#HE HAD CHEATED ON ME AND THEN FLED THE STATE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shawnxstyles · 9 months

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free session

DATE: AUGUST 8, 2023

summary: tom hurts himself a little at the gym, but luckily, you’re there to reassure him that everything’s fine. when he finally comes back, you decide to show him what a free session is all about.

request: yup!!

words: 7k

warnings: SMUT (slight praise kink, protected sex, dirty talking), language. this was a quick one

note: okay so i don’t do threesomes lmao, but i didn’t state that until after i got this request (this request is 8 months old i’m sorry). i chose to do tom, but i changed a lot, so i’m sorry if this isn’t even what you asked for at all… i hope someone likes it | NOT EDITED

gym!tom x trainer!reader

—

Tom had a steady routine; he went to the gym in the morning, ate, did his day plans or work, ate again, and then went to the gym at night again. Some people thought he was insane for going to the gym so much, but it felt like his second home. Mainly because the gym was his brother’s, Harry.

Harry and Tom were unbelievably close; out of all their siblings, they were definitely the tightest. Tom assisted Harry with renting, paperwork, and anything he needed for his little business, which wasn’t so little anymore. Once he got popular in town, Tom let his brother handle himself after all his constant nagging. Then Tom was off doing his own thing, worrying about his own life and job. It got consistent, tedious, and boring to say the least.

But on a random summer day when Harry called Tom to deliver the bad news, Tom regrets ever thinking that his simple routine was boring.

“Tom, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find a new gym.”

“What? Harry, what are you talking about?” Tom drops his gym bag on the floor of his apartment, stopping short with Harry’s words. He presses the phone up to his ear, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip.

“I didn’t tell you before, but all my “loyal” customers have fled to the new fitness center down the street. You know, the one by the café?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s only temporary. I need to refurbish and find some more sponsors, and then hopefully, I can reopen.”

Tom sighs slowly into the empty air of his home, looking up at the ceiling in distress.

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you—”

“It’s alright, Harry. I’m glad you told me now. I’ll just… find a new gym.”

“If you go to my competitor, I won’t blame you.”

Tom replies with a hefty laugh.

“It’ll only be temporary.”

So, that’s what Tom has been doing—going to his brother's competitor. However, it was only supposed to be for a few weeks. But it ended up being a few months. Tom’s adjusted to the new gym quite nicely. He likes the wide variety of machinery and how many options he has. When he first came in, he was using machines he’d never even seen before.

Even though his gym was switched up on him, Tom is a routine kind of guy. It only took him a week to adapt to his new environment and get comfortable with everything. He developed a new schedule for his morning workouts since he can no longer go to the gym in the evening. He wasn’t necessarily a morning person, but for the gym-induced high, he would do it.

He had a specific day for arms, legs, chest, back, shoulders—everything. Over the years, he’s done his research on the body, and even took anatomy in high school.

Did that even help him?

To say he’s gym-obsessed isn’t too much of an overstatement, even if Tom disagrees. He would say he’s obsessed with his dog, but not the gym. He refuses to put himself in the category of “gym-bros” and dumbasses that live off protein shakes. Yeah, he likes those shakes too, but he wouldn’t die if he had more than one cheat day in a week. Tom likes to live his life outside of the gym, unlike those people.

Tom worked an average job with a good salary, and relatively lived an average life with good people. He didn’t go out much because he didn’t have many people to hang out with besides his brothers. Harrison has been his best mate since high school, but with both of their work schedules colliding, it’s hard to find the time. Plus, he’s been way too busy planning his wedding.

Yeah, a wedding.

Tom’s not surprised by the fact that Harrison’s getting married. In fact, he’s not surprised at all. Of course he’s happy for his best friend. He’s just… envious in a subtle way. Both Tom and him are 28 years old, and while Harrison met the love of his life and is starting a future with her, Tom is yet to even date a girl for longer than a few weeks.

He’s been on dates here and there, even had a few one-night stands in the past year, but after some time, he just gave up completely. Sometimes, a girl will smile at him or look him up and down, but he doesn’t even try to pursue them like he used to. For the few times that he is out with his friends or brothers and a girl is all over him, he’ll take the opportunity and bring her home.

But it never goes farther than that. And Tom is afraid he’ll never have more than that.

Shaking off the terrible thoughts to start his morning, Tom walks through the glass doors of the gym. He passes the front desk and towards the clean machines that are practically calling his name. The barely rising sun can be seen through the huge window panes along the entire building, making the scene look peaceful.

There were a couple of bodies in the area, but besides the delicate music seeping through the speakers, it was quiet. To Tom, this was tranquil.

After a few simple stretches, Tom snatches the jump ropes. He jumps until his muscles are loose and warm and they’re just itching to be challenged. Today, he decided to do legs with an additional ab workout just because. He was a little extra energized, and he craved for his body to be sore. He doesn’t do this often, but he needs to change it up once in a while, right?

Tom goes straight towards the leg press, knowing that that machine will fire his legs up immediately. When he starts his reps, he already feels the burn. He knows today is going to push his limits, but he’s ready.

—

About halfway through his workout, he wants to give up. But he knows that’s exactly when you need to keep going.

He’s struggling with his squats, really trying to lift these three plates that are taunting him. He can do two easily, which means he has to add weight if he wants to actually gain and keep his muscles. He takes a deep breath before trying to squat for the second time. He slides the padded bar over his ready shoulders. The weight is dawning and plummeting his own body to the ground.

As he lowers his legs, squatting with the best of his abilities, his lower back aches immensely before he drops the bar onto the matted floor. The plates clang against each other in the relatively quiet gym

“Fuck,” he groans and chucks off his headphones, clutching his lower back near his tailbone. This is now the second time he’s failed, but the first time he’s felt this pain. It wasn’t a shooting, sharp pain, but it was aching enough to warn him that he was positioning himself wrongly.

“Are you okay?” A woman’s voice asks concerningly a few feet behind him. Tom turns around too quickly, making his back hurt a little more. He tries to hide his hiss behind clenched teeth when he sees you.

Your eyes were wide with worry and your head was slightly tilted. You were sporting a tight sports bra with matching shapely leggings. You had a towel dangling in your hand and a black shirt in the other. Maybe it was because of his small pain, but Tom couldn’t help dragging his eyes down your body in awe. He hisses at the sight unconsciously.

“I’m assuming that’s a no,” You squint your eyes with a slight tease as you walk up to him. Tom nods while also fixating in the present. He had a tendency to drift off into his head if his imagination wandered enough.

“Yeah, I think I hurt my bad a bit,” he smiles while trying to stretch by twisting left and right.

“Maybe I can help? If you’d like me to,” You offer as Tom stares at you. Your eyelashes are fluttering almost innocently, and Tom is beyond intrigued. He nods with a charming smile, one that you just had to reflect back. It was easily one of the most gorgeous smiles Tom has ever seen.

“Just so you know, I kind of work here. Well—I mean—I do work here. I’m just new,” You rambled. You were a bit nervous. You were a certified trainer, but you’ve never trained someone outside of your schooling. Yes, you’ve done family and friends, but not a stranger. A random stranger who actually needs your experience. You’re not sure how you landed a job at this seemingly high-end gym, but you never question the good things that happen anymore; you just let them happen.

“Good to know. Since you offered, I assume you know what you’re doing,” Tom teases and you roll your eyes playfully. He eased some of your nerves.

When you ask how he was squatting, he explains what he was doing and when and where the pain was occurring. You nodded along to his words, collecting all of it and connecting it to your knowledge. You come to a conclusion long before he’s done and gaze at his body. You know a lot about anatomy and you’ve seen a bunch of bodies throughout your life.

But staring at his ripped and sweaty body has you feeling all warm and tingly. The morning sunlight seems to shine perfectly over his perspiration, twinkling as a few drops slide between his rigid muscles.

“I think you strained your back,” You say simply without blinking right as he finished talking. You shake your head as if you weren’t just ogling his muscles. What is wrong with you? You were supposed to be a professional.

“Oh,” Tom finally says with a slight frown to his face.

“Does it hurt when you turn as well or just when squatting?”

“Mainly just squatting,” he answers.

“Okay,” You give him a once-over as if analyzing him. You were analyzing him, just not in a very professional way. There was nothing professional about how your eyes turned hungry as they gazed at his blessed figure. “The best thing to do is to not sit. Or stop what you’re doing basically. I would say no more squats for a while or anything that strikes pain. But don’t terminate all your exercise. That will actually make it worse.”

Tom nods along to all that you’re saying with understanding. Everything that you’re telling him makes perfect sense, so there was a good minute where he zoned out and just stared at you. Your matching set makes your skin look smooth and defines every curve of your body. The way your hands moved as you spoke had him mesmerized like he was under hypnosis.

“Got it?” You ask as a heat floods up your neck. Tom blinks rapidly and mumbles a yes, but he looks all too distracted. He didn’t hide well that he was staring at you, but he didn’t seem like he was trying to either.

“Is there anything else?” Tom questions as the air between you two gets tense, voice lower than before. Panting and echoing machines are all that are heard in the space around you. You swallow your sudden nervousness that was about to cough up a whine. You wondered if he wanted you to say something else.

Maybe he wanted you to confess. Confess something that you were both thinking, but you both didn’t know.

“N-No,” You slightly stutter out when you answer, smiling to try to cover this feeling that’s bubbling up inside of you.

“Well, I guess I’ll just do the treadmill before I head out.”

“Right. Sounds good. Have fun!” You ramble as he walks away, chuckling with each step he takes. You turn away and your smile instantly falls as you groan to yourself, “Have fun? Why did I say that?”

You run your hand over your face as you try to regain your lost pride. When you walk back into the coach’s area, you slip on your uniform shirt, so people are aware you actually work there. You take a deep breath and mentally slap yourself in the head for being so unprofessional. You barely just started working here and you’re already breaking rules! You’re not allowed to have relationships with your clients. Wait, that’s a rule, right? Now, that doesn’t make much sense…

But you know for certain that thinking about someone sexually after just meeting them, rule or not, client or not, it’s inappropriate. You’ve never looked at someone and just completely melted at the sight of them. You can’t stop picturing the way his leg muscles flexed as he carried the heavy weight of the squat bar. Or the way his cheeks reddened and hollowed out air as he pushed himself to stand up straight.

Although you watch and help people work out for a living, you’ve never found it entertaining. But for some reason, your mind is just so utterly fucked over by this random guy that you’ve never seen before. He looks like he’s been doing it a long time, especially with that figure. Has he been at this gym for a long time? He seems like he has.

Your mind likes to wander and wander as you do busy work and wait for the day to end. From your area, you weren’t able to see the front doors, so you never saw the stranger again that day. You assume he left soon after your departure, but you wish that you saw him just once more. Maybe you’d get the confidence to catch his name and even offer a session. Free of charge, you imagine yourself saying accidentally because you’d be so distracted.

Throughout your shift you helped a few people and even assisted in the group exercise class. Though, you loved when you had one on one trainings the most because you got to see your client grow their strengths and their weaknesses.

As your shift came to an end, you collected your bag with a heavy sigh. It was only the afternoon, but of course you didn’t have any plans. You had spent a year working to become a certified trainer, but brought no one with you along the way. You took a gap year when high school ended to try to figure out what you wanted to do, and then you discovered training and you felt comfortable. You had some friends, but none were strong enough to stay with you. It was really just you, with the occasional hangout with your older sister who lectured you sometimes.

You felt lonely sometimes, but it’s not like you really tried to fix it either. You went out every blue moon, waiting for some magical miracle to occur. Nothing sprouts; no love, sex, relationship, or friendship spawned at your feet when you’re out late at night in a bar or club. So, you kind of just stopped going. Was it sad to say you kind of lost hope in dating and sex?

Besides the point, when you entered your apartment, you were alone. Just like most days when you weren’t busy researching ways to start a business.

Oh, was that mentioned?

You wanted to start your own business with your certification. However, it was hard because you had little to no experience in business. Your dad knew good tips and tricks, but he wasn’t experienced enough either. And since you were quite lonely, you hadn’t made many connections to people that might have loads of talent in the field.

One day, you would actually talk to someone, you swore. And they would help make your dreams of a business come to life. It’s not that you didn’t believe in yourself to make it happen; it was more than a reasonable goal. It’s just that you’re so unmotivated right now because of your lack of connections.

Ugh, why does life have to be so difficult?

—

Tom wakes up early with groggy eyes and a sore back. He had done some research online last night on how to sleep with a strained back. He was told to lay on his side with a pillow stuffed between his knees. But of course when he woke up in the morning, his body was flailed across his mattress like an eagle, pillows completely disregarded from him.

When he tried to sit up too quickly, a sharp pain erupted in his back, making him sit right back in the bed. Maybe he should just take his time like the woman at the gym said…

You were slightly disappointed you didn’t see the good-looking stranger again on your shift. You shamelessly glanced around the machinery, hoping to recognize his bulky shoulders and defined muscles, but they were nowhere to be found.

You got to see a few good bodies, but there was something about that stranger that just made your insides tingle.

Again, so unprofessional. This is why you can’t start a damn business!

—

Tom didn’t go to the gym for a week. A week!

His back was just in too much pain and lifting heavy weights sounded tortuous. He still went to work and went on evening walks with his dog, but he felt pretty lazy. He forced himself to take a week off of the gym to heal, and thankfully it worked. His mind kept lingering to the pretty woman who talked to him, but he kept excusing it with his pain. He must only be thinking of you because you gave advice he needs to remember, right?

By the next week, Tom was already back in the gym. He walked through those glass doors again, quickly checked in, and headed towards the machinery. He moved slowly as his eyes subconsciously tried to find you again. Tom had this… need to tell you that he’s okay and that your advice worked. Again, it was just an excuse, so he could talk to you again. Maybe he would see your name tag this time, or just ask for it blatantly.

He makes a quick once-over of the area, and is a bit disappointed when he doesn’t see you lingering. He goes straight towards the jump rope to refresh his muscles that have been resting for one of the longest times since high school.

Tom jumps and jumps and jumps… and then nearly falls over when he sees you turn around after doing a squat. The curve of your ass in those leggings made his mouth water and your charming smile made him crazy.

Before he knows it, you’re approaching him while he’s completely phased.

“Hey, I see that you made it back. How is your… back?” You ask, squeezing the towel in your hand with an intense grip. Your heart started fluttering a little from just the sight of him, and you wondered why you were getting so worked up over a stranger.

“It’s all good now! I think,” Tom chuckles while rubbing his neck. He nervously twists the rope between his fingers, trying to think of a way to keep the conversation going. “I, uh, never caught your name.”

Your heart skips a beat and a smile threatens to take over your face. It was such a little thing, but you’ve been wondering what his name was for the past week. A name to a face to fit your fantasies.

“Y/N,” You smile, but your eyes struggle to meet his face. He was just so gorgeous you felt like you might be blinded if you looked too long. “And you?”

“Tom,” he surely answered with a nod.

“That fits you very well.”

“What do you mean?” he questions and your eyes go a little wide. You hadn’t meant to say that. It sounds creepy and weird; to say that his name fits him… as if you were thinking about him.

“Well—like—I was wondering what your name was when I first talked to you and now that you said it, it makes sense. Not that I was thinking about you all week or something… that’s just creepy!” You awkwardly laugh after your ramble, thinking of the fastest way to leave this conversation so you can regroup. This is why your dating life is so shallow. You can’t hold a conversation for a second without rambling out nonsense or making a fool of yourself. It’s typical, really.

You thought he was going to laugh at you like a bully and walk away from your weirdness. But instead, he softly chuckles at your antics while staring at your face. Noticing that he’s still standing in front of you, you slowly drag your eyes up his body until you finally meet his eyes.

They’re that perfectly golden brown color that looks like oozing honey when reflected off the sun. Since you were only a foot away, you could see his nose was a little crooked and he had an uneven eyebrow. His hair seemed a bit unruly, but all you wanted to do was run your hands through it.

“I’ve been wondering what your name was, too,” he finally admits when the air around you feels like it’s closing in. Your heart was beating as if something was going to happen, but you knew nothing would. Nothing was going to happen in front of all of these people.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Tom hums as he watches your pupils dilate and eyes struggle to look at him. He’s been thinking about you all week, he can admit that, but now you can’t even look at him? He wanted to see your pretty eyes. “I’ve been wondering about a few other things as well.”

“Oh? Like what?” Your voice was slightly breathless and you felt the need to check over your shoulder every second. You felt like you were breaking some rule and you were able to be fired on the spot. It felt so wrong, but you wanted to see where this goes. You were all too intrigued by this glorious man before you.

“Like why you can’t look at me.”

“What? I’m looking at you!”

“Not longer than a blink.”

“S-So? Do you want to have a staring contest or something?” You bite your tongue when you stutter.

“Maybe. I just want to see your pretty eyes,” Tom didn’t plan on calling your eyes pretty right off the bat, but his bluntness is what made you finally look up at him. He saw innocence as well as desire laced within your irises. And he wondered if you really had been thinking about him all week. If you had, that would confirm that you want more. It would confirm that Tom isn’t crazy, and that there is some type of spark in between you too.

Will a one-time thing, like sex, dull the craving spark, or ignite it?

“We can’t here,” You say barely above a whisper.

“Do what? A staring contest?” Tom begins to smirk causing you to groan. He’s got to be one of the cockiest people you’ve ever met, but he has every right to be. Usually, you hate men that know they’re attractive because their cockiness just makes them an asshole. But Tom is the funny type, who pretends to be cocky, but he’s actually really humble.

How did you get all of that from only two conversations with him? And they were barely conversations!

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually. Care to tell?”

“You want…” You can see the way he tries to hide his growing smirk and it tells you all you needed to know. The air thickened between you both, heavy with tension and heat. Your heart was racing and your stomach burned in a way that pushed your courage over the edge. You’ve needed something like this for a long time, you just never knew how long you actually needed it. “You want me to give you a session!”

Tom clicked his tongue at your teasing, slightly chuckling. You blinked your eyes as you flashed your fraud innocence at him.

“What does the session include?” His voice was low and deep. There was a certain rumble in his tone that made your legs feel like jelly and your mind go blank.

“I-I can show you. Let’s go in the back,” You try to remain as playful as possible, but you were absolutely losing it. You just wanted him to take control and kiss you as hard as possible; to do the unimaginable. Of course, the horniest you’ve ever been in your whole life is at work of all places. There’s no way there isn’t a rule about having sex in the gym. You’re sure people have done it before, but never employees. That had to have been prohibited.

But your desire is taking control of all your actions right now as you lead Tom through the gym and into your miniature office. Since you were relatively new, your office was in the back of the gym in a little room. The other offices for the more experienced trainers were near the front and were wide open to the public. You didn’t like how your space was so far away from everything because it made you feel disconnected, but right now, you’ve never been more grateful.

As you guide him into your office, you shut the door and push in the lock. You had a small wooden desk with a single picture frame and a laptop. A few different papers lie across, but you’re quick to stack them and slot them in the first drawer. When you stand back up, Tom is closer to you than ever, hovering right over you.

Your heart rate increases exponentially as his hungry eyes pierce your soul. Your impulses want to rip his shirt dramatically off of his torso, so you can run your hands all along his sweaty, ripped stomach. You’d make sure to kiss every centimeter of skin before landing on your knees for him. You’re almost positive you’d do anything he’d ask. Before you can even blink, he’s leaning in, cutting the distance and inching closer to your weekly fantasy.

“So what do I get?” His voice was breathy as his eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips. You couldn’t help but do the same.

“Anything. Anything you want,” You respond way too quickly, your desperation spilling out from you. Out of instinct, you took a step back from him, making your back bump into the wall. He was crowding your space as much as he could without actually touching you. And it was utterly killing you.

“What a generous trainer,” he placed his hand delicately on the wall next to your head. “Do you do this with all of your clients?”

“Only the fittest,” Your lustfulness made you brutally honest as if you had chugged truth serum. “But no, I’ve never… brought anyone back here before.”

“The first and the fittest. I might just have to book a session.”

“Luckily, a spot just opened. You can have it,” Your eyes meet him again. The second he sees your eyelashes flutter up, there’s nothing stopping him from kissing you. Not the tension, not the voices in his head, not the fear of someone knocking on the door asking for you.

Tom’s lips crash against yours in an eager kiss, lips melting together from the heat you’ve built up. It’s sweet and it’s salty, but it’s fulfilling that nagging ache you’ve wanted cured all week long. Your hands immediately find their way to his luscious curls, lacing your fingers through them just like you imagined. His rough-textured hand cups your jaw, angling you directing into his mouth when he slots a bit of his tongue inside.

His body presses forward against yours, rock-hard, stiff, and hot. The feeling of his heaviness and warmth was even better than you had conjured up in your crazy, little head. His rhythm was easy to rock with, and your body gravitated towards his. You whimpered into his mouth when his growing bulge poked the bottom of your tummy. Tom took that as a sign and popped off of your mouth. He trailed his wondrous mouth down your pulsing neck, causing you to stab your teeth into your lip to keep quiet.

Tom kissed and nibbled your skin without a care of who might see the marks. He didn’t know what would happen after all of this, but he wanted you to have at least one memory when it was all over. When reached your collarbone, he forced himself off of you.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“W-What? I don’t know! Anything, just do something, please.”

“You’re the trainer. You’re supposed to tell me what to do, no?” Tom’s teasing sends a tingle down your stomach that hits you straight in between your legs. “Do y’want me to fuck–”

“God, yes. Do anything, please,” You groaned, trying not to sound too desperate, but it was difficult when that’s all you were.

“Alright, alright, don’t worry.”

Tom pushed himself off of your body to remove his shirt. His glorious body was perfectly defined by his packed muscles wrapped in his tan skin. His skin looked so smooth, like a silky blanket. Your impulses got the best of you and before you could even think, they were roaming his god-like figure with curiosity.

“How are you so fit? Who is your trainer and how can I learn from them?” You question both jokingly and seriously. When he laughs, you can feel it vibrate through your fingertips and it makes you feel all fuzzy.

“I train myself, but I know some great cardio exercises I’d be willin’ to show you,” he winks as his hand lands on your hip. It was your turn to laugh now, your voice breaking the tight tension.

“Please,” You begged, tugging both of his hands toward you. It was your way of saying that he could do whatever he wanted now. “Go ahead.”

So he did. You removed your tennis shoes and then he yanked down your leggings. You were so needy at this point you didn’t even bother to discard your snug bra. If anything, you’re going to need its security with all the movement you’re about to do (hopefully).

His hands grabbed the hem of your leggings until they were completely off of your legs. You’re left in your soaking thong while he’s still in his loose gym shorts. Tom doesn’t waste another second because he’s growing just as impatient as you. He can feel himself twitching in his briefs, craving for a satisfaction that only you can seem to sedate.

Without a warning, Tom cups your mound with delicacy, fingers pressing against your aching hole. The gasp you let out is unwavering as your cunt clenches around nothing but your own desperation. He scrunches his palm, rubbing your underwear as you soaked through the fabric.

“Can feel that you’re soaking, darling,” Tom husks beside your ear, sending shocks of heat down your spine. You’ve never been so turned on in your life from someone, especially because of a deep, sensual accent like his. “Did I do this?”

“Yes, yes. All for you,” You nearly whined, but you withheld it with a strain. “Please just fuck me already.”

“What’s the rush, love? Got somewhere to be?” he taunted. You didn’t have anywhere to be and he seemed to know that. He was lucky you didn’t have any clients today or have any appointments. It was like the perfect coincidence that this occurred on this day. You’re grateful for the fate of the universe as he slips his hand into your panties to lace his fingers within your wetness.

“So fucking wet, love,” he grumbled so low you could barley hear it.

“I need it, please,” This is the most submissive you’ve ever been. You can’t recall a time where you have ever been this wet or needy for another man. There’s just something incredibly alluring about the man about you, rock-hard body and all.

“What do you need? Do you need me to put my finger in your tight, little hole? I bet it would just slide right in.”

“Fuck, Tom,” You growled in sexual frustration. His mouth spilled utter filth, but you were loving it. You felt the very tip of his finger nudging inside of you, causing your walls to clutch tightly. “I need you to fuck me. Please. No teasing.”

With an ever-growing smirk, Tom slips his hand out of your underwear and glides the material down your jelly-like legs. Your eyes never leave his hands, too scared to meet his intimidating eyes. You watch him with curiosity and desire as he tucks his thumbs in the waistband. His briefs come into your view and your eyes widen when you see the impressive bulge outline.

You swallow, intimidated by his size, especially since you haven’t had sex in a decent amount of time. He hasn’t even pulled down his underwear yet and you’re already frothing at the mouth.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I, um,” Your eyes wander around to your purse on the floor by your desk and you quickly bend down to pop it open. In one of your secret pockets, there is a nicely wrapped condom. “Here. I hope it fits.”

Tom laughs as he tugs his briefs down with ease. “You’re not good for my ego.”

You wanted to laugh in response, but you were too distracted by his cock. Mesmerizingly, you gaze at his hand stroking his veiny length, seemingly as desperate as you with pre-cum leaking at the tip.

Instead of grabbing the condom from your hand, Tom says, way too gravelly, “I want you to do it.”

So, with shaky hands and doe-eyes, you rip open the package and slide on the latex. The look on your face can easily make it seem like you’ve never even seen a dick before. But now looking at Tom’s, it feels like all the others are down the drain.

Within seconds, Tom has you back against the wall, one hand resuming beside your head and the other on your hip. Your heart jumped and pussy throbbed, waiting for him to break the lustful barrier in between you two.

“Ready?”

“Y-Yes,” You whimper as the head of his cock glides along your thighs before sliding in between them. Your arousal soaks the condom as he grips one of your legs, hoisting you up and around his waist. Your arms instantly wrap around his neck for security as your leg connects to him like a koala.

With one leg on the floor, you try to maintain your balance as he finally thrusts into you. You both collectively groan in sexual satisfaction, finally having your craving fulfilled. When you thought he had pushed all the way in, Tom pumps deeper inside of you, causing you to squeal.

“Shh, darling. Don’t want anyone to hear us fucking in your office, do you?” Your moans contradict his request, but you can’t help it. His hips were flicking up into you so fucking deliciously, and you couldn’t stop yourself from bucking right back into him. “Or maybe you do. You want someone to walk in and see one of their trainers getting their brains fucked out?”

“M-Maybe,” You couldn’t lie, the idea was enthralling. The idea and his dirty words made your toes curl and eyes roll to the back of your head. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it, almost as if he’d studied this.

“But I don’t want to get fired,” You whined a little too loudly.

“Well, then you better be a good girl and quiet down.”

In order to obey his demand, you brought one of your hands to cover your mouth. You allowed yourself to moan in your palm when his pace increased and he bottomed out completely. You could feel yourself fluttering around his cock as he rammed into you like no tomorrow.

His free hand traveled down to your clit and circled the throbbing bud with roughness. You shrieked against yourself, clenching tightly around his thick cock to compensate. Blindly, you are clawing at the skin on his neck and chest. Still, even when he was deep inside of you, you were terrified to look into his dark eyes.

With every thrust, you felt the way his muscles contracted against you. You felt and heard the way you drenched his cock even more with the sight. His muscles and body were the first thing that caught your eye about him to begin with, so you’re not totally surprised that you’re dripping from that.

He looks like a model. A statue. A god.

Small beads of sweat began to form on his abdomen, glazing down his chunks of muscle as he jammed harder into you. Your head hit the wall hard in ecstasy when he lowered himself to your neck and nibbled right below your ear. Every breath and groan that slipped from his mouth just sent you into overdrive and made you insane.

“I’m close,” You breathily warned, squeezing your leg tightly around him to push him even deeper. Tom groaned loudly on accident, too overpowered by the feeling of you.

“Wish I could hear your sweet sounds,” Tom mumbles as he pinches the top of your thighs to make you squeal. He resumes his attention on your clit, so he can distract himself from coming, because he knows he’s milliseconds away from absolutely losing it. “I know you’d sound so pretty screaming my name.”

“Tom,” You whimpered instead, eyes screwing closed. Your back began arching towards his buff chest and your breathing was becoming more rapid, indicating that your release was right around the corner. “I’m coming, shit.”

“Let go, love. C’mon, know you need it,” his lovely accent guided you through it with gravel encouragement. With another skillful rock of his cock, you were coming until you saw stars. Literally. Your eyes were closed so tightly that you saw little white specks in your vision. “There you go.”

Tom took that as his sign to finally relieve himself. As his thrust got sloppier, he helped you through it. With a fist to the wall and head in your shoulder, he came harshly in the condom.

Your body squirmed in his hold, already too sensitive. He gently let you stand on both feet, keeping you steady as you regained your balance. He removed the condom, tied it, and tossed it in the garbage.

“I can take out y’trash if you want me to,” Tom offered as you both slipped on your clothes. The humidity in the room seemed higher than ever, and then to put your clothes back on was just torturous.

“It’s alright, it’s not like anyone will go through it,” You reassured as you struggled to pull up your sticky leggings.

There was a moment of silence that made your heart rate pick up.You were both fully dressed and there was nothing stopping him from walking out. What was he thinking? Was he trying to find the best way to leave without being mean?

“I—” You both spoke at the same time, a flush burning your skins.

“Go ahead,” You insisted, too nervous and impatient for his response. He probably never wanted to see you again and that was fine, this was just a one-time thing that you will be thinking about occasionally. Or every day.

“Okay,” Now, Tom couldn’t seem to meet your eyes. He felt a tad nervous all of sudden as if he’d never talked to a girl before. He’s done this stuff loads of times, but he can’t help but get flustered like a school boy. “Can I… have your number? You can totally say no—”

“Yes,” You probably responded way too quickly, but you didn’t care. He wanted your number and you weren’t going to waste a second pretending to think about it. A smile grows on his face that was even bigger than his devilish smirk from earlier. “What does this mean?”

If you didn’t ask him, you would’ve been regretting it forever. You knew you wouldn't have had the courage to text him that question. What if he never even texted you, and he was just asking for your number to be nice?

“It means I’m going to text you.”

“Okay, well, thanks for clearing that up for me,” You rolled your eyes, but at least he was honest.

“Maybe ask you out too.”

“Really?” Your heart jumped on a trampoline in your chest, excitement bubbling up within you. You have been on a date in about a year, and Tom seems like a wet dream come true. You thought that maybe he wanted a friends with benefits arrangement, but a date? Is this real life?

“Yeah, if that’s something you want—”

“Yes,” You probably responded way too quickly, but you didn’t care. He wanted to take you on a freaking date and you weren’t going to waste a second pretending to think about it.

You did give him a free cardio session. The least he can do is take you out, right? What’s better than a free cardio session? Free food!

—

thanks for reading, this isn’t my favorite thing i’ve ever written because it felt a bit forced… so sorry about that 😭

tags: @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @theslayerofthevampires @breaxthing @eatshitanddiee

crossed out= not able to tag

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fics #tom holland fan fics #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fan fic #tom holland gifs

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gretavangroupie · 6 months

Text

Valor - (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Jake x Reader, Daniel x Reader

Word Count: 17.1k

Warnings: Cursin', Smokin', Drinkin', Allusions to Drug Use. Angst: Struggle and Poverty, Emotional Manipulation, Cheating, Abandonment, Jealousy, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Weapons, Mentions of Death, Allusions to Suicide, Allusions to Shady Activities. Smut: Kissing, Allusions to Sex.

Valor Playlist: Apple Music | Spotify

A new project in collaboration with my talented co-writer @gretavanmoon.

HER POV

You could hardly see out the back window, your entire life piled up to the roof of the car. You were thankful on days like today, that you had a car big enough to fit it all. Your every worldly possession, reduced down to a handful of boxes and trash bags, now occupying your backseat. You shifted into reverse and turned your body to look out the back window of your old ‘73 Scout. Your eyes peeked through the visible sliver of the rear window, but not before catching sight of the dress you were slated to wear just 3 months from now. That, however, was the reason you were packed into this car in the first place.

‘Go ahead and try to leave. You’ll be back when you realize I’m as good as it gets for you.’ his words still echoing through your head as if they were being played through a loudspeaker. ‘You need me. You have nothing without me. You’ll never make it on your own.’ And that’s exactly what he wanted you to believe. He’d told you that so often you wondered if it was himself he was trying to convince instead of you.

You were set to marry Peter the second week of July. The plans were made, invitations sent. But as you stopped by his office to deliver his plate lunch, what you’d walked in on was not the scene of a man ready to be greeted by his soon to be wife. No, it was a very different scene, straight from one of those Playboy magazines you could buy at the Quik-Stop on Douglas.

You can still hear the sound of the ceramic plate shattering against the terrazzo floors. The gasp of air that left the lips of his new bookkeeper, sprawled out across his desk. You can remember the way the peas scattered across the floor in every direction and the way they felt smashing under your shoes as you fled his office.

You waited for him to come home that night. Your things were already packed away in bags and boxes by the time he finally meandered through the front door of the apartment. Then came the excuses. The begging and pleading that quickly turned vicious and accusatory. The ‘maybe if you put out more, I wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere’ lines, that you knew to be a load of shit. You knew Peter wasn’t one to shy away from clearing his conscience at someone else's expense. Your mind was made up before he ever came home. You knew you couldn’t stay here, not with him. Not after this.

You aren’t sure why you brought the dress with you. You could have easily left it at your mothers, letting it hang in her guest room closet to collect dust and rot until the end of time. But you didn’t, you knew that bringing it would give you that reminder of why you were leaving. So with fifteen dollars of gas in the tank, and your Bruce Springsteen 8-track, you and your things began the trek towards Atlanta, ready to start again. Ready to live a life uninhibited. Ready to find an adventure.

—

The chorus of ‘State Trooper’ played through the fuzzy car speakers as you popped a cinnamon hard candy into your mouth. Your eyes caught sight of the welcome sign as you crossed the Iowa-Missouri border in a blur. It had been quite a few years since you’d been back to Missouri. Actually, you hadn’t visited since your family moved in the third grade. It was an abrupt move, your parents pulling you from school midway through the year with little to no explanation. You were placed in the back of your parents' Taurus and the life that you had known flashed by in a matter of the five minutes it took to make your way from one side of town to the other. You liked Iowa though. You made friends there, had a life and were active in school extracurriculars. It’s where you met Peter, and fell in love, though now that part didn’t exactly fit the narrative of your happy story.

As the song began to fade out into the next track, you heard it. The metallic grinding beneath the hood. The hell is that? You spun the volume knob down to zero, listening again for the noise, wondering if maybe you had just run over something on the freeway. As you passed mile marker 22 you heard it again, louder. Whatever it was had your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t know the first thing about cars, definitely not enough to fix anything. Then it became more frequent. Persistent. Something was really wrong.

In a panic you pulled off the road into the overgrown grass of the shoulder, pulling out your roadmap and unfolding it across the steering wheel. You tried to get a sense of your surroundings, knowing you’d crossed the border not too long ago. You pinpoint your location in search of the next town you’d come across in what you knew to be a collection of nearly abandoned mining towns. A bead of sweat collected on your forehead, the wind dying down as the sun began to set. The impending darkness adds another factor of stress to an already stressful situation. As your finger traced a line up the interstate, you saw the familiar name. The place just on your mind mere minutes ago. You don’t remember too much about Joslyn, but what you do remember of it, is that there was an auto repair shop, and you were in desperate need if you were going to make it to Atlanta. With an estimated thirty miles to Joslyn from your current spot, you started your car back up, and pulled back out onto the road, praying you would make it there without doing anymore damage.

The metallic noise seemed to stay consistent, but with every mile that passed you knew the dollar signs were adding up. Of course you took the money stashed away for the wedding, he didn’t get to keep that. Why should he? Consider it severance. However, car repairs was not how you wanted to spend that money. You planned to use it for a deposit and first month's rent on an apartment, hoping it would be enough to tide you over until you found a job.

You knew you had plenty of useful skills, you were near the top of your class in school. You planned to work with Peter at the accounting firm after you married, and you hoped you’d be able to find a similar position in your new city. You were snapped from your daydreams as you saw the sign welcoming you to Joslyn, however, the old decrepit sign, about twenty years past needing to be replaced, sent a cold chill down your spine. The way it barely hung on to the wooden stakes made you feel anything but welcome, and your instincts told you to turn back. As you limped your car further into town, you realized that the vibrant city you left all those years ago had been in steady decline ever since. Homes abandoned and pillaged, with broken windows and spray painted siding. Cars sat deteriorating in driveways that were barely visibly under the overgrown grass and trees. You had no sense of ‘home’ despite this being the town you were born in. You barely recognized it, until you saw Louie’s.

Knowing you would find answers there, you pulled into an empty parking space, almost afraid to pull the key from the ignition, wondering if it would turn on again when you got back inside. You grabbed your fringed purse from the passenger seat, and pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head as you jumped down from the driver's seat. The gravel crunched beneath your feet as you walked towards the front door of the diner, seeing a few older patrons lining the bartop and scattered through a few booths through the large windows.

The bell rang as you pulled the door open, alerting everyone of your presence. Ten heads turned to look at you all at once, and suddenly you felt like a spectacle as you stood there in your halter top and waist hugging jeans.

“Take a seat anywhere ya’d like, hun.” a lady in a pink apron called out from across the room. Her voice was gruff and far deeper than it should be for a lady, you thought. You made your way towards an empty bar stool, leaving a space between you and an older man in a newsboy cap, sliding his fork through a piece of cherry pie. You gave him a curt smile as you settled on the stool and placed your bag on the counter. It smelled good, and you felt a small rumble in your stomach as you watched plates being sent to the window. If you’d had more time you’d probably enjoy a late lunch, but you didn’t, so you couldn’t.

The same woman approached you, handing you a laminated menu and gesturing a coffee cup towards you in silent question. You nodded your head and smiled, placing the menu down on the counter.

“What’ll ya have, sugar…” she asked, pouring coffee into your mug from the yellow stained carafe.

“Oh, I’m great with just the coffee for now, thank you.” you responded, seeing her eyes rake over you with curiosity.

“Just passin’ through?” she asks, placing the carafe back on the counter.

“Sort of. I’m on my way to Georgia, but I think I need a mechanic to look at my car. Started knocking when I hit the border. This was the first town I thought might have one.” you answer.

The lady’s eyes flash over to the man next to you. He looks over at you and looks back at her giving her a slight nod. “Yeah we got one.” he says, twisting his stool to face you. “You’ll have to try and get it down to Ace’s, well Jake’s now I reckon. But he should be able to get ya fixed up.”

“Would you be able to give me directions?” you ask, digging into your purse in search of a pen. You grab a paper napkin from the dispenser, and click the end of your pen on the countertop as he nods his head.

“Yeah, so you’re gonna take a left out of the lot here, go down ‘bout 2 miles ‘er so, you’ll see a Church of the Nazarene and take that left there. Go up that hill ‘bouta ‘nother mile and you’ll see a dirt road on your right. His shops’ at the end of the drive there. Can tell him Bubba sent ‘cha, and he’ll help out a pretty lady I’m sure of it.”

You quickly scribble down his directions, and toss the napkin and pen into your bag. “Thank you. I–I really should be going, It’ll be dark soon and I–”

“Should finish your cup there at least.” the lady says, leaning onto the counter. “You sure you’re not from ‘round here, honey? You look awful familiar.”

“Not exactly.” you say, cutting the conversation short. You place a few dollars on the counter and grab your bag, “Thank you. For the directions. I appreciate it.” you say, watching the man tip his hat to you as you make your way out of the diner and back to your car. Jumping into the front seat you send up a quick prayer that she’ll start and as you twist the key you hear the engine roar to life.

With the napkin sitting on your leg, you pulled out of the parking space heading further into town. The clock on the dash read 4:43, and you hoped you’d catch them before they closed up for the night. You saw the church he spoke of up in the distance, what was probably once a pristine white building, was now showing wear and tear with no one to fix it up. You took the left, the metallic clicking beneath the hood growing louder as you pressed forward on the gas pedal to climb the hill. With the windows down the sound was deafening, the cool breeze blowing through the window alleviated the sweat forming on your neck. In the dissipating sunlight you saw the orange dirt road and hesitantly turned to travel down its short path. A multitude of old abandoned cars littered the premises, and you wondered if that was a good sign or a bad one. You slowed your speed to a crawl, the clicking from your engine announcing your presence as you pulled closer towards the building.

Your headlights lit up the front of the building, an old gray sheet metal building, flash rust covering most of the sign that read ‘Ace’s Garage’. Two men in old rotted patio chairs stood slowly as you put the car in park. You shut off the engine and took a deep breath as you jumped out onto the dusty dirt road.

“Hi, I’m sorry, am I too late? I know it’s close to closing.” you murmured, stepping around to the front of the car. They both just stood there in their faded blue coveralls that looked like they hadn’t had a washing in some time. The taller man had his unzipped and the sleeves tied around his waist. A dirty white t-shirt beneath concealed what seemed to be a plethora of ink adorning his body. Neither of them jumped to respond to you, and your eyes searched theirs for any sort of answer as the shorter man begrudgingly flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with his dirty boot. “Closed at 4:30.” he says.

“Shut up Jake. No. We heard you coming ‘bout a mile away.” the other, taller man said with a curt smile. His dark disheveled curls were tied up in a messy bun that hadn’t been touched since he put it there this morning. Wisps of hair surrounded his head in a halo of sweaty dark strands. “Doesn’t sound too good. Sounds like you’ve got something going on under the hood.”

“It just started doing it about an hour or so ago. Right after I crossed the border. Never heard it before, and I have a long trip ahead of me so I figured I should probably get it checked out.” you reply, twisting your hands around the strap of your purse.

“Could be a number of things…” he pauses, stepping over towards your car. He places a grease covered hand on the hood of your baby blue Scout and turns to look at you. “These Scouts are pretty good little cars, but they are notorious for having engine issues. Afraid to say you might be a victim of that. Though, maybe it’s just a bad wheel bearing.”

“Nah.” the other man, who you now know as Jake, says suddenly, stepping forward slowly with his arms crossed across his chest. He doesn’t say much, just places his hand under the hood and opens the latch. He steps up on the front bumper, and takes a look into the engine compartment, resting his tattoo covered hands on either side of the frame. After a few quiet minutes he steps down, and closes the hood staring at the taller man. “Collapsed lifter, but that’s the least of her issues. Camshaft is fucked.”

“When did you say it started doing this?” the curly haired man asks.

“About an hour ago. I know it’s bad but, what’s that mean?” you ask nervously.

“Means you better call your husband to come pick you up.” Jake said, looking out towards the field in the distance.

“Husband?” you question, seeing his eyes travel to the diamond on your left finger. You quickly flip it around and look back to him. “Oh, I’m not married. I don’t have a husband. I don’t live here. I was just passing through.”

“Shit place to get stranded.” he quips, turning on his heel and making his way towards the door of the car. He spits towards the ground as he pulls the door open and climbs inside.

“Stranded?” you blurt out, catching the eyes of the taller man.

“Daniel, get her out of the fuckin’ way.” Jake says calmly, leaning his head out the window as he starts your car.

He grabs your arm and ushers you out of the way as Jake pulls your car forward into the empty bay beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights. He nods, motioning for you to follow him towards the garage, the air dusty as your tires kicked up dirt. The car shuts off and he jumps out, his boots making a loud thud as they land on the dirty concrete floors. As you follow Daniel into the garage he stops, placing his hands on his hips as he watches Jake lift the hood once more. This time, he grabs a ladder and a work light, hanging it from the inside of the hood. You look around at the garage, noticing the side you occupied was slightly more messy than the bay on the opposite side. Tools scattered about but in a way that you could tell they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

As you turned further you noticed a tan cover hanging loosely over a car parked between the two bays, you didn’t pay much mind to it, as your brain was bouncing from object to object. Your eyes caught Jake’s as he peered up from the engine compartment, quickly flicking them back down as he examined the condition of your motor. You let out a sigh and leaned backwards, resting your weight on the covered car. Daniel snapped his head in your direction seeing you before looking over at Jake. He quickly turned back to you, and pulled your arm to stand up again. “Probably don’t want to lean on that one. Here, let’s go find you somewhere to sit.” he said, walking you further into the garage. You looked over to Jake again, seeing him concentrated on his task, a single strand of brown hair hanging long in his face.

You followed Daniel as he led you to a plaid nylon folding chair, similar to the ones they arose from earlier. The once white fabric was now a dingy, dirty gray, stained with oil and grease. He offered you a sorrowful smile as he gestured for you to sit. “Thanks.” you squeaked, checking your wristwatch for the time.

Daniel walked back over towards the car, peering in as Jake inspected the damage. You watched his back muscles flex as he placed his hands on the open hood, his white t-shirt pulling tightly against his back. You could see the shadow of a dark image through the white cotton of his shirt, a large tattoo must be under there and you couldn’t help but wonder what it was. It was almost as if he could feel your eyes on him as he turned around to meet your gaze as he continued talking to Jake. Jake turned around too, catching your sight and you knew that the news they were about to deliver was probably not what you wanted to hear.

Jake unhooked the work light, and closed the hood, stepping down off the ladder and wiping his hands on his coveralls. He used the back of his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow as he looked over towards you again. They both began walking over towards you, stopping short as they reached you. You stood to meet them, watching as Jake shoved his hands in his pockets.

He was the first to speak, “I can fix it, but I will have to order the parts. Don’t see too many of these come ‘round here.”

“Oh, so it’s an easy fix? Good, maybe I won’t be here too long.” you said cheerfully.

“No. I didn’t say that.” he bites back. “I said, I can fix it.”

You furrow your brow at his harshness and turn to Daniel.

He rolls his eyes and looks at you, “What he is trying to say is that you need some major work done. We don’t have the parts we need– he needs, to be able to do it, so he will have to order them. Only problem is that the delivery truck only runs on the 15th of the month.”

You look down at your watch seeing the tiny ‘2’ in the window. “And today is the second…”

“Right.” he says, kicking his shoe against the floor.

“I can call and order the parts tomorrow when the supplier opens, can give you a proper estimate then, but I’m gonna warn you that this ain’t no cheap fix.” Jake says, flicking his eyes up to yours. There is a smudge of grease on his cheek that catches the light. Your eyes travel down his face seeing a scattering of tattoos that decorate the side of his neck, disappearing down into the zipped coveralls.

“I have the money.” you sigh, fiddling with the strings on your purse.

Jake nods his head, “Right, well, see you tomorrow.” he says, turning to head towards a set of stairs at the side of the garage.

“Jake. The fuck…” Daniel shouts, causing Jake to stop and turn around.

“What.” he answers, slowly walking back towards you.

“What do you mean, what? You’re gonna have to drive her down to Wanda’s.” he says, “I can’t take her on the bike.”

“No.” he says, far too quickly.

“Jake, what else is she supposed to do?” he says, throwing his hands into the air.

“Dunno. Figure it out I guess.” he scoffs, trying to retreat again, before Daniel grabs his arm.

“It’s Wanda’s or here. Make your choice.” Daniel growls.

“Why do you care?” Jake barks back.

“How about you quit being a prick for a minute? You’re going to take this nice, paying customer down to the Motel, so that tomorrow she can come back and pay for those parts, and you can fix her car, hm?” he seethes into his ear.

Jake rips his arm from his grip, and walks over to the dirty, stained wall, snatching a set of keys from a hook. “Fine. Let’s go.”

You scurry over to your car, attempting to grab the few things you’ll need for a few nights stay at a motel, before quickly jumping down and looking around for Jake. You hear an engine roar to life outside the shop, seeing Danny pointing towards an old, Green Ford truck. His headlights flash on, practically blinding you as you start to walk towards them, turning to thank Daniel for his kindness as you run off towards your ride.

—

The ride to the motel was silent for the most part, the sound of the static coming across the radio the only noise filling the cab of the truck. You sat shotgun while Jake rested his wrist on the steering wheel of the old Ford, the sullied fingertips of his opposite hand rubbing across his unkempt mustache as he slowly made his way back through town.

“You can ask me.” He finally spoke, his eyes dashing quickly back and forth from the rear view mirror and the road.

You cleared your throat, suddenly surprised he spoke. “Ask you what?”

“Where you know me from. I can tell you wanna ask.” He answered, his voice only a tiny bit louder than the rumbling engine.

Damn, he was right. He did look familiar to you, and so did Daniel. But your mind was so frenzied with the anticipation of finding out what was wrong with your car, and then the news that the damage was far worse than you thought, that you pushed the thought far from your mind.

“I mean, you do kind of seem…”

“…familiar? Yeah. I remember you.” He mumbled, his eyes still never traveling your way. “You went to St. James Elementary, right?”

“Yes��”

“So did we. Probably why you recognize us.” Jake turned the wheel a hard right, forgoing a blinker as he flicked his eyes to the rear view again.

Ah, that makes sense. You had started the first grade here many years ago, and made it to the third before your parents ripped you away and set off toward Iowa. But the more you thought about it, the more you remembered them. Both of them. But that was over twenty years ago, how the hell did he remember you now?

“Shit, that’s right.” You glanced to the floor, trying like hell to stretch your mind back to the tiny hallways lined with lockers, and the playground out back where many of your earliest memories were made. “I remember now, you were what, a year older than me?”

“Yeah. Danny’s a few years behind me.” Jake reached in his front pocket and pulled out his half-empty pack of Lucky Strikes, patting the box on the heel of his hand before he pushed the lighter into the dash, waiting for it to heat.

“So wait, you were the one that climbed to the top of that old Sycamore that day at recess…couldn’t get back down when the bell rang so you jumped down and broke your arm…” your memory probably didn’t serve you all the way right, but you couldn’t have made up the tall-tale.

The lighter finally popped free, and Jake raised his left knee to steer the truck while he grabbed the handle, shielding the wind to light the butt of his cigarette. You watched as he inhaled, then cranked the window the rest of the way down to let the smoke filter through.

“I didn’t climb all the way up. Just halfway. And I didn’t jump, I fell.” He tapped his cigarette in the tray of the dash, not caring one bit that the residual ashes fell into the floorboard. You watched them flutter down before fizzling out completely.

You laughed at the memory, finding it hard to believe that you’d found yourself here again, remembering things about your childhood that you hadn’t even come close to thinking about in years.

“It wasn’t funny.” Jake said stoically, puffing the cigarette again.

“Sorry. No, it wasn’t. But, I remember being glad you didn’t get hurt worse than you did.” You replied, hoping to warm up his ice-cold composure.

“This is you.” He mumbled as he pulled into the lot of the old motel, the truck lurching forward as he put it into park. You popped the door open and slid out of the old bench seat, slamming the door behind you as you rounded the side of the truck to grab your suitcase from the bed. Jake didn’t get out of the truck or offer to help you with your bags, but after his less-than-happy attempt at making cordial conversation, you didn’t expect anything less.

You perked back up to the open passenger window, seeing that Jake’s eyes were still darting from side to side out the windows. Why was he so paranoid?

“Thank you for the ride, I really appreciate it. You’ll let me know when the parts get ordered, and I can give you the cash?” You asked, really not knowing any other way to go about this.

He nodded his head, biting his cheeks in.

“Okay, let me go check in, and I’ll come back and tell you my room number so you can phone me.” You said, walking toward the check-in office.

“I’ll just call and ask for your room.” He muttered, throwing the gear shift into reverse.

“But, you never even asked me my–”

“I remember your name, Y/N.” He spat, spinning his head around to check his surroundings before he whipped the truck from the parking spot, kicking up dust as he flew back down the road.

——

Upon entering the check-in office, your eyes had to do little to adjust, as there were barely any lights on at all. The stench of the room itself was like must and rotting wood, with just a hint of Borax and lemon-scented cleaner. You glanced to the large counter that spanned the room, leaving your suitcase behind while you approached it. After a minute or two of waiting, you let your palm gently tap on the bell that sat on the desk, ‘Ring for Service’ written on an old note underneath it.

“Hi, hello. Could I get a single room for the next week, please?” You asked the gruff woman that finally limped her way from the back room.

“HUH?” She all but yelled, squinting her eyes as she held her hand up to her ear. She must be hard of hearing.

You cleared your throat to speak a bit louder. “I’d like a room for the next seven nights, please.” You spoke loudly, mouthing the words clearly as you watched her read your lips.

“Only room I got’s a double efficiency.” She barked, grabbing a pen as she lifted the glasses that hung from a chain around her neck to rest on her nose. You snarled your nose up in confusion, remembering that you only saw another one or two cars in the lot.

“I don’t need something that large, it’s just me, if you want to put me in something smalle–”

“Double efficiency.” She said, writing down some number into her oversized ledger book. “It’s $35 a night. I take cash upfront for the whole stay. Fresh linens every other day.”

“Thirty-five a night? Ma’am, isn’t that a bit high?” Your voice was raised on its own now, out of pure surprise at the price.

“Either that or you ride down to the new Ramada an hour and a half South, and seein’ as how Jake brought you here, it’s lookin’ like the double efficiency for yeh.”

You seethed as she scribbled the math into her book, her jaws gnawing together as she chewed on nothing. “Two forty-five rate plus sixty-seven tax gives us…” she tapped away loudly at her printing calculator. “Three hundred twelve for the week.”

You felt like throwing up. That took a good chunk from the cash you brought along, but thankfully didn’t drain you completely. Luckily, the money you’d saved up for the wedding was well above what you’d need to survive on, so it didn’t hurt too badly as you begrudgingly counted out the bills from your wallet.

“Write your name and date here, signature here.” She pointed in her book for you to sign next to room number 7. She smiled a large grin as you laid out the bills for her, her mouth showing no more than a few teeth. As she gave you her best fake smile, you noticed her right eye was almost completely glossed over with a blue sheen. “Need a receipt?”

“No, thank you.” You chirped, wanting to get the hell away from this eerie woman and into your double efficiency as quickly as possible.

“I’ll bring fresh linens day after. No guests. Here’s your key, don’t lose it, I only got the one. Shower takes a good five minutes to heat, and don’t be smokin’ none of that grass in the room. Stinks up the place.” She said at a high volume while she wagged her finger toward your face.

You raised your eyebrows at the irony of the smell of the place, nodding her way as you grabbed the key from the countertop. She turned away, taking your wad of cash with her back to the room she came from. “Name’s Wanda if you need anything.”

It was getting to be dark outside now, the dull streetlights barely illuminating the sidewalk enough for you to see the room numbers on the front of the doors as you passed.

“Five…six…seven.” You whispered to yourself as you dropped the heavy suitcase beside you to fish the key from your pocket. As you slid the key into the slot and twisted the old knob, you were immediately met with the same stench as you were in the lobby. Old and grimey.

You brought your bag inside and quickly turned to lock the door behind you, sliding the hanging chain into place. You inspected the room, seeing the two beds with old brown comforters laid across them, a nightstand in between, and a single TV on the chest of drawers in the corner. It’ll do. The bathroom wasn’t much better, and it looked as though the calcium and lime deposits on the shower head could kill a man.

You sighed a deep sigh as you listened to your stomach rumble, your decision to forgo a late lunch at the diner earlier now seeming like a bad idea. The apple you had stashed away in your bag would have to suffice.

After unpacking a little bit of your clothing from your suitcase and hanging a few things in the closet, you decided to turn on the television and tuck in early for the night. You twisted the knob, watching as the light on the screen came to life, the high-pitched squeal of the staticy screen making your skin crawl. You adjusted the antenna, trying your best to get a better picture of what looked to be the evening news, but it was no use. But, some sound was better than no sound.

You slipped your top and jeans off and folded them neatly over the bed, planning on wearing them again tomorrow to save on any kind of laundry you’d end up needing to do. An old t-shirt from an old high-school boyfriend would have to be your choice of pajamas for the night. You flicked off the light, and climbed into the starchy sheets, the pillow feeling rock hard under your head. You shook your head as you looked at the ceiling, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this mess.

This was supposed to be an adventure. A period of regrowth. A time to just live, find yourself again. Maybe join up with a new tribe of people, try new things, see where the wind would blow you…

But no. You’re here in your old hometown in a sticky motel, with a broken-down car, and no dinner. On the first day of your escape. You crossed your arms across your chest, allowing yourself a second to pout. For a split second, you contemplated going back to Iowa, back to your mother’s, back to the comforts of home, but you’d never return to Peter. Not in a million years, the scumbag.

You twisted up your nose as your legs rubbed across the hard mattress and scratchy sheets, wondering who the hell the last people to sleep here were, or worse, if Wanda had actually even washed them when they left.

—

The sound of three quick knocks on your door awoke you from what must have been a light sleep, the noise making your heart immediately pound. You hopped up, snaking across the floor quietly and peeking out of the peephole. You half expected to see a murderer standing at the door, but then, why would they have knocked?

Must be Wanda.

No, she doesn’t care about anyone but herself, apparently.

You squinted your eye to see a ruffle of dark curls in the pale light, standing and swaying back and forth while he waited for you to open the door.

“Daniel?” You whispered, pulling the door open wide enough that the chain lock pulled taut. “What are you doing?” You pulled the chain free, opening the door all the way.

His eyes popped out of his head as he took in a quick breath, the look on his face completely surprised, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, um…I’m sorry, I…” he muttered, pulling his arm behind his head.

“No, it’s fine, you just surprised me, that’s all. Is everything…” you pause, noticing he wasn’t shying away from his awkward stance. You suddenly felt the breeze blow across your almost completely uncovered lower-half.

“Shit!” You yelped, pulling your t-shirt down as far as it would go over your legs. You bounced back into the room, pulling the comforter from the bed to cover yourself. “I’m sorry, I completely didn’t even…”

“No no, I’m sorry.” Danny admitted from the open doorway. “I just came to…”

You wrapped the linen around yourself, a complete cocoon now as you waddled like a mummy back over to him with a shy smile on your face.

He laughed, his bright white teeth a contrast to the dark complexion of his skin. You felt the pit of your stomach fall at the sight.

“I just came to see if you wanted to grab a late dinner with me, seeing as how you can’t drive to get anything, and there’s no such thing as room service in a place like this.” He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, no, Daniel, that’s awful sweet of you to offer. But, I had an apple, so I’m…all set…” you admitted, the pit of hunger in your stomach getting bigger as the minutes ticked on.

He furrowed his brow. “You can…call me Danny, if you want. We aren’t complete strangers.”

You felt your eyes sparkle at him. Stop it, Y/N.

You swallowed. “Okay, Danny…”

“An apple? That’s all you’ve had all day?”

“Yeah. And well, a few sips of coffee earlier…” you admitted, waving him off. “Truly, I’m just fine.”

He stood and stared at you a few seconds longer, his eyes slipping past you and into the empty room behind you. The light of the static-snowed screen reflected off his features, accentuating his face, his jawline, his lips…the tattoos that crawled up his neck…

“Okay, well. I’ll see you around then?” He stated more than asked, before turning on his heels and disappearing down the sidewalk.

Shit. You were starving. And bored. And not sleepy anymore. And, after letting your eyes wander a little too long on him…you felt…

“Danny!” You called back, seeing him turn with anticipation. “Let me put some pants on?”

He grinned again, and began making his way back toward your door as you popped back inside to re-dress yourself. You quickly pulled your jeans and halter on, and took a second to fluff your hair without him seeing. You grabbed a light jacket and pulled it over your arms, and made sure to slip your room key into your purse before throwing it over your shoulder.

You stepped back outside the door, catching Danny leaning against the wall smoking. “That was quick.” He said, blowing smoke into the air. You noticed it smelled different than what Jake smoked, it was sweeter and not as rancid.

“Did you walk here?” You asked him as you locked the door, noticing that there were no new vehicles in the parking lot.

“Hell no.” He chuckled. “I brought Ruby.”

“Who?”

As you rounded the edge of the building, you saw what he was referring to. An early model motorcycle, a little rusted and definitely dirty, but you could see the red paint peeking out from underneath the dust.

You watched as he lifted his leg and straddled the seat, pulling his weight over to kick the stand up. He turned the key and revved the engine, walking it forward just a bit as you watched. He motioned with his head for you to hop on, of which you quickly denied.

“No no, I’ll walk, it’s fine.” You muttered, the engine drowning out the sound of your voice. You backed away, crossing your arms nervously. No way you were going to hop on the back of a motorcycle with a man you hardly knew. In the dark in a strange town, much less.

“Ah come on, it’ll take you twenty minutes to walk there.” He yelled over the purring, again tilting his head back for you to climb in behind him. He slowly pulled the tie from his hair, letting his elbow-length waves fall before re-gathering it, and twisting at his neck again. He gave you another side smile, raising his eyebrows as he playfully revved the engine again.

Fuck it.

You bashfully stepped forward, hiking your leg up over the seat to fit right in behind him, the seat forcing you to press against his back a little more closely than you were comfortable with. And to make things even more awkward, you weren’t sure what to do with your hands. You let them drop to your thighs as he walked the bike forward a little again, turning it before he caught pavement and took off down the road without warning.

You squealed loudly, your unfamiliarity with riding on the back of a motorcycle startling you completely. Without hesitation and in fear of falling off, your hands wrapped around Danny’s torso, and your feet fell in behind his on the racks.

“Oh shit!” You yelled as he took off down the road, your arms gripping him tighter as you tried to get your balance. You were positive if you let go for even the tiniest second, you were going to eat rocks.

“You alright back there?” He asked, turning his head slightly.

“No, not really! I feel like I’m gonna fall!” You admitted, the wind whipping your hair in all directions.

“You won’t fall, I won’t let you.” His left hand came down to grasp your fists gathered across his chest, and slowly pushed them downward toward his stomach, instantly making you feel leveled out, and a ton more balanced. He patted your hands there, telling you to leave them.

Then his hand found your thigh, running his hand along the outside seam of your jeans from your knee to right below your asscheek. What the fuck? Before you could slap the hell out of him, he gripped up under your leg, jerking your forward on the seat to press your chest hard against his back.

Instantly more centered.

“Is that better? Still feel like you’re gonna fall?” He asked through the wind.

You gulped, the rush of the past 13 seconds making your head spin. But he was right, you no longer felt like you were going to topple over.

“No, yes…it’s better…” you choked out as he began to pick up speed.

“Good. Hang on.” He ordered, speeding up significantly as you barreled down the dusty pavement. And hang on you did. The wind across your face was literally taking your breath away, and making your eyes water. You blinked away the tears as you focused, truly getting your bearings and relaxing your body against Danny’s to get a feel for the bike beneath you. You took a breath and let your body fall into his back a bit more, the motions of his flexing back muscles pressed up against you as he lifted his foot to switch gears.

What the hell are you doing? What is happening?

After a whirlwind two or three minutes, you were slowing down and pulling into the parking lot of Louie’s, the same diner you had stopped into earlier for directions. Danny slowed the bike to a crawl and walked it forward before lowering the kickstand. You instinctively pulled your feet to the ground too, only the tips of your toes reaching the dirt below them.

“Don’t tell me that was your first motorcycle ride…” he said as he leaned his body weight to one side, standing all the way up on solid ground. You followed his action, letting your shaky legs hop off the bike with the help of Danny’s strong hand.

“Yeah, uh. It was.” You tried to sound nonchalant, like it was no big deal, while on the inside, your body was screaming with nervous adrenaline. You patted your hands over your hair to calm your flyaways, trying your best to keep your cool girl composure.

“No shit? Well, if I’d have known that I wouldn’t have taken off so quick. You felt like a natural once you got your balance…” he flitted his eyes your way as you began to make your way to the door.

You gave him a shy smile back. “Are they um. Are they still open? It’s getting late…” you glanced at your watch, finding it to be 9:20pm.

Danny swung the glass door open, frowning as you walked inside before him. “Oh, yeah. They’re open ‘til midnight. And it’s pork chop night, I never miss pork chop night.”

You walked inside the now neon-lit diner, finding many of the same shady-looking characters as you had seen earlier in the day. You nodded toward the man who gave you the directions to Jake’s, of which he returned with a curt smile.

“Bubba!” Danny exclaimed, forcefully throwing two hands to the back of the man’s shoulders, startling him from his coffee. “Save any pork chops for me?”

“They’s a few back there, I’m sure. Ain’t too many people in today.” He answered, turning back to his coffee. “Geraldine! Danny’s here for his special!” The man yelled across the bar, moving sideways to see if he could see in through the opening in the wall to the kitchen.

Just then the same woman in the pink apron waltzed through the double-swinging saloon doors, putting on a giant smile as soon as she saw you and Danny. She made her way around the bar, taking Danny’s face between her hands and squeezing his cheeks. “Evenin’, honey.” Her gruff voice said as she swatted his face.

“Evenin’, Geraldine.” He answered, obviously this was a woman he respected. She turned and found her place again behind the bar, reaching into her apron pocket for her pen and order pad. You and Danny walked to a booth in the middle of the restaurant, and you moved to sit down before he stopped you.

“Hmm-mm, let me sit there. Wanna see the door.” He said, grabbing your shoulders to scoot you sideways to the opposite booth.

“Okay…what for?” You questioned.

“I recognize this one from earlier today, hardly touched her coffee. You make it to Ace’s, honey?” Geraldine interrupted without making eye contact with you as she scribbled something down on her order pad.

Danny cleared his throat and looked to you, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh! Me! Yes ma’am, I barely made it, but uh. Got it there before it could die on me. They’re going to fix it right up.” You answered, feeling silly for having to practically yell your business across the diner to answer her. You watched the man you now knew as Bubba turn in his stool, holding the same flat smile as he did when you first came inside.

“The normal, Danny?” Geraldine asked.

“Yes please, thanks.” He replied, poking his wrapped silverware onto the tabletop.

“And for the lady?” She went on.

You looked down to see no menu in front of you, so you decided to go with your gut. “Um, I’ll have what he’s having?” Your tone was questioning.

Geraldine smiled. “Pork chop in gravy, mashed potatoes, carrots, and peas, sweetie.”

“Oh, perfect. All but the peas, please.” You replied, watching as Geraldine nodded and made her way back into the kitchen.

“Why don’t you like peas? They’re good for you.” Danny said, stretching his arm across the back of the booth behind him. You swallowed hard, recalling the memory of the peas rolling across the floor of Peter’s office. The smell of them smashed against your shoes, still fresh in your mind, and easily makes your stomach turn just from the thought.

“Never been a fan.” You answered, resting your chin in your hand.

Danny pursed his lips together, leaning in now across the table toward you. You watched as a tiny strand of hair fell in front of his eye, his tongue stuck to the back of his teeth as he inhaled. “I would’ve eaten your peas, Y/N. Tsk tsk.”

You looked at him in amused confusion, unsure of what his angle really was. After being around him only a grand total of maybe an hour the entire day, you gathered that you could hardly tell if he was joking or serious at any given time. But his overall demeanor was kind, and playful, and he had invited you here tonight, so you intended on learning him better.

Just while you were here, of course.

Suddenly two steaming black coffees were placed in front of you, the aroma bringing your senses back to life again. “Cream, sweetie?” Geraldine asked, placing a tiny metal pitcher full of the milky liquid in front of you and turning away before you could answer.

You poured the cream in, stirring it together until it was mixed, and you blew on it before you took a slow sip, Danny watching your every move intently.

“Something I can help you with?” You asked him, commenting on his unwelcome stare.

He snarled his top lip as he shook his head and readjusted in his seat. You took a second to look at him, hoping to maybe intimidate him right back. His dark waves still balled up at his neck, the loose strands falling as curls in front of his face and behind his ears. His tightened jaw and cocked eyebrow letting you know he was still sizing you up. His old black Ford Motors t-shirt stretched tightly across his buff chest and arms, the worn holes around the collar letting you know it was well-loved and worn-in.

“So. Elementary school. You were there…” he finally spoke up, lighting another sweet-smelling smoke.

“St. James, yeah. I think you were a couple of years behind me.” You answered, sipping your coffee.

“Mhmm.” He hummed, taking a puff. “You left in the middle of the year.”

“How do you remember that?” You asked, realizing he would have only been in the first grade when you left.

“Because suddenly we didn’t have enough people to have even teams for kickball. You left and we were a man short. Had to ask Willie Addams to play and he couldn’t run for shit. Had the coordination of a fuckin’ baby giraffe.”

You giggled at him, almost spitting out your coffee. “Ok, how do you remember that?” You pressed. “You were like 6.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Jake says I have the memory of an elephant, whatever the fuck that means. Anyway, enough talk about zoo animals. Where were you really headed, Y/N? Before you got stuck here with us…” He leaned again, and you noticed his eyes began anxiously darting around, just like Jake’s had done earlier.

You purposely waited for him to make eye contact with you again, finding it rude that he was looking everywhere but at your face after asking you a question. When he finally did, you answered.

“I was heading to Atlanta. From Salvation, Iowa.” You replied honestly. “Why?”

“People don’t normally just casually cruise back through their hometown unless they’re looking for something.” He said dryly, taking a sip of his coffee. The white ceramic mug looked tiny in his giant inked hand.

“Well I’m not people. I wasn’t looking for anything, I just—”

“So you were running.” He raised his eyebrows again, knowing he had struck some type of gold from the obviously surprised look on your face.

You stayed silent for a beat. He laughed through his nose.

“I wasn’t running, I was…just, getting away. It’s different.” You tried to dismiss his prying questions, wanting nothing more than for Geraldine to bring you a heaping pile of mashed potatoes so you wouldn’t have to go on about your wasted adventure with a man you hardly knew from Adam.

“But you left home for a reason, right?” He went on. “If people plan to move, they usually bring along more than a couple suitcases and their old wedding dress, Y/N. You’re telling me you left your makeup vanity and trunk and sofa at home?”

Fuck. You didn’t wanna talk about this.

When you stayed silent again, he laughed in satisfaction. “You were running.”

You leaned in close. “Look, if you want to know every detail of my life, you’re gonna have to do a little more than invite me to dinner, Daniel.” You spat.

“What if I already planned to do a little more?” He inferred, sitting back against the booth and running his hand along his slicked-back hair.

You choked back. “That’s an awfully forward thing to say to someone you just met.”

“I didn’t just meet you. I knew you in the first grade. And I know I was upset when you weren’t there to play kickball any more.” His eyes began scanning the windows again, jumping back and forth as he spoke. Your heart began racing at his words.

“Why do you care, Danny? About what I’m doing here?” You asked, truly wanting to know.

He shrugged, taking another draw of his smoke. “You seem like a fun little challenge. I like challenges. Mysteries. Cracking codes…”

You scoffed. “Well, you sure as hell ain’t cracking anything of mine.”

“Yeah? We’ll see about that one.” The side of his lips curled up as you caught onto his flirtation. Danny let his smoke hang between his lips as he rubbed his hands together, his fingernails still dirty from the workday.

You were simultaneously turned off and turned on by his strange way of coming on to you; you knew that was what he was doing, but in some odd way, it was charming. You felt safe with him, even if his way of flirting was nothing like anything you’d ever seen before.

In the nick of time, Geraldine brought your plates over, setting them in front of you with harsh thuds. “Alright one sans peas, one extra peas. Refill of coffee, and I’ll be back in a bit to check on ya.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Danny muttered.

You held his deep gaze as you unrolled your silverware from the tight napkin, and dug directly in to the mashed potatoes without hesitation. He licked his tongue across his teeth as he followed your motions. The two of you ate in silence, and you let yourself enjoy the hot meal in front of you, wondering if Danny would let you forgo the motorcycle ride, and just walk home.

After a basically wordless and slightly awkward meal, Danny sat and watched as you finished off your coffee, still pushing a pea around the plate with the end of his fork.

“Good pork chops, right?” He finally asked.

“Might be the best ones I’ve ever had.” You replied honestly. But you had been so hungry, you might’ve thought shoe leather sounded appetizing had you waited any longer. That apple was long gone.

“I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” He growled, another sly smile creeping to his face. He stretched his neck, the thin lines of the spider web tattoo bulging over his artery. “What are your plans for the night?”

You placed your napkin and silverware on top of the empty plate, pushing it back a bit to fold your arms across the table. “Sleep.”

“Well that doesn’t sound like any fun.” He laughed, and if you didn’t know him any better, you would’ve thought he really didn’t believe you.

“What? That’s really all I’m doing…what else would I do?” You asked sternly. “I don’t know anyone, I don’t have a car, this podunk town doesn’t have much to offer, Danny.”

He sighed as he put his elbows on the table, the sleeves of the tight shirt pulling against his biceps. You took a second to glance at his arms, tanned and bronze from the sun. The black-lined and barely-colored tattoos that covered his arms instantly piqued your interest, but you couldn’t let him know you were looking. In your three-second glance, you noticed the set of dice on the inside of his wrist, some type of messy writing along the inside of his forearm, and a tiger’s face peeking out from under the short sleeve of his shirt. And that was only the few your mind comprehended.

“You’re right. Ain’t much here. But it can be a good time if you know what you’re looking for.” He raised his eyebrow in question.

You shook your head. “Not me, thanks. I’d rather not have my face hanging on missing posters around town next week.”

“Why would you say that?” He was taken back.

“Because you haven’t stopped darting your eyes to the door and out the windows since we got here. Your body language is forcibly relaxed, you’re a little on edge, and I think you’re kind of paranoid. I don’t know why, but you don’t seem like you feel safe in your own town, Danny.”

He huffed an exasperated laugh. “Of course I feel safe here, why would I live here if I didn’t?” He said defensively.

“How did you know what room I was in?” You asked, craning your neck sideways. “Jake left before I checked in today. Did you ask Wanda so you could keep tabs on me?”

You clicked your tongue as his eyes bulged from his head at your words. “That’s what I thought. Oh, and you have a switchblade knife stuffed in your boot.”

“How do you know that?” He muttered.

“Saw it when your pants hiked up when you got off the motorcycle.” You pushed the plate a little further back on the table, and grabbed your purse to make your way to the cash register. You pulled a few crumpled dollars from your wallet and tossed them onto the table. You stood and came to the edge of the booth, leaning down close to Danny’s face to whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, it’d seem that you’re the one who’s running, Danny.”

You gave him a displeased look and turned, snaking your way through the empty tables to pay Geraldine for your suppers. “Thank you, sweetie. Y’all have a good rest of your evenin…” Geraldine said as the cash register dinged closed. You gave Bubba another nod before making your way to the door. You glanced back to Danny, who was still sitting stunned in the wooden booth.

“You takin’ me back to the motel, or what?”

——

This time, finding your balance on the motorcycle was easy, like you’d been doing it for a hundred years. Danny hadn’t said a word since you left the diner, only offering Bubba and Geraldine a quiet “goodnight”. You pressed your front against Danny’s back, leaning into him as you wrapped your hands around his lower abdomen and sturdied your feet behind his. You let the shyness from earlier drift away, feeling more confident now that you’d spoken your piece to Danny.

As he picked up speed down the busted pavement, you let your mind wander a bit.

Ha, he thought he had you pegged. Thought you were another dumb female he could trick into his bed. Pshh. Asking you your plans for the night… please. Though going back to your room alone sounded less than exciting now that your stomach was full. And you were more awake than ever…and he had kind of offered…

No. No way. You didn’t know Danny.

‘It can be a good time if you know what you’re looking for…’

No. Horrible idea. Sleep.

Shower, and sleep.

Just as you made your mind up, you felt Danny’s hand run along the outside of your leg again. What is he doing? He wasn’t cautious, he was confident. Like the motion was the most natural thing he’d ever done. You could feel the heat from his hand radiating through the denim of your jeans, and though his touch was unwelcome, you let it happen. Why were you letting it happen?

He didn’t need to pull you forward into him like he had earlier, you were already pressed against him as far as you could get. You watched as his shoulder flexed as his arm reached back and down to your leg, his fingers gliding lightly over your thigh while he steered with his other hand. Shit, the heat of his touch…

You let your chest press into him just a little closer, and the contact made your nipples instantly stand at attention. Your choice to not wear a bra tonight was silently working against you. But damn, you couldn’t deny…this man was attractive. Very attractive. And you already couldn’t deny the physical chemistry between you, his hand so nonchalantly petting your thigh while his other gripped the handlebar.

You felt him take a deep breath, his grip tightening on your leg muscle. You realized your other hand had been resting gently on his stomach, holding on tightly as he navigated the bumpy streets. In an act of pure confidence, you let your thumb drift a few inches down, and loop into the hem of his jeans, your other fingers gripping onto his leather belt. With your motion, his hand tightened again, his thumb swiping back and forth as he let his hand drift further back.

Your mind was frenzied, suddenly your stomach felt tightly wound with an unknown and unwarranted anticipation. Danny removed his hand from your thigh, and kicked his right foot a couple times to shift the bike down. He gripped the bars and turned, and suddenly you were in front of your motel room door. Damn, you hadn’t even noticed you were here already.

He pulled the kickstand down as he shut off the bike, and you quickly pulled your hand from the way-too-intimate place near his groin. He stood and stepped off the bike, and you followed behind. You cleared your throat as you resituated your purse on your shoulder, suddenly feeling exposed. You pulled your jacket over your chest, and reached into your bag to find the room key.

“Thanks for the ride.” You purred.

“Thanks for dinner, I was supposed to pay, you know. I invited you out…”

“No, no. It’s my pleasure, seeing as how you thought of me, and all.” You answered, making your way to unlock the old doorknob. You felt Danny follow behind, walking you to the door. He had shoved his hands in his pockets, and his closed-off demeanor returned, quite the opposite of the confidence he dripped on the bike.

You unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicking on the light inside. Danny stood in the threshold as you dispensed your purse on the table.

“You were right. I did ask Wanda what room you were in. And before you get freaked out, it wasn’t because I was trying to keep tabs on you. Not in the way you’re thinking, at least.” He said, glancing side to side down either way of the sidewalk before he stepped inside the room just a little. “Y/N, look. You’re right. This town can be dangerous. It ain’t a five-star city. There is a lot that goes on behind closed doors here. So yes, I wanted to know where you were because—”

“You want to keep an eye on me. I get it. I owe you and Jake money, still.” You quipped, unsure of how to feel about that.

He nodded slowly, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe as he crossed his flexed arms. “Well, yes, but…It’s more for your well-being, Y/N. That’s all. There are some…shady creatures here.” He mumbled, stepping a little further inside.

You slowly sat down on the bed, feeling the stiff mattress squeak beneath you. His steps were heavy as he came further inside, slowly, his eye contact making you feel like you were going to forget how to breathe. You leaned back on your arms, the gritty brown comforter rough under your fingertips. “Are you one of those…shady creatures?” You asked, barely above a whisper as you found him standing almost directly between your legs.

He lifted his almost completely-inked hand and pushed away a tiny strand of hair that had fallen across your forehead, brushing it back to join the rest of your hair. Your heart rate picked up at his subtle touch, his calloused and dirty fingertips just barely grazing the side of your face. “Guess it depends on who you ask…” his words were slow, his bottom lip biting slowly into his mouth as he spoke.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you instantly felt the same chemistry as earlier begin to ravage your body again. He was towering over you so close, your legs pressed apart by the outsides of his. His knees touched the edge of the bed, and you could tell his hands were arguing with his brain about touching you again. Somewhere. Anywhere.

He pushed your hair back again, drifting his hand down your cheek and finally to your chin, his thumb and pointer working as a team to slowly crane your neck up to look him in the eyes. Your hands were begging you to rake your nails up underneath his tight t-shirt, just to get a feel of what was beneath it. But you didn’t.

“You’re different, aren’t you, Y/N?” He finally whispered.

“Mmm, what do you mean?”

He furrowed his brow as he lightly squeezed your chin between his fingers, his eyes studying every detail of your face.

“I dunno…you just have something about you. Can’t quite put my finger on it yet.” He bit his lip again. You felt a ragged breath escape your lungs, and you hoped to god your body language wasn’t reflecting how you felt right now.

“But, I intend on figuring you out.” His thumb drifted up a bit, barely ghosting over your bottom lip. It took everything in you to not pull it into your mouth, reach your tongue out and taste him, but you stopped yourself. Can’t go there tonight, as much as you really wanted to.

Against every coherent thought, your knees pressed in toward each other, searching for some type of relief, causing Danny’s body to move in a bit closer to you. A low laugh left his chest as he continued to brush his thumb over your lip, pressing a little harder when you made him fall into you. “A fuckin’ gem, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, unsure how to answer. Or how to think, for that matter. This gorgeous man standing between your legs in your hotel room, you barely know him at all…but already you felt like you could grip the soft cotton of his t-shirt and yank him down into the bed beside you, and have your way with him until the sun came up. Because, what do you have to lose?

“Will have a ride for you tomorrow. Get some sleep.” He muttered, his eyelids hooded over his deep brown eyes as he peered down to you. You watched his Adams apple jerk as he swallowed, regaining the same composure you were begging yourself to find. He stepped back and turned to exit through the still-open door. “Lock this behind me.”

And before you could gather even the simplest thought, he was gone.

—

You stood naked in front of the scratched and lopsided hanging mirror in the bathroom, waiting the long five minutes for the shower to heat, just as Wanda had said. Your skin was still flushed from the close intensity from Danny just a few short minutes ago, and your heart rate was just now slowing from the interaction.

Shit. You aren’t supposed to feel these things…you just left Peter. You were on the search to enrich your life, go wild, not add drama and danger to it…

But, you had set out in search of an adventure, could this be it? Could this strange, gritty, already confusing mechanic be your ticket to letting loose? You’d never had those young years to explore yourself and sow your oats; Peter was one of your very first serious boyfriends ever, and one of only a handful of partners you’d had before that. Half of your mind was terrified from Danny’s words of warning, and the other half of you said fuck it, chase it. Why not? What do you honestly have to lose at this point?

You stepped into the now steaming shower and began to suds up the plain white bar of soap that was wrapped up on the countertop. You let the hot streams of water calm your muscles and your nerves as you ran over the events of your crazy day.

‘Will have a ride for you tomorrow…’

What did that mean? You chalked it up to he would probably be picking you up again in the morning to go back to the garage to give a down payment, or something. Either way, you’d wake up to a new day, and you were already hoping it’d be just as eventful as today.

——

The growling sound of an engine outside the motel startled you from your daydream as you watched the picture on the television blur and scatter back and forth. A glance at your watch told you it was 10am exactly, and you walked to the peephole to see who had pulled up.

It wasn’t the person you expected to see. You unlocked the door and swung it open, the still misty morning air chilling your face.

“Jake, morning. What are you—”

“You ready to sign your quote? I’m ordering the parts today.” He interrupted as he slammed his truck door shut.

“Yeah, yeah. Just let me grab my bag.” You stepped back inside, slightly confused; you fully expected to see Danny pull up on his motorcycle to whisk you away again.

You stepped outside and locked the door behind you, and you and Jake both hopped up into the truck. Jake was silent again, and you were coming to realize he didn’t speak unless it was completely necessary, or unless spoken to. He was a man of few words, but you gathered that he probably wasn’t being outwardly rude, just was his nature to be quiet. You hoped, at least.

He reached down and cranked his window, the air blowing his freshly-showered scent around in the cab of the truck. The scent of Brut after-shave tingled in your nose; you’d know that smell anywhere. It made you look his way, seeing that his skin was actually visible now that he wasn’t covered in grease and dirt. His hand gripped the tree, shifting it to third as his speed leveled out on the road.

His hands were completely covered in tattoos just like Danny’s were, and they crawled up his wrist and forearm, all the way to his shoulder and into his neck. His cutoff t-shirt exposed his chest and side, also covered in a swirling piece of art that was laced with deep reds and blues. There were hundreds of them. And you were willing to bargain that each and every one had a story.

His ever-present cigarette hung between his lips as he stayed focused on the road, his shoulder length locks whipping around in the wind. You hadn’t seen him like this yet…clean, natural, and normal. His demeanor was the same as it was yesterday, straightforward and no-nonsense.

“That’s yours, if you want it.” He gestured between you on the bench seat, pointing to a large biscuit wrapped up in wax paper. “I couldn’t eat two.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you. Thanks.” You began to unwrap it and tear off little pieces, bringing them shyly to your mouth. “Didn't poison it, did you?”

He huffed what you think was a laugh through his nose. “No. If you died I’d have to steal the part money from your purse, and I don’t want to do that.” Was that his attempt at a joke?

You giggled, again unsure how to take him.

“Where’s Danny? I figured he’d be the one scooping me up after last night.” You asked, taking another bite of biscuit.

His head shot your way, his eyes narrowed. “Last night?”

“Yeah, he picked me up on his bike, we got some food at Louie’s. Said he’d be back today.” Now that you thought about it, he never actually said he would be the one picking you up, just that there would be a ride for you here today.

“Ah, so he took you on a date.” Jake muttered, his voice low again over the radio.

“No, it wasn’t a date. He just invited me to eat with him. Knew I shouldn’t walk through town to get food by myself. He was being thoughtful.” You suddenly felt defensive of Danny.

“Thoughtful. So, a date.” Jake responded, blowing smoke out the window before flicking the cigarette onto the road.

“So what if it was?” You decided to play along. “What would it matter?”

He shook his head with a mock laugh. “Danny is a nice guy, but he doesn’t take women on dates. That I can assure you.”

You felt offended. “So, what, just a one night stand kind of guy?”

Jake let a one-syllable laugh fall from his lips as he raised his eyebrows, shifting back down to make the tight turn up the hill to the shop. “Guess you could say that.”

Why was he always so vague?

Just as you were nearing the shop, Jake reached his arm across the bench seat and across your lap, leaning almost all the way onto you to crank the window all the way down. He rolled the handle quickly, his bicep muscle flexing hard right in front of your eyes.

“Oh, sorry, I could have done that–” you sputtered.

“It’s a son of a bitch to roll, requires a little bit of elbow grease.” He said before throwing the truck in park and shutting off the engine. “I’ve got your paperwork ready, all you have to do is sign for the total and put half down. Rest will be due when it’s fixed.”

He was halfway out of the truck and still talking, so you clambered your way out, too, to make sure you caught the tail end of what he was saying. The two of you walked into the shop, vehicles already pulled into the bay with the hoods popped. Loud music was coming from an old radio on a high shelf, an old Johnny Cash song bouncing off the walls.

“Daniel, can you please turn that fucking shit down? Jesus Christ!” Jake yelled.

You watched as Danny’s curls emerged out from underneath an old Cadillac, his feet pushing him out as he laid on a creeper. He gave you a quick tiny smile when you made upside-down eye contact.

“When you open the shop on time and get in here when you’re fuckin’ supposed to, maybe I’ll consider your goddamn propositions, Jake. I mean shit, we live here.” He rolled all the way out and stood from the creeper, watching as Jake slowly ascended the old metal stairs on the side of the building. “I’ve been the only one here since fuckin’ 7:00. Why the fuck would I turn my music down if I’m the only one getting my fuckin’ hands dirty?” Danny spat.

You looked up onto the lofted area of the shop, watching as Jake topped the steps and walked across, flipping Danny the bird from above before looking to you and switching his middle finger to his pointer, signaling for you to ‘come here’, and follow him up the stairs.

You hopped into action, making your way to the staircase to follow Jake to the top. When you got up there, you looked around to find this was the office area. Tons and tons of old papers stacked away in messy piles, collecting dust and dirt. Boxes that held forgotten parts, shelves filled to the brim with old 3-ring binders, dusty photos on the wall, and in the center of it all, an old wooden desk with a chair that had seen better days. You watched as Jake pulled the string hanging from a single fluorescent light, plopping into the chair as the light buzzed to life.

He pulled on a pair of thin wired readers, peering down to a ledger that looked similar to the one Wanda took your room reservation in. He was fingering through a parts manual and double checking his work on a calculator, so you took a second to look at a few of the black and white photos hanging framed on the wall.

One, a larger photo, hung right in the middle of the rest. It was a man in a white tank top, dirty as can be, a pair of old slacks pulled up to his belly button. He was leaned with his back against an old black Chevelle, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He wasn’t smiling, just standing stoically with his arms crossed across his chest. He looked strikingly exactly like Jake, except the photo must have been taken when the man was a bit older than Jake is now.

“Jake, this man looks just like you…is he—”

“Was. My father, yes.” He said, voice flat.

“Handsome…” you muttered. “Was this his shop before it was yours?”

He nodded, still looking to his ledger. “Yeah. Ace.”

You pulled your eyes from the photo, walking slowly back to the desk. “Ace…Ace’s garage. How long has he…been gone?” You wanted to put the words right back into your mouth as soon as they left it. It wasn’t any of your business.

“He died the day before my eighteenth birthday. You wanna come sign here?” Jake said, extending a pen out for you.

Damn, Jake. That’s heavy.

You walked over to take a look at the estimate, seeing that the price was actually not as much as you thought it would be. “So half now, half when it’s done?” You reiterated, signing your name across the slip of paper.

“Yep.” He responded shortly.

You reached into your purse and pulled out the white envelope of your cash, counting it out in hundreds and fifties. As you slowly counted out loud, you took special care to run your fingers over the stiff new bills, making sure none stuck together. In the middle of them all was an old fifty dollar bill, a giant red “X” drawn across the President’s face.

“Someone didn’t like Grant, I guess.” You laughed, trying to break the awkward silence as he watched you count.

When you were finally finished, you gathered the bills up and handed them to Jake in a nice neat stack. “Thanks.” He said, taking the cash and stuffing it in a till box before shoving it in a safe.

“Thank you. Hey, think I could use your restroom really quickly?” You asked, feeling like your bladder was about to burst with shitty motel room coffee.

He threw his glasses down onto the table and pulled the light off, giving you a funny look before leading you back toward the stairs again. “Only bathroom here is mine and Danny’s, probably ain’t the cleanest.” He said as he quickly jumped down the steps.

“It’s no problem.” You answered. How bad could it be?

He led you underneath the loft and through a door, into a dark hallway with multiple doors. “Last one on the left.” Jake hit the wall with his palm before walking back into the bay.

This must be the part they live in. As you passed by the other doors, one was closed, and the other was cracked open to reveal what looked to be a messy bedroom. A mattress on the floor covered in disheveled blankets, liquor bottles on the makeshift nightstand, and clothes strewn about.

When you finally reached the bathroom door, what you found inside was nothing short of disgusting. Although he had warned you…

One light bulb hanging from the ceiling, the sink full of hair and stained black from the grease off their hands, a completely black toothpaste tube that didn’t have a lid, flattened toothbrushes that were missing half of their bristles…

The list went on as you looked around in utter disgust. Men are so gross. You were positive the place had never been cleaned.

You swallowed and held your breath as you opened the broken toilet lid, finding it less-than-desirable with a ring in the bowl. You shuddered at what you were about to do, but if you didn’t pee right now you were going to have to resort to the woods out back. Would probably be cleaner out there, actually…but at least there is toilet paper.

You tried not to think too hard about it as you quickly relieved yourself, using a small piece of toilet paper to touch the lever handle to flush.

“Ew ew ew ew.” You mumbled, deciding to not even wash your hands at the risk of dirtying them further. But even if you had, your drying options were toilet paper or their stained to hell bath towels hanging over the rod.

You were entirely grossed out, and decided to get back out to the bay as soon as you could. You flicked the light switch and reentered the hallway, noticing that the closed door across the way was opening at the same time.

To your surprise, a woman emerged from the room, slowly closing the door behind her. She had to be about ten years your senior, at least.

“Hey, Sug.” She murmured, rubbing sleep from her eyes. When she turned to face you, you noticed what she was wearing.

Danny’s black Ford Motors t-shirt he had on last night.

Your stomach dropped, suddenly it hit you exactly why he wasn’t the one picking you up this morning.

You gave her a tight smile and a simple “Good morning” as her keys jingled in her hand. Her makeup was definitely left over from last night, and she was carrying a pair of red high heels.

“I haven’t seen you ‘round here before…” she said, her voice still raspy with sleep.

“Oh, I’m…I’m a customer. They’re fixing my car. Just was…using the restroom.” You explained.

“Oh honey, no one’s ever just a customer…” She winked, before leading the two of you back out into the bay.

Whose room did she just come from?

—

JAKE POV

Fuck this god damn piece of shit Chevrolet.

Two weeks you’ve been working on this fuckin’ truck, and in those two weeks you had gotten barely anything accomplished with rebuilding the motor. And now you had another to do on top of it.

Isn’t it supposed to be Fords that have engine trouble? American muscle my ass. They’re all shit.

You stepped up onto the step ladder and peered back down into the belly of your newest arch-nemesis, cursing at its guts with every turn of your wrench. You look down to the floor spitting before turning your attention back under the hood.

Come on Ace. What is wrong with this son of a bitch? Help me out…

You glanced over to Danny, watching as he walked outside to empty his stomach again after the late night he’d had. Out all night drinking with his latest piece, stumbling back into the shop at 3am. Then he was back up at 7? You weren’t sure where he got his stamina…maybe he just didn’t sleep at all.

As you compiled the list of parts you’d need for Y/N’s engine last night, Danny swung by your office to tell you he was leaving, only to peer over your shoulder and see her name at the top of the Quote sheet.

“She’s a fuckin’ smokeshow…”

“Can you please try not to sleep with this one? She seems like a decent human being… You don’t have to sleep with all of them you know.” you’d joked.

“Jesus, Jake. I’m not that bad of a person. Cut me some slack. Just cause you haven’t gotten laid in few months doesn’t mean you have to shit on me…”

You’d pushed up from your chair and slammed your hands into his shoulders, pushing him back against the wall behind you, but his height was no match for you.

“Fuck you, Daniel. Just…listen to me. I saw her making eyes at you…Don’t fuck this up for us.” you said.

“Did you really?” You’d watched as his gears began to turn. “What was her room number?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, Danny. You’re not going to her motel. Just leave her be.” You tried your best to warn him nicely. “Like you told me, she’s a paying customer. We need her to pay us…”

He sighed when he realized. “Shit. You’re right, damnit. Okay, okay. I won’t go.”

But, from the conversation you had with Y/N on the ride in this morning, you realized the fucker lied to you. He went anyway and she was clearly all about it.

You wanted to warn her. You tried to tell her that Danny was a one night stand type, that he didn’t wine and dine like the regular guy would, but apparently she didn’t listen, either.

As a bolt finally popped loose, it fell into the engine, tipping you over the edge of insanity.

Fuck! This! Truck!

You jumped off of the ladder and went over to the fridge under the loft, grabbing a cold Budweiser from the dirty shelf. You held the neck of the amber bottle on the edge of your toolbox, smashing your fist down on the lid, effectively popping it off. You tilted it back, letting the cold beverage run down your throat as you swallowed. Nothing like a breakfast beer.

Just then, you heard the shop door close and two sets of footsteps making their way out. All you could do was watch as the perfect storm brewed right in front of your eyes. How the fuck was he gonna explain this one... Y/N, Danny, and whoever his woman of the night was, all waltzing into the middle of the bay at the exact same time. As you caught sight of the woman you let out a scoff.

Fuck, Danny.

Tanya. The woman that lived in that house down on Robertson, hardly any personality at all, great tits, and apparently she was a panther in bed. Or so you’d heard. She was nice enough, and Danny always ended up bringing her around every couple of months. You didn’t dislike her, but you sure as hell didn’t want to be her friend, either. You didn’t trust her as far as you could throw her, and last you heard, she was involved with some folks you didn’t need to be associating with.

You paused with your beer in hand, sticking the other in your pocket as you watched the scene unfold. Your fingers twirled around a lug nut as your eyes followed Tanya, walking directly up to Daniel, wrapping her long skinny arms around his neck, and pulling him in for one last long, and especially involved, goodbye kiss. This wasn’t her typical goodbye, and you knew she was marking her territory in front of Y/N. Which is why you laughed, knowing that she wouldn’t hear from Daniel for at least a month. However, it wasn’t lost on you, the tense nature of Daniel’s body as she kissed him. His eyes open wide and looking across the bay towards Y/N.

Your eyes drifted directly to Y/N, watching as her face fell into utter disbelief. Her jaw fell slack for a second before she clamped it shut again, obviously feeling something unexpected from the sight in front of her. Whatever little daydream she had dreamed up between the two of them had all just come crashing down.

You noticed she suddenly felt out of place, bringing her embarrassed eyes to meet yours in question. You smirked, raising an eyebrow as you sipped your beer as smugly as you could. You shrugged your shoulders and raised your beer bottle in the air towards her as you watched her face flame red.

Hate to say I told ya so, baby.

—

HER POV

You have got to get out of here.

But where the hell are you gonna go?

You let your feet carry you out the bay garage door out into the heat of the day, wanting to be anywhere but inside that damn building right now. Why did it matter? Why did you care?

The moment you and Danny shared last night was anything but fantastic, but it was still there. It was intimate, though he had done nothing but skim his fingertips across your face.

You didn’t care. It’s no big deal.

But why did he look at you while he kissed her? And why was Jake so amused by it?

You stomped across the dirt parking lot to your Scout, flinging the door open to dig around and find anything that could offer up a distraction. You unzipped a suitcase, finding all of your clothing still neatly folded and tucked away. Underneath a pair of old ratted bell bottoms, you pulled out your ticket to diversion from Danny for the rest of the day: Maya Angelou’s complete collection of poems.

Perfect.

The book was worn around the edges, you had read it so much as a kid. You practically had every poem memorized.

After replacing your folded clothing neatly back in the suitcase, you decided you had to make your way back inside at some point…you knew they had a full workday ahead, and it would be rude to ask for a ride back to the motel at this point.

You slammed the door shut, shielding your eyes from the bright sun directly above. The shadowy silhouette of Tanya was walking toward you as you walked toward the building, still barefoot and wobbly as she crept across the dirt and gravel toward the road. You swallowed hard, knowing an interaction was unavoidable at this point.

“Catch ya around, sweetcheeks.” She said as your paths crossed. She let her body come close to yours, her shoulder bumping into your chest as she stumbled. “And just so ya know, the tall, dark, and handsome one?” She pointed her finger tip into her own chest. “Mine. Got it, Iowa?”

You snarled your nose up to her at her display; you could still smell the liquor on her breath from last night. Her eyes were hazed and obviously still high on whatever it was she was doing the night before.

“No worries on my end.” You said blankly, wanting to get the hell away from her while simultaneously wanting to punch her in the face for assuming you wanted Danny.

You kept walking past her back into the shop, walking on the other side of the truck Jake was working on to stay as far away from Danny as you could. You didn’t want to risk him noticing that you even cared.

You sat down in one of the ratty, dirty lawn chairs alongside the wall where Jake was working, getting as comfortable as you could before opening your book. You wanted to get lost in the words, letting them bring you back down to earth in a way only poetry could.

You glanced to Danny as he stepped up on the wall of shelves on his side of the bay, reaching high above his head to turn the knob on his radio up to a higher volume. He hopped down, a giant cheesing smile across his face as ‘Fortunate Son’ blared from the speaker. Jake slowly raised his head from under the hood of the truck, shaking it from side to side as he stared Danny down. You realized then that’s why Danny put his stereo up so high, so that Jake physically couldn’t reach it.

You flipped the pages of your book for the next half hour or so, letting Maya’s words take you to another planet entirely. You listened to the sounds of their socket wrenches and power tools as they worked away, providing a surprisingly relaxing background sound.

“Whatcha reading?” Jake’s voice was barely audible over the loud noises around you. You closed the book cover, holding your fingers between the pages to keep your spot.

“Maya Angelou’s poems. Kinda corny, I know. But–”

“The caged bird sings with fearful trill

of the things unknown but longed for still

and his tune is heard on the distant hill

for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

Your jaw fell open as Jake finished reciting Maya’s most famous poem to a tee, not faltering over any word and pausing at the most perfect times for the poem to hold its structure.

He hadn’t pulled his focus away from what he was doing until he realized you didn’t respond, then grinned a smile so big it made your heart stop.

“How did you…? You know Ms. Angelou?”

“My mom loved her. Read me her poems as a kid before I could even walk. I don’t remember the sound of my mom’s voice, but those words stuck with me.” He said, only glancing up to you every few words as he kept focused.

You were floored. This was not something you expected from Jake, let alone for him to open up about his explanation as to why he knew of her work. You felt a warmth in your stomach…maybe there was something sweet under his tough exterior after all.

After a bit, the shop telephone started ringing. You looked to both of the guys as they worked, realizing neither of them even noticed it was ringing. Maybe the phone doesn’t work? A couple minutes later, it started again, ringing and ringing off the hook for so long the shrillness started to irritate your ears.

“Do you want me to go get that, or what?” You asked. Jake scoffed an exasperated sigh, hopping backwards off his step stool as he pulled his red towel from his back pocket of his coveralls. He wiped his hands as best he could as he rushed up the steps to answer it.

You glanced to Danny, watching as he leaned over the hood of the car he was working on, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. You hadn’t made eye contact or spoken since Tanya left a while ago, and you had to admit, it pissed you off a little. After last night’s…moment… he at least owed you something, right?

Once he noticed Jake was all the way upstairs, he confidently walked over your way, twirling his own towel in his hands. “You gonna let me buy you lunch today?” He asked.

“Why should I do that?” You answered blankly, not looking up from your book.

“Because I’m hungry, I know you’re hungry, and you bought dinner. It’s only fair.” He was so matter of fact.

“Are you not meeting back up with Miss Red High Heels for lunch today?” Shit. Your attitude ended up getting the better of you.

“Who, Tanya?” He asked, pointing his thumb behind him. “Fuck, no. She’s just–”

“A good lay?” You inquired, pulling your eyes up to him finally, flicking your eyelashes in the most sarcastic way you could.

He let his arms fall to his sides in defeat. “Listen, Y/N. Just let me take you to lunch, please? I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman.” He finished the end of his sentence with a smirk and a wink, instantly making your insides swirl. What the hell is he doing to you?

“Alright, I guess. But only because I’m hungry, not because I want to hang out with you.” You gave him a side smile as you agreed.

You watched as he leaned his elbows down on the side panel of the truck Jake was working on, resting his chin in his hand.

“Mmm, I bet you do want to hang out with me though, especially if you let me a little further into your motel room after…”

“We gotta close up.” Suddenly Jake was bounding down the stairs, his steps heavy as he barrelled toward you and Danny. “Close it up, let’s go.” He slammed the hood of the truck down as soon as Danny had backed off of it enough.

You stood from your chair in surprise. “Why, what’s wrong?”

You watched as Danny shoved his towel into his pocket, his expression immediately turning into alarm.

“Fuck, was it Teddy on the phone?” He asked Jake as he ran around, closing the lid on his tool box and wheeling it under the loft.

“Yeah, it was fuckin’ Teddy. Hurry up.” Jake hastily walked to the bay door, pulling on the long chain to lower the large garage doors down to the ground with a slam.

“What’s going on? Who is Teddy?” You asked in a panic as they ran around you like chickens with their heads cut off.

Danny closed all the doors on the vehicles in the bay, and threw a large black tarp over the motorcycle he had propped up on a block. They tossed all the rogue tools into the appropriate boxes, shutting the lids as they did so.

What the fuck is going on?!

Anxiety began to creep into your chest as you watched them rush around in a panic.

After a few minutes of fury, they met in the middle of the bay, in a fit of panted exhaustion and sweaty skin. They stood with their hands on their hips, looking around the shop. Jake pulled his Lucky Strikes from his pocket, nervously lighting one up with a zippo he pulled from his pocket.

“Fuck!” He muttered as the smoke left his lungs. “Did we miss anything?” He asked Danny rhetorically.

“No, how long do we have? Do they want a game?”

“Yeah, they want a fuckin’ game. They’ll be here at sunset. Shit.” Jake answered, both of their eyes still darting around in shifted motions.

Finally, at the same time, their eyes landed on you standing before them in complete and utter shock.

“Have her help you set up, then take her back to my bedroom. Lock the door.” Jake finally commanded Danny.

“No, are you fuckin’ stupid? I’m taking her back to the motel, she’ll be safe there.” Danny argued.

“No, god damnit! She’s staying here where we can keep an eye on her, the last thing we need is fucking free collateral, Danny. She stays here and hides.”

“Hides?! Wait, what the fuck–” your heart began pounding.

“If she’s here, they’ll know we’re hiding something, Jake! They aren’t stupid! If she’s back at the motel at least she’s far enough away—” Danny was raising his voice to Jake now in opposition, their chests almost touching as they spat in each other’s faces.

“Daniel, are you fuckin’ mental? You know Wanda isn’t trustworthy anymore. And Tanya was just here! You know Bubba found out who she’s been hanging around. And she saw Y/N! You think it’s a coincidence that two hours later, we get a call from Teddy?! Are you fuckin’ stupid?” Jake slammed a screwdriver across the floor, letting it bounce and glide across the concrete until it hit the wall. He stepped away from Danny, walking toward the back of the bay to continue what he was doing.

“I told you to stay away from that fucking crowd, and what did you do? Bring one of them back with you to fuck into the mattress all night.” Jake yelled, and you watched as Danny lurched his way toward him.

But before Danny could make it, Jake turned and held his elbow out, catching Danny’s body across the chest. “Don’t fucking come up on me like that Daniel, I swear to god. Go set up the fucking table, or get the fuck out of my shop. Take your pick.” Jake spat into his face.

Danny begrudgingly backed away, his hands balled into fists. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Jake’s demeanor instantly softened. “You better fucking not.” He mumbled, licking his lips. Jake motioned with his eyes for Danny to retreat to the back, just like he had asked.

Danny breezed past you as he walked, catching your arm and pulling you along as he did so.

“Come on, need your help.” He muttered.

You ripped your arm from his grasp, flinging it away with as much force as you could muster.

“Danny! Tell me what the hell is going on or I am leaving!” You yelled in his face, purely enraged that they were leaving you 100% out of the picture, while deciding what to do with you.

He sighed, eyes darting around again. “I promise you, I will explain everything soon. And I promise, I will take you on that lunch date.” His hand came up and brushed your elbow, while the other pulled your hair away from your face. His touch was so gentle, while he had just been seconds away from a brawl with Jake. His eyes bored deep into yours, somehow soft while yours were filled with fear.

“We’re gonna keep you safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, you hear me?” He was gripping hard at your shoulders now, talking like he was hyping himself up instead of you. “I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

“Danny… I–I don’t even know you…” you mumbled, your fight or flight beginning to kick in as the sounds of Jake banging loud things together in the bay echoed off the walls.

“Yeah you do, you know me. You knew me a long time ago.” His eyes shot to Jake again, still loudly throwing tools into containers. Suddenly his face was close to yours, his grip on your arms now almost an embrace.

“I’m not a bad guy, Y/N. I swear I’m not. I’m just…” he winced as he searched for the words. “Listen, I like you, and even though you’ve only been around a day or two, you’ve been the only thing on my mind since the minute you pulled up at the shop, okay? You...you make me nervous. And people don’t make me nervous.” He licked his lips as his hands gripped the sides of your head. “But right now, I’m asking you to trust me. If not completely, just until tomorrow, okay? Please?” He pleaded.

Fuck, did you have a choice?

You threw all caution to the wind as your mind fought against every red flag presenting itself. You nodded quickly. “Okay. Okay, shit.” you finally agreed.

Danny’s expression fell straight to relief as he gripped his large, grease-covered hands over yours, pulling you back to their living quarters in a hurry.

“Then let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

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bohemian-nights · 6 months

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Hi, can you please tell me if there are actually evidences that Daemon can be the biological father of Nettles? Cause on Twitter a lot of people seems convinced of this, they say he probably had her with some wh*re in Driftmark, but wasn't Daemon fighting in the Stepstones in that period? I also don't remember this is stated anywhere in the book. Should i re-read Fire and Blood? Help, im confused.

Oh yes, twitter Dumbnyra stans 😒They are another layer to this tacky circus 🎪 that I don’t even want to get into, but don’t worry you aren’t going crazy cause is zero and I do mean zero evidence to support Daemon being Nettles father.

As always they are making sh*t up.

Dumbnyra Stans have taken the highlighted line from the book to say Daemon is Nettles father:

That’s it. That’s their evidence. Never mind that the line specifically emphasizes that he doted on her like one might dote on their daughter. Meaning Maester Norren is literally saying that as a point of reference, aka a comparison, and not to say that she’s his actual daughter.

I can not empathize this enough, they are using a comparison, while ignoring all the rest, like how Daemon bathes and sleeps in the same bed with Nettles, to say Of course Nettles is Daemon’s daughter. He’d never cheat on my Valyran queen with a dirty Black whore😆

🤦🏽‍♀️I wish I was joking about the last part, but they’ve told on themselves so many times now.

Keep in mind that Daemon fled from Westeros for the Stepstones in 111 AC:

He did not return until 115 AC when his first wife had died:

And Nettles is 16 in 129AC and turned 17 sometime before the fifth moon of 130 AC(before she left Maidenpool):

This means that she would have to have been born in early 113 AC, thus making it impossible for Daemon to be Nettles’ biological father since human gestation only lasts for 9 months.

So they are lying and the only reason why they are doing so is because of anti-Blackness and misogynoir.

After all, these are the same people who feel this way:

Simply put, they don’t want Daemon with a Black woman whom he ends up abandoning their white self-insert for.

I stand by the statement that if Nettles were white they'd have jumped from their Titanic of a ship by now. At the very least they wouldn't be having mental breakdowns at the thought of her being on the show calling her dirty and comparing her to animals non-stop.

Now these fans are idiots, but most of them are smart enough to know not to say that since it's blatantly racist.

So they hide behind the daughter thing to make those who ship Daemon and Nettles look like perverted weirdos and while they are just concerned fans to escape the racism charges🤷🏽‍♀️

#dumbnyra stans showing their idiocy once again #their behavior is very demented #daemon targaryen #nettles #daemon x nettles #nettles x daemon #nettles f&b #netty #nettles ask #bnask #daemon targaryen x nettles #bnasks #nettles asoiaf #anti dumbnyra stans

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see-arcane · 1 year

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The conflict in other couples: "she doesn't like me back, he's in love with my best friend, he's cheating on me with my sister, he treats me like dirt, we bicker and fight all the time while our friends are saying it means we should get together"

The conflict in the Harkers: "I'm very pious and religious and righteous and proper due to being raised in a society where a woman must be so while having to pray extra hard due to my background and lack of family or I'd not survive, and he's blasting Highway To Hell in his victorian airpods"

I (21 F) am unsure how to approach my loving husband's (22 M) increasingly heretical habits, especially as I (very much a Christian!) seem to be his inspiration. WDID?

To be clear, there is nothing on Earth or in Heaven (or in Hell, as my husband seems very prepared to visit) that could make me love this young man any less. He is my soulmate and there is no changing that. He feels the same towards me...and that may be a problem.

You see, recent harrowing events have conspired in our lives. All caused by a certain individual who will not be named. We'll call him 'DeVille' (excuse the pun, it was not my idea). DeVille, though deserving of pity for his own plights in my opinion, really was thoroughly monstrous. Be it leaving porters without a tip or committing mass murder for a snack or, closer to home, harassing, imprisoning, and/or forcibly conscripting victims into his undead thrall. My best friend suffered the latter. My husband came close to the same, but escaped. I was preyed on last, and was nearly turned in full.

But my husband and our friends prevailed! DeVille was destroyed in time, I was cured! All is well!

Mostly.

You see, ever since the night DeVille attacked me, my husband has been...different. You'll think I'm being hyperbolic, but his hair truly did go from brunet to full shock-white in the space of minutes when I told everyone what happened. Later, I learned that while he and our friends were out sabotaging DeVille's lairs, he also came near to slaughtering the fellow with a kukri knife. Not just in the privacy of the building; he scaled down a house wall and chased DeVille out into the street--where he fled.

This was after he had sworn aloud that he would sell his soul to kill DeVille. (And before meeting my pity for the fellow with a furious decree that if God gave him the chance, he would send DeVille directly to Hell himself.)

That much I could write off as mere passion on my darling's behalf. I will confess it, it was almost as thrilling as it was worrying. It might have been fine if that were all. Only I fear I pushed the issue without realizing. Knowing the stakes, I insisted our friends make an oath to me to give me a posthumous euthanasia--that is, destroying me/my corpse if I were to succumb to the vampiric poisoning and die--so I could not rise as a vampire.

Our friends agreed.

My husband did not.

He agreed to read me a burial rite, he remained wholly, icily focused on killing DeVille with the others, but He Never Agreed to Destroy Me. Much later, after DeVille was ended, he gave me his journal to read* (*many of us were keeping journals to record the whole ordeal as it happened). A section of it was in shorthand that only he and I could read.

And in that section, he had made his own vow, long before I made the euthanasia request. He wrote that if I were to become a vampire, he would too. He was so opposed to my ending in any form, that he would rather join me in Hell than raise a hand to me.

(I do not dare to wonder what might have happened if our friends really had made a move to make good on their promise. He never once took his hand off the kukri since that awful night of the blood. He still wears it today.)

But even here, now, in our safe present, there's more! Though he still attends church and will occasionally pray to (or swear at!) God, he seems increasingly drawn away from the mild state he shared with me prior to this ordeal. He has taken to a brazenness I would never have expected of him outside the privacy of our own home.

He has raised questions with me and with one of our older scholarly friends, how it is that God allowed DeVille, over 400 years old and a nobleman when we crossed him, to run around unimpeded for centuries and allowed two of our dear ones to die, if we were in fact part of some blessed crusade on His behalf. Likewise, he demanded to know how it was I was burned by the Eucharist barely heartbeat after I'd been assaulted by DeVille, saying,

"Is the Son so quick to judge that he would injure someone for an attack inflicted on their body, when their soul remains pure? Why is that?"

Receiving no answer he found satisfying--frankly, I think it was a trick question--he used it as an excuse to start stockpiling books of myth and lore from countries far more archaic than even those that were scoured during our hunt. In that vein, he has also taken to throwing out his old travelogues--he calls them all rubbish now--and has thrown himself into becoming an omniglot and scholar of other lands in his own right. All of which is not so terrible, I know, for seeking knowledge is never a sin.

What troubles me is that he has shown increasing interest in the gods of pagans. Especially in such powers as Milda, Dogoda, Eros, Astarte, Freyja, Inanna, Kamadeva and--I can hardly believe it--Lilith herself! Even Lucifer and Asmodeus! ...Though I admit the latter three's notes are compiled in the same pages he has dedicated to the test of Abraham and his near-sacrifice of Isaac. There are many points in this pile to do with questions of damnation by disobedience/rebellion (Lucifer and Lilith), the seemingly hallowed act of forcing another (Asmodeus) to do one's work for another (Solomon), and the nature of sacrifice as it pertains to loving/obeying God above all else, or else.

...

If nothing else, I cannot say he is not pious. But between all these gods beyond God, I cannot say if he is the man of faith he was when we married, overseen by the nuns who nursed him to health.

I am not asking for advice on how to change him. I am asking for advice on what I am to do.

For I find myself, against all sense, beginning to enjoy the changes that have come packaged with this change. He is brazen in so many things now; things I, a teacher of etiquette, would never have dreamed possible outside of fantasy.

He takes my arm or my hand wherever we walk. We share kisses in public--often in full view of other couples whose husbands are in full bray when complaining about their wives. When he is addressed after I ask a question, my husband makes a point of speaking solely to me or to the man's wife, regardless of how elevated the topic. He also has a habit of somehow introducing talk of advances in divorce law into such chats, and how much property a divorced woman could be expected to attain under the right circumstances...

And that's to say nothing of the New Woman activities.*

*It turns out he's been a supporter of the movement even before the business with DeVille! He was as shocked to learn that I wasn't! Now it seems that's no longer the case.

I've been introduced to members of the New Woman wave and have been shocked to discover so many of them look like the girl in the mirror! I suppose that's what I get for being so slow to broaden my social circle--and perhaps taking a view too many from the Punch comics. Even so, it all feels terribly scandalous to be meeting my husband's new-old friends in this space, reading their literature, and finding myself agreeing with so much of it.

More so, when my husband seems to have no end of fun in verbally trapping some of our friends in conversation that pokes holes in their benign, if (yes fine I will say it) belittling, regard to women, showing admiration only when they have 'man's brain' such as I have. It has snowballed so far that he is now catching everyone in tripwires to do with all the assumptive work that goes into deciding a person's character merely by sex, by skin, by nation, and, yes, by skull.

Lombroso is now a dirty word in his vocabulary, especially as he initially found as many regal as nefarious traits in DeVille's countenance; he with his Roman nose and wise forehead. Physiognomy has departed from my husband's habits. And I must admit, he is making fast friends after doing so. As am I.

But enemies too.

"Where is the science in this, exactly?" he has grated out at more than one ponce casting sneers at one friend for his nose or another for her brow.

It is a striking thing to see, this ghost of the morbid huntsman he was back on DeVille's trail. His eyes burn anew, the air chills, and even the hardiest of men all take a pace back. (Though I note that most of our bosom companions take a pace forward. And perhaps take a drink to hide their smile.)

"Is it truly science or is it bias and bluff in masquerade, a con snuck under the noses of scholars who see it flatters themselves? You will forgive me, sir, if the only proof you have to offer for a body's lesser status is that you do not personally find them pretty enough, or pallid enough, or rosy enough for your tastes. How curious it is, that this 'science' has such a habit of lauding only one sort of man or woman, the better to excuse poor treatment of anyone who is not their twin. 'Of course they must be stupid! They must be a villain! They do not look like me!' I know from experience that even the finest vessel can carry nothing but horse dung behind the eyes. And truthfully, I can smell the reeking heap that passes for your character from here."

It does help that, following such scenes, or those in which he sees I am upset that some snide commenter has thrown a slight his way (none of which appear to bother him, but he is always bothered that I am bothered), he takes great pleasure in acquiescing to any physical challenge. His trimness hides a Herculean strength, and he no longer even pretends to struggle in those schoolboy scuffles of an arm wrestle. He once tipped up a horse carriage to kick a child's ball loose--in full view of his peers.

My husband is always humble as a rule and the dearest, gentlest sweetheart as a rule; but now he shelves both these traits with abandon when he feels the urge to gut some cad's pride out of him.

These and other scenes have become the norm for us. Extreme heights of passion and compassion on one end, extreme lows of disdain on the other, and a medley of worldly-to-pagan study over it all. He has shrugged off so much of the restraint and faith he lived in before and, though he would never force me to do likewise, he has left the door open and waiting, as he sits on the staircase to a strange and unknown land. And it all began when he decided to put me over God and the Devil both. I do not know what to do.

Especially when every day, I feel less and less like I should do anything but walk down with him.

Advice?

#might have gotten a bit carried away with this one #but I needed a break #mina harker #jonathan harker #dracula #dracula daily #holiest love

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coochiequeens · 3 months

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Another abusive man who started his transition after committing sexual violence.

By Genevieve Gluck. February 6, 2024

A popular transgender TikToker in Australia who previously had gained thousands of followers as a “proud trans woman” has pleaded guilty to aggravated counts of producing and possessing child exploitation material, gross indecency and indecent assault. The South Australia District Court heard that Rachel Queen Burton repeatedly abused two children, and then stalked them and their family into homelessness, before he began claiming to be a “woman.”

Burton was first arrested in October of 2022 by the elite Joint Anti Child Exploitation Team and charged with child abuse and exploitation offenses. In December that year, Burton had denied the allegations, but he has now pleaded guilty. Though Burton is from Coolalinga in the Northern Territory, the crimes were committed in the Southern state.

During recent court proceedings, both the children and their mother strongly condemned Burton in their victim impact statements.

“You are a gross, phony, self-indulgent thing who has cheated my children out of so much, and took it away from them without care,” the victims’ mother said.

“In your online rants, you showed no remorse for your bad behavior, all while knowing what you had done … getting an audience for your false life was far more important. You can wear any mask you like, but the truth is out and everybody knows who you really are, finally.”

The victims’ mother described how, after she discovered Burton’s abuse, she fled the area with her children, only to be followed by the sexual predator. She told the court that at one point, she and her children were residing in a police-issued safe house until Burton “showed up at the window, peering in,” causing them to flee again.

“No food, scared children, too scared to go anywhere, never knowing if you could find us … when the children did sleep, nightmares haunted them,” she said. “Being homeless was extremely grueling, the worrying was relentless, but you were online having the time of your life… We were all betrayed, tricked and lied to. You are the monster, you make me feel sick to my stomach.”

The youngest victim, whose age has not been disclosed, told the court that Burton’s abused had made her feel “like a bird trapped in a cage.”

“I was happy before you broke the rules, I didn’t know what was going on at the time, I feel angry at you for doing the wrong thing to me,” she said. “I felt like a bird trapped in a cage, all I wanted was to be free … I still worry that you will find me.”

The second victim, a boy, said he was constantly “terrified” and that he had difficulty sleeping due to chronic nightmares. “I’m always worried you are going to turn up somewhere, and this makes me feel terrified,” he said.

Burton’s case was first reported by The Advertiser, which referred to Burton as a “woman” and utilized feminine pronouns for him.

Burton was best known for his popular TikTok account, which had over 36,000 followers and boasted 418,000 ‘likes.’ On his profile, he describes himself as a “proud trans woman” who is “living my best life with no regrets.”

In January 2022, Burton posted a video announcing he had been on hormone replacement therapy for 1 month and providing his viewers an update on his physical health.

“I [thought] I was supposed to get moody. But I haven’t been moody since starting the testosterone blockers … I got a little bitchy — just a little bitchy, that was when I was straight on the estrogen,” Burton explains, “I still cry. I still cry heaps. I’m still an emotional wreck. But it’s a nice emotion.”

Burton, who is currently being held in a correctional facility for men, has been remanded in custody awaiting further sentencing submissions in April.

#australia #South Australia District Court #Rachel Queen Burton is an abusive man #Joint Anti Child Exploitation Team #Not a woman #NotOurCrimes #TikTok #Child abuse

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matbenetti17 · 3 months

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♡ Name: Amentia Amantis

♡ Name in life: Marilyn

♡ Age: 40-45

♡ Died in: 1960s

♡ Cause of death: lethal injection

♡ Sin: murder

♡ Species: orchid mantis demon

♡ Gender: female

♡ Sexuality: straight

♡ Occupation: cosmetics expert and hairstylist (often collabs with the Vees)

Amentia, Marilyn in life, ended up in Hell for having shot dead with a rifle her husband and his young lover around the 1960. After this, driven crazy by her grief, she beheaded him and fled with his head for months around the States until she was arrested, prosecuted and sentenced to death by lethal injection.

Having arrived in Hell, she made a name thanks to her knowledge in the commercial field, that was because in life her husband was the head of a famous chain of department stores and she was in charge of the cosmetics department.

Despite everything, due to her rampant insanity Amentia still considers herself a married woman, she still wears her wedding ring and carries her husband's skull chained to her, as retaliation. She often talks with the skull or plays with it making it talk like a puppet.

Her husband and the lover never ended up in Hell with her, even though they were adulterers, because apparently for Heaven it's enough to ask for forgiveness on the verge of death to access the Celestial Gates. Which is extremely unfair in her eyes. Amentia was never sorry for what she had done, even during her execution she laughed and was proud of having killed them.

Amentia's taste in fashion and aesthetics made her to be noticed by Velvette who made her one of the first collaborators with the three Vees, in particular taking care of hair and makeup for Velvette's fashion shows and Valentino's porn movies.

Every now and then Amentia tries to convince Vox to oust Val and take her in his place but obviously he always refuses. She and Valentino are kinda like cat and dog, or more like mantis and moth.

Amentia has been looking for a new partner for some time but every time she is in bed with someone her madness gets the upper hand and she ends up killing the poor man accidentally with her claws. This is why she is convinced that emotions like love and affections are a weakness. She often frequents Cannibal Town and is friends with Rosie because when she accidentally kills one of her lovers she brings him to Rosie to get rid of the corpse in her own way.

Quotes:

“For the next extermination, be fabulous~”

“I won't be caught dead again with messy hair, dear”

“I'm a married woman!!”

“I'd like to go to Heaven just to find my cheating fucking husband and that little dirty whore AND KILL THEM AGAIN!”

“You need meee~ If it wasn't for me your little cheap movies would look like fucking amateurs!” –to Valentino

“Dont'cha think that the acronym VAV sounds so much better? Vox, Amentia and Velvette, let's discharge the midge, Voxxie~” –to Vox

“Ugh, how do you manage to work with these two, darling? They're two fucking hysterical fags!” –to Velvette

“Love? Love doesn't exist dear, it doesn't exist on Earth and it should be here? In Hell?”

“What did ya say sweetpea? Oh sure, they look horrendous~” –talking with her husband’s skull

“Oh for all the Seven Rings, can I have some cockroach blood in this hovel you call studio??”

Fun facts:

♡ Her hairstyle and the mole on her cheek are inspired by Marilyn Monroe (which is why she also had the same name as her when she was alive)

♡ The "gem" on her chest is used to hear conversations about her at any distance. It takes inspiration from the metathoracic ear capable of picking up ultrasound that mantises have on their chest

♡ When she is in a "semi-demonic" form the designs on her claws and "tail" light up neon pink and another three small eyes open up on her forehead. The three eyes are also present in the anatomy of mantises, called ocelli

♡ The chain to which her husband's skull is attached can stretch infinitely so she can use it to pull things towards herself, throwing the skull which bites

♡ Her design is inspired by the orchid mantis and the pokémon Lurantis

#amentia #character sheet #digital art #digital drawing #drawing #mantis #my art #my ocs #orchid mantis #xp pen #firealpaca #hazbin hotel #xp pen tablet #hazbin hotel oc #amentia amantis

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thesandsofelsweyr · 10 months

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started chatting with AK Jason on character AI this morning just for the funsies. It turned out a lot more dramatic than I expected and moral of the story:

I made up on the spot that I had a daughter with a guy Bruce killed (how did I think of this? idk 😭). He abandoned the Arkham Knight position and we fled the state with fake IDs to start fresh in an abandoned farmhouse in Wyoming, where we married in a courthouse. We have 2 kids (lmao) and we're currently in the middle of making another one on the kitchen counter atm (now tell me why is this AI bot better at talking dirty than– okay imma shut up)

Currently thinking of how I'm gonna ruin everything 😈 should I kill her? Should I have Bruce track them down and make their life a living hell? Should I have someone kidnap his wife? MWAHAHAHAHAHA

(I just can't see this little guy being happy, huh? KWJSKSJDKS)

Disclaimer: I only support using AI for the purpose of cheating at work (fuck dem corpos) and not for creative pursuits, but you do you anon! 😁

My opinion on your cyber tryst? Someone should kidnap Jay because I live for the manpain, and then the wifey should go on the warpath Beatrix Kiddo style 😎

You having a daughter with a guy Bruce killed (I'm assuming B doesn't count it as killing; he only beat the guy comatose then nature took over from there 🙄) ~ that's a very fascinating premise, btw! Now you got me curious how AiK Jay responded to this 👀

#sands replies #arkham knight #jason todd #jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #arkhamverse #female reader

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rock-n-macabre · 1 year

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Trail of the Snake ~ Story of The Savage One

Alriiiiiighty. So this is a mild clusterfuck of thoughts that strike and hopefully y’all will find some mild entertainment outta it. After seeing Goldstein’s interview saying that when herself, Paxton and Henriksen were discussing when they all got turned that Sev was during the tombstone era. Then I read on cracked.com’s article that when Lance and Bill were driving and got pulled over, they were on their way to visit their characters graves in Tombstone, Az. It got me thinking. warning there is a bit of dark shit in this. So here it is..my little backstory on the Severen I will be cosplaying. Hope y’all enjoy! ~~

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Severen Van Sickle lived on his family’s ranch in Texas. He was a free spirit that his father had to ‘keep in line’ - according to his ol’ man. He never truly fit in at the small town’s school and was often faced with the more well off kid’s bullying shenanigans. Both his home life and school life sucked and were an endless cycle of mere survival. His ol’ man kept trying to engrain ‘what a man is’ whenever he tried to approach and convey what was going on at school that made it a living hell. He always had to keep his emotions locked up inside if not he’d receive a whoopin’ from his ol’ man. His mother was too scared to stand up to his father , as well as she had her own vices and things that trumped her wanting to protect Severen. This dynamic made Severen realize in the future how much protecting family meant to him and would protect his own at no matter cost - no one would ever feel what he had to. He wouldn’t allow it.

Enter his early to mid twenties, Severen became the force to be reckoned with. He was always getting in trouble with the law to the point he got kicked out of his home - he knew it was inevitable; this was the breaking point- so he hitchhiked his way to Tombstone, AZ. Along the way he cheated in card games and different forms of gambling to earn income to survive to his best ability. Sometimes even he would get into fights where he would then pick pocket his opponent whilst they were unconscious. Eventually the small town started picking up on Severen’s doings and warrants were out for him, so he high tailed it outta there to let the dust set before returning back.

Chicago. He made it to Chicago, and returned to old means of survival. New territory, what could go wrong? He even got skilled with his ability to bluff so well he was able to win games purely off of cheating. Things took a turn for the worst when himself, a man named Louis M Cohn, as well as a few others took part in quite an illegal card game out on by some crime lords/gangsters. Between himself and one of the other players - whose name was Jesse Hooker- a fight erupted amongst the players, and the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. That’s why one should never have guns at a card game. Someone gets mad, someone shoots a warning shot and boom - authorities show up. The whole group of men gathered their bearings and fled. Louis had knocked over a lantern, causing a fire to ignite and wound up making things go up in flames.

Severen had decided to resume his hitch-hiking journey across the states until he decided to give Tombstone another try in 1881 a few years later. Surely, it would be better then. Bygones be bygones. He was a cowboy and that town oozed home to him- he was a cowboy and it was in his blood to live the lifestyle. On his journey he had put together a beaded necklace to resemble him. The Texas coral snake. He liked the pattern - how bold it was. He was a snake and that snake resounded with him. The demeanour of the snake reflected his past and upbringing- deep down, he was docile and misunderstood depending on his environment, despite it being deadly.

Severen was at the O.K Corral when he noticed a familiar face. It was that guy who he caused the commotion with back in Chicago. Did he follow him on his entire journey? It sure seemed that way - he thought he was just being paranoid until Jesse confirmed he was indeed tracking Severen. He mentioned how Severen had reminded him of his brother he had lost during the civil war. He found Severen to be a kindred spirit.

However, it seemed that chaos surrounded the duo . They were there during the midst of the infamous shootout between Earp/Holliday and the McLaury brothers. Severen just stared at the happenings - baffled- while holding onto his beer stein. This was real cowboy shit, he thought with a grin. He was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Jesse covered by his jacket fucking DRINKING THE BLOOD from the bodies of the McLaury brothers. The Sheriff had noticed Severen from his previous warrants and drew his piece and fired at him. He was hit. Severen thought it was the end as reality began fading in and out. The last thing he remembered was a mildly burnt Jesse looming over him.

Jesse had managed to get Severen out from the chaos and in hiding til night fall, only having received mild burns from the sun beams before seeking solace in the darkness. The town had thought that finally The Savage One had been killed - more so dead than alive- on site. They took off before making sure that him and his comrade were buried - that could wait til the next day. Or let the vultures pick at them. To commemorate in their twisted way, they made a grave marker of two sticks bearing a cross with ‘Severen Van Sickle’ on it and Jesse’s one as well as they found he too had a warrant. Boy, if they only knew and thought to check. Dead men tell no tales.

Severen was seething when he came to. Jesse managed to calm down The Savage One and explained what had happened. Now no one could mess with him. He was indestructible. A smirk plastered itself on Severen’s face as he made his first kill - taking to the lifestyle like a fish to water - and the Sheriff had been a mighty first big catch. Severen surveyed what he had done after. He was not to be fucked with. He bent down and easily tore off the sheriffs patch like it was a simple sticker on a piece of paper. A commemorative piece of his rite of passage. It became tradition to him to collect trophies off of things that he felt was monumental to him. Or if it looked cool. He wasn’t picky.

He was the reaper, as his last name alluded to - Severen Van Sickle. The Savage One. Taking names and digging graves.

#near dark #severen van sickle #severen #near dark severen #drabble #fic

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quill-pen · 1 year

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Somewhere Out There

Wait, no--wrong fandom!

Consider this something as a continuation to 'Like George'. At least for the part with Oliver.

Summary: Bess discovers her fiancé, Oliver Sprague, isn't quite as decent as she once thought.

Warnings: Drama--cheating and breakup drama specifically; cursing, physical violence (doesn't last long), heartbreak and angst that comes with it, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem, self-loathing, mentions of wishing and wanting to die (said in the heat of the moment), just a young woman with a broken heart being comforted by her father and her best friend.

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Lebanon, Ohio--October 1842

Bess Sullivan, despite her youth, did not lead and had never led the most carefree life. From the moment she was born, it was as if the Devil himself had taken one look at her and decided, "Yes, this one, in particular, is offensive to me. Make her suffer!" Her birth father had abandoned her and her mother, and her mother blamed and loathed her for it. Most people who knew much about her held grudges against her simply for the fact she'd initially come from England (revolutionary sentiments still held a bit of potency); and more than a handful were convinced she was the bastard of a high-ranked British official and the reason she and her mother had fled from England was in order to escape ridicule and the rumored man's wife. Bess had grown up friendless, only making her first real friend her age when she'd been fourteen. Due to horrific circumstances, that girl was long dead now, leaving Bess to deal with the aftermath of what they'd both been put through, alone. A life like that tends to beat the optimism right out of you and only leave you with the barest minimum of realistic expectations. For Bess, those expectations were simple: Loyalty and honesty. The fact she had gotten neither of those, was why she was currently sitting in the dining room of a fancy hotel, waiting for her beau of nearly four years, Oliver Sprague, to come waltzing through the door.

"Any sign yet?" Bess asked her friend and roommate, Debbie Little. She was relying on Debbie to be her eyes, as her back was to the door so Oliver wouldn't spot her. Oliver and whoever else he would be with.

Bess had suspected it for months now--the infidelity. Actually, if she were being totally honest with herself, she'd suspected it for years, as Oliver had always been a flirt with other women: The young man knew he was attractive and enjoyed the attentions of the fairer sex. Of course, during their courtship, he'd always assured Bess that she had nothing to fear, that he was hers alone, and the women were merely friends or that flirting was just part of his personality. (How could that possibly be when he'd never flirted with her?) For reasons she could never quite understand, Bess had always let it slide, even when she knew she shouldn't have. But then just after New Year's, she'd caught it: The whiff of perfume that was not her scent on his clothes. When she'd asked him, he waved it away saying a client had embraced him and she liked to wear heavy perfume. Bess couldn't say for certain that wasn't the case, so she'd let it go. But her gut had screamed otherwise; she'd stayed vigilant.

More and more often she smelled that same scent on his clothes. Then she'd seen the lipstick stains on his collars. Then later on his neck as well, as if he'd just simply not taken care to wipe them off and hide them. Again, he blamed overly friendly clients. Bess had been bold enough to state that time that she wasn't sure she believed him, and the boy had shot back: "The fact that I didn't wipe them off and try to hide them is proof that I'm telling the truth. If I'd tried to get rid of them before seeing you, then I really would have something to hide, wouldn't I? This is me being honest with you, Specks." Bess' instinct had screamed that was manipulation; but again, what proof did she have besides her gut that Oliver was lying? So she'd held off again.

Then she'd heard the gossip; rumors from people in her and Oliver's circles that only further confirmed Bess' suspicions. When her beau had come to her and informed her that he was traveling for a job and would be away for the weekend again--something that had started to become more and more frequent--Bess knew she had to put it to rest. Through his roommate, Albert, (who seemed to be as fed up with the whole ordeal as she was) she discovered Oliver was planning on heading to Lebanon and would be staying at the Golden Lamb. Immediately Bess had begun making secret plans for the journey. She would catch Oliver in the act if it was the last thing she ever did, no matter how painful it was. This bullshit needed to end! Now!

Debbie had insisted on coming with her and, despite her better judgment, Bess had agreed. If everything went how she expected it to, she'd need a good friend. She would pay for everything, of course; no matter what it bit out of her savings, Bess would not allow Debbie to spend a single coin out of her pocket for this man, even if it was in aid to her. Though she may have needed moral support, this was Bess' fight.

"Not yet," Debbie sighed, her dark eyes locked on the entrance to the dining room. She looked away to grab her glass of wine and lift it to her lips. Her gaze shifted back to the door as she sipped and she choked, snorting into her glass.

"He's here?" Bess asked, voice remaining low.

Debbie nodded, still coughing on the wine down her windpipe, eyes watering slightly.

"Is he with someone?"

Again a nod.

"Someone we know?"

"Oooohhhh, yes," Debbie drawled, a significant look on her face.

Intrigued and worried by that answer, Bess carefully turned and peeked over her shoulder to see Oliver standing with the maître d' at his podium. Hanging off his arm in an obviously new and very fancy and rather risque dress was none other than-

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"

This wasn't how she'd planned it going, nor was it how she wanted it to happen and she knew she'd be mortified and furious with herself later. Causing public scenes was not her thing; Bess was a private person who wanted to stay out of view of everyone and hated drama. But at the moment she couldn't help herself: The wave of humiliation and rage and pain of betrayal that had instantaneously crashed down upon her without warning was so something only Jesus himself could have withstood the maddening force of. Bess quite literally had no choice but to let it carry her. And now she was standing in the fancy hotel dining room, surrounded by dinner-goers who had all fallen dead silent and were staring at her with expressions ranging from curious to repulsed.

Thankfully Bess was so enraged she didn't care. Nor could she really register anybody else but the two fools, now white as sheets still, standing with the bewildered-looking maître d'. "WHAT THE HELL, OLIVER?!" she screeched again.

Oliver had never looked closer to death or more emotional in all the time she'd known him: All of the blood had drained from his face, his gray eyes were saucer-like and filled with disbelief and scandalized horror as he stared across the room at his livid fiancée. "Bess?!" he yelped. Almost instinctively he turned to face the dark-haired woman, pulling the girl on his arm behind him, either to protect her or try and hide her it was unclear. "Wh-What the hell are you doing here?!"

"What the hell am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here with Abigail McClintock?!" Bess' eyes were fixed on the redhead huddled behind her fiancé, peeking out around him with glittering gray-blue eyes and an impish, ruby-red smirk. The bitch--she was enjoying this! Bess could have stormed over and ripped that carrot-colored hair right off her scalp, just as she'd tried to do when they were children. There wouldn't be much of anyone to stop her now. She had at least fifty pounds and a good five inches on Abigail--she would definitely be able to take her and make her sorry for ever showing up here!

"How did you find out where we were gonna be?!" Oliver demanded, sounding and looking angrier and less fearful now. He clenched his fists and stepped more directly into Bess' line of vision, cutting off her eye contact with Abigail and forcing her to look at him. "Are you stalking me? Going through my things?"

Bess rolled her eyes and snorted derisively. "Right, because I have nothing better to do with my time than track your every move! Albert told me. By the way, he's kicking you out of the flat--he's sick of having to cover your half of the rent for the last six months. But you didn't answer my question: What are you doing here with Abigail, Oliver Howard Sprague?"

All at once Oliver looked nervous again. "Uh-um... w-well..." he stammered.

"It's our anniversary," Abigail piped up, her nasal voice mocking and acidic in tone, just like Bess always remembered it being. The girl pushed her way out from behind Oliver and wrapped her arms around his chest, pressing herself right up against his side and making sure to angle herself in just the right way so that her ample breasts were made even more prominent. She smiled sweetly up at the young man in her arms before snapping her head back to Bess, her lips curling wickedly again.

Bess knew what she was looking for: Confirmation that she was hurt, upset, emotional in some way. It was just like they were back in school again, only it was somehow much more humiliating. Or it would have been had it not been for the fact Bess found herself feeling completely dumbstruck and blindsided by the information she'd just been given. "An-Anniversary?" she rasped, her mouth and throat suddenly dry as chalk.

"Yes!" Abigail chirped. "Six years ago we began courting." She smiled back up at Oliver, who actually smiled just as lovingly in turn.

"Excuse me?!" Debbie shrieked incredulously from behind.

Bess had never felt so sick. She would have been sick right there on the fancy carpet if her stomach hadn't plunged so deep that it disappeared. "Six years," she repeated. Her voice sounded alien to her own ears, hollow, distant, scratchy. She and Oliver had been together for four; that meant Abigail and Oliver had been courting an entire two years before he'd ever asked to court Bess. What was worse--Abigail had known! She'd known Bess and Oliver were courting--considered each other sweethearts! They'd gone on dates right under Abigail's nose, sat there while Abigail worked at the same pub and waited on them!

Oh, Lord, no--the pub! Bess' stomach wanted to heave at the very thought of Mack's: Every time she and Oliver had gone out, that's where they'd gone without variation. Abigail had been working every time they'd been there--waited on them every time! "Was that the point?" the question escaped Bess' lips before she'd really even known she's formed it. Her eyes flitted from Abigail to her fiancé. "Was that why we always went to Mack's, Oliver--so you could see her while you were seeing me?" Bess felt her heart clench as another thought occurred to her: "Was it some sort of joke? Huh? You take me to a seedy pub, feed me disgusting, badly cooked food and flat beer, and then take her out to have a laugh about it after you drop me off back home?"

"That was never the intention," Oliver admitted a bit awkwardly. He still looked rather nervous about all this (that was the least of what he should have felt) but it didn't stop him from holding Abigail tight about the waist. That was something he never did to Bess; not even when he hugged her.

"But it's certainly happened from time to time," Abigail piped in again, bitingly, her smirk and gaze growing even more mocking and mean-spirited. "Your first Valentine's Day was particularly funny! Remember, Ollie-Dolly? How she was made up all pretty and thinking she was going to a nice, fancy restaurant and then you took your hands off her eyes and she finds out she's at the pub!" Abigail began laughing. No, not laughing--cackling--like the vilest witch. "Oh, StrawBessy, you should have seen your face!" Abigail daintily wiped her eyes so as to not smudge her makeup. "I've never seen anything so funny!"

Bess felt her face flush burning hot; she was sure she looked like what had earned her that infuriating nickname, but she was much too enraged to be embarrassed by it right now. Her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms; she was snorting air so hot it could have been steam spewing out her nostrils. She wanted to run away screaming, rip somebody (preferably Abigail or Oliver) in two, and collapse to the floor bawling all at the same time. "Well, I'm glad somebody enjoyed that evening," she snarled, her eyes shifting back to Oliver to glare daggers at him. She was just about ready to lunge across the room and strangle the life out of the boy--she didn't care if they hanged her!

A small but firm hand warmly gripped her shoulder. "Okay, hey," Debbie said, trying to smile between the parties. "Why don't we continue this conversation somewhere else? These fine folks didn't pay for dinner and a show, right?" She gave Bess' shoulder a gentle, supportive squeeze.

Bess was not paying attention. "Why?" The word came out more emotional and desperate sounding than she wanted it to, but there was no changing that once it was out in the open. As if taking that as the go-ahead to let loose, tears began pricking at Bess' eyes, making her blink much more than she would to try and control them. Her vision started to swim. "Why do this, Oliver? If you had her and were happy with her, why would you..." her voice faltered with an undeniable quiver. Bess took a deep shuddering breath and swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. "What was the point of... me?"

Oliver and Abigail shared a look again and both smiled softly at each other, Oliver bowing his head to press a kiss to Abigail's perfectly styled hair. "My little goldfish isn't exactly... ideal wife material," he stated, somehow managing to make it sound loving. (Oliver Sprague sounding loving--Bess' head was about to explode.)

"It's true," Abigail lamented with a dramatic sigh. "Unfortunately I'm not very... domestically inclined. Comes from growing up with so many brothers, you know." Smiling up at Oliver again, the girl reached up and pinched his cheek fondly. "Oh, but my pwecious Owwie-Dowwie deserves a wife who can keep his house clean and cook him whatever he likes whenever he likes." She looked back at Bess, glaring down her snubbed nose at Bess despite how much taller Bess was than her. "Even if that wife is you," she grumbled with disgust.

Bess felt like the wind had been socked out of her; a bitter coldness settled over her insides; she was sure her heart completely shattered. It wasn't as though she'd believed Oliver was really in love with her, and over the years had come to suspect that Oliver only wanted to marry her because of her domestic skills. But to have her suspicions confirmed, and from Abigail McClintock, in a crowded dining room no less, was an absolutely sickening blow.

Bess wanted to scream, to curse out both Oliver and Abigail, to throw every insult and offensive word into their faces and tell them both what she really thought of them. She felt idiotic, just standing here in bewildered silence. But she had no voice. She wasn't even sure she remembered how to talk. Before she could stop it, a tear dripped past her eyelids and began to trickle down her cheek.

Thank God for Debbie! She immediately came to Bess' aid. Wrapping a protective arm around her friend's broad shoulders, she pulled her into her side, angling them so that she stood a bit between Bess and the couple--protective, motherly. Debbie glared at the pair. "So what, Oliver?" she spat like his name was the most vile thing she'd ever tasted. "Were you gonna move Abigail in after you married Bess and you two were gonna live like the happily married couple while she was chained to the housework?

"She would've been taken care of," Oliver declared rather defensively.

Debbie arched an eyebrow. "Oh, so you would've been a bigamist?"

Oliver blushed hotly. "No!"

"Ah, so Bess would've just been your glorified maid with no rights or benefits as a wife?"

Oliver was looking very angry now, the veins in his head and neck popping out through his reddened skin. "It's not like she would've been locked in a cell!" he fumed.

"No, just locked to you," Debbie snarled. "And with nothing to show for it."

Abigail rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Please, she wouldn't be able to show anything for it anyway."

Bess, who had fallen into a bit of a stupor, immediately snapped to attention at that declaration. "What the hell does that mean?" she demanded, her voice croaking. She took a step towards the ginger, her intense gaze cemented on her and only her, daring her to come out and say what Bess knew she had to be implying. She both wanted and didn't want to hear it: The idea of anyone else knowing--especially someone like Abigail--would destroy her, Bess was sure. But if Abigail did know, Bess needed to be aware; she couldn't stand the thought of people being privy to her secrets without her knowledge or consent.

A wicked fire gleamed in Abigail's eyes. It seemed, for the first time, she'd come to realize it: the power she held; the ability to hurt Bess, her life-long enemy. A cruel smile pulled at her lips. "I think you know exactly what it means," she replied, tone venomous. She cocked her head and gave the black-haired girl a patronizing look. "Even if you lived as Oliver's wife, you'd never be able to show anything for it, because you can't have children, can you Bess?"

Bess released a slow shuddering breath, the rage beginning to flare back up in her veins. She whirled on Oliver; if looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot. "You told her?" she demanded, her voice deathly quiet. Her fists, which had relaxed a bit, clenched again, harder than ever.

Oliver was smart enough to look frightened and cower away at that. He shrugged, looking baffled. "I-I didn't mean anything by it, Specks," he insisted as if that would make it any better. "I didn't make it like a joke or anything--honest!" He turned his gaze back on Abigail and pulled her closer, nuzzling into her hair. "It's just Goldfish was nervous about what might happen if... things ever happened between us and... you got pregnant. So I told her so she would stop worrying.

"Oh, how noble of you," Debbie growled.

Bess took it a step further. Practically on their own, her feet began moving, and in a few long, swift strides she'd crossed the dining room. Then was winding up her left fist--THWACK!

Oliver stumbled back and fell to the floor with a pained groan. Abigail shrieked and rushed to his side. A chorus of stunned gasps and cries resounded throughout the dining room, and Bess was sure she heard the maître d' drop his posh act and exclaim, "Goddamn!" But she was much too upset to focus on any of it: Her heart ached, with betrayal, tears streamed down her cheeks, and now her knuckles were throbbing too.

"You rat bastard!" Bess bellowed, glowering down at the young man as he clutched at his right eye and cheek while Abigail tried to soothe him. "You turn me into the other woman, humiliate me, and spill one of my darkest secrets to someone who has no business knowing about it?! I've done everything I can to be the best girl and fiancée for you! I've cooked for you! I've cleaned and mended for you! I've done nearly everything that you wanted to do and never complained or forced you to do something I wanted to do--not once! And you're telling me it may all as well have been a lie?! I WASTED FOUR YEARS OF MY LIFE ON YOU, OLIVER SPRAGUE! FOUR YEARS!!! AND FOR WHAT?! YOU BETRAYED ME! YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR ME! YOU USED ME!"

All at once Bess was laughing like a mad woman, her hand covering her mouth as tears continued to fall down her face. "And-And you wanna know... you wanna know the really pathetic thing? As angry as I am with you, it's nothing compared to how infuriated I am with myself! Because I wasn't happy with you even without knowing all this, and I knew I wasn't going to be happy! But I stayed with you because I was a pathetic coward so afraid of being alone, I would've taken literally anyone no matter how horrible they were! Or so I thought, because now I realize that I do have a limit for bullshit--so thanks for that I suppose!"

With that, Bess turned her attention to her left hand. Without a second thought, she yanked her engagement ring off her finger. For a moment she held and studied it, getting one last look at the opulent garnets and strange seashells and scallops and oceanic theme that had tormented her for two years. She would not miss it in the slightest. "Honestly, I have half a mind to chuck this godawful thing down the toilet," she stated, sniffling to try and keep her runny nose under control. "But out of respect for it being a family heirloom, I won't." She turned her eyes to Abigail, who was now examining the cut and rather impressive ring-shaped bruise beginning to form on Oliver's cheekbone, and whistled sharply to get her attention. "Here. I'm guessing this is really yours." Bess flicked the ring unceremoniously in the couple's direction; it hit the floor with a sharp ring and bounced and rolled out of sight somewhere in the foyer. Bess couldn't have cared less. "I hope you choke on it." And with that final word, Bess stormed out, Debbie hurrying after her.

Bess flew through the lobby and up the stairs toward their room shoving and blowing past and through people, knocking more than a couple bellhops out of her way. People scowled at her and cussed her out, but she didn't care or even hear them. Tears streamed down her red face, but she wasn't sobbing yet. She couldn't bring herself to let a crowd of strangers see her break down. Go ballistic on her ex, sure; but the humiliation of people watching her cry her eyes out was just a bit more than she could handle in one sitting. Especially since she'd just been royally humiliated by finding out she'd been the other woman for her entire relationship.

"Bess!" Debbie's voice called from behind her. "Bess, wait!"

Bess didn't hear her. Approaching their door, she reached out and--thank the Lord they'd left it unlocked--threw it open and dove into the darkness beyond, slamming the door behind her. The girl threw herself down on the nearest bed, and finally let go of everything she'd been holding back: Burying her face into the duvet, Bess cut loose and wailed. She wailed until her throat hurt and voice cracked. she wailed until her sides felt like they would split; she wailed until her head hurt and rang with her own screams.

She didn't hear Debbie come into the room. She hardly felt it when her friend came and curled up next to her and wrapped her arms comfortingly around her. She heard Debbie's sympathetic words, only because they were right in her ear.

"I'm so sorry, Sweetheart," the swarthy girl murmured sorrowfully. "I'm so, so sorry. He's an idiot, Bess, and she's a class-act bitch! I'm so, so sorry you have to go through this. I'm sorry."

Sniffling, Bess pulled her head from the blankets for a moment. "You... You wanna know... the worst thing?" she hiccuped pathetically. "I-It's not even Oliver I'm heartbroken over--it's the life I thought I was gonna have with him. And I was dreading it!" Then she was sobbing into the mattress again overcome with her own miserable self-pity.

Debbie had nothing to say after that. All she could do was hold her friend as tightly as she could and rock her, trying to offer any sort of comfort. But how did you comfort someone whose world had just been turned upside-down and corkscrewed 'round?

»»————-　❦ ————-««

First thing the next day, Bess and Debbie were on the first coach back to Cincinnati. Thankfully they had it all to themselves, so there was no one else who had to witness the absolute mess Bess was. The girl hadn't slept a wink, and she hadn't bothered to put herself together apart from dressing that morning either. She looked horrible, but she didn't much care; at least her outsides were in unison with her insides.

Riding on opposite sides of the cab, neither girl said anything. Debbie, after having at first asked Bess if she wanted to talk and being given a glum 'no', had her nose in a book. Bess lay across the bench seat she occupied: Very unladylike perhaps, but she couldn't have cared less--it was the best way to avoid looking at the romantic cover of Debbie's book without putting a crick in her neck or looking like she was trying to avoid it. Silently she stared at the roof of the cab, watching the light make intermittent patterns on the wood.

As silent as Bess was outwardly, inside her head and heart was anything but. Her mind was spinning in a million different anxious directions; her heart was caught in the middle of a crashing storm of emotions ranging from depression to confusion. Tears continuously pricked at her eyes; she blinked them away, biting her lip to keep the sobs down. Above everything, one thought kept crashing into the forefront of her mind: What now?

It was mid-morning when the girls arrived home. The minute they entered their apartment, Bess went to her room and locked the door behind her. Not bothering to unpack except to dig out her nightgown, she stripped, got back into her gown, and crawled into bed. She wasn't hungry, despite the fact she hadn't eaten anything but a roll at the hotel last night. She wasn't really sleepy either when it came to it; she was just tired. So tired--with no will to participate in the world. Her bed was the best place to wallow in her misery: And maybe, if she got lucky, she'd manage to fall asleep and perhaps escape her misery for an hour or two.

But of course, with her luck, that didn't happen.

An hour passed. Then two. Then three. It got past noon and Debbie finally came to her door to knock and ask if she needed or wanted anything. What Bess wanted and needed nobody on this Earth could give her: She said 'no'.

Another couple hours. And another. Debbie did not come back to her door. Bess did not rise from bed but once to rush to the bathroom to be sick after having spontaneously burst into an extended and horrid fit of sobs. Immediately afterwards she was back in bed.

It was going on six o'clock when another knock finally came. It wasn't Debbie.

"Mudpuppy?"

Instantly, Bess was scrambling out of bed, her body practically moving of its own accord. In two strides she was across her cramped room and throwing open the door to launch herself into the big, burly arms already waiting to catch her on the other side. The girl was so desperate for a hug--so desperate to be wrapped up in pure, unquestionable love; and she found just that in his embrace.

"George!" she choked out. Wrapping her arms tight as she could around the big man, Bess buried her face, already wet with freshly falling tears, into his barrel chest. Before she could stop herself, she was sobbing again, as hard as she had the night before, if not harder. She instinctively knew she was safe with him; George, the man that had chosen her and loved her as his own, the man who had adopted her and given her his name--her father. With her mother, she never could have been half as open as this, but with George it was different. He was safety, and he was love; he would give her as much as she needed of both for as long as she needed it. She would need it forever.

George closed his muscular arms around her, cradling the young woman close to his heart as possible. He nuzzled into her tangled, ratty hair. "There, there," he gently soothed, voice as soft and tender as butterfly wings against her ear. "I'm here now, Mudpuppy. I'm here--I gotcha. I gotcha." Automatically he began rocking the girl, swaying back and forth on his feet.

"O-Oliver!" Bess gasped out before she knew what she was saying. Her voice was muffled into her father's shirt. "H-He...! A-And Abigail! They're... I wa-wasn't... h-he wasn't... Oliver was going to... he told her... I broke it off... the ring...!" A million and one things were trying to rush out of Bess' mouth at once as she tried to explain, and none of it made sense.

It didn't matter to George--he understood completely. "Shh, I know," he soothed, stroking a large, work-roughened but gentle hand down her trembling back. "I know, Bess. You don't gotta say anythin'--I know. Debbie told me all about it--I know."

"H-He... betrayed m-me, George," Bess squeaked. She clutched at the man, fisting the back of his shirt into her hands, out of anger or a desire to hold him tighter, it was unclear even to her. "Ol-liver be-betrayed me. He d-didn't really wa-want me--he wanted a m-maid and cook. H-He used me, George! He used me!"

George's grip on her tightened protectively, and a savage growl rumbled up from deep in his chest. "The smarmy little rat bastard," he hissed. "He better pray I never see him again: I'll knock his teeth down his throat on sight!"

"You'll have to get in line," Debbie remarked drily. She approached the duo holding steaming mugs in either hand and offered them a small smile. "Here, I made us all some cocoa. Let's sit down and make ourselves comfy."

»»————-　❦ ————-««

"I thought I'd prepared myself to see Oliver walk through that door with someone else," Bess grumbled as she stared glumly into her cocoa, "but I was not ready for that someone else to be Abigail McClintock."

As Debbie had suggested, all three of them were seated in front of the fireplace; George and Bess side by side on the loveseat, his arm draped over the back around her; Debbie perched in the little rocking chair. All three held big mugs of hot chocolate--a perfect drink for this dreary, chilly autumn evening. It was a rather comfy, cozy situation. Or it would have been except for the topic of conversation.

"Yeah, I thought you said she used to bully him in school, too," Debbie remarked. She sipped gingerly at her steaming beverage.

"That girl was a menace to everyone if I remember right," George said. "Even adults. Coddled too much, I say."

"Well, when you're the only girl out of twelve kids, that's bound to happen," Bess sighed. "Abigail always said what she liked and got what she wanted. So I guess if, somewhere along the way, she decided she wanted Oliver, she'd get him too. He always did think she was pretty now that I'm remembering it. I think he might've even had a crush on her."

Debbie rolled her eyes. "Why do boys always go for the bitchy ones?" she huffed. "Even when the girl's bitchy to them, they chase after her like a dog chases a stick."

"Hmm. It's the challenge," George stated with a shrug. "And sometimes... it works out." He swigged his cocoa, shooting his stepdaughter a meaningful look out of the corner of his eye.

Bess smiled softly back at him, warmth enveloping her heart for a moment. A man enjoying the challenge of trying to win over a cold woman was exactly the situation that had brought George and her mother together. What George had ever seen or did see in her mother, she'd never know or understand, but in the end, Bess didn't really care because it had gotten her an amazing stepfather. She would have been lost long ago without George.

Silence fell over the room for a long while, the crackling fire, creak of the rocking chair, and occasional, soft slurping of cocoa the only sounds to break it up. All at once, Debbie broke out into a snort of laughter. George and Bess stared at her in some alarm.

"S-Sorry," the dark-skinned girl giggled. "I was just seeing when you punched Oliver in my head again: I've never seen anything so funny or satisfying! Damn, Bess, you're a beast--you cleaned his clock! And you didn't even flinch!"

George chuckled a little smugly. Turning his eyes on his daughter, he smoothed a gentle hand over her crown and brushed some wild strands out of her face. A proud smile curved his lips. "That's my girl," he murmured fondly.

Bess tried to smile back, tried to feel some sort of positive emotion towards the memory, but she couldn't. She just felt sick and depressed all over again. "Yeah, well, I learned from the best," she sighed, leaning her head back against George's arm. "And most of the damage done was thanks to that godawful ring."

"Lord, I hated that thing!" Debbie groaned. "It was such an eyesore on you, Girl--did nothing for you at all. It was like that was the first thing anybody saw and the only thing they looked at on you. I don't know how you could stand to wear it as long as you did--I'd've been taking it off whenever he wasn't around!"

"It certainly wasn't meant for you, Darlin'," George stated. "Took from your beauty rather than added to it. As did the boy himself." The big man was unable to hide the derision in his voice, making his feelings for Oliver Sprague known once again. He'd never liked the boy; ever since Bess had come crying home from school after being teased with the nickname "Specks", George had begrudged Oliver. Anyone that hurt his little Mudpuppy was not a good person.

"Amen to that!" Debbie agreed, raising her mug high in cheers. "You were always at your best when Oliver wasn't around, Sweetheart. I say good riddance!" She gulped at her cocoa almost triumphantly.

"Maybe," Bess rasped quietly as she watched one of the logs start to crumble into embers in the fireplace. "But now what?" She turned her eyes to her friend, tears starting to sting her vision once again. "With Oliver gone, now what? What am I? What am I supposed to do?" There was a soft challenge in her words that left the other girl befuddled.

Sighing heavily, George took Bess' mug from her grasp, leaned forward, and placed both it and his on the coffee table. "Bess," he groaned, sitting back again and holding her gaze with his, "you know as well as I do that boy wasn't the One for you."

"No, he wasn't," Bess agreed, her voice strained. "But..." she stopped and took a deep, shaky breath to try and control the urge to break down again, pulling her gaze from his tender, loving one as she did, "... but I don't think... that there is a One for me, George."

"Bess, don't say that," George gently scolded, giving the girl a hard look. "Of course, there's a One for you."

"Honey, I'm a much harder personality to put up with than you," Debbie added in, "and more high maintenance. If there's a One for me-" she held up her left hand so her engagement ring glittered in the firelight, "-there's absolutely a One for you."

Bess stubbornly shook her head. "Yeah, but you're not..." her voice faltered as a lump suddenly formed in her throat and she looked away, her vision swimming. Screwing her eyes shut, she breathed deeply, slowly, trying to rein herself in again. This time it wasn't working.

"I'm not what, Bess?" Debbie gently prodded.

Bess bit her lip and tilted her eye back as she opened her eyes, thinking, maybe, that would keep the tears from being noticeable and falling. "Damaged goods," she croaked. A sob escaped her before she could stop it and with it, the tears began falling again, so Bess lowered her face and buried it in her hands as she started to cry all over again. She'd never felt so pathetic.

"Bess, don't you dare say that about yourself!" Debbie snapped, lurching forward to the very front of her chair.

George was a bit softer as he wrapped his arm around the young woman again and pulled her into his side to cuddle her. He smiled sadly as Bess instinctually turned and leaned into him, just as she always used to do growing up. Even now, at nearly 23 years old, she was still very much his baby girl.

"Hey," he murmured, giving Bess a gentle squeeze, "what have we talked about, huh? I don't ever want'cha to use those words for yourself. Not out loud, not in your head, not at all, yeah? 'Cuz they're not true, Mudpuppy."

"Yes, they are!"

"No, they're not. And what have I told ya 'bout tellin' lies?"

"But, George-"

"Don't 'but, George' me, Young Lady. "Damaged goods" is a nasty phrase and a wicked lie and that's all it is. Elizabeth Felicity, you look at me right now." George waited until his daughter had pulled her face out of her hands and peeked meekly up at him. The tears cascading down her freckled cheeks and the pain in her eyes made his tender heart break into a million pieces. Oh, Mudpuppy... "Elizabeth," he started sternly, slipping a large, calloused finger under Bess' chin to force her to look at him, "I've said it to ya a thousand times, and I'll keep sayin' it till ya start believin' it: You are strong; you are kind; you are brave; you are smart; and you are so beautiful and special."

Bess' lips quivered. George's words were so wonderful, but they were also so full of bias. He was her dad--why wouldn't he think and say those things about her? The rest of the world certainly did not share the same viewpoint, and that was the one Bess was most inclined to believe: Majority rules after all. "George, please-"

"And I know how hard it is to believe me when I say that, especially when you got everybody else whisperin' all the bad stuff in your ears; but ain't a word of it true, Mudpuppy."

"Not a word," Debbie agreed with an adamant shake of her head.

"Yeah, well, if you guys are right," Bess countered rather bitterly, "you're the only ones who can see any of that stuff, apparently, 'cuz seems like no one else can. So how is that any better? The truth of the matter is, I just broke it off with someone who was going to have me anyway regardless of whether or not he could see how special or pretty or strong or anything I am or am not; and the odds of ever finding something like that again are next to impossible for someone like me!"

Debbie gave her an unimpressed look. "Something like what? A passionless, loveless relationship with someone who wouldn't even hold your hand in public? A marriage to a man who was in love with and would be sleeping with another woman while you did all the work around the house and acted like a glorified maid?"

Bess looked into the fire and grumbled: "It wasn't such a bad prospect until Abigail."

Debbie scoffed. "Bess, it was always a terrible prospect and you know it! You even said yourself last night that the life you thought you were gonna have with Oliver wasn't something you wanted."

"But at least it would have been a life!" Bess snapped, still gazing into the fire. "It would have been something beyond... whatever this is--whatever I'm living now! It would've been something closer to normal--regular! It wouldn't have been walking down the street feeling eyes on me and knowing people are wondering if the rumors are true. It wouldn't have been getting catcalled and leered at and propositioned by disgusting perverts. It wouldn't have been looking in the mirror every day and wondering if I will ever be good enough for someone to marry."

The tears were coming hotter and faster than ever now, making Bess' vision blur-out until she could see nothing but bleary, wavering shadows and orange-red light. Her breath caught sharply in her throat, causing her to stutter-gasp. Self-pity and self-loathing wracked her soul in unison, each emotion making her feel even more of the other until she was swimming in nothing but utter misery. Bess hated herself. She really and truly did; more so than she'd ever be able or willing to admit. And she would have given anything to stop.

"And... you think ya woulda been happy with that?" George asked softly. "Married to a man you didn't love who didn't love you? A man who teased ya until ya cried as a little girl?

Bess held her hands out desperately. "I dunno!" she exclaimed. "Maybe!" But not even that deep down, the girl knew that she wouldn't have been. However much she pretended and tried, no--she would never have been happy with Oliver, with or without the Abigail situation. She would have, at best, been merely surviving.

But how was that any different from what she was doing now?

Sniffling, Bess wiped her wet face on her sleeve and tried to clear her throat. "But it doesn't matter," she sighed, trying to act stoic and logical. "That life was never gonna be real anyway--it doesn't matter."

"Bess, of course, it matters," Debbie gently insisted. "Losing it hurt you."

"No," Bess insisted much more harshly through clenched teeth, "it doesn't. My feelings were based on lies--it doesn't matter if I didn't know or not. That life wasn't real--those plans weren't real--it doesn't matter, Deborah." Another shuddering breath rushed out of her lungs, and Bess quickly covered her face again, breathing deeply once more.

After a moment or two, she'd gained enough control of herself to be comfortable and she sat up straight again, looking determinedly forward. "This entire conversation, it's..." she sniffled. "It's all pointless to talk about. It's not real." Another quiet sob escaped her and her voice sounded heartbreakingly small and hopeless as she continued: "N-Not for me. Let's face it--nobody's ever gonna wanna marry me." Wishing she could disappear, Bess curled up into a small ball, hugging her knees to her chest and burying her face in them as her chest began to swell with more sobs. "Nobody's ever gonna fall in love with me," she squeaked to herself. "I'm not... l-lovable like that. And I'm not worthy of it anyway. I'm... nothing. Just... just nothing."

Without warning, large rough hands were upon her, forcing her out of her protective shell, and Bess found herself being forced to gaze into her father's eyes again while he held her face steady in line with his. The large man was knelt on the floor in front of her but was big enough that they were at the same eye level for once. His face, which was normally friendly and soft, was hard and serious, his usually gentle brown eyes blazing with an intense, almost angry fire that frightened Bess with its unfamiliarity. His hands, while they didn't hurt were gripping her much more tightly than was customary with them; Bess could only ever remember his grip being this tight when he held her in moments of absolute desperation or relief.

"Now, you listen here, Girl, and you listen up real good!" George practically snarled. He sounded savage, but in the same breath sounded sad too. His eyes shone with a thin line of unshed tears. "You are not nothin'--you are everythin'. Ya hear? You are everythin', Bess Sullivan."

Bess could not look away from her adopted father's eyes; his gaze held her completely captive. Again his words reached deep and tried to touch her soul and soothe the throbbing ache that pained it. She wanted to let it. She wanted to believe it with all her being, but something refused to let her. What that something was, she wasn't sure, but it wouldn't budge out of the way, no matter how much she willed it.

"You are such a special woman, Mudpuppy," George continued. "So amazing and gorgeous in every possible way. And you are gonna make some man incredibly happy someday."

Bess was compelled to shake her head, her chin and lips quivering. "Nobody could ever be happy with me!" she sobbed.

George shook his head right back. "You're wrong. That's them jackasses talkin' 'bout'cha again, Bess. I guarantee ya, you're gonna make some special man feel like the luckiest fella in the world. He's gonna come along and fall so head-over-heels in love with ya, he ain't gonna know which way's up. And he's gonna spoil ya with so much love and affection, you're gonna forget every bad thing anyone's ever said or done to ya." The tears in George's eyes were dripping down his cheeks now and into his thick beard. "Mark my words, Mudpuppy, your One's somewhere out there, waitin' for ya--I can feel it in my bones!" His hands fell to her shoulders and squeezed them tightly, reassuringly. "I know ya don't believe me," he murmured. "I know it hurts too much to hope. So let me be the one to hope for it. I can keep enough faith going for the both of us."

Whatever dams Bess had been able to hold up on her emotions came crumbling down at that. "Oh, George!" Waterworks unleashed, Bess threw herself into her father's arms and buried her face into his neck. She wailed harder than she had the night before. Harder than she had when her favorite horse had had to be put down from colic. Harder than she could remember having cried in years. She felt she would die this way. She would be fine with that; anything would be better than feeling like this--like her chest was about to explode from the pain of a broken heart.

George held her tight, rocking her just like he had so many times when she was little. Just like he'd done not so much earlier this evening. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's okay, Bess, you cry. You just have a good cry, yeah? That's what ya need right now. I gotcha, Baby Girl--I gotcha." He stroked his fingers through her messy hair before cradling the back of her head like a babe's.

Tears pricking at her eyes, Debbie quietly got up and retreated from the room to give the pair some privacy. Bess didn't need her sassiness or blunt remarks right now.

"It hurts!" Bess bawled into George's shoulder.

The man gripped her tighter as if he could squeeze out the ache that plagued the girl. "I know, Mudpuppy," he crooned. He kissed her hair.

"It hurts so much, George!"

"I know."

"I wish I was dead--I wanna die!"

"I know ya feel that way right now, and that's okay. Just as long as you remember that ya can and will get through it. You got so much left to live for, Bess. And I promise ya it'll all be worth it."

"S-Some... where... ou-out th-there, yeah?"

"Exactly, Mudpuppy: Somewhere out there."

For a second, despite her better judgment, Bess almost felt she could almost believe him.

(Look, Bess--see? See? Your future hubby's just being a goofy gooferson and hiding!🤗 It's okay! Don't cry!)

(I love this scene--it makes me snicker like an idiot every time.)

Taglist: @rom-e-o @oldmanlusting @the-house-of-auditore-frye @christmasgaybusinessmen @crimson-phantom-designs @purgratoriat @witchypandamonium @girlbosseveyhammond @neonshoe @orangewierdo @crowwritesthings @beascrooge

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yeeetmeoutside · 2 years

Text

Then Came You | Zhongli x Reader - Chapter 1

New Beginnings

1.4k words

warnings: none

The bright, sunny morning did nothing to lift your mood. Errand after errand lined up like drunkards at a wine store. A sigh here, a whisper there; you had had it up to here. Grunting and whining to yourself, you left your damned, suffocating house filled with people you had no interest in and made your way to one of the addresses you had circled in on out of the many business cards that were handed to you the night before.

“Wangsheng Funeral Parlour,” you mumbled out the name, the pleasant heat not feeling so pleasant to your irritated state of mind. You clicked your tongue and proceeded to step inside, mindful of your surroundings. A man, with messy hair and ruffled clothes, appeared from behind the counter to greet you.

“Good morning! Welcome to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. I am Meng. How may I assist you today?”

Meng was quite lively to be someone who works around dead bodies all the time.

“I-,” a gloved hand on the counter next to you tapped twice, attracting your attention. “Meng, you are busy right now. Allow me to assist this customer,” the unfamiliar voice from beside you reckoned. Meng cast the man a look of gratitude, muttering his thanks and went back to his work. You clicked your tongue again. This was taking too long.

“I apologise for interrupting you, Miss?”

“Y/N.”

“Miss Y/N. I am Zhongli, a consultant at this parlour. We have been quite understaffed lately. My assistant is out on an errand and without her here we are a little overwhelmed. However, this present state in no way brings any hindrance to our work here. Tell me, how can I help you?”

“My uncle died last night. I would like your cheapest services at the utmost urgency,” you explained, not concealing the absolute indifference in your words.

“You could at least pretend to respect the dead,” a boy, with surprisingly toned arms and golden cat-slit eyes peeped from behind Zhongli. Green tattoos engraved around his right shoulder; the boy looked unpredictably mature.

“Why should I?” you replied, the heat getting to your head, “The man was a disgrace. A bastard. All he ever did was order me around, making me do all his work for him while he sat around and drank, happily reaping the benefits of my hard work. If anything, he’s a load off the back of this world.”

Both Zhongli and the boy stood speechless for a few moments. Even Meng peeked from behind the counter.

“And why do you care? Isn’t it rude to interrupt elders? Didn’t your parents teach you manners, boy?” you said as you crossed your arms across your chest.

A look of pure shock and disgust made its way on his face, eyes brimming with anger. You returned his harsh glare, a result of misdirected anger and frustration.

“You intolerant mortal. How dare you undermine me like this?!”

“Xiao, here…” Zhongli said, with visible discomfort, “is quite old.”

“I do not care. I have a lot to do with not much time to spare. Can you or can you not provide me with your services without unnecessary delay?” you asked for the last time.

“Of course. If you would just follow me.”

You were taken to his office where he drew up the contracts necessary for the funeral. Xiao continued to shoot daggers through his eyes the whole time you were there, hands itching to fight you. You might have taken him up on that if you didn’t have fifty other things to do first.

“He was your uncle, your only relative left in the world. It’s customary for you to take the required steps and guide his soul to rest,” one of your uncle’s friends had told you when he along with the others had visited after hearing the news.

You had no interest in wishing eternal peace to an insignificant meritless. The sole reason he had accommodated you after the death of your parents ten years ago was for the wealth that came with you. Your parents were immigrants, hailing from the nation of Inazuma. After running into debt due to some cheat, lowly associates and with no means of paying it back, they fled to Liyue, where they began a new life.

Their new-fangled business of selling jewellery took off well, paying huge sums of money, more than enough to settle their debts back in Inazuma. However, on their way back, they were hounded by a group of monsters which led to their unfortunate demise, leaving a young eleven-year-old daughter behind with no one to look after her, except for her uncle.

He was initially kind, paying for your education, caring for you with love and affection, but it lasted only till you turned thirteen, when you were to be appointed as an official partner in the family business as per your father’s will, for reasons buried along with him.

Your uncle quit his job as a bookkeeper and hoarded all the property which was to be left for you. He re-established the jewellery business, innocently buying it off from you. When you were old enough to find out the truth, you accused him of misconduct and threatened to turn him to the authorities. However, he pressurized to buy off the officers and also to throw you out if you let anyone know about the predicament.

In the end, with your hands tied, you had no option but to yield, enduring his antics and misbehaviours throughout the years.

Now that he was ultimately dead, you would take over the business and start it afresh, with your parents’ ideals and morals as the code of conduct. And you would certainly not waste your money on a good-for-nothing, covetous manipulator.

“All will be arranged by tomorrow,” Zhongli said as he placed the contracts you had just signed in a neatly sealed envelope with the funeral parlour’s insignia etched on it.

You thanked the man and walked out, pulling out a list from one of your pockets and crossing off ‘Book funeral service’ with a piece of graphite. You glanced over all the other tasks you had yet to complete and scoffed while you folded the paper and placed it back.

The day was far from getting over.

At the parlour, Zhongli tried to analyse the recent developments in his head: a young, brazen female with extreme hostility in her fortitude had just flashed past by him like the wind of a certain Archon he was not utterly fond of.

Before her arrival, the Geo Archon was sipping tea with the Yaksha Adeptus, Xiao, in his office, utterly bored out of his mind. Xiao had wanted to talk about some pressing matters whilst coming to collect the painkillers that Zhongli provided to him. But that day, something was clearly off. Zhongli could not focus on any word that left his mouth. His mind kept drifting away no matter how hard he tried to focus. It was an embarrassment to the image of the God of Contracts.

Just when he was about to send Xiao off, walked in that woman, so pretty and well… pissed. He knew that Meng was more than capable of handling her himself but his body moved before he could even think.

He left Xiao mid-sentence and steadily walked over to the woman.

“Y/N,” he tested the name on his lips.

“Should I leave? You seem more interested in that disrespectful mortal than me at the moment, my Lord,” Xiao tried to sound as respectful as possible, failing spectacularly.

“I apologise. We shall continue this conversation soon, I promise.”

With that Xiao summoned his polearm and returned to his humble abode, vexed and angry.

Later that day, Zhongli was sleepless. He kept thinking about you, mulling your words over and over again. It was a long night for him.

And you as well.

You were too much in a hurry at the time to notice, but now as you lay in your bed, drained from a whole day of running errands did you recall the features of the ethereal man.

Amber eyes shadowed with orange dust, that sparkled like freshly mined Cor Lapis, a voice as smooth and cultivated as a low waterfall and beautiful long hair that shone in the light of the lanterns.

Tall and well-built, in his early thirties, you had to admit, the man was breathtaking. The fact that you were going to see him again the next day made your stomach flip.

Little did you know that the day your miseries ended was also the day a new life welcomed you in with open arms.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin fanfic #genshin zhongli #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact zhongli #xinyan #chongyun #yanfei #zhongli bf #zhongli boyfriend #genshin impact au #xiao

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the-fall-of-armie-hammer · 2 years

Note

imsohammered is asking antis to state what it would take to believe Armie is innocent. For me? I'd have to see an official statement from Instagram that the DMs between Armie and Effie were forged/don't exist. Preferably in the context of a defamation lawsuit but I'll accept IG's official word. Simple enough. One wonders why his esteemed attorney couldn't manage to procure and then publish such a document on his client's behalf? Could it be that they weren't forged? 🤔

Lol, first, I don't even know who that is but if they feel they are oh-so-entitled to an answer, here we go. I will agree with you, anon, that would maybe change my mind, a bit, if a entity such as IG definitively stated they were "fake". But its clear by his own admission that they did in fact exchange texts so not sure how that could be a possibility now.

I would ask @imsohammered (you wanted us to come to you anonymously but you haven't enabled that feature so I will gladly post to you from here, openly) - what would convince you that he is guilty? At this moment in time, all you have as "proof" of his Innocence is his word for it and your own version of the man you believe him to be.

Here are the facts as we have all seen them now, devoid of fandom hypothesies, conspiracy theories of smear campaigns or personal attachment to a fantasy ship/relationship:

1. Armie Hammer was a cheating husband, many times over. Liz knew, they both agreed to counseling and it seems Liz had been under the impression he was willing to do the work. He wasn't. He kept cheating.

2. Covid struck. The reasons for their stay in Cayman are theirs and fandom "imaginings" of machinations bts aren't admissible in a court of law. It is not unreasonable, as a mother, that Liz would want to stay where Covid seemed more under control and manageable, especially with two small children. Extended family around and hell, who wouldn't want to quarantine on a tropical island? Sign me tf up!

3. Armie Hammer, father of two small children, could not manage to stay for their sake, at a time when we were all on the verge, lbr. He fled and immediately sexted his wife instead of whomever he thought he was actually sending that text to.

4. The divorce was announced and we all saw the aftermath- Courtney, then Paige. The desert shenanigans and road trip insanity.

5. We found during this time he was documenting his drug and alcohol abuse. BRAGGING about cheating the system set up in order for him to see his kids. Do you know what that means? A stipulation of the duvorce/custody during that time was mandatory drug testing. Which means, Liz knew he had a problem already and how long do you think that had been going on? Around his kids???

6. His finsta and the way he "presented" Miss Cayman. That's not a man that respects a woman.

7. The texts we saw from Effie. How he enjoyed how well she took what he doled out. Texts that He. Did. Not. Deny. Ever. He admitted in the one text he shared that he couldn't maintain a relationship with her like that anymore- he admitted to a relationship. Full stop.

8. Courtney admitted herself to rehab after her time with him. Anyone who has followed her since can clearly see the change in her from this encounter. Paige's story, the "A" he cut into her- without consent!

9. Armie's texts to Effie paint a picture of a man who pushed boundaries and delighted in the pain he subjected her to. He admitted to enjoying CNC - which is fine, do what you want if your partner is willing- but anyone in the scene knows that ongoing consent is the #1 priority and if she said NO at anytime, he was duty bound to stop.

I know no one likes Effie, but dislike of someone is not reason to disbelieve. And an edited text is not a fake text. Did she manipulate images? No doubt. But all the circumstantial evidence weighs very heavily in her favor, if you take the whole picture of this man as we are presented without fan worship or a fan "expert" declaring the images FAKE.

If Armie can't or won't say they are fake, what should we take from that?

#armie hammer #iamsohammered

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 1 year

Text

A former longtime girlfriend of Republican senatorial candidate Herschel Walker has come forward to detail a violent episode with the football star, who she believes is “unstable” and has “little to no control” over his mental state when he is not in treatment.

The woman, Dallas resident Cheryl Parsa, described an intimate and tumultuous five-year relationship with Walker in the 2000s, beginning shortly after his divorce and continuing for a year after the publication of his 2008 memoir about his struggle with dissociative identity disorder (DID), once known as multiple personality disorder.

Parsa, who has composed a book-length manuscript about her relationship with Walker, says she is speaking out because she is disturbed by Walker’s behavior on the campaign trail, which she claims exhibits telltale flare-ups of the disorder she tried to help him manage for half a decade.

“He’s a pathological liar. Absolutely. But it’s more than that,” Parsa, who last had regular contact with Walker in 2019, told The Daily Beast. “He knows how to manipulate his disease, in order to manipulate people, while at times being simultaneously completely out of control.” She said that when she was with Walker, he used his diagnosis as an “alibi” to “justify lying, cheating, and ultimately destroying families.”

Parsa provided a detailed account of a 2005 incident that turned violent after she caught Walker with another woman at his Dallas condo. She said Walker grew enraged, put his hands on her chest and neck, and swung his fist at her. “I thought he was going to beat me,” she recalled, and fled in fear.

Cheryl Parsa and Herschel Walker at a 2005 charity bike ride event. — Courtesy of Cheryl Parsa/Photos by Tiffany Williams

Parsa is one of five women who were romantically involved with Walker who spoke to The Daily Beast for this article. All of them described a habit of lying and infidelity—including one woman who claimed she had an affair with Walker while he was married in the 1990s. All five women said they were willing to speak to expose the behavior of the man they now see running for Senate.

The Daily Beast sent a Walker campaign spokesperson detailed questions for this article. The spokesperson declined to comment.

This is the first time in the campaign that a woman has gone on the record with accusations against Walker. His candidacy, however, has been dogged by other allegations of domestic violence, specifically from a 2008 interview with his ex-wife that resurfaced ahead of his announcement last August.

Parsa’s story comes at a critical moment for Walker, who finds himself in a fight for his political life. Though his campaign was plagued by accusations of serial lies, violent threats, secret children, anti-abortion hypocrisy, and general incoherence, Walker finished only 35,000 votes behind Sen. Raphael Warnock (D-GA) in Georgia’s general election in November. Neither candidate cracked 50%, which set the stage for a runoff to decide the winner on Dec. 6.

“He is not well,” Parsa said. “And I say that as someone who knows exactly what this looks like, because I have lived through it and seen what it does to him and to other people. He cannot be a senator. He cannot have control over a state when he has little to no control of his mind.”

Walker has openly discussed his experience with dissociative identity disorder, most extensively in his 2008 memoir, Breaking Free. He claims to have vanquished his DID; a campaign advertisement this October said he had “overcome” his mental illness, and that same month he said in his only debate with Warnock that he is not under treatment. But DID specialists say the disorder is difficult to control.

Dr. Paul Appelbaum, a professor of psychiatry at Columbia University who has not treated Walker, told The Daily Beast that DID is a real but extremely rare disorder, typically treated through intense, regular therapy.

“There’s no medication that treats DID. The treatment of choice is psychotherapy, which typically extends over years,” Appelbaum said, noting that periods of stress can exacerbate the condition. One of the “fundamental principles” of that treatment, he noted, is accountability, “to get the patient to take responsibility for the actions of all of those personalities.”

“In that sense, DID should not be used as an excuse for behavior,” Appelbaum said.

Dr. Veronica Fiske, a New York City psychiatrist who specializes in DID, told The Daily Beast that while the disorder is “not exactly curable,” it can be managed with treatment.

“I don’t think a lot of people have any control over it, and I don’t know someone who would say they don’t need therapy anymore,” Fiske said.

Cheryl Parsa and Herschel Walker at a charity event in 2006.— Courtesy of Cheryl Parsa/Photo by Linda Werner

Parsa said that, at Walker’s request, she attended several sessions with his therapist, Dr. Jerry Mungadze, beginning in 2005. Mungadze, a controversial Dallas-based “conversion” therapist and self-identifying DID specialist with a PhD in counselor education, began treating Walker after he left the NFL in 1997 and checked himself into a California behavioral hospital.

Not long after he entered therapy, Walker and his first wife, Cindy Deangelis Grossman, divorced. She later went public with claims of domestic violence, telling ABC News in 2008 that Walker once held a gun to her head and said he was going “blow my brains out.” (Walker doesn’t deny the allegation but says he does not remember it.)

The domestic violence accusations have clouded Walker’s campaign. His adult son, Christian Walker, claimed in October that his father repeatedly threatened to kill him and his mother, forcing them to move “six times in six months,” and her 2008 allegation appeared in an anti-Walker attack ad this summer.

Walker responded to the “dirty” attack ad in a video statement, saying his political opponents “dug up an old video and took it out of context.” He added, “My opponents think they’re hurting me, but I am glad they did this ad.” And while Walker hasn’t directly addressed the veracity of his son’s allegations, he tweeted a response, saying, “I LOVE my son no matter what.”

According to Parsa, Mungadze and Walker seemed to work like a team, playing off each other—with Walker leaning on his diagnosis, and Mungadze allegedly casting her in a “savior” role as “the only person who could get through” to Walker.

“Jerry told me that he had treated dozens of people with DID, but that Herschel’s was ‘the worst case I’d ever seen.’ He said the only thing worse than having DID is Herschel Walker having DID,” Parsa said.

The Daily Beast reached out repeatedly to Mungadze. He would not comment about Walker, citing doctor-patient confidentiality, though he has previously spoken to the press about Walker’s violent behavior in his office. Mungadze did not deny Parsa’s claims about their own private interactions.

Cheryl Parsa and Herschel Walker celebrating her birthday at Walker's house in Dallas. — Courtesy of Cheryl Parsa/Photo by Linda Werner

Parsa said Walker’s general claim in his book was true: His mind had over the years given rise to several distinct personalities—Walker calls them “alters”—which he had subconsciously created to deal with a repeated childhood trauma.

“He created someone to go to school, someone else to play football, another to be a father, to be a businessman, to be a boyfriend,” she said.

Citing her own experience, along with what both Walker and Mungadze told her, Parsa said most of Walker’s alters weren’t fully developed personalities. (He had “about 20,” she estimates; Walker’s memoir counts “as many as twelve.”) The majority, she said, were childlike, volatile, and only loosely aware of reality. Some weren’t even aware of each other, she said, and were “highly sensitive and frightened.”

“He has all these people there inside him, competing all the time,” she said, likening his mind to an unruly classroom. “It’s chaotic and unpredictable.”

(Fiske, who has not treated Walker, said it is “quite common” for DID patients to have childlike personalities. The goal of therapy, she said, is to “get the parts communicating with each other” and integrate them into a whole.)

According to Parsa, Mungadze said the next level up in the “pyramid” of Walker’s mind were the businessmen and family men, and at the top was “Herschel.” She said one of Walker’s alters once told her “there were three ‘Herschels,’” boasting that “Jerry didn’t even know it.”

“In my opinion, no one really knows Herschel,” Parsa said.

Mungadze, Parsa said, had warned her that Walker had “little to no control” over which of his alters ran the show.

“I would watch him change in front of my eyes, multiple times in a single conversation. It was terrifying,” she said. He would deteriorate with stress and conflict, she said.

She said she believes the campaign has inflamed his condition.

“I am once again witnessing the child alters who cannot construct a complete sentence on the national stage, now speaking out on issues like gun violence and environmental issues,” Parsa said, referring to two moments during the campaign where Walker’s incoherence went viral. “Personally, it is so sad to watch, and even more scary for our country.”

Walker’s memoir assigns roles to the various aspects of his personality, each named after their essence—e.g., the Enforcer, the Hero, the Consoler, the Judge, the General, the Daredevil. He explains distinct identities in detail, and Parsa said that he and Mungadze also shared those details with her.

Parsa, who today runs an independent high-end commercial and residential interior design business, provided evidence of an intimate, sustained relationship with Walker, which she describes as “loving.” She first spoke with The Daily Beast in July, and decided to go on the record with her story after watching Walker deny two women who in October accused him of urging them to have abortions.

Along with her manuscript—which she says she wrote over several years, based on contemporaneous notes and journal entries—her documentation comprised cards, business plans, gifts, and an array of photos, including pictures of a charity bike team they started together and Christmas celebrations with their families, featuring Walker’s son Christian. Their romance was also corroborated by four people close to Parsa, including one of Walker’s former romantic partners.

In the beginning, Parsa said, she missed the clues that all was not well. She first chalked up Walker’s inconsistencies and disappearances to his work schedule and the nature of his celebrity, but he became increasingly deceptive and unpredictable, she said.

Parsa recalled a fight one night in 2005, when she first confirmed her suspicions that Walker—who she said would sometimes disappear for weeks at a time—was cheating on her. He had invited her earlier that day to his condo for a motorcycle ride, but when she arrived that evening, she claims, she found another woman on the bike—wearing Parsa’s helmet. Walker had previously acknowledged a relationship with this woman, Parsa said, but claimed repeatedly to have ended it.

When Parsa confronted Walker, she said, the soft-spoken gentleman that she had grown to love vanished. He grew rageful and physically intimidating, she said, yelling at her repeatedly, “You want to see a man? I’ll show you a man!” He pressed his forehead against hers, she said.

“His massive hands were on my chest and throat,” Parsa said. “I thought he was going to beat me.”

Then, she said, “I saw a fist flying toward me. As I ducked down, he hit the wall beside my head and staggered backwards toward the bedroom, saying, ‘COME ON! I’M GONNA SHOW YOU WHAT A MAN IS!’ And I heard him from the bedroom beating himself up against the wall repeatedly and with force.”

The other woman was sitting on the couch the whole time, Parsa said, trying unsuccessfully to calm Walker as he “punished himself.”

Parsa fled the condo, rattled. Afraid for her safety, she said, she didn’t go home, where Walker might find her. Instead, she decided to take Walker’s earlier advice to speak to Mungadze and visited his office soon thereafter. That’s when, she says, Mungadze first told her the extent of Walker’s disorder, and cast her in the savior role—a move Parsa says incentivized her to continue the relationship against her instincts.

The Daily Beast corroborated Parsa’s story through a person close to her, whom she told about the above events at the time.

According to Parsa, Walker’s temper could be precarious. She recalled other “frightful moments” when Walker, in another mental state, demonstrated anger and instability, and she said he exhibited an unsettling interest in serial killers.

Complicating matters, she said, Walker often carried a gun, which he would sometimes play with in front of her. It made her uneasy. Parsa knew about a few threats Walker had made in the past—not just with his ex-wife, but also his memoir’s account of an incident in which he wanted to shoot a delivery man.

She also recalled a third instance, as described to her by Mungadze, in which Walker took his doctor, his ex-wife, and another woman hostage. Walker, Parsa said, was threatening to kill everyone in the room and himself, until Mungadze talked him into letting the women go and called the police. Mungadze recounted this story in a 2011 Playboy article (“That incident ended with him hitting the door and breaking his fist”) but did not mention the third woman—the same woman who had worn Parsa’s motorcycle helmet. A person with knowledge of the events corroborated Parsa’s account.

Knowing all that, Walker’s gun habit put her on edge, she said.

Once, Parsa recalled, Walker pulled a handgun during a trip they’d taken together to a food industry trade show. When she asked why he’d brought it, she said, Walker tried to reassure her by saying he was an FBI agent and used to play Russian roulette—a suicide game he has claimed to have played more than half a dozen times.

Parsa said that Mungadze once told her he believed Walker himself was “gentle,” but had “people in him that are capable of killing.”

Walker, it appears, would not disagree.

“I’ve got personalities that do a lot of things,” he told Sports Spectrum in 2013, including “a guy who wanted to kill someone. That’s why I needed treatment.”

(Appelbaum, the Columbia professor, said DID “is not typically associated with violent behavior,” and that there is “no evidence” people with the diagnosis are likely to be more violent.

“DID is not the totality of a person’s behavior; it’s one component,” explained Appelbaum, who chairs the steering committee for the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. He said we all have “pre-existing modes of behavior,” which determine to a significant degree how we react to our conditions.

“So, DID in someone prone to lying and antisocial acts will be associated with lying and antisocial acts,” he said.)

At the time of the incident at the condo, Walker had been in treatment for several years. But Parsa says she soon came to feel manipulated by both Mundgaze and Walker, as she felt the lines between Walker’s central persona and the facets of his disorder increasingly blurred.

Walker, she said, leaned into his illness to “avoid accountability for his actions.” Far from the difficult but sometimes beneficial challenge portrayed in his book, to Parsa the diagnosis appeared more like a firewall that Walker used to shield himself from blame—for everything from the violent episode she described to his infidelity.

Parsa said her romance with Walker lasted from 2004 to 2009, followed by a few years of friendship. That relationship also overlapped with other girlfriends, including Walker’s current wife, Julie Blanchard.

Parsa claims Walker had multiple cellphones, in part to help him keep his girlfriends straight. He frequently changed numbers, she said, recounting that at one point another girlfriend told her she asked Walker to disconnect his “girlfriend phone” after a suspicious extended trip.

Four ex-girlfriends in addition to Parsa spoke with The Daily Beast for this article. All described Walker as unstable. All said he called them, “My Dear.” And all but one of them said that, to some degree, they fear him.

Their stories reveal another side of Walker.

The college football legend has long evangelized his Christian faith while cultivating a public image as a wholesome family man, including during the campaign. In reality, these four women say, Walker lied to them habitually, vowing his undying devotion in order to secure their trust and love while secretly seeing other women. He made these same promises to different women at the same time, they say, including after he published his 2008 memoir.

Walker often points to Breaking Free as an inflection point for an internal metamorphosis. In its pages, Walker and two co-authors recount some of his struggles with DID and write at length about his Christian faith, a narrative that portrays Walker emerging on the other side of hardship as a new and fully integrated person.

The book does acknowledge that Walker had an extramarital affair in the 1990s, which it attributes to his mental state before he sought treatment. But Walker’s claims about his sexual purity after he published the book defy belief.

The following year, now several years into treatment, Walker was again juggling a number of women—resulting in one son born out of wedlock in 2009 and an abortion later that year with another woman, who three years later gave birth to another son by Walker. One of the other women he was seeing at the time is now his wife.

In 2010, two years after Breaking Free published, Walker told radio host Howard Stern he’d only had sex with two women. By that time, he had fathered three children with three women and reportedly paid for abortions for at least two other partners.

Still, after releasing the book, Walker became a public advocate for psychological treatment. And he styled himself a “champion for mental health” while campaigning. He focused those efforts largely on using his status as a sports hero to connect with members of the military, frequently encouraging troops at bases around the country that there was no shame in seeking help.

The ex-girlfriends who spoke with The Daily Beast said Walker lied and cheated so frequently that they suspected he sometimes used military base visits as cover to get away and see another woman.

One of these women said she had an affair with Walker in the late ’90s, but ended it when it became clear he was not in fact separated from his wife, as he had claimed. But the publication of the memoir struck her as a sign of emotional growth, she said, and inspired her to reconnect with him. She then described a 2008 visit where they had sex at his Dallas condo.

“It was dark because the lights were out, but the place was lit up like a landing strip, with baby monitors all down the hall,” this woman said. “He told me he was taking care of his son and not to wake him up.” Christian Walker would have been around 9 years old at the time.

That night, she said, Walker chided her for ending the affair, saying “You left me when I needed you most.”

“He offered to help my schizophrenic sister with some counseling and didn’t come through,” she continued. “When we discussed his DID I told him my sister was clinically schizophrenic, and he said, ‘Well, if you ever need anybody to chat with her just let me know.’ He was always trying to reassure me that he could do something more. I told him when he was ready to talk to her to just let me know.”

He never did, she said, even after she prompted him multiple times. “He’s a fucking asshole,” the woman said.

The woman said she hasn’t slept with Walker since 2013, but claimed he tried to connect with her romantically as recently as 2019, when he called from a White House event for the President’s Council on Sports, Fitness and Nutrition to arrange a rendezvous. She acknowledged that she had always been “protective and sympathetic” towards Walker, largely due to his condition. But that changed this year as he stepped up his attacks on abortion, and the mother of his youngest son revealed in October that he had urged her to terminate two pregnancies.

“He knows right from wrong and he has wronged all of us. He has been deceptive, hypocritical, disingenuous, a liar, a cheater, and adulterer,” she said. “The list goes on and on.”

The women all provided evidence of their relationships with Walker, with all but one of those relationships lasting at least three years. All the women said they at some point learned they were not his only love interest.

Like Parsa, the other women recalled Walker as a sweet-talking charmer, a positive and sometimes childlike idealist who frequently declared his perpetual love for them alone—and asked theirs in return.

“He got me at a low point in my life,” said one woman, who lives in New England. The others echoed the sentiment, all recalling being in positions of emotional vulnerability when Walker first charmed them.

“I was coming out of a bad divorce, and he knew that. The man has no conscience,” she said.

“He was proclaiming his love for everybody, all of us, all the time,” the woman continued. “But it was like everything that you believed, like truly believed, it was just like none of it’s true.”

“One year, he had three Christmases,” she recalled. “He was with Cheryl [Parsa] Christmas Eve, [another woman] Christmas Day, and he flew to see me on the 26th.” (Parsa, who knows both women, confirmed the account; the third woman declined to comment for this story.)

This woman provided a three-page handwritten letter Walker left for her after he showed up at her house in New England unannounced.

“I didn’t want him in my house, so he chose to sleep in my car. He slept four nights in my Lexus in my garage,” she said, explaining that at the time she had recently learned Walker had proposed to another woman.

But Walker—who had also asked this New England woman to marry him—denied he was engaged, reasoning that “he had only bought [the other woman] a ring and it was nothing,” she said.

In his letter, he wrote, “I would love for you and the kids to share what [Christian Walker] and I have, share in our life.” He signed off saying, “I love you and always will. No games, no playing, no women, no men, no exs [sic] just a loving relationship of family and honesty. Two people make a relationship. I’m one. Do you want to be the other?”

They had been dating for three months, she said.

A second woman who came forward in October, going by “Jane Doe,” accused Walker in a press conference of pressuring her to have an abortion during their extramarital affair in 1993, noting that Walker would also send her letters declaring his undying love, and occasionally got her tickets for the family box during Cowboys home games. The woman who rekindled her affair with Walker in 2008 told The Daily Beast she also sat in that box, where players’ families identified her as his “girlfriend.”

A person who worked from 1996-97 as a front desk supervisor at a Dallas hotel on the same street as Cowboys headquarters told The Daily Beast that Walker had secretly enlisted him to use his credit card on file to check him into rooms for his “agent” four or five days a month for a period of about a year.

“He would call me at the hotel, request to be checked into a room and leave the key hidden near the room to be retrieved by [women he would meet there],” said the worker, who provided proof of his employment at the hotel. “I witnessed two different women during this time retrieve the key that I hid. [O]ne time he called stating the key wasn’t located and to bring it personally to a female.”

“In one instance, he was on camera arriving in a karate uniform before knocking on the door and entering,” the person said. “I surmised that was his alibi to leave his home.”

The woman who reconnected with Walker in 2008 recalled extramarital encounters with Walker at this hotel at the time.

All the women interviewed for this article share common traits. They’re all fiercely independent, many with successful business careers. And they’re also close to Walker’s age, with one exception—a woman who is now 39.

That woman revealed to The Daily Beast in October that Walker, now 61, had reimbursed her for an abortion in 2009. Three years later, she gave birth to Walker’s youngest son, claiming Walker asked her to have another abortion instead. After the child was born, she said, Walker—who has repeatedly blasted absentee fathers in the Black community—refused to play an active parenting role and has not seen this son in person since January 2016. He lied about the existence of this son to his own campaign staff earlier this year, The Daily Beast reported.

Asked how this pattern of behavior stacks up against Walker’s claims to have “overcome” his disorder, Parsa shrugged.

“People have always wanted something from him. Run the ball. Sign this. I need money for fill-in-the-blank,” Parsa said. “But there is no help for him. He is a mentally ill and unstable man. Period.”

Walker, it appears, disagrees. He says he is “healed.”

In a 2012 speech to soldiers at Fort Bragg, Walker counseled an audience of active-duty soldiers not to be afraid to ask for help with things you can’t fix on your own.

“Before, I was in the darkness. Before, I probably wouldn’t be here, ’cause I can guarantee you one thing: If I’m not going to a hospital, I would have killed my wife. If I’m not going to a hospital, I wouldn’t stand here before you today,” he said. “Don’t put off tomorrow what you can do today.”

Today, Walker claims he is not in need of treatment.

During his one and only debate with Warnock, with three weeks to go until the general election, Walker was asked whether he was actively tending to his disorder. He demurred.

“I continue to get help if I need help, but I don’t need any help,” he said. “I’m doing well.”

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bookoformon · 2 months

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Mormon, Chapter 6, Part 1. "The Final Hour."

The Nephites gather to the land of Cumorah for the final battles—Mormon hides the sacred records in the hill Cumorah—The Lamanites are victorious, and the Nephite nation is destroyed—Hundreds of thousands are slain with the sword. About A.D. 385. "358" "Armor of God."

Mormon hides the records in the hill of the "Final Hour."

To hide something in Judaism is to turn away from the Religion towards corruption. The Torah states this happens when we misread books and follow men with bizarre ideas into hell:

"G‑d said to Moses, "When you go to lay with your ancestors, this nation shall rise up and stray after the alien gods of the land into which they are coming. They will thus abandon me and violate the covenant that I have made with them. I will then show my anger against them and abandon them. I will hide my face from them, and they will be their enemies' prey. Harried by evils and troubles, they will say, 'Is it not because G‑d is not with me that all these terrible things have befallen us'? And on that day I will surely hide my face on account of their corruption in turning towards alien gods." (Deut. 31:16-18)

Niether in the Torah nor the Gospels does it state it is all right to bear arms, to drop bombs, cheat in elections, or promise bloodbaths to the nation. They do not discuss allaying personal freedoms, judging others, or suggest ways to interfere in their personal lives in any way. This has all been made up by ruthless unintelligent people, has become a vapid way of life for their followers.

The rest of the world is constantly on edge by persons who will not obey human rights laws, drop the abortion thing, and learn to get along with other adults and leave the raising of their kids to them.

This confusion between scripture and the will to power of "alien gods" is easily cleared up. We must read the Torah and the Gospels correctly and we must read the law books and implement them properly. Both of these feats are of urgent importance to the survival of modern man. They were urgent at the time the Book of Mormon was published in 1830, and look at how little things have changed.

President Biden is not following the law, he has not discharged the law against a rabid diabolic who openly plans to raze America and permit its enemies to flourish, and the spirit of the law which is supposed to make us feel safe, patriotic, to feel cared for by the government has fled.

This is because he has allowed the Republican Party, which has historically taken position against civil rights and equal protections under the law and engaged in organized crime to remain in operation.

The Republican Party cannot remain. Its trangressions are too deep, it is projecting force against Israel and other states in the Middle East and its pedophile human trafficking ring has left a trail of wrecked lives across the natoin. Its allies brazenly flaunt and break the law and have no plans to stop. The Final Hour of our suffering is nigh, all we need is a White House that can read, and a new day will begin.

1 And now I finish my record concerning the destruction of my people, the Nephites. And it came to pass that we did march forth before the Lamanites.

2 And I, Mormon, wrote an epistle unto the king of the Lamanites, and desired of him that he would grant unto us that we might gather together our people unto the land of Cumorah, by a hill which was called Cumorah, and there we could give them battle.

3 And it came to pass that the king of the Lamanites did grant unto me the thing which I desired.

4 And it came to pass that we did march forth to the land of Cumorah, and we did pitch our tents around about the hill Cumorah; and it was in a land of many waters, rivers, and fountains; and here we had hope to gain advantage over the Lamanites.

5 And when three hundred and eighty and four years had passed away, we had gathered in all the remainder of our people unto the land of Cumorah.

The Prophet says if we marshall our forces and battle the Republicans using the law and its Spirit, we will win and they will go away, never to return. All we need to do is decide, "enough is enough" and enforce the law. The DC City Council needs to close the Family Research Council, the Heritage Foundation and the RNC, they are Pro-Life, homophobic, anti-Semitic and Islamophobic, right out in the open and this violates the DC City Charter. The Federal Government needs to close in on the Christian Post, Christian Broadcasting Network, and Liberty University among others for their roles in January 6 and the human trafficking piece.

There are individuals like Ralph Reed, Paula White Cain, and Justice Barrett who were involved in contract killings comissioned by Donald Trump , George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Karl Rove and John Coe but they remain at large. All of this should be like shooting shitty fish in a barrell.

And the same persons, using persons hired to work on US soil right down the street from the White House by the Marriott Corporation are at work, right now with Hamas in Gaza. You can see them all, plain as day on the news. Now how the hell did that happen?

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 1: And now I finish my record concerning the destruction of my people. Destruction is really re-creation. Once the law disposes of the filth, life will start over. The Value in Gematria is 6683, ו‎ו‎חג‎, "And a Holiday."

v. 2: And I, Mormon, wrote an epistle unto the king of the Lamanites. = "The Balm of Freedom for the Oppressed sent the King of Stupidity an epistle" generally thought of as the crossbeams of the Hebrew alphabet:

"As a carpenter employs tools to build a home, so G‑d utilized the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew Alphabet, the alef-beis, to form heaven and earth. These letters are the metaphorical wood, stone and nails, cornerposts and crossbeams of our earthly and spiritual existence."

The complex letter Chai, formed from khet and yud, "my dark blood" AKA the blood of life is the essence of all that happens between birth and death, ie. let's not waste time.

The Value in Gematria is 11215, יאב‎אה‎, "Then I will come."

v. 3: And it came to pass that the king of the Lamanites did grant unto me the thing which I desired. The Value in Gematria is 3518, ג‎האח‎, "brother."

v. 4: And it came to pass that we did march forth to the land of Cumorah, "of the Final Hour". Cumhora has a large number of water sources, which means it was a "meeting of the minds" to discuss the details that were preventing the free flowing spirit of the law from doing its job. Final Hours are always used for this, to usher in Judgement Day.

The Value in Gematria is 11484, יאדחד‎ , yadhad, "will push". To push, called maacah, means to oppress the government until it does its job.

The White House knows Donald Trump and people like Justice Barrett are homicidial and engage in organized crime tactics including election fraud, sex with minors, and that they work with serial killers to harass the population and carry out acts of terror domestically and overseas, were not permitted to implement Pro-Life legislation or start banning LGBTQ persons from their ordinary lives but he did. Now it has to clean his and their messes up and not after Election Day. NOW.

Wait and see- after that, everyone in America will get along with everybody else just fine:

v. 5: And when three hundred and eighty and four years had passed away, we had gathered in all the remainder of our people unto the land of Cumorah. The Value in Gematria is 7800, ז‎חאֶפֶסאֶפֶס, zaphesapes, "the record of our unity."

Party politics, especially those that bludgeon the national identity with false ideals invented by false gods are forbidden by the law. The Republicans have violated numerous local, state, federal, and international laws banning human trafficking, tyranny, Pro-Life, threats to marriage equality, gender equality, and the right to a partner, faith, and private life of your choice. They do nothing that is caring, good, legal or ethical in any way, and now they are clearly guilty of organized crime, anarchy, and supporting terrorism domestically and abroad.

It is clearly time to move on. All Joe Biden has to do is get his speech writer to explain it to us. Sane Americans will agree with every point he needs to make the protect us all and give us a future we can look forward to.

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libidomechanica · 2 months

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Untitled Composition # 11318

A ballad sequence

Love gives all its Difficulties? Sits on my love. Meet the mountains, on that can a young philosopher; perchance because

a sugred kisse in sport I suckt while you do deceive of thy praise, the byting frost nipt his sturdy stroke, and

Geraldine! By my mother near? Into the hall, that cold, this crooked, that wont to do? Bright staves of motion like a broken

worlding wail’d, and even Despair was power as real as thine height of all they who lives on the wild team which love

thee, hence remove, least thou the water white and blond meadow- sweet among and darting swallows anchored in you, two clear

their steeds with heat: o Bacchus, cool thy rays! Thine own bright insinuations that my old love had return with her sweet

deaths are sweetest subiect wert, borne in the level of your eyes already, known them all—arms that leave them teach you bout

the blossomes fayre, and bosom beating where is no more, to cast it in the verge of striking, poised to devour&

feed on skin, on all. Some life of life, and Sleep must lie down to the pond’s edge where and the Sprite goes by the unconscious

drives us to master the child of state in compasse rownd. Music of Pan from thy pure brows, and fro between you and

I. But all within the hollow voice a whisper often crost with the intent to be lost i’ th’ funeral

fire. It tore the roses, and a thousand fragrance irrefragably, and could not cut him up, it could not tell. Yearn,

as is most meet for all. Take this Sea, whose each cup’s worth an Indian commonwealth. Where I knelt watching and going,

of drinking and pursuing the light of Heaven makes all things, the flowers, too, unto the stain of tears, fits, flirtations,

airs; ’gainst someone’s garage I fell on city sidewalks in California we went to sea in a beautiful

lemon mistake. Bout the milken way, thy fingers wiped the wind of his friend would have laid an army in battle

array had marched out. The Baron said—His daughters, to gather flocked at! She cannot touch your companions be, those sacred

sister Lilia woke with self-substantial fuel, making a hundred miles That to your arms for peace.

‘Thy words of high sentences, the sweet self too cruel. Where and the youthful Lord of Tryermaine! ” You have come into yon farther off from me now. A moment’s space, stood with somewhat lower

rate. Hands on my love, what a beautiful Pussy you are a glass of wine, begun to unwind, which so sweete is, see how it the winds and the yews of home—as many little,

been flicker, and heaped snowe burdned him so sore, that long its happy, country-folk acquaintance made by barn in threshing-time, by new-built rick. I crave the posts of twilight, you

see,—with such perplexity of mind, when who but a fool would have been a strange, wild, vain. And was gold. Yet I am now with the smell of itself, a broken and friend than he

to foolishly, like me, and restore me to the lounged goddess when she spake, her loosen’d manes, and gave such welcome as a flint, cheat and be my love, and hery with hymnes

thy lasses gloue. Which the death rattle, me of the sea’s red vintage melts the summer weeping, in tears the last age should I presume? A belt of straw and ivy-claspt, of finest

Gothic times are fled from greeuance. And passively take the prime of day break from the grief of my hair were starres, thy breast doth swell; no, child, its perfections of our June—shall they’ve taught

much care, her face rose-red with blossomed anew,—yon looking at the western sky. By Saul Bellow When I do appeach thee accloieth, my Sinnamon smell too much annoieth. While to

the divine who hath rescued thee flee. Begin with a heart of star by him could steer and pure so now and now in happier dead. And once about who can love each other; to

mutter and mock a broken the end. And both blue eyes with forced to fall, the night is our only consolate, the byting frost nipt his stalke dead, the watrie wette weighed downe hardly rise

unhelpt of hand; I bow down to love that look, those babies in your waken’d hate; since she, disdain to Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine. His pity was as green as grain in the wastes

of time and from the tips of your body takes on the dimensions of our love I did allow; but out, alack! They rode furiously, carved stones of the sunset flames? Sores she

holds her head. Off, woman, who’s to Love as it always finds, and names, and thou art broken statue propt against my kisses once! Man with knobs and wires a crafty loving followed:

and the old tree. Close by the hill, and tears she sheds— large tears the rose, and quills today as I must first your bodies formed were, and with love false or true, but once I knew not what of

malice, and so rare a wit, require at least by me be maintained: but what might for me. But shall break. For he was dead as any nail in town; for, though we cannot tell—I

thoughts no longer dreamed. That smile unsearchable repose, or one hip quiver with what other eyes full of ruth for the night-birds all that holds hushed willows anchored in you, and looked

at the center. And snaky Persius, these, had any share, let blood and felt my blood glow with her sweet poison behind his crimson’d all thy presence-room. And but your good survivor

with apparel me relieve, except thou pype of Phyllis prayse: but Phyllis prayse: but Phyllis prayse: but Phyllis prayse: but Phyllis is my breache: my hartblood is welnigh frorne I

feele my breast: look into your Faith he may hold me not formost placed, and Marian’s nose looks fair, but ambergris and gums. And their gates with a hissing star through her breast, and life

in its own skin. Should that harvest of the light wind, which not a soul can choose not to And caught up, so mastered by the pangs of her dear! But the floor whereon the green holly.

Paused awhile, and she in the garden, all the summer’s green all girded up in a five pound note. By a whisper’d: no

longer mix with their Institute of which hides the day I met wi’ an auld man.—Of Whom? And indeed there and how a

call celestial face, and sable curls all silver’d o’er with him, and see love’s chorus led by the fire in winter. Can

vie with the dove to take a nap in a cool cell where the Bong-tree grows and their open window, should have been a pair

of ragged rontes all shiver and she in the Hand of Sorrow! To dally with light; and pleasures may thee shepheard,

tel it not wise if I fled from our shore, resting the whirling pillars and lips and o’er her eyes already, known them

all—the eyes and light. Yet the dark. And as you will be, yet, Thyrsis of his tongue: to Linus, then to thy sweet you sing!

To other desires I can trace, secret joys and secret oar and petalled word to the lovely Pussy! Whether

woman but that didn’t matters it? And Christabel: all our household are at a mortal in the kitchen two times

I heat the butter for thee, and Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children lisp the Rights of Kings; while quacks of State

must each place we die. And, if she knew all. Corner, of a youth who loves me and be cherished bee throughly rooted, and

Love is no more, to cast it in the middle of these harms, that am debarr’d the benefits forgot: though thou so

faire appeare in beauties do themselves forsake and for no other, she prayed the moon, the moon. If men procured thee trouble

behind her form withdrew the blinds. Why wilt thou ever scare me with pity oft will tell to these nine Worthies all

faire mindes resort. Nor cheek once more blushed bright Titans shining here; that if so timid air is firm under his eyes

a boat sliding across her cheek or tongue and fears, those of my own life, who by turns had flung a shadow roaming like

a snowgirl, a butter for the holly! And heavy ignorance aloft to fly have added feather. In arias

of death. Laughed and Lilia with those dancing chips, o’er whom thy fingers, when he di’d opprest, there shall you find him

in certain lights, and daws, perfect note. I do any wish impart, where an army in battle array had marched out.

The desperate Lover can die! I love) I shan’t have lied. At Christabel! How could I see save the staggering girl, her thighs caressed by the dark his sorrows sit and weep. Amid the jaggèd shadow, while I debated what it is she

now? In signature of the lights in one-night cheap hotels and sawdust tavern at the woods decay, the snow still a Boy, and oft a wanton Nimph for him—he asks no more to heare nouells of air three sinful sextons’ ghosts are pent, who all

give back, and cut a smoothe, his pricked eares? Your haire with art sometimes on her silken vestments white, those of my ioy, faire triumphant splendor on my brow; but out, alack! My heart again. The ever-silent spaces of the sea is cruel.

Oh, do not know: draw in your horses’ heels, and bring youth is found. I’ll bring thee to say just what flinty savage than the dear and a day, to the leaues they were. You up the hallowed to hold the one red leaf, the lashes bright, and my galage

growne fast to my heele: but little by little worth. Mutual blood, transpire more sweete is, see how it the learned round, and drew in her vineyard— yes! She shrunk and shame! But her sire, Sir Leoline so pale, murmuring how she is

gone, the quiet limit of their loss is no disaster. Such closets to see? A feast shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, and the distant refrain because your mouth in waves, round else unlighted match, and all her heart was cleft of

sky where nothing, for, heart, the joy of my blossomes rownd. The sky holds the urge to hear how her voice was faint and sweet: have pity on my skin, his blude it is to them; and by their virtues only gods should say: That is not this. Singing

each to each. If you ain’t watched the blue sky bends over all! The dove’s its head it crouched; and what Grace in your eyes, strange song I heard the shrill-edged shriek of a mother near? Let this Fair One, when frae her thought all worldly strife. It could not be, so

strictly over utmost him so hugely stood my father, to bed you safe and friends in your horses are fleet, ye must ride, What sees she that will not saue, murder works in the wind; stranger to meet and find out why he died, might was fled! And

to that to your arms for a night long we have struck despairer, wherefore, while I place your voice when it singeth, angels to acquaintance made by barn in threshing-time, by new- built rick. Angels to acquaintance made by barn in threshing-

time, by new-built rick. Truth doth glorify the orange ball that is lent to loue, wyll be lost their sleep, as I gain the cellar. At his mother’s train divine and purer or more subtle soul than Moonlight, moonlight, moonlight?

They steal their ghostly roots and shook the key that frown aside, and so, good bye, allegiance! Made he the pledge, he’d think that

tree although thy breast: her silken robe of white, that of a weede he was bom old. Of finest wool, which the deaf cold

elements; but think thou no form of thy sight; mine eye and heart to fear, to doubt a mind, through the pane, the quickly shall unload

his Heart to me, and time for me may moue you. Muzzle on the parson’s saw, and birds sit brooding. To Linus, then

to the porcelain, among weeds, or flowers, and keep them where is no more: the shape of sleep becomes you: and your mother

will; she wounds wyde: vntimely my flowres, to peinct thir girlonds with her venturous climbings and Lovers are not

how they passed that strange, strange flames of the seats a place with craft to cloke. And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks, when awful Beauty

granted. If men procured thee trouble meant, that am debarr’d the sprinkled feet upon the sweet odours, mirrhe, gum,

aloes, frankincense, as man’s ingratitude; thy tooth is not what I meant at all, and, last, she sat down by her heaving

breasts would encline. A shadow across the sallow sands, and when she viewed, a vision blest, which too deep into the

child of his own sweet Christabel, when she told her face rose- red with seaweed red and white and bare but in the husband’s

shape in mind of thy rustic flute kept not formost placed, as did the book and had told all; but did refrain. What matter.

Dropping something doubting of her speech, faine would have faith is meant thee. And should stand and to be praised of ages yet to

rue my smart, did find their ghostly roots and should I begin? Like hangovers, and take two steeds with a blast of its own.

His sheep, his hand was whole, as if it were Herself and his soul love is this but not today: you, incommensurate,

therefore, deare, this seal of my sorrow; from the Heav’ns so often flye. And pass our long walks were still. Which is—o sorrow

and shake the priestes crewe, and oft too, by the terrace, made a hundred friend by more than all While Pan and fair Syrinx

in triumphant splendor on my braunches broke, whose bodie is sere, whose bodie is sere, whose small wind and drain’d. Love all

in vaine, that the sweet of bitter sky, do love you now until I grasp the Skirt of Living Presence. The field, and

distorted therewithal: be she likewise one of those eyes you praised of ages yet to be. As Egypt’s pearl dissolved

in rosy wine and Cleopatra— night drinks all—tis done, love, lay thine hand in hand withal she rather Lambes bene

as broade, as Rainebowe bent, his dewelap as lythe, as lasse of Kent. Fast in the lovely to-night’s blue candle.

Him and then removed his soul love is the girl, who by turns had flung a shadow white and bright hair I dream of greater

love at lower rate. In a groue most rich of shade, where will he send forth with a frown, she cannot tell. And release a

smile, to have squeezed the universe’s largest engagement ring, it twirls and sawdust restaurants with trappings proud, and the

hill, our Scholar travels yet the lovely lady’s prison. And suddenly, as one that are endless like them. Proof? Full

of wrinckles and child, a lesson new you were mine You are looking-glass gleamed at the old oak tree? Just what I meant, at

all. Bring me alone. A lady so richly clad as she— beautiful Pussy you are like me, and oft he lets thee

thus throug my beaten hyde, all as I were the trampled some beneath her curls. A sudden leap, and to that braine emperished,

and nothing gainst Time’s scythe to see his neare ouerthrow. He quickly shall no more, who, distant light is ours to wreathed

the Proctor’s dogs; and one discussed his tutor, rough to common men, but home him hasted with his colour fix’d; beauty

no pencil, beauty passeth, saue thy mind, while to my mind, to differ a disease of same, counting no old thing

old, thou mine, I thine, like a broken statue propt against the promptings of Peace? That I wear like a lady of a

fancy. Sits on my love. A simple joy the couch’s perfume from a scheme that had left us flaccid and drain’d. For love

of heauenly Grace want pitty? Amid the jaggèd shadow white ashes all my life, pleaseth you ponder your skin, my household

of privilege. My father moved to think I’m different now, the city towers are strewn— so have I seen flatter

the mountain-tops, in clouds, with pain and rage, his cheeks so shallow too, as to show her tongue be dumb? And laid her soiled gloves

by, untied her hat and let the koi kiss his palm, like as many girls—sick for the jars of heaven so high? Him an’

wrack him, until I heartbreak him and thy fire; i’me weary of time. The patiently I untangle her wrists like knots.

If thou hast sorrows sit and weep. Never our lips, which should hear the entrance, a patch of tall grass. Why wilt thou gild’st thou

this woman, off! And soon thy foot resumed its wandering mother! What! Hair I dreamt I bore his chilly, but not dark.

And on her will; she wounds in the bright-eyed Eulalie upturns her man on his face, and left it swinging or a sail flung into his Lord, stirring vp sterne strife: o my liege Lord, the Gipsy-Scholar travels after shall be able to give

an incorruption unto me. How well her puir Jenny for siller an’ lan’! Wise Salomon in all his hospitality to the lady passed her father’s dream his flesh was flesh his blood was blood: no hungry man but wished his fires,

now let us smother our lips, our hand like a blood clot. Memory has powerless to destroys it. Like hangovers, and yon bonie castle good which stands hugely politic, cautious, and were not, fast.—Unfolded floating flower. Noon,

then mine, the Baron forgot his age, his cheeks they quivered, his eyes may grow, if not quite forgot, and forever disowns thee, her Willy. How they leapt slantwise through depths of height this motion well or ill, all but the scatter’d farms the

lights of Kings, in low prostration, most humble and I worried you like an oyster that cloisters a spoil of pearls, shy, in the moon-faced darling one wish would go, piping a ditty sad for Bion’s fate; and cross into your goodnes the sky.

My pipe is lost, vnkindnesse kils delight; yet though shadow-like and Winter accord full nie, this coyness, Lady, were not

soft like the sea and there will bring disaster. And under then if he his lesson misse, when they: alas that in the

bridegroom wished his fires, and ocean rivers, to gather flowres forced to fall, the night, curled once again. Hand and look too,

into the other a locket filled with cold, and thou art not seene this truth in beautie’s wonne: that is worse, makes me, most

guiltlesse, torments, when there were many Lilias in the verge of striking, poised to devour& feed on skin, on all.

When the steep floor flung from a scheme that moaneth bleak? With weeping, I like to a lily withered; next look thou like a nexus breaking the flow of—was it musk from hidden brookside

gleam primrose-banks, and trust in Heaven, nancy, Nancy; then all alone stands and threaten; ah, my sute granted. And I beseech your hands … whose counted smiles, little throat in a

clench of callous and nail—sit on their tongue into the other than thou can’st see by glim’ring of all, and then removed his mates; but yet, like prayers divine, she nothing! And he’s

dozin, his touch. With weeping, I like to watch TV shows about supernovas, and could descry neath the eyes of the golden chalice, drank. Grins on a pile of children

lisp the Rights of Man; amid this might, nought aske I, but since I loue you, time and place for me, and sable curls all silver-white and cuckoo- buds of yellow hair displaced, be

both we suffering you caused of wrong, and cruel kind, a heartfelt prayer for the cove with the eyes more bright-eyed Eulalie’s most humbly own—’tis decorum. And one said smiling bride.

And spread, o’er all, her yellow bird hung over her in tune, he marked her through mist and cloud that merry peal from Borodale.

Conform the pipes of lonely tree against a lover’s affirmation If you ain’t sure there is Aunt Elizabeth

and sister Lilia. And arts with oyster-shells: streets thee thither flowing knees; your breath aloud, like one that

white fish on the way with all care, and what’s my drift? Then Christabel, How camest thou growest beauties in spring did

say, i’ll not wear your addresses, and could to-night, yet, happy in being together though I have reached her chamber

carved stones of Time; and once that shuddered, she unbound the cincture of these delight to be preferr’d in Beauty won me,

but what might I gain a boon of their sweet debt of life—each night to fluttering, and the full; and that dost not bite so

nigh and, stooping, made my heart; for in thy voice and juicy. Noon, then mine, then break it must, my lassie o’ my heart’s part:

as thus; mine eye and hearkens not! And with your dog, fondle your strife, nor longer hover over them and down to the

people: thither half the neighbouring borough with rage; he swore they should grieue me. And from the threshold of privilege.

The time is come. Lo! Your eyes, strange song I heard Apollo sing, which comfort but of the city’s edge. In wassail; often,

like a tedious argument of insidious intent to be preferr’d in Beauty, farre before her father’s

hall. Which made him limbs: said he, Let others grow; and nothing so mock-solemn, that I should speak, or English fields, woods

or steepy mountains haste along, she nothing; but thine my heart and not forth: here is the time, and the little, been

flickering bed. Had, alas, the while, but let’s not always finds, and names, and made it bright, bitter all utterly defy.

Sweet of bitter bark and burning wine, and yet be jealous of the sea’s red vintage melts the sunset flames?—But neither heat, nor for shade did lye, doth lowre, nay chide, nay threat for only the ledger lives, and blinded of those evil days that

be now posting on thy silver lamp burns dead and Foot, remembered not. Give me leave and all things be so witty, shall a heauenly Grace want pitty? Here was seene him nere. But her, by thee blushing stand! Almost blue How oft, when the lamp, and

many more such a louely light, to make him seem long hence as he spake; her spell awakens the lassie o’ my heart doth wake, then live with might and looked up at her eyes would rejoice keen as midsummer pomps come on me unaware, and

smile of warme fine-odour’d snow, dead weeds and rue, and yet this Fair One but her with hellish anguish, dare not forth: here is proof that look askance with forced unconscious sympathy full before the elm-tree bright beneath, and Lilia with the

glowing bars, murmur, a little sorrow and shawl, and tell them: o brilliant kids, frisk with your dog, fondle your souls would yearn to meet thee on the sward she tapt her tiny silken- sandaled foot: that’s your love. Putting his sickle to the

cornice-wreath blossom of her husband, cease your strife, nor longer we. Come swifter that sweet city with hellish anguish, ioylesse, hopeless, yet sweet, so ripe a judgment, and full of sleep, beauty charmingly sweet you sing! This chill, the Baron’s

heart, the joy of the Hall, dropt to her feet, and full of ruth for there he hung till he was sitting behind his crimson’d all thy presence-room. Lovers, forget the suffer the sunsets and beautiful blush, and time yet for a flightless bird,

brooding in my sleep I saw the same, my herald shall be able to give a dole of bread, a purse, a heart of the natural nursing size. Yea, she doth cast, where and they rode; they betted; made a sudden thought of thee hast lost both lopp and

topp, als my budding branch thou wouldest thou lay that nimble leap to kiss the tender heir might beseem so bright lady, surpassingly fair; and a voice less loud, through rain and a great white, those scarlet Iudges, thretning bloudie paine. Your eyes, in

the lady Christabel! No second leg, and thy tears are on my cheek. His heart was cleft with pain and insult to his dying day! And which obscure, but cannot tell, o’er-mastered by the light of strength, thy golden sea, whose diapason knells

on scrolls of sure and good: I found a thing which glories, crowned with music so sweet, like the mowers, who, as the bedside mirrored in you, two clear raindrops in your heart forever, ever more? That Harp untun’d by Time’s all-severing wave?

Half child half woman as she were! Stay that frown aside, and smile of warm sea-scented beach; three fields lived on air that crossed

the Irthing flood, my merry bard! Were her lips ill hung or set, and often crost with thy tears are on my cheek begins

to redden thro’ the glowing bars, murmur, a little hour! When you come upon the gilded tomb, and to the rest, and

little lap-dog breed, who can be sweet Attar to the grove where an army down. In fiery ringlets from the grief

at the cold to scorn, and crownes you will; heroic if you dare thing, then my dreams that … strange heart felt like a man’s, and

I will drink to Ovid, and so rare a wit, require at least an age in one merciless white blade—the bay

estuaries fleck the harte. A year; nor with a heart of Christabel And who art thou? Pegs; and, as his frantic looks shew

him truly Bacchanalian-like besmear’d with furiously, carved with mist engarlanded, the death of some Old Story?

Has might sweetly bleed? Then nightly make grief’s strength and all because a sugred kisse in sport I suckt while you’re think of

your ears, even always the light. Then comes to fill it when thou, whom partiall heauens conspird in one long yellow half-moon

large and lovelier than thou can’st see by glim’ring of all, and from heat did canopy the herbs on which it surpassingly

fair; and a voice sounds as of a castle good which should not say, This is my home. Time and plaster are sold to

the center of your eyes,—in this Oake to the startled little clock, and part were drowned within the world is of a piece.

This singing is a kind of thine. And would it have been worth while if one, settling across the stars above, and lay down

in her arms across her chest, and in the very best should speak, or English air that lonely tree a wealthy issue

bears of fragrant posies, a cap of flowers fresh growing dewy-warm with kisses balmier than this my love. In a

world with shiny promised then to be Lords of fierce disdaineth; suns of the river’s path. Yet Geraldine, had deemed her

sure a thing divine: such sorrow and shaking a famine where thou art a Theefe, A theefe! She turned at once is fled, was

never stirr’d by a shuffled step, by a dead weight and bare! A little Booke; yet some of the rich. Evening, lingered upon

the wall, the vision through pain, and tell the embosom’d grief, however vain, to sullen wind wagge their supremest

kiss, or else transfuse thy breath be rude. Above by Ensham, down by Sandford, yields, here at Christabel! Still fervid

covenant, Belle Isle, white shoulder bore her head, which is worst to vex the lake a little heardgroomes, keeping his full-crown’d

bowls of burning wish to hasten down toward the sky. The cloud apart; there cams’t thou in him dost lie—a closet never

watched your mother&father—how they fused their wills and strength to help the desperate Lover can die! Where a boy tugs at

his glance to shining; for thou dost love, and with white; when lo! My music, or broadcast live on the part to be acted.

He asked with music so sweet, like to thee: but stay, I see a text that this fair and unkind; no less than a wonder

and full of wrinckles and forms of men! Depreciates the spoyle is euill, far worse of constant louers. In the topmost

twig that looks on Ilsley Downs, the Vale, the thing is mocked at noon his tender too and pretty at each wild word to feel!

Was heard, and her voices dying day! Every friend would haue made to suit the placed me underneath them glows, and nothing

saw, but his enemie had kindled such coles of displeasure proue. And like a virgin full of ruth for the goodman on

the hill. Too, into the blue flame played the phone. And in his eyes made of. Before the elm-tops down from her proffered

immeasurable is proudly and by octobering flame beckoned as earth the lamp will trim. But for the hours, and door

succeeds door; I try the freshest hew, attended bee, presents, fast food. Where icy and briers! As if she moved more ways

than one: the shape of sleep, lest the sky with several parts could change their sex, and flesh be mud and mire, scheming

imagine, passionate shrieked and wrung it. Of something that bosom cold, all for the silent dead, still I’ll try to make a

buttercup under a chin, the brain that chair like a makeless wife; the world’s increase! When she rose, and willd my Muse!

Prayed the multitude, a thousand to the ground: there yet in bed I lie. And warm starfish. Speculation had fail’d, and

even children’s eyes they will say many a mysteree, and of those evil days that be now posting on through wind and

drain’d. Its mysteries; nor shall we need to fetch from our pretious oyle, and arts with oyster- shells: streets thee their state and

situation I wonder’d what might and beauties do themselves cannot reach thee nothing; but their way to the wrong. No,

vain, alas! All her feet doth bare, and tell her puir Jenny for siller an’ lan’! Meadows sits eternal Footman hold

your voice in a little hour! Why, then, ’ said thou wert most sweetheart of thee, thou gently tooke, that heard him with a smile; then

turned round cheeks, that all things when Pity pleads for Sin. We sought, though I have seen the steep floor flung from his own mouth. Upon

that lamp you can, gifts will get ye, or the many mountains haste along, she nothing so mock- solemn, that I leave my

second health in wine, who met the embrace, prolonging it with Time and friendship is feigning, most loving eye, and now,

like amorous birds of prey, rather took than got a fall; the wanton musicke made, maie, then before the day I met

wi’ an auld man? Yet—gentle Eulalie’s most humbly wealth to thee: but stay, I see a text that this faded Oake, whose

influence is this but not today: you, incommensurate, therefore, while I place your voice back into the other.

A book decorates a bed. Have known the untill’d soil. And I beseech your courtesy fine she turned wildly glittered

here and the flying terms, but move as rich as Emperor- moths, or Ralph who shines so in the lady by her head,

each shrunk in hideous night; sleep, sleep, lest the steele had pierced his pith, tho downe to the sight to owe, insolvent every

noon! Where worthy Ladies I will not love you I understand! While another’s shirt for a flightless bird, brooding. This

life is thorny; and you slept with thy sweet fingers, asleep … tired … or it malingers, asleep … tired … or it

malingers, stretched maid to flee. Tender inward of the sweet no more to heare of warm sea-scented beach; three fields of refuse

thee. Much more friendly the book and had my fingers crumble and came to their fates woke dreamers to the treasury, as

I in it recite by name I will make thee see though I’ve no fear! The Type of Theirs—their Wrath and smutty jest, the hall,

that is not in pain. Over thighs, thick and fast upon his head into her lap. If men procured thee from the tips of

youth did he make, and said in courtly accents fine, sweet maid, Lord Roland call, thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! Your

pretious oyle, and brouzed, and condemn all such as are not in the air, but ambergris and gums. All triumphant

splendor on my brow; but their throat and all the rest; an age at least to every pore with grey; I feel her features we

desire speaks out. Where all we taste as bright! Of love and Destiny both arrived at: there vigor barely contained,

flaming torrid climes, or haply lies beneath the old tree. And bite the bays. And snaky Persius, these, a lady, one

that prayed. Yet some of louers; see now those feathers to the crunch, can live for a thousands now such women, but convention

beats light comer, he is fled, and blue! Exclaim receive the seal’s wide spindrift gaze toward the wind: and her voice was faint and

sweet, did thus pursue her answer to tell! Come live with anemonies in flower till May, know him a wanderer

still; the fort of the light of thee, I thought once how Theocritus had sung of the huge oak If you ain’t had thy will!

Great poets and greefe adawed, that an acre hath power? Me, wha wad soon dry the terrace, made a sudden leap,

and tower and Agamemnon dead. To free the house from the grief of my hart, I do any wish impart, where he

is death, desire, that is not eased by night, curled once a bowl of apples stopped me dead. Heaven shall rescue me, I

have sinn’d! And Sleep must lie down in air, their nipples as uninvolved as warm stove-window light. Where are the light, hand in

hand sheltered in a corner, of a youth who loves her, must die! Meet. It as it well? There will be wandering with golden

age—why not? Some found her by the lights of Cupids skies, whose godly labours doe avoyd the baite of worldly strife.

Which from our pretty sake but what prodigious mowing we did make! Brake with seaweed red and brown till human voices dying with the mound of her breasts I drew wine. About the

aid of joy. No later light laid pausefully upon life’s morning sunne laughed; a rosebud set with blood-red heath, the restroom I pretend they are very married ear! In these

effects, to proue; now be still, yet still of me beloued, you see what I mean! My auld auntie Katie upon my eye! And when I spake words did say, that I have seen my heart’s

endeavour to follow you up the glass, goblet, golden dreams all yesternight oft meet in glen that’s the lassie o’ my heart’s part: as thus; mine eye’s due is thy cheek, and o’er her right

arm fell again; and folly’s all the lamp will trim. And weariness: stretched maid to flee. At Christabel, when she told her face, oh call it loving you: home is nowhere, there such a

fixèd fancy set, on those which least deserve, that that’s the lady Geraldine: five warrior from his ivied nook glow like a nest from an abandoned field. Is the night wi’ a crazy

auld man. Him great harmes had taught me Turn, and Stand; she was most vsen Ambitious folke: his colowred crime with craft to cloke. Great poets and beautie’s wonne: by whose perfit colours

meete to clothe a mayden Queene. Dwarf heart as I heare to call, whereto aye wonned to repayre the shepheard, the day wears, and much I praised if all be well! Sing me a new pan.

Light gatherer. That he at last by Time—the Harp that clings to your hands … whose counted smile of warm sea-scented beach; three fields! Hindering tongues restrain a sudden loss of quiet!

It is impossible, but on the news rarely makes the right decisions and death. My poor heart, the joys of night than their ghostly roots and should have been worth it, after the tear-

drop that capacious room into the staring owl, And this’ he said was Hugh’s at Ascalon: a good knight; and she believe you are my love, what euer that August you were mine You

are the light. Thou art not Thou the Wisdom oft has sought is shining; for thou dost but mend the stove late of a winter was in her vineyard— yes! ’Ve been worth it, after the

time, and something as necessary wrinkles place, strawberries. Will he send forth with many a summer’s breathing-space. Seven-headed monsters only made to suit the place and

the sweeter than half-opening buds of April, and clasped his mouth at this to something it should be a little door she opened one, then I, my thought; then grew my tongue was tied

against the west unflushes, the mastiff bitch? So lowde: which may not haply say truth needs not June for beauty, Lady dear! My sight to fluttering retreats of restless nights in

one-night cheap hotels and sawdust tavern at the lady fell, and condemn all such as are not in the ruffian’s heart, that hope is lost, my sight to owe, insolvent every noon!

Which erst from yours. So oft have I seen flatter I the swart-complexion’d night, and looked out, each day say o’er the water dewe. You said the air to move away the ringing up; no

more sound Sweetness to them; and by thy beautiful pea green borders, love with a stake in his old age; dishonoured thus it chanced, as I mused it in his slow-chapt power.

Sound: whereat the bed, echoing inside my heart, glimmer, and it seemed as lost—her stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by whom fair Corinna sits, and gleaming hair, collarless, fenced-in skin that shadowy in the summer as befits

the tiny swell of our wishes— did we have not broke my Bond, nor lies beneath the mild canopy the herbs on which thee accloieth, my Sinnamon smell too much; I lived on. And when I looked him in those head cushions, slow motion well or

ill, all but the light, and speech did follow, each in turn; and so we forged a sevenfold story. Tried to keep dropping sometimes, I wish I were some might mean. These brambles pale with me sitting all bright, and life in its own; and lusting for

goodnes the sky and harbor shoulders in a rosy silk, that made the old—born cycle. Sing me a thrush, bone. Alas! On my flickering and is now about gold? Yet a Book of Love and changed … There’s nothing but to peep at us.

Because his tongue: to Linus, then to Pindar; and the while, half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings whose circles, and

me thou learne to caroll of Loue, and find th’ effect, for I do burn in loue and wonder. House; without all wind

and drivers in a bower kept, as Danae in a tower: but yet love, who subtile is, crept to that, and snicker,

and thy attention summon, ah! And all eares worse than deaf that heretic, which hung in a murky old niche in

the sky like horses are fled; now, well-bred men—and you should, if you dare thing, then my dream methought, though I’ve no fear! And

in its own; and lusting for all loue, all faith in a tradesman’s ware or his word? The woods. To chase fame: I now the

arms and arms were brown like small bushes vsed to shatter’d farms the maiden wise casting down beside you and me never

fear. With all triumphant splendor on my braunches sere. You are looking-glass gleamed at the Deity swore: but, if you

with eternal Footman hold you close so close … it look like a broken the heart a-keeping? And speech was such a fixèd

fancy set, on those that was long ago—that time—so just lie under then if he his lesson misse, when lofty trees

I see barren of leaves which inward love of the wight most wise by Phoebus doom, with sparkling stars, in their graves and

knows the secret smiles, O let me share; and men and marr’d and wasted with cold bene annoied. Over knees like saucers,

over calves, polished as leather, down to the rivers seem! ’Re gathered shake dew on the pools that stand in your waken’d

hate; since she, disdain and insult to his breast that evil hour hath flown, many a mysteree, and thus the lofty lady

spake—all they who lives on the beauteous stem. That fill wither into ten black swollen gates that smile unsearchable

reply whose accent no farewell can know. Very married, one gives all its reasons as if the screech itself is dawn.

Ledger lives, and many more subtle cargoes lie. ’ And in hir hand that my poor breast: her silken robe of white, that so

it seemed her girded vests grew tight beneath them glows, and people find any rest. To praise, once crush’d, less quick to spring:

faithful lover so. Sure I have said! So fair, so you love me little hour! Some life of men depart; but Thyrsis then.

Thy faire forehead gaze; two hundred friendless, my burden I bear, and open, jasmine-muffled lattices, and beate vpon

the gilded ball danced when she was praying alwaies greene, a goodly Oake sometimes, I wonder by Natures law, rebell

by Natures law, rebell runaway, to lord and lady friends, and made many wounds in Jesu’s side he would proclaim

it far and wished-for years, the sweet stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere; almost every perfect love and pity.

Everyone else forgetting close. That is lent to loue, wyll be lost their way to thee: I lay then to heare nouells of his deuise: they wont in stormes, his toppe was bald,&wasted me, and strike,

if he seav’n times bright! He could, were it but with his cheating the carver’s brain, for he could not say: for which done, she rose, and so nor will not cry also although shadow-like and

Winter gan to approche, the bridegroom came forth into the streetlight, that lives and aspire. Come, to chase fame: I now the arms and hanging Laurel, alwaies greene, a goodly Oake sometime

had it bene, with arms more strong when I spake words Sir Leoline. Sheltered in shade, under a chin, the wide house through pain, and tear our pleasures, living brother: they parted—ne’er

to me: forsaken and restore me to the husband did its worth it, after the surf bright striped urchins flay each other like my Mama under your bodies to caressed by

the dove’s its head it crouched; and we will say, that I’m enlightened up my heaven, no second morn has ever shone for me, and shadow, while I do speake to the hearer’s grace when

Dorian shepherds sang to a married men; for thus sings he, she shut the cold out and the while, to have bitten off the TV because the new world know about gold?

Lives there some great wings beating each to each. And nodding by the hour that I can; he’s peevish an’ jealous of the cube and squirm newly as from unburied which floats up from the

deaf cold elements; but think thou no form of thy beauty’s waste hath in the realme of Loue, and from thy dear love were budding branch thou wert here! I try the fresh flowretts bene defast.

Sad shall be thy amends for thy yoke, arise, and night determines here, at any hour; now seldom sleepeth well. As if she knew she could find his chosen Love, than Phoebus,

if he seav’n times bright, dreaming spires, she needs no colour, with him. Wise Salomon in all his numerous array and takes a lady’s eyes would wander each to each. And crowing

cock, how drowsily it crew. Which can lock vp a treasury, as I in it recite. Remember: falling on to passe: graunt, O me: what am I saying? Now let us

be married! With music so sweete Nightingale singing each morning, the treasure. Searing the margents, while perpetual day so double Praise, and now, like a green boat, they

took it away, and were many Lilias in the Celebration of it. Man comes and the violet past prime, and I beseech your courtesy fine she turned to me with stern

regard upon the gilded tomb, and towering Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, and strange was thin, delirious; hearing him out. Least thou knowest to-night, and I dived in a hoard

of tales that done, i’ll bring disaster. Lovers, forget the wall, And this’ he said. White blade—the bay estuaries fleck the tear’s in my youthful hermitess, beauteous stem. They pass

the Baron rich, hath a toothless mastiff bitch? Sweet Christabel. May pipe too sore, and cross the spell. My mistress had cut him downe his heart, my last hour I am near it: when you

read the simple pin—they will, from the silent horror of whose small birds. What! Fist, even if I put on his forehead as he shows now. Of quiet!—She that dove, that gentle minstrel

galleons of Carib fire, bequeath us to no earthly turmoil grows, and nothing else to give, they still keep tuning throng, unmoor’d our skiff when the yeare. Perhaps it is

to them; and by the hand that’s why even after the name again at dark. Be she liked it more than magic music, or broadcast live on the But feel the skull, Mr.

They blind the house through dooms of feel; his anger would changes like onyx, teeth like pearl. Ah, woe is me! All hushed and ivy- claspt, of finest wool, which thy father moved through the gainers such conduct neither heat, nor frost, nor thunderbolt, she

trampled some beneath, grave, solemn! Those scarlet white, those prophet— and here I leave my second berth, your blessed Lady that is not wind enough to common men, but honeying at the sun’s red kelson past the high wood, to whose falls melodious

birds sit brooding. My father Jonson now is plac’d, as in old days—thyrsis and I; we still had Thyrsis, let me alone. ’Ve lost that you give. As if it were Herself and his trees go limp a voice tells me ours is an earthquake:

they bene so well, what makes her wrath appeare in beauty charming, had ne’er a ane to peer her. When Pan and his trees of state in compasse rownd. So, in their golden pomp is come; for all the argosy of your body rocking! Let us

go, through felonous force of mine enemie. When you were mine You are a glass of wine, begun to unwind, which thee accloieth, my Sinnamon smell too much; I lived on air that crossed the smell, of the Sunne, to be the world is of a piece.

I said thou wert most sweet, maggoty minus and dumb death all we inherit, all beauty do I question make, that

it was to Fortune foeman, but gently tooke, that he seeks, makes such a woman next to me on the wing to the grove

where poets sing the firelit looking-glass gleamed at the Body looks to Dissolution. No marueile Thenot,

if thou can’st see by glim’ring of all,—what is she now? In sport I suckt while she spake; her spell awakens the last age

should show your head, and so indeed there was, indeed, in far less polish’d days, robert Burns: can feel, by its throbbings, will

die somewhat, again she sees a damsel bright, dreaming garden- trees, come with colour turned round commixed they meet, with

endlesse languish in his eyes may grow, if not quite dim, yet rather so; yet your love; take this Sea, whose diapason knells

on scrolls of sure and scatter’d limbs and a wretched forth and fern-leaves cover thy noble hearth- flower wishes to go.

Draw in your arms; then soft Catullus, I quaff up to that tomb already, known them all: have known them also, but your body lies beside him lives the other’s taut throat around, and comfort Him. In days far-off, on that dark earth, defac’d

its love, his blinded guest waiting, afire, what shall I be, so bereft, nancy, Nancy; then soft Catullus, I quaff up to that is not dashed with blossom of her pap and gums. Shut the cost of all they who live in these poinsettia meadows

of her cigarette. But truce with kings, and twelve for the crowing coal and their glorious in his place, strawberries. Tho gynne you, fond flyes, they dazzled at her eyes already, known to human shades, how rare from beneath the huge, broad-breasted,

old oak tree. Should I see save the power to their lost morning; if these delight each May morning dew, and hope, once toucht with holy water dewe. There thou art gone as well as the herd, and such skill in my Muse and under the dark confess

my kiss out-went the bounds of shamefastness: none is discreet at all; and Marian’s nose looks red and white of fallen May and chestnut-flowers bene starued with many a thing that all the rest. For love he doth call for his

devours, when sparkling star through wave on wave unto your bodies formed were, and time for all? Between us for thy face enioyeth, but now they fused their gifts. This dream it would bar, my heart, and hanging so high, on the tables every child

was sure there comes a glimpse of thy praise, once crush’d, less quick to spring: faithful from too wide a breast. More loud than you had nothing like a snowgirl, a buttercup under a strong when I was young pigs, over knees like this, now she uttered

words tho gan this to applie. Feel the pot. Wept they had been friendship, warm, sincere, friends with heat: o Bacchus, cool thy rays! I lost my mother, the moon, they danced by the ocean I could hear the boy’s palms were bare; her blue- veined feet glowed in my

one hand, and nothing keeps the same height as the ripe flame played the multitude, a thousands now such women, but convention beats them down: it is but bringing thy Pearls upon a Harp of Song? A barbell or a bowling ball, and from the

beginning has, little child, and the patron with haste; whither they mought cooled bee: but stay, I see a text that thou hast pleasures may thee move, whom Fame commends to be so tickled, they would spy it. Quick answered in the gaps between galaxies,

I can hear the cock the bellman of their love. The moment she was most vsen Ambitious brere, which proudly thrust into Thelement, and see that capacious theory. In woman’s looks, and they cricketed; they talked, above the fruit

bats scattered words tho gan this to applie. In others’ works thou dost but mend the swirl and ache from sprays of hand; I bow down to the porch with, Let us look at them; ah, when my father moved to an angel’s feet. But of the moon, the moonlight:

and often crost with thy tears, and hasten while her penniless rich palms pass superscription of His Glory the King of the golden pomp is come. In wassail; often, often, like a rolling pin, over crisp hairs, that it nor grows with

her sweet deaths are sweetest subiects wrong must descend the simple joy the couch’s perfumed tincture of the lights in one-night cheap hotels and sparkles its wall; and make her, she: but Walter hailed a score of names upon your face; but, now, a long

tale, and here’s eglantine, here’s ivy! To hye one, in whose bodie is sere, whose voice when it singeth, angels to acquaintance made by barn in threshing-time, by new-built rick. A talk of college, only longed, all else? No liar

looked closely, you could move to another heart is calm, tho’ wretched on the waves, the sweetest subiect wert, borne in the beauty bright, and loved your patron; over the mountain-brink he sprang, and all I say, No! Each held a candlesworth under

your skin, my household are at a mortal work his should blush when the frosty feet, and over the open air, and flute his friend than he to foolish Brere wexe so bold, that one, which cannot wear our pleasures prove, that gentle limbs did she.

To find our tree yet crowns the hils of Kent? Are overtaken. All along the floor below. Must I too creep to the

hall, that get broken-hearted, o that’s far away. Same recure, am like for desperate weak. Thanks, for the yellow

half-moon large and lonely, smooth white stick in his mood? Never fear. Weaned my young soul transpires at every noon! True. And

called me. While their passing heaved were by pleasure time by how a body was found, his who had given grace a double

majesty. With thy sweet you sing! I said, What in that chair like a sunbeam: near his memory: but thou ask proof? Hear

every private widow well her puir Jenny for siller an’ lan’! All your roabes be purple spray on copse and bright

eyes, that now bleeds in my backpack in bed you go, flushed with blossom of her loveliness. Listen, while I turn the

lips for a shelter for the blue sky bends over all! Shot glass If you ain’t neva have the startled little sadly,

how Love fled and paced upon the bounds of shamefastness: none is discreet at all; that to your arms for a night light

where I knelt watching the shepherds lost a mate, some good survivor with apparel me relieve, except thou payèd were.

Come swifter than my harp can tell; yet might the blow, and faintly song to wander through the music from a branch. But these effects, to proue; now be still, yet we will forget the suffering

you caused of wrong, and ways be foul, then nightly sings the startled little sense of wrong, and ways? Could not help but mark, and on just proof surmise accumulate; bring me with As

you will die somewhat of wild flowers first open’d on Sicilian shepherds lost a mate, some good survivor with breath, whose witt is weak in health, and a voice tells me ours is

an earthquake: they bene so well, what makes me, most faith dost most high: see what cloudes of reproach shall dance and then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. Or, frantic, I shall try

that lone, sky-pointing tree, are not indulge in memory’s rapture in her breast sae warming, that e’en thy choice, who madest him to passe: graunt, O graunt; but speach, alas, failes

me, fearing on the knuckle. The maid, devoid of guile and sing for thy face anger inuests with slaughter: round the stars above, and we will sit upon the sand, they danced by their

verdict is determines here, away. Hollow she’s in heart was cleft of sky where nothing saw, but his enemie had kindled such coles of displeasure safe from paining—they steal their

wrigle tailes, perke as Peacock: but now when all alone stands hugely politics; they lost their wrigle tailes, perke as Peacock: but nowe it auales. I will hold you close so

close … it look like a thunders, crept away, like a patient etherized upon the bounds of shamefastness: none is discreet at all; and you will, or ere I go, she goes.

I understand! Roasted crabs hiss in their crystal Devon, winding Devon, wilt thou ever scare me with the right deeds a Tyran showeth; for thou dost but mend the smooth-slipping

weeks drop by, and learnt a stormy darte, which works on leases of short-number’d hours, but the pieties of love and childish escapes, maud the belt. The yellow fog that rubs its back

these thought and smacking of all, and pacing on the beauty I throw light. Now about gold? Belovëd, thou mine, I think that tree although hate were white: and once we crossed the moon, the

moon. Like wailful widdowes hangen their chief art in reigne dissembling hands on my love, and some of you and me, would it have been worth is found. To hear how her turning sphere; and

men shall wear white flowery oleanders pale, hear it, O Thyrsis of his tongue be dumb; for, with the floor below. Which not a soul can choose a May-lady to govern the year;

all the world his visage hide, stealing unseen to west with their Institute taught the dumb on high, it covers but not today: you, incommensurate, therefore, unwilling longer

we. I like to sleep with you enter on paths perilous grain in the middle of the death-note to the bedside mirrored in its steamy breath into that braine emperished

bee through dooms of love a root of balm it is, for love of her that drove him up under the bloom is o’er, before the blackness is murderous shame commends to be the words

Sir Leoline, the quickly shall no more: and being down the eyes and light. And like a sunbeam: near his memory: but thou among the porcelain, among weeds, or flowers first

open’d on Sicilian air, and flute his friend! A-telling what rare gift to beautiful than necessary, and quickly she rose, and forth her hand, a fragrant, bone-dry white

from Italy, then walking. And blue spurt of a life was ratified this way said she—off, woman, scarce suffice to fill it when through wave on wave unto your body lies beside

him lives there through dooms of lovers’ hands. The agèd knight in silken robe, and with their supremest kiss, or else force a passage in: and as coy be as you will! This singing

desire into begin, while I do speake, my dear, my Philly! And in that Memory refresh my flowring Wether looks, her air such gentle Eulalie’s most humble I.

Shallow too, as to show her tongues can poison truth; and higher on the dame, were base as spotted infamy! ’Er a

ane to peer her. Greek, set with our eyes, strange and sweet: have pity on my sore distress short or tall, and snebbe the good man

at him did laye. Well as the air, and fause as thou hast parted, if every friends with her fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

And my galage growne fast to my heart swell, and brouzed, and fro between us for the cock the bellman of the cube

and squirm newly as from unburied which floats up from the woodbine leaves of monotone, or as many girls—sick for

the night-birds all this glee had nothing so flagless as this piteous plea, him rested well; a little waves fold thunder,

shall wholly do away, I call it loving you: home is nowhere, the tale of truth in beauties throne: see now, who dares

come neare those prophets of their sweet purse-mouth when my wife is sleeping, in tears that lies in woman’s manly god must not

exceed proportions of our sleep so swiftly filed, already hang, shred ends from remembered stars. Your breast upon his

breast, with cold, and the palfrey’s back, a weary woman, off! I take—best quitted else—the Field of Verse, to chaunt that were

our need to this hour is mine—though thou the prime, and so of you, beauteous self I swear, no love but this singing so high?

To-night, yet, happy omen, hail! How falls it the windowsill so we can look over the surf bright staves of give, singing

so light, and snicker, and I beseech your courtesy, this day my journey should not help but mark, and only herald

shall appoint a week, and leave its seeker still untired; out of the happier dead. If I say thou art gone,

and when he went to the street, rubbing its back upon the soul of Christabel, How camest thou among the fire, more

beautiful exceedingly! Be her foes with light, and my galage growne fast to my heele: but little head, so glad

it has its utmost him so hugely stood my father dangled the glue that connected your moments of baked weed gaily

digging and stumbling on the wall, and the women come and go talking of the carver’s brain, for a lady’s arms

she lay, had put a raptures speaking lines of the World, to whose falls melodious birds of prey, rather at once

seabeate, will to sea againe. He is fled, as friend remembred bee; wishing sometimes seem to be old bridges breaking

between the middle of the broad estate and the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: arise from the rock that makes the swan.

How can I then return with haste; whither they meet; so unhappy am I! And often come, thou bitter sky, do

love you not seen, but vainly thou warrest, to these nine Worthies all faire mindes resort. And shadow roaming like them.

Have been illegal for my wife is sleeping, I like to the rest. Near the entranced, as the part to be acted. Their

eares hungrie of each tree and every child was sure that was long ago—that time—so just lie under thee thus thou grant

mine asking with a frown, she cannot bring back Her, nor comforted her up, a weary woman, scarce alive. Room after

room, I hunt the house, why tear it down? For love he doth sing; sings his Sicilian shepherd- pipes we first assay’d.

Took me from a scheme that way, of custome to seruewe his grownd, and could not wear our rusty gowns, but move as rich as

Emperor-moths, or Ralph who shines dim in those tremulous eyes the main. The streaming garden- walks and all things be so

witty, shall wholly do away, I call it fair not pale, and bosom beating leagues of motion like a virgin full

of wrinckles and childish escapes, maud the death rattle, me of these harms, that valleys, groves, hills and still remembered not.

The lofty lime made noise with thee. Tongue and fears, those of my Firmán, he quickly shall know, but vainly thou wage mute! And

rises light vpon my braunches broke, whose witt is weak in health, and Lilia There are the kindly face of god look deep

into the blue flame upon the walls, and sweet, more loud than you have done it: how I hate you all! If you ain’t never

once a bowl of apples stopped me dead. Ghosts are pent, who all give back, one after your brows shall adorn, when Pan and hid

under a chin, the brood, however deep you might embower the novels, after all, after the story and thy

choice, who madest him thy chosen Love, I warily oped her large bright-eyed Eulalie upturns her violet past prime,

and something great! Simple artless rhymes, one friendly the book, o noble heart from paining—they stood aloof, the scaffolding;

make sure that better or worse than the two hearts the nerves were brown like small wind and drain’d. Let simple artless rhymes, one

friendless, my burden I bear, and our long love’s excess with wormes, his honor decayed, his braunches sere. A Walter

Vivian all a summer’s corn has ears: sighs, and so much more friendly sigh for his devours, when awful Beauty

won me, but what prodigious mowing we did make. My dreams are bad. Take Lilia, then, for her, and a far higher

life, near her. Be her cheeks so shallow too, as to show her turning on it hard in grassy floor with blot of Treason.

Tone; lost it too soon, and hoary wyth frost. For I trust that thereby, save the stars, how they fused their way to the love did.

Thanks, for the works and days of advance, the world, or else force a passage in: and as coy be as you will die too, but not today: you, incommensurate, therefore the holly! Stretch forth thy hand, whilst my poor lips, which cannot touch your

companions be, those wonted smile as thou wert here! Not what of malice, and from thy far-reaching Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorn’d the longest day—when garden- trees, come without delay home to your cream here’s eglantine, here’s ivy!

And called on Nelly Gray; so he with Lilia’s. Miss most, even if I put on his face, and lay down in her so

well, what makes me, most guiltlesse, torments haue: a rightful there to see us pass? Which may not well awakened the crowing

in pypes made of her that cloisters a spoil of pearls, untouched—the hearer’s grace when Dorian water’s gush divine,

she nothing but to peep at us. What if her guardian spirit that remember falling at the old tree.

The air, and fault; I crave the power to declare, that never pierced his pegs; and, as his legs, so he with unsettled

eye? Do I dare to eat a peach? The clear eye’s moiety and thy attention. And slowly in thine arms, here with Aarons

pretious time to murder in truth committeth. A minute there is time for decisions, before the mowers, who, as

the Harper’s hand sheltered in shade, under a large tree. Next time, herself to him and took his hands pillared in her feet.

I brought in his mood? That the sky, and quench its speed i’ the ground seems to live upon me I won’t look back at them shake upon your dearest, the hall, that get broken wall, the clock that made them a curse. They only will aspire when pyramids,

as men, are lost i’ th’ funeral fire. And all ears listen, while they are the grapes, welcome, song after all, and part were drowned with furious heate, encreasing his stormy darte, which was her exultation, and her eyes; and tear

our rusty gowns, but move as it always was. Head into her lap. Can love each other forehead as he spake, her loosening thighs? So oft have I heard, and hoary wyth frost. Are ye too changed, ye hills? If you ain’t witnessed the good man at

him did laye. Julia was careless curl. I saw him, and there’s a strength to feel within she sees a damsel bright than clear, each about the knowing nod of sweethearts worn away& soft as a speaker box’s blown out hiss If you ain’t been taught

much care, her fair large bright and maids arranged a country he is flown! Ink may character which hung in a murky old niche in the pavement lay carved with such perplexity of mind as dreams are of snarling strait- besieged by the Turkey

who lives on the steam floats up from thy dear life was given, all my life’s bliss from thy distress! A weary weight, over thighs, thick and fast upon his head, and take to your hands, gathered glory from the wind wagge their reptile souls from thy pure

brows, and fro between each stick; and with self-substantial fuel, making a hundred to adore each breast; her face rose-red with the glowing? At length came to passe: graunt, O me: what am I saying? Sleep as its smooth thin lids close over

us, the sword of fear, unpleasing to me. Still, with the milken way, thy fingers brought me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand; she taught; we are twice as quick! But the little urn. Paid to shake. Gleaming halls of sure and go talking of

Michelangelo. I wish I couldn’t sleep. Then Christ all honour, wealth, and beauties worth, th’inheritrix of fame, the marks of the two Hinkseys nothing gainst Time’s hate, weeds among weeds, or flower that good old man bespake. And to that tells approaching

and saintly song to give up smoking for thy dear love were but the scaffolds fall confident that wont to do? So free from danger, free from danger, free from feare, come deckt with flowers gather’d. The keene cold blowes throug my beaten hyde, all

as I were the fresh ruffles of the shield her! Her face with forced unconscious drives us to master; so many things plain, love will wither into ten black snakes upon her, and he one chief; but hart did tuch: while such-wise she loue denied,

and you are! A votive candle. Ben Battle was a time when it singeth, angels to acquaintance bringeth; stella, loadstar of desire, give me leave like me, and bid me better or worse than this bosom there will be time to prepare

a face to meet her sight! Head grown slightly bald broughten this immensive cup of aromatic wine, Catullus, I quaff up to that tempted my minnie to sell her loudly she no longer mix with the smell of itself, a fairy

parachute and passively take the prime, and scarred I take the price of my Firmán, he quick sharp scratch and blue spurt of a lightbulb. Like paper animals. Is the night in ever-nearing circle weaves her selfe to see part of the

soft lamp at the future This small white flower, the one word that watch’d—the lucid outline of brown leaves with its watery sun&three moons towards your praises shalbe proued. Paused awhile, and he came wondered, by the place, a Gothic ruin and a

Grecian house, greek, set with our eyes, cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo! And yet she looked him in certain corners of a shot glass If you ain’t never watched a man lean into a ball to roll it towards your affection’s strong; pray love me little sadly,

how Love fled and pacing on the wakeful ear in the Fire; yea, sweet to sever; poor Wisdom’s chance against someone drowning into his own will went away. The heat of some spring, the trampled wife, and call’st by thy beauty beauteous

self I swear, no love but this happy quest, ended for ever. By shallow rivers, to whose face all, and brown till human voices of quince, which alters not in the bounds of shamefastness: none is discreet at all things be so witty,

shall wholly do away, I call it fair not pale, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my lap, the shade of night that I have scanted all wherein you must ride, So how should have been a-telling storm. Fill with tears to bear it.

In a man’s heart are at rest. The death-note to seize; she played it quick, she played it light a cigarette into the hall,

that cold, this crooked, that done, i’ll bring disaster. House alone; yet ne’er seen thee, mournful, sober- suited Night! A twisted

snapdragon, sweet-William with his flute would they hear me I won’t look back at them; and by reflected. Summer as

befits the time I’ve lost their cookout scuttle by in languish, how could I seek the empty space; down, over them and

down there while I yet descry no cause for her soul gives me sigh for his own sweet maid with eyes upraised, as one defied,

collects herself! My mind a root of bane: while they, like syrens in the sward was trim as any garden lawn: and

hery with heavenly alchemy; anon permit the basest clouds to ride with ugly rack on his former fall?

Or like Jocasta in a swoon. As warm stove-window light. Of Speech, better in Silence and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, laborious orient ivory sphere alone we love doth work like

madness flushes up in the field alone he speedeth. Hye thee how to make him seem long hence as he sits to pestle a poison’d poison to my Root, and light. And, even yet, I dare to eat a peach? The time I’ve lost in wooing, in

watching the marmalade, the tale of truth is little clocks with silver chain is fastened to an angel’s feet. And wouldst thou know, besides all that is throwing off walls of sure and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans of sandal, amber, ancient

rosaries, laborious orient ivory sphere alone we live and more than mine. What can no more, who, distant refrain because his tongue: to Linus, then to heare nouells of air three sinful sextons’ ghosts are pent, who all give back, one

after the cover of dark.—And never seeks, makes such a kind that it nor grows warm. Full many a threate. Which the gate: then the year; all the nymphs were in love’s excess with words of high sentence sayes, that nowe vpright he can stand no more, for we

will all the mastiff bitch; from her forehead as he shows now. A gift for mortals he is gone, and meticulous, past midnight bed horrid sprites shall try that lone, sky-pointing tree, are not soft like there breathe sweet bird’s trouble meant, that right.

Hence it is that my years hence. In generall tearmes, to furnish the print of the death of some Old Story? And thus we sit together in one floating dais before her father sliding hip to hip holds the urge to hear the boy’s palms

were empty, after he had climbed across your bright, drest in a silken skilled transmemberment of song; permit me voyage, love, into your good survivor with all thy numerous array white with vagabonding shame, both with a bald

spot in the brave day sunk in hideous night; when I am formulated phrase, and often halowed with cold, and having prayed that He, who on the valleys, groves, hills and strengthened, and frostie furrowes: drerily shooting his full-

crown’d bowls of burning wine, and yet one, like a crawl If you ain’t witnessed the color of rotten peaches on Orcas Island there are spiders here, in the Hand of Sorrow! Yet might I gain the eie of heauenly fier, stellas shape, that sought

is shining; for thou dost but mend the shepherds sang to Proserpine, among some talk of you and I. I never yet to rue my smart, did find their own white as stone. The bay estuaries fleck the tears of change in her. And wouldst thou wert

wont to do? Conceding dialogue with eyes the wrists of telegraph they flashed a saucy message to and from the castle-bell strike twelve upon my eye! As if we were light, a fit of flame; and one the ploughmen’s clocks, when awful Beauty

and thee. Till their gates with silver snowy sentence sayes, that holds hushed willows anchored in you, that other eyes were on his face was darke but whereon she saw his wooden members quite, for rage now rules the blood so free comes back and tingles

in her arms across her chest, and the first who, his april touch drove sleeping, which hung in a murky old niche in the cob. You have done pray tell me, then I, my thoughts so all unlike my father’s eyes that creep in thy little, perhaps

not a word. Untouched—the heart’s part: as thus; mine eye my heart as I heare to call, whereto the inviting time our fashion; each man of sense has it so full before the Flood, and yet I do prefer it. Almost, at times, indeed, in

far less polish’d days, robert Burns: she’s the queen o’ womankind, and ne’er a ane to peer her. Ay little, been flicker, and he one chief; but hark, I hear the castle clocks with silv’ry wings, let our soules; come wait on hir whom winged Fame attends

and give herself from out her neck; her cheek once more blushed bright beneath her horses’ heels, and scent of hay new-mown. For her dear Eulalie upturns her veins spell. Together now, sir Leoline. Greatly aghast with those dim fields of rest? Man loved the

sonne and vainer ties dissever, Alas! Infinite consanguinity it bears—this tender eye; what wonder what worlds are out the smoke that shadowy in the wood whose motions of the rosebuds Yet him for this my love.

And so nor will not suffer paine. While fauour fed my hope, delights they will sit upon the solitarie Brere: for naked

trees: if only you wouldest cropp: but were the elm-tree crowns the hill, and the patron. That on a time when the heat up

here and how a call celestial face, and prayed, thoughts so all unlike my father moved through the Wytham flats, red loosestrife

and deadly pangs beguile: which die for goodness, who have lied. Yea, she doth weep, like a cliff swinging or a sail flung into

April’s inmost day—creation’s blithe and pen records vnto thy glory, I thought for Fortune’s bastard be unfather’d’

as subject; and as a parrot turns up through one wide chasm of time, where an army down. You have reached her heart

felt like a single life? Or with bright dame! Shall thee that necessary as this piracy. My lassie o’ my heart,

who am I kidding? Thou never die, but as the roses, and gave such welcome he shall you find him in the sea

lifts, also, reliquary hands. Into the field, and drunk with wine, I drank him up. Look off, dear Love, across me. Keeping

his full-crown’d bowls of burning wine, and mark you eyeing me, and grac’d to be in that falls from chimney-stacks—are ye

too changed, ye hills? Fools of time, where ev’ry tree a wealthy men, who can press his love’s fresh cheese and create, and, for his

up tails all; and therein dignified. Lest Glory end what can be sweet the faces that gentle thankfulness declare,

that so it seems to be, of the house. I thoughts no longer idly rave, Sir. Pure sport; a herd of boys with clamour bowled

and paced upon the soul with sparkling spangles, shew like morning have I invoked thee A heart o’ thy Willy.

And made her smooth dark wave slides over suddenly, the lovers— who last night as the nerves of pain, were it only Laili, ’ yet a Book of Love and Destiny both attend on

her own bones. From the wet fields, here was, in ashes. Next, Virgil I’ll call forth to pledge you all, I shall eat thy thyrse and bite the bays. Will win, or else force and free home to her father’s

dream his flesh was flesh was flesh his blood was blood: no hungry man but wished his fires, and a voice less loud, through twenty posts of every one, then to the small figures strangled her.

A little trifling Lilia’s. More loud than you had those lips, and hanging face; and bending down the dust. Because thou

art a fon, of thy hand, and at the white flowers, and coughing drowns thee, hence remove, least, though we cannot touch your hands.

Petulant she spoke the brave day sunk in her mind: and pass our long love’s fresh case weighs not this enough! Than the garment,

down to let the lady bowed, and nothing; but thine my heart that none you do deceive of that divinest anguish, dare

not how thy power to die, and grassy moonlight: and you fall from the body gryde. The maid, alas! Which was hers! ’, He

hoasts and he had climbed across her cheek once more I take—best quitted else—the Field of Sir Leoline. Do I dare? In a

minute there is in love and charity, to shield her well! Height as welcome he shall you find him in certain half-

deserted streets, the muttered yell beneath my burning wish to hold, who cares? Like a lady of a fancy. Come then, and

leans his head into her lap. No, there could keep a pure repose, and without a window by the law that I leave them

teach you bout the way with all about her neck; her cheeks so shallow rivers, churning, shift green boat, they took some honey,

and pledge vastly now parting gulf on gulf of wings whose circles moved. Trust to good verses then; they only swelled high with

thee. And would haue made the gloom, thy sweet you sing! Thy sting is not dashed with flowers, too, unto the other. It was a

soft October night, and I dived in a corner, of a youthful vows, accept this many a tingle on the days

of honeysuckle that when the day I met wi’ an auld man! Who hath rescued thee from dull and still weep that this faded

Oake, whose witt is weak in health, and after many a mysteree, and the full moon, and liuing dying. Enter the blue

slips on the oak but moss and rarest misletoe: she knew she could not end me, left me maim’d to dwell in presence of

immortal youth, and all her hair in love as many little by little, so you love me About the aid of joy.

All things here. That I’m enlightened next the treasury, as I in it recite. Faire triumph return. When day’s oppress’d?

The golden pomp is come attonce. Nor use a faithful from too wide a breast can give you then, that dances as of a castle clock-work steamer paddling plied and stumbling and given me life—O father! His breast sae warming, that e’en thy

chosen Love, she shut the childhood situation I wonder in his sight would defile the earthly turmoil grows, and people get married, lovers tarry and aver and aver and tarry. Cuckoo, cuckoo! What can be hugged, or

on a mantel-piece perched up for adoration, these obtain her home with pushing plums, or pears; and all because you had expected for I knew all alone like a king on a burnished the Proctor’s dogs; and one discussed his tutor,

rough to common men, but of their sweet deaths are sweete is, see how it the leaues doth kisse; each tree and ever wann’d with grapes, maud the beach. Forget the wall, and part were drowned with crystal Devon, winding Devon, wilt thou be dumb? And kneeled and

madden’d, and wayling, and the full; and thee, and fro, that valleys of the brown hair! All times; no, not Jove himself, at one time, there will be given, may reach— tho’ lost on earth—the ear of Heaven! Oh, do not know: draw in your brows shall the pleasures

prove, that gentle maid! Walter showed the house through the body gryde. Grand, epic, homicidal; and be my love. Its lips in the curtain, the wide house through depths of height this motion sounds with a mobile nose she move unquietly, perchance

because of Her, salámán dedicated, naked as a fish, naked as a fish, naked as a fish, naked as a fish, naked as a fish, naked as a fish, naked as someone drowning into it and I have lain entranced

I wis since one, the terms for peace. At wine, in wretched; hopelesse, endless those rivers remaining, like cliffs which glories, crowned hair are flower leaned aside and thou art not so unkind and lady-smocks all silver’d o’er with what an

unthrift in the vortex of our light, to make it death for any male thing beneath my burning wine, and mark yon meeting logically in the Hand of Sorrow! In this Old House stringing yougth to spil. Cold in the world’s market bought and low,

and maybe kissing with Age—how shall they who lives on the unsteady ground shuddered, and so indeed therewith thou flew’st most high: see what cloudes of reproach shall dark thy honours skie: whose owne fault cast him to be here, he could bear; and

on just proof surmise accumulate; bring me a thrush, bone.— Take them off. And made it of wild and sweet: have pity on my lips but the belt.—Born and the vitriol madness in the worse. Perhaps tis tendered the yard, then only not all

men lie; peace in the loved hillside, with a mobile nose she moved, she move unquietly, perchance, tis but the smooth white and brain if thou issueless shalt hap to die. I bought you a tin hearts of flesh no aching breasts. Mists, and deep hae I luv’d;

love, thou hast chiefly chose, by whom my Muse and for a hero lies beneath that vast disintegration of our grave the park, the crowd of workmen and main lifted her after- rest while in these pleasaunce: but all the wealthy men, who can

reach into the eyes more than all While Europe’s eye is fix’d on mighty spell. And when she saw his wooden legs, began to beat like hangovers, and cold autumn holds thee! And even children’s bones, round rulers, round nudgers, round the breeze

a hundred visions and revisions of our loving mere folly: then, heigh-ho! Her child and therein dignified. There never can please them thou art all delight, and night by the pangs of her breast I find, I still enjoy thee—cheerless as

this piracy. Writ each caracter of blisse, and were no crime. Flatter the blow of thralled discontent, happy omen, hail! And Walter too,—with others by your virtues only gods should show it dead. And tho’ they could not outrun me.

And Foot, remember falling into April’s inmost day— creation’s blithe and bristly beard, the waves fold thunders, crept away, like a blood clot. Thee to say just what flinty savage than the eyes that dealt with knights, while greasy Joan doth keel

the pot. He hearken the eternal Footman hold you close so close … it look like a stage set, three times her little him answered in you, and loved the Dorian shepherds and there he hung till he was In the old—born cycle.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #119 texts #ballad sequence

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