you. Which meant a lot of things. You show him the letter as he gathers a sleeping gown for you and puts it on you. The room now clean and clear, the fire bright and roaring, clean sheets and his arms tight around you let you fall into a restful sleep. So restful he's able to pull himself away from you for a moment to use the phone.

"Yeah, she's fine Ollie." he says dismissively. "But I need you to get some boys together and do some surveillance for me. I want you to go up north to her fathers, George Greene. Make sure ya don't follow her brother of the same name." he states harshly as the mistake would not be made twice. "I want a watch on this man. I want names of who he meets, who comes and goes from his house, I want constant monitoring of him. I want the boys armed and ready to go if I ever say so. She may think he'll stop after this but I'm not takin' the fuckin' chance." he growls.

He comes back to bed, you mewling only slightly as he pulls you back into his chest, his face in your braided hair, his limbs wrapped in yours, feeling so defensive and protective over you. He'd never seen you get sick over something like this before, but then again, he believes he understood why it did. It wasn't just violence. It was the personal touch to it, the threats he'd made, the underlying hurt and betrayal you still felt from your father. He felt guilty for not being there, although he knew there was no use for such a feeling. He would be there now. Every night he'd be there with you and he wouldn't let anyone touch you again.

----- The feelings of possessiveness always follow him into his dreams and into the morning with you in his bed. He wakes to find the bed empty next to him, seeing the bedroom door open. He doesn't assume the worst, he knew everyone was on high alert. He pads through the halls, pajamas on that you'd bought for him and kept at your place, same as he had done for you at his. So when a shirtless, sleepy-eyed Alfie walks into the kitchen, following the smell you turn and smile. You got to do this every day if you wanted. It felt so perfectly domestic. Something you'd missed out on growing up. Making him breakfast felt so intimate for you. You'd never really cooked for anyone else before and with the Rabbi's instruction you'd been cooking every chance you got. You were trying to learn new skills that your upbringing had passed over in teaching, wanting to expand your abilities and learn how to be someone more nurturing. Someone who could take care of a family herself. You wanted to be a strong matriarch. A pillar for a family who made a house a home through her actions and words. And Alfie soon picked up on this.

Most mornings you would be up before him, as he had the habit of coming home late. But you didn't mind so much, you got him in your bed every night and in your kitchen every morning and that's what truly made you happy nowadays.

"Mornin, love." he grumbles, a kiss to your head as he pats your shoulders from behind as you watch over the stove.

"Good morning, darling." you coo, watching him shuffle over to the small table in the kitchen.

"What's in the diary for today?" he asks, pulling the paper over towards him.

"Nothing for me. Ollie said you had business meetings today."

"Nothing for you?" he asks, trying not to sound scolding. Ever since the break-in you'd not really left the house much. He didn't want to push you at first, but it was starting to worry him. You seemed happy, but you kept having Claire handle everything and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Just seeing to the greenhouse. Poor Essie isn't doing too well I'm afraid. I'll be spending some time with her in the barn." you say in a more sad tone, accepting the long relationship between you and your childhood horse would be coming to its natural conclusion soon.

"You've been around the house so much lately, love." he says, beginning to stand, moving to rest his hands on your hips. "Wouldn't you like to get out a bit?" he asks with a kind tone, putting your hair behind your ears as you turn to him.

"I've been working here." you shrug.

"What about doin' somefin 'ats not work." he suggests.

"Like what?" you say with an unsure face.

"What if I take ya out? How long's it been since I went out and proper courted you eh? You wanna make me sit through a show? I'll watch somefin' I hate." he chuckles and gives you a charming smile.

"Oh, I don't know. No need to waste money on it." you shake your head and turn back around.

He blinks and stares. "Since when do you care about wastin' money?" his voice cracks as it shakes off sleep.

"Since I've been thinking of being a wife and mother." you say with a straight posture, more confidence in your voice.

He stands in silence with narrowed eyes, his mind putting together your recent actions. "Me movin' in with ya make ya fink 'bout it more?" he asks, resting his face near yours.

"Yes. That and my lessons with Rabbi Gold. We've been discussing the role of women. Family dynamics and what is expected of us when we become married and with children."

"Why are ya jumpin' the gun on all 'at?"

"I didn't think I was." you say with a light twist to your words.

"Well..." he begins, pressing his nose into your shoulder. "What if as your husband I want you to spend some money on somefin', yeah? Want my pretty little Chanah to get all dolled up like I know she likes. Want to take her out and show her a good time. Make her happy. Have ya do somefin' besides make me tea." he chuckles.

"It has been awhile." you say, he feels the sigh leave your body.

"It has. You don't need to get so caught up in your lessons, love. Ya know you get too obsessive 'bout it and it makes you a mess. I want ya happy, relaxed, doin' ya hobbies 'n that like you used to. Don't worry 'bout me too much love. And I'm finkin' 'bout the future enough for the both of us. You do ya lessons and keep practicin' and don't you worry that pretty little head of yours about money. If you need to worry about anything I'll let you know eh? We're fine. Business is fine. No reason you can't go and have a nice night out."

"Does always lead to a nicer night in." you smile and he gives you a cheeky growl with a noisy kiss to your head.

"'Ats my girl." he pats your bum. "Don't go loosin' yourself Gen. Ya both Chanah and Genevieve. I fell in love with Genny bee first, eh? And Chanah kept me around. Put me in my place dinnit she?" he gives your waist a squeeze. "Don't need to kill off one for the other. Especially not for me. Who the fuck am I? Fuckin' nobody." he laughs and pulls away.

"You are someone, darling. You're a very important someone. And I will keep your words in mind. You know how I get." you shake your head.

"That I do." he nods supportively.

"I've never been a nervous person. And all this makes me so nervous and I don't know how to handle it so I go overboard."

"It is in your nature to do such a thing." his voice warm but teasing.

"It means so much to me. Having been denied it for so long. I'm not used to feeling out of my element. And I want to be the best wife and mother and girlfriend and businesswoman I can and it's all..." you sigh and let your shoulders slump, feeling your words as they rushed out, seeing what your problem had been. You'd been so focused on the house, running it, making it perfect that you'd neglected yourself.

"Ya gonna run yourself ragged if ya keep that up."

"Yes." you nod, plating your breakfast. "You're right, darling."

"Mmmm." he hums, pulling you over by your wrist after you set down your plate.

"What?" you giggle, him pulling you fully into his lap, looking up at you with a cheeky smile.

"Say it again love."

You roll your eyes and laugh. "Such a wanker." you giggle and he pinches your bum.

"Indulge an old man, love." he grins.

"You're right, darling." you say with a kiss to his lips. "I forget you are an intuitive beast." you coo, scratching your fingers in his beard.

"I am that, yeah." he gives you a big grin and catches your lips in a deeper kiss.

"Such a clever man." you coo.

"Now 'ats a grown woman's filthy mouth right there." he chuckles, rising and holding you in his arms.

"Such a provider. So protective and strong." you continue on in a purr.

"Right 'ats it." he lifts you and resituates his arms, walking out of the kitchen. "We're goin' back to bed, we are."

You kiss on his ears and giggle. "Such a brilliant mind. Such a dominating body. With a tongue that will bring me to my knees one way or another."

"I know which way it's gonna be this mornin' love." he smirks.

"I thought you'd want me on my back and not my knees." you tease.

"You know I'll take ya anyway I can have ya." he says sincerely, as you squeeze your arms around his neck, continuing to whisper praise into his ear past the doorway and continuing on after he'd kicked the door shut behind you.

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