#and that description that the guy gave to stephen while he was driving

[acommonloon]

TL;DR

about last night's mperfect ending. After stops at three Louisville venues, each more fun than the last, we decided to get a nightcap in New Albany. We didn't manage to get a drink at any of four stops in that sleepy town but we did witness a police officer chasing a black man down the side of State Street. Still watching for a news report.

Alternately a night for Morgans

_____________________________________________________________

D's niece's husband, J, is a sweet guy. He has almost no family of his own living in the area and his own family unit consists of an unruly teen (not his) a precocious 6 year old and 3 year old twins. It's a lot.

With that in mind, I always wait for him to contact me and he always earns his kitchen passes so when he texted me he had a free night out I was glad to hang with him. I only asked if he had a curfew. No sir. He's nearing 40 and regularly admits he wishes he could more often frequent the places D and I do, meaning bars and restaurants. I remember those days when self came last.

Our 1st stop was World of Beer. With 50+ taps and hundreds of bottles and cans sitting in glass front coolers directly across from the bar, it's one of my go to spots. J immediately set about building a flight of five small pours while I took my time picking one or two low gravity beers to sip since I was driving. They had two bartenders on this Wednesday night, Morgan was ours and our service was prompt and friendly. By the time we finished a plate of tots, loaded with melted cheese and fresh jalapeno slices I had our plan.

I hadn't been to Commonwealth Tap since before 2020. This small wine bar is in a movie set sort of town called Norton Commons. Think "The Truman Show." The houses were all built over a small number of years and though they are comprised of many different styles, with no two near each other being the same, they are on the same size lots and there is no variety in terms of weathering or decoration. Everything to plan. Unreal. Creepy.

I glanced at the wine list on a chalkboard noticing a Turley Zin at $18 and a Cotes de Rhone at $8. When the bartender asked what I wanted, I said, "Talk me out of the Turley and into the Cotes. He hesitated for a second and I said, "I want something minerally, earthy, not fruity." Like a Beaujolais Morgon or an Italian grown on the side of a volcano. Before he could reply, a guy sitting at the bar said we don't have that on tap. The Cotes is your best option and the bartender handed me a generous taste saying, try that.

I took the glass all the while evaluating the man who'd spoken up. He'd said "we" don't have that. He was alone at the bar except for us. I doubted he was just a bold regular, maybe drunk, who felt everyone benefited from his opinion, he wasn't drunk. Then he stood up and walked over the the wine racks. His search was one of familiarity and he pulled a bottle and sat it down on the bar next to me. Was he an employee or maybe a distributor on good terms with the staff? Then he began talking about the wine, about his many trips to France, and I suddenly I knew. "You're an owner here aren't you?"

He laughed and admitted he was. He introduced himself, Neal Morgan and for the next 40 mins or so he told us about himself and the bar. He told us about his wife, a pediatrician who worked for 20 years in Indiana and he went so far as to describe his Scottish heritage along with his general thinking about wines. When he said he was going a friend's house for a pizza party, I thought he was about to leave. Then he said he was going to take a kick ass wine but first he wanted me to taste it. It was a California pinot noir priced at $30 more than the first bottle he'd put down on the bar. It was fantastic! He gave us tasting notes and I admitted I couldn't perceive half of what he reeled off. I said he spoke like a sommelier and he laughed again and said he claimed he had a better palate than Kenny, the sommelier who worked for him. He thanked us for coming in and seemed sincere. When he left, J looked at me and said, "That was amazing." I laughed and said it was a Wednesday at a bar.

Before we left, I asked Rainha to make me a Penicillin and we talked about Scotch. She related how she introduced her brother to Scotch and now that's all he drank. We talked about how things were during the shutdown and I told her about a new place I'd been the previous Saturday. Outside, J exclaimed this was just the best time! He said he'd never be able to talk staff like that, let alone the owner. I said talking to industry people was one of my favorite things. They are so interesting and I think they find it refreshing when someone at the bar wants to hear about them instead of wanting to talk about themselves. Then I said, I know where we'll go next. Maybe Stephen is working.

Our next stop was at Cuvee Wine Table and Stephen greeted me at the door with a huge "Shane!" and a hug. If J was impressed with Commonwealth, I thought he should fasten his seatbelt. Stephen is a trip. Except, Stephen exclaimed I'm on this side of the bar now! To my quizzical look, he said he was the manager now. Amidst introductions, our bartender, Andie came over and introduced herself. She was tall, regally thin, and wore a colorful scarf on her head. She offered an engaging personality I perceived as professional banter but sensed alos she seemed to enjoy her job.

When I described what kind of wine I preferred, she said, "OOh how about a white?" Ooookay??? I thought to myself, this is going to be fun. Stephen came back as Andy set my glass down in front of me and asked, "What are we having?" Andie said, it's the Santorini. Stephen, a newly minted sommelier, immediately launched into an enthusiastic description about this remarkable wine from a Greek Island. He said it was so constantly windy, they braided the vine boughs into bowls to protect the fruit on the inside. I smelled it and it reminded me of a Sav Blanc but when I tasted it, I knew I'd found a new favorite. It had a salty savory aspect with more minerality than any white I'd had previously.

Andie was from Lexington and our other bartender, Heather, was newly arrived from the Nashville area. Heather was training behind the bar but seemed tres calm. At one point she asked us to wish her luck and I realized she was going to take an order. When she came back, I was a little surprised but delighted when J asked her where she was from specifically. It turned out they were from the same area and knew the same high schools and such. Great fun. When Stephen came and asked if we were eating, I said, "What am I having?" The cassoulet he responded immediately and then he tried to add in sweet breads but I insisted I was out on that. J selected a flatbread and when my giant bowl of white beans with pork and a small chicken leg came, I felt I'd got the better order. He admitted sheepishly he just didn't like beans and that was that.

I suggested we finish with a French brandy served in proper snifters and asked for a bottle of the Santorini to go home. It was full dark but comfortably warm walking to the car and J asked if I were up for one more on him. I suggested we go see Emily at Brooklyn and the Butcher. She made me a perfect drink in January and I'd been craving another ever since.

All the way to New Albany, J kept bringing up how much he enjoyed the two wine bars and how he hoped he and his wife could indulge in similar experiences when their children were older. He worried his wife didn't really like anything but sweet wine and was picky about that. I laughed and said D was exactly the same but she was game to hang out and recently started to appreciate ciders and frutied beers, and even some semi-sweet wines.

There were still plenty of cars parked on the street when we arrived at Brooklyn and the Butcher. I noticed there was no one at the hostess stand when we walked in but I breezed past into the bar. There were two women sitting at the bar and I was a bit disappointed when I realized the bartender wasn't Emily. I was even more so when she came over and apologized but said they'd closed already. I laughed and made a joke about the owner being an old man for closing so early then I realized who it was sitting at the bar. I asked, "Is that Emily sitting at the bar?" she said it was and I got up and walked over. We talked for ten minutes about my last visit and I asked her about her trip to Savannah. She kept apologizing for the bar being closed but I assured her I would be back. It was fine, we'd walk down to The Earl.

I got a bad vibe the minute we walked in. The bar was mostly full and there was only one bartender. He was wearing short shorts and took forever to get us a drink menu then never looked our way for the next five minutes. I suggested we go to Recbar nearby. There it was the same. The lone bartender, woman this time, was overwhelmed and though the bar was half empty she never looked our way before I lost patience.

Okay then. We were driving to my final option (so I thought) when I stopped at a light. J said, "Look at that! A cop is chasing that guy!" Sure enough through the sparse traffic I could see a black guy sprinting along the side of the normally busy road. His arms were pistoning up and down, his hands flattened into chopping motions like a track sprinter. Coming behind but steadily losing ground was a hefty police officer. He looked ridiculous and I can only imagine he might be thinking everyone watching thought he looked ridiculous. I wondered if he might pull his gun.

The light turned green then and I moved forward. That's when we spotted a car with the front passenger side crushed in where it had impacted the guardrail, on the opposite side of the road. There was a cop car with its lights flashing parked behind it. I couldn't see any activity around the cars as we drove past. About a half mile up the road we pulled into the parking lot of our 4th attempt to get a last drink. It was closed.

We laughed and decided we'd had enough fun. As we headed back towards the scene of the incident, sirens and flashing lights were suddenly all around us. I guess there was a manhunt. I weaved through parked cruisers while J counted eight more with lights flashing on side streets . Fifteen minutes later I dropped him off. He thanked me profusely but it nothing but what I like to do anyway.

20 mins later I pulled into the garage and for a second my heart did the little flutter it always does when I see D's car parked in its spot. Then I sighed remembering she wasn't home and wouldn't be for another week.

Just a Wednesday.

[etirabys]

Stephen King is more readable (in a certain sense) than any writer I know – when I pick up any book he wrote, even if it’s one of his worse books or it doesn’t have a premise that’s interesting to me, within paragraphs I’m hooked enough to want the next few. I always, always want to read the next few paragraphs when I’m in a King novel.

The other notable thing about King’s writing is the gratuitous physical detail – intensely local and dated. He knows or decides what things are called and isn’t shy about listing them. No one ever picks up a paper – they pick up a specific, named paper. No one’s uncle once served in the army – they served in a specific unit in a specific war. One character intro begins with a survey of his medicine cabinet. This is one paragraph out of three, for the three shelves:

On the top shelf there’s Anacin, Excedrin, Excedrin P.M., Contac, Gelusil, Tylenol, and a large blue jar of Vicks, looking like a bit of brooding deep twilight under glass. There is a bottle of Vivarin, a bottle of Serutan (That’s “Nature’s” spelled backwards, the ads on Lawrence Welk used to say when Eddie Kaspbrak was but a wee slip of a lad), and two bottles of Phillips’ Milk of Magnesia—the regular, which tastes like liquid chalk, and the new mint flavor, which tastes like mint-flavored liquid chalk. Here is a large bottle of Rolaids standing chummily close to a large bottle of Tums. The Tums are standing next to a large bottle of orange-flavored Di-Gel tablets. The three of them look like a trio of strange piggy-banks, stuffed with pills instead of dimes.

As a teenager and aspiring writer, reading King this gave me a horrible sense of inadequacy. For god’s sake, how am I supposed to know this stuff? How am I supposed to reference specific ads?– I don’t even listen to ads! King, conversely, strikes me as someone who walks through life very awake to everything, soaking in all the random details of how the world around him worked. And when he sits down to write, he can regurgitate any of this and throw it onto the page with maximalist energy.

Possibly he got very excited about just listing things when he was on cocaine and this novel was written in cocaine era? But I definitely couldn’t list things like this on cocaine! I do not pay attention to the world around me. I don’t know the name of the company whose electricians come to fix things in my house. I don’t know what wood was used to make the legs of my kitchen chairs. I take medicine for an issue and then forget its name. I get from point A to B by train or car or bus, and then I forget what the tracks or roads were called – forget even the pattern that governs their names. I  can never make up road names because I doubt that I can model the underlying generator or distribution that names are drawn from. It’s very clear that King does not live life like me:

If, on that night of May 28th, 1985, you had wanted to find the man Time magazine had called “perhaps the most promising young architect in America” (“Urban Energy Conservation and the Young Turks,” Time, October 15, 1984), you would have had to drive west out of Omaha on Interstate 80 to do it. You’d have taken the Swedholm exit and then Highway 81 to downtown Swedholm (of which there isn’t much). There you’d turn off on Highway 92 at Bucky’s Hi-Hat Eat-Em-Up (“Chicken Fried Steak Our Specialty”) and once out in the country again you’d hang a right on Highway 63, which runs straight as a string through the deserted little town of Gatlin and finally into Hemingford Home

Stephen King, how – why – stop that! That’s just too much! I would just say “the guy was in a bar that night”. It’s hard to see what this route description adds to the story, but it’s also clear to me that the underlying tendency that made him add this paragraph is also part of what hooks me in so fast into a King novel. King’s characters are kind of samey – white and sometimes black 20th century Americans whose type he knows well – and fade quickly in my mind once I put down the book, but while I’m in it, they’re so alive and relatable and specific, bursting with the detail of who-they-are, detail that Stephen King seems to effortlessly pour onto the page.

#rambl #eti reads stuff #eti reads it #more notes than usual

[scribeofmorpheus]

Chasing Tornadoes {2/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language, overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added. 18+ Generally, like my blog.

A/N: mention of/scenario depicting an anti-vaxxer situation.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Taglist is open -comment or send an ask!

<< Previously ○ Next >>

~

“Read ‘em and weep,” Marcy smacked her winning cards on the food tray for you to see. “Go fish!”

“Again?” you scrunched your nose as you gathered the cards on the tray and placed them onto the deck. “You sure you aren’t cheating?”

Marcy flashed her pearly whites at you through steady breaths. She was certainly enjoying the win, “Years of practice.”

She looked better today, less pasty, just as pale, but better. It was comforting to see her smile.

“One more game?” She asked with keen interest. You could tell she hoped you’d say yes.

“I already broke the rules smuggling this contraband for you,” you shook the cards then sighed, disappointed in the fact you had to let her down, “Besides, you have to rest, little missy.” You put the deck of cards in its box and then sealed it inside a ziplock bag.

“Rest is boring,” she huffed. “It’s all I do anyway.”

After stashing the cards in your lab coat, you tucked the blanket around her, “Well you need to keep up your strength for the transplant.”

An announcement sounded off from the PA speakers outside the room: “Mike Weschler to Observation Three. Mike Weschler to Observation Three.”

As if summoned by the devil, Mike knocked on the door to Marcy’s room. He nudged his head for you to go out, undoubtedly in too much of a rush to go through decontamination.

You held up a finger and mouthed: “One minute.”

Mike tapped his wrist like his watch was on.

You turned your attention back to Marcy, “I’ve gotta get back out there, but if you need anything...”

Marcy breathed shallow, turning on her side to stare at the wall, “I know.”

Quietly, you walked away, feeling there was nothing more you could say. You tapped the sanitiser dispenser and worked the clear gel all over your hands once you left the sealed room.

Mike shoved his hands in his white coat, “You got a sec?”

“Hey to you too,” you folded your arms. “What is it?”

“Kids,” Mike’s eyes went large as if he’d seen a ghost, a comical shudder followed suit.

You rolled your eyes, “Lead the way.”

 The hospital was calmer the day after the tornado struck. Still buzzing with adrenaline-fuelled fellows and tired residents, only now there were more white coats around. More senior staff relieved the stressful work load. Their presence had helped ease the minds of the younger staff members, allowing them more moments to sneak up to the roof for a smoke or time to themselves.

Even though the rooms were as full as the day the tornado struck, the brunt of the more serious cases were moved to the hospital in the town over.

Mike’s hair was dishevelled, a sign of poor sleep.

“Here we are,” he opened the door to Observation Three and waited for you to enter first before grabbing a clipboard.

There was a family of four all huddled together. Of the two children, the oldest –a teenager by the looks of it– was hunching over the edge of the examination bed. The mother was busying herself by wiping down every surface with disinfectant wipes. The father was less on edge.

“Hello, I’m Dr Mike Weschler, this here is my colleague,” Mike droned with no emotion in his voice. He flipped through the clipboard quickly before clearing his throat, not bothering to look up. “Persistent headache,” he mumbled to himself. Then he grabbed his pen and started filling in the form, “Any other symptoms?”

The father leaned closer, as if his voice would take less time to reach Mike if he closed in their distance. “He’s had a fever, and yesterday he threw up twice.”

“Did you try Paracetamol or Ibuprofen for the fever?” Mike said.

The mother eyed him coldly, “We gave him cold medicine, didn’t work. That’s why we’re here.”

Mike scratched his nose, picking up on the mother’s condescending tone. The nib of his pen pressing into the paper harder. The scratching noise of his writing more pronounced.

“What’s our patient’s name?” You interjected as you looked over the teenager’s features and instantly noticed the redness around his eyes, pale skin and shiny forehead. Though that last observation could simply be a dermatological issue like oily skin.

The teenager stayed silent, waiting for one of his parent’s to answer.

“His name’s Noah,” the mother said, a seriousness to her demeanour. From her attire, you assumed she’d be an academic or a teacher.

“Hello, Noah. I’m Dr Y/N. Do you mind if I take a look?”

He shook his head.

An introvert, you thought. You could relate.

You felt under his jaw for any swelling. Then you tilted his head side to side. He winced.

“Stiff?” You asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” He answered.

“Anyone you know exhibiting similar symptoms –maybe from school or around–?” Mike asked the room.

“Not that we know of,” the mother replied.

Mike inhaled, “Go anywhere outside your usual routine?”

The mother spoke more sharply, “No.”

You fished out your otoscope and looked into his ears. You sighed in thought. “We’re going to have to run bloodwork, check for cultures.”

The father stammered, “Y-you don’t think it’s…meningitis do you?”

Mike answered matter-of-factly, “Fever, headache and neck stiffness. It is a possibility.”

You put on your soft, calming voice, “But, it could also be a common cold. We’ll know more once the tests come back.”

The mother shuffled on her feet, nose high in the air, “And how long do we have to wait?” She wasn’t comfortable in the hospital.

Mike held the clipboard behind his back and plastered on a straight-lined smile, “I’ll get right on it.”

“Excuse us,” you dragged Mike out of the room by his lanyard, discretely. When you were both out of earshot you gave him a tongue lashing. “Show a bit more empathy, Mike. Those parents are probably worried sick.”

“It’s always the parents,” Mike scoffed. “Ironically, when I told my dad I was going into medicine, he suggested paediatrics,” He worked his jaw till it turned red.

Suddenly, Stephen appeared from behind a corner, hands in his pockets, seemingly with nothing to do. He picked up his pace when he saw you.

The clipboard was snatched out of Mike’s hands. Stephen read over the notes and asked: “Have you ordered a blood workup?”

Mike sighed, “It’s on my to-do list.”

“Must be a long list,” Stephen condescended.

“Longer than yours, by the looks of it,” Mike send behind clenched teeth.

Stephen rose a brow and tilted his head to the side. He handed the clipboard back.

The air between then was as prickly as the first time they’d met. Mike was trying his hardest to keep things civil between them. Stephen liked pushing that particular envelope. You imagined it gave him something to occupy his time. Being referee was going to grow old very quick. You could feel it.

Thankfully, Arlene jogged up to just in time to shift the mood. She handed you a tablet, “Hey…Uh, Dr Weisz put me in charge of doing the drive roster. I need at least two senior medical staff to supervise. I asked Dr Sanje and Dr Cho, but they’re swamped.”

 Mike groaned, “Nope, I’ve had enough of kids for today.” He walked away.

“Mike, where are you going?” You called after him

He raised the clipboard in the air, “To exercise my empathetic muscles.”

“Drive?” Stephen looked over at Arlene, his height and hooded gaze made her wring her wrists anxiously.

Her voice went several octaves softer, “F-flu sh-shots. The hospital sends out a van to the school district each season.”

“Wow, you really do that?” Stephen sounded surprised. “And you guys sign up for this?”

You signed two names on the roster, “You’re not at Met Gen anymore, Stephen. We do things differently here.”

Arlene accepted the tablet with a nod and hurried on her way. You turned to Stephen and asked: “Do you have any patients?”

“Not many in need of brain surgery here,” he sounded almost wistful.

“Good,” you smirked. A mischievous twinkle in your eye. “How are you with kids?”

You started heading down the hallway.

“Terrible,” Stephen followed, looking particularly perplexed by the question. “Why?”

You held back your need to laugh.

 “So this is why you asked,” Stephen folded his hands over his chest, looking down at you as though you were the devil himself. He wasn’t at all thrilled about the fact you had dragged him away from the hospital to give out flu shots at a school.

“The alternative would’ve been babysitting,” you poked fun at him. “And my Spike has a tendency to bite strange men.”

“You have a kid?” Stephen was taken aback.

You bit back a laugh, letting Stephen do a little mental gymnastics as you walked away.

He was ridged and out of his element around the kids. It was the first time his larger than life personality seemed grounded, awkward. You loved every moment of it.

“This is a seasonal occurrence?” Stephen asked with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

The two of you were seated on a bench in the cafeteria while you waited for the other Fellows and Interns to clear up the equipment. A small juice box was held between Stephen’s palms. His long fingers appeared cartoonishly large holding the small juice box.

“What Met Gen never ask you to give out shots?” you asked rhetorically.

His brow had been furrowed the entire time, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” You popped the lid off your yoghurt drink.

“Work here. Live here,” He shook his head, confounded by it all. “All those years of medical training to wind up here? In a town that’s so…predictable?”

You let out a slow breath, feeling somewhat insulted. “I used to work in the city. I was raised in the city, actually.”

“And you left, willingly?” Stephen guffawed.

“When I first got here, Dr Weisz said that this wasn’t a place for those who wanted to make a name for themselves –to spread their wings. She told me this is where we perch,” you took a long gulp of your drink.

Stephen ruffled his professionally styled hair, “And what’s that supposed to mean? That this is where your career comes to die?”

“That this isn’t a place that puts ambition before practice. Not everyone in this field is in it for the fame.” Your words came off accusatory.  

Stephen picked up on the fact he had offended you. You closed the lid on your drink a little too tight. The ridges of the cap burning your palm. Stephen didn’t apologise, he just looked elsewhere as if pondering life’s mysteries. That annoyed you even further.

What did Christine see in him? You wondered.

“Help!” A teacher burst into the cafeteria in a panic, arm pointing behind her. “Earl–one of our staff members–he just collapsed!”

You and Stephen shot up, taking an emergency kit with you.

 The man, Earl, was lying on the ground, unresponsive.

“Any medical history we should be aware of?” you asked the woman who led you to Earl.

“I- N-n… I don’t…” She shook.

Stephen got to him before you did. He checked his respiratory rate and pulse like it was second nature, counting the beats with the ticking of the second’s hand on his expensive watch.

“Unresponsive,” Stephen said. “Get the tube, I’ll begin chest compressions.”

You looked over at the unresponsive man, methodically weighing the options. The amount of time it would take you to unpack the tube, get it into his airways, attach the pump and begin to force air into his airways… You didn’t linger on it, it was best to get him breathing now.

Without warning, you leaned over, pinched the man’s nose and began mouth to mouth.

Stephen lost his cool, “What are you--?”

“Begin chest compressions,” you ordered, ignoring Stephen’s glare.

The two of you worked together, no need for extra words. In tandem, you were like a muscle unit. When you contracted he relaxed. And vice versa.

Finally, after more compressions than you would’ve liked to wait through, Earl coughed and groaned to consciousness.

“Wha- happ’n’d?” Earl slurred his words.

“Welcome back,” you flopped back onto the floor, wiping sweat from your brow. “Come on, buddy. You’re coming with us to get a check-up.”

The grey haired man gave no fuss, he got up on wobbly feet, aided by Stephen and said: “Yes, ma’am.”

 A beeping sound went off as you helped Earl into the back of an ambulance. Stephen had been uncharacteristically quiet since the whole thing went down. You chalked it up to wounded pride.

The car ride had been uncomfortable. Neither of you said a word to one another. Even if it was wounded pride, he was blowing things way out of proportion.

You wheeled Earl into the hospital with the help of the paramedics, “Sixty-five-year-old male, collapsed from unknown reasons. Slurred speech and incoherence. Had to perform CPR on sight.”

“Earl?” Jan recognised the man.

You walked over to her desk, “Know him?”

“Yeah, my son’s history teacher. Think he has a heart problem,” Jan said.

“Possible heart failure!” You shouted after the residents. One of them nodded in response.

“Why’s he so sour?” Jan looked over at Stephen.

“That’s what I wanna know,” you huffed. 

You pulled Stephen aside.

“What’s the matter with you?” you whispered.

He flexed his jaw muscles, eyes growing smaller and he leaned down to speak in a careful tone, “I specifically told you to use the tube.”

“It would have taken too long,” you protested.

“Do you know why I specifically asked you to use the tube?”

You bit your lip, “No, why?”

“Because of Mike’s patient. He’s a teenage kid exhibiting symptoms of either bacterial or viral infection, possibly contagious. There’s a high chance he goes to that school. You could have exposed yourself to a contagion,” he made sure to stress his words so they fell like bricks rather than cards. “But then again, what do I know, since I’m just in it for the fame. Right?”

He was right. Damn him, but he was right. You had thought only of the patient, not the environment.

You couldn’t find anything else to say. Stephen pinched his nose bridge and strode away. The temple on his forehead was throbbing.

And then the second wave hit as soon as you walked into the main wing.

“Do you know how irresponsible this is? It’s not just your kids that are put at risk by this,” Mike held his hands on his hips, stance wide. He was in a heated conversation with the parents from earlier. Noah’s parents.

Stephen caught wind of the commotion and butted in, “What’s the issue?–Observation Three, isn’t it?–I’m guessing you got the tests back?”

“Sure did,” Mike sucked in air through his teeth and handed the chart to Stephen.

“Type B…” Stephen sounded worried. “Why wasn’t he immunised?”

“They chose not to,” Mike waved his hand at the parents.

You were about to play referee again, only this time it seemed Stephen and Mike were both on the same offensive team while the parents held their defensive position.

Stephen straightened his back and somehow he appeared taller, intimidating. His professional face was on, and he instantly began barking orders, “Mike, there’s a patient we just brought in, elderly man, mid 60’s, possible heart condition. Make sure they run a blood screen on him too in case this isn’t an isolated incident. Has the CDC been informed?”

“Dr Weisz is making that call now,” Mike sounded defeated.

“Make sure the kid gets a chest x-ray and do cultures for the parents and younger sibling too. Oh, and inform the school,” Stephen grabbed your elbow and led you away from the crowd. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“An isolation unite. Noah tested positive for Influenza B.”

You swallowed.

 The testing took a few hours and four Sudoku games before your results came back. Stephen walked into your isolated unit without taking the necessary precautions.

It was good news then.

You sighed in relief.

Stephen hadn’t cooled off yet.

“Lab work came back negative,” Stephen kept both hands in his pockets. “Turns out Earl had a pacemaker installed a year ago. It’s been giving him some trouble for a while. He didn’t come in due to insurance issues.”

“And Noah?” you asked.

“Antibiotics seem to be working. Caught it early enough. He’ll be fine. School only had one other case to report.”¨

There was a beat of silence. Then you decided to bite the bullet, guilt gnawing at your gut.

“Listen, Strange, I wanted to app—”

“You should get some rest,” Stephen cut you short.

You weren’t going to leave until you said your piece. Otherwise you’d toss and turn all night, “But first let me—”

He was avoiding your gaze, “I should go and check on Earl.”

“Stephen!”

He stopped.

You realised, just then, that that was the first time you’d called him by his first name. It felt…personal. No longer simply professional.

He turned to look at you, slowly.

“I—I’m sorr—”

“I was wrong,” he said suddenly. “This town. It’s not as predictable as I thought. It appears there are still some things that can surprise me.”

Did Strange –Stephen! – Just admit he was wrong?

You were stunned, pleasantly so.

Before you could think to say something else, he was gone.

 To be continued...

#doctor strange #stephen strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x you #reader insert #benedict cumberbatch #marvel #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange/reader

[hellimagines]

Starlight Saviour (Chapter Two) -- Billy Hargrove

*My masterlist link can be found in my blog description*

Summary: Being Steve Harrington’s younger sister and the notorious girlfriend of Billy Hargrove is hell. Especially when your boyfriend becomes infected and you’re the only one willing to step between him and the monster.

Warnings: Injury descriptions, angst

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!Harrington!reader

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: This is kinda short so rip but be p r o u d that I even posted ok ily guys. Also, please make sure you read my Taglist Rule before asking to be added to the S.S Taglist. 

Sitting in the driver’s seat of Billy’s Camaro felt wrong, like ice seeping through the blood of your veins. It didn’t feel wrong because you’d never driven the car before, no, on the contrary, you’ve had to take over the blue baby on multiple occasions: if it was Billy’s turn to get plastered at a party, the keys were always firmly in your pocket, or if Billy had another fight with his dad and his hands were shaking to the point of jerking the car, you always eased him into pulling over so you could drive, or if you simply missed the control driving gave you, Billy would hand over the keys without complaint. Being behind the Camaro’s wheel, shards of glass crunching under your ass, wasn’t what had your blood freezing as you stared out the glassless windshield, trying to figure out what had just happened; it was being in the car alone, without the familiar warmth of Billy’s hand on your thigh or his finger curling in a strand of your hair. It was the knowing fact that you were whole-heartedly alone in this fight and you may never get to hold your boyfriend in your arms again. 

Your bloody hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and a shaky whimper escaped your lips. You still hadn’t pulled out of Brimborn, still hoping that Billy (not The Mind Flayer) would limp out of the rusted doors and fall into your arms, safe and whole. But he wasn’t going to, not any time soon, and with that knowledge, you dropped the keys into the center console. You couldn’t bring yourself to drive the car without Billy, and in case he did come back, you didn’t want him stranded and afraid. Making up your mind, you dragged yourself out of the car on shaking legs and shut the door with a deep breath, preparing yourself for the walk ahead. You could handle it, you’ve dealt with worse and no doubt would be dealing with worse to come- but Billy didn’t deserve that. To wake up to find himself alone without you or his car, and with possibly no recollection of what happened. A few miles on a broken ankle wasn’t going to kill you, you’d be fine, you could handle it.

--

Holy hell, you were going to die.

It was presumably two hours into your walk, and you had just made it out of the backroads, leaving the support of the woodland trees behind. By now, the pain in your ankle had made its way up to your head and you couldn’t tell what hurt more: your ankle, the right side of your body, your knees, your head, or just… everything. But, you were willing to put your money on the ‘everything’ part of your body. You had had to take off your shoe about half an hour ago since your foot became too swollen for it and your sock, and because of that, the bottom of your foot was getting cut up on rocks and sticks and jutting trash littering the ground. Limping and putting your weight on your right foot only did so much for so long. But, you had to keep going. No matter how badly you wanted to and how much your body throbbed, you had to keep moving. The sooner you got home, the sooner you could figure out a plan to save Billy. 

 Lifting your head from examining your ankle, you were able to see the bright lights of Starcourt Mall and the fair. It was still dead silent where you were, but at least now you had hope and relief that you’d make it back home before sunrise. You weren’t sure what time it was, nor how long it would take you to actually get home, but you gripped onto hope and let it push you forward, willing one foot in front of the other. 

—

By the time you clambered up the cement steps of your front porch, the black sky was beginning to shift to a dark, cerulean blue. The stars were gone but the moon wasn’t, only just beginning to fade into the west as the sun peeked in the east. Steve’s car was parked half-hazardly in the driveway, and, per usual, your parents’ cars were nowhere to be seen. Quietly, you slipped inside the house, thankful that Steve never bothered to lock the door when you were ‘out late’. Toeing off your shoes and kicking them beside the door, you crept upstairs, pausing momentarily outside of your brother’s room. Even though your entire body ached and your mind felt numb, you still wanted to reach out to him and find a sense of comfort somewhere. However, the familiar sound of Steve’s snores filled your ears, and you couldn’t find the effort within yourself to wake him up.

So, you turned back around and headed to your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. It only took a second for you to fall asleep once your bloody and battered body hit the bed, quiet whimpers escaping your lips as nightmares overtook your mind. 

Around noon, you woke with a jolt and a thin layer of sweat coating your body. Your tank top stuck uncomfortably to your body, and the sweat had allowed the dry blood to slip off onto your bed, creating a horror show of a mess. 

You sighed, “I’ll deal with that later.” 

Pulling yourself out of bed, you winced at the pressure applied on your left ankle and briefly looked down to see that it was still an ugly color and unbelievably swollen. You were hoping that last night was just another nightmare, that Billy was safe and okay, but you knew that that wasn’t the case. You still had no idea what you were going to say to Steve (or anybody else for that matter) to try and convince them to help you. You weren’t even sure they’d believe you- they’d probably all think Billy was the one who purposely caused your injuries. A headache began to form at the thought of that and all the instantaneous thinking you had begun to do upon waking up. 

Groaning, you pressed a finger against your temple, wincing at the sudden sharp pain. Sparing your hand a look, you saw glittering glass shards imbedded in it, trailing from your fingers up to your shoulder. God, you had so much cleaning up to do. With a shake of your head, you stood up, staggering towards your bedroom door. You paused for a second, listening for any signs of Steve, before deciding the coast was clear and sneaking out the door. You dashed across the hall (as fast as you could on a damaged ankle) and slipped into the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief once you were safely inside. It hurt to do so, but with a wince you managed to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink, checking for any first aid supplies. 

To your surprise, there was a fully-stocked first aid kit under the sink, decorated with the red cross and caduceus. Opening it up you pulled out tweezers, bandages, antibiotic ointment, and other things you weren’t sure if you’d need or not. You stripped off your shirt and your shorts before turning on the shower to the hottest setting it would go. You waited a minute, allowing the water time to heat up, before sticking your right arm underneath the spray. Pain instantly lit up your body but you bit back a cry, teeth smashing into your bottom lip to keep quiet. Breathing through your teeth, you clenched your fist tightly, forcing more blood to flow from your freshly opened cuts. Even though it hurt, you knew you needed to wash off your arm as much as possible in order to pick out the shards and disinfect it properly. The water burned your wounds, both because of the temperature and because they had already begun to turn an angry red, a clear sign of an oncoming infection. Regardless of the pain, you kept your arm under the water for a few minutes, scrubbing away the occasional dry-blood flake or speck of dirt, before you pulled it back and shut off the water. 

A sudden knock at the bathroom door startled you, causing you to jump backward and knock yourself into the sink, nearly slipping on the puddle that had formed beside the shower. You yelled out in pain, which only made the person on the other side of the door knock again, harder. “(Y/N)! You okay? Why didn’t you come home last night?” Steve called through the door, no doubt pressing his ear against the wood to better hear for any signs of distress. 

“I’m fine!” you lied thickly, clenching your teeth due to the amount of pain you were in. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Are you sure?” Steve pressed, but you only rolled your eyes. 

“Yes, Stephen. I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” you yelled. 

Silence followed, before you heard a grunt of disapproval and footsteps leading away from the door. Sighing in annoyance, you turned back to the first aid kit while shaking your arm to try and rid of a few water droplets. Grabbing the small pair of tweezers, you began to slowly pick out as many of the shards as you could. Your left hand shook as you plucked out shards, and most of the pieces of glass were minuscule compared to the ones that had already fallen out- both of which slowed your progress down to an annoying level. But, you had to try your best in order to avoid any serious infections. You dropped each shard into the trash can, making a mental note to take it out later before your older brother found any evidence of your injuries. Once you managed to pick out the pieces of glass (the ones you could see at least), you slathered on antibiotic ointment and wrapped your arm in a bandage. You looked around the bathroom for anything you could use to cover your arm, not wanting to make the extra trip back to your room, when you saw a hoodie hanging on the back of the door. It was Billy’s red Hawkin’s Lifeguard jacket, and as you slipped it on, you could still smell Billy’s cologne, cigarettes, and pool chlorine. A deep ache filled your chest, instantly filling you with a longing to be back in your boyfriend’s arms- one you had no choice but to ignore as you hurriedly cleaned up the bathroom before leaving. Your fingers messed with the hem of the jacket sleeves as you shut the door behind you, a familiar burning sensation in your nose alerting you that you were about to cry. 

“Fuck,” you choked out softly, momentarily leaning against the door to catch your bearings. You still had no fucking idea what you were going to say to Steve, and the thought of sitting down and reliving everything that had happened last night sounded horrendous. ‘God,’ you thought bitterly, ‘I just want Billy back.’

“(Y/N)!” Steve yelled up the stairs, making you roll your eyes as you were forcefully brought out of your emotions.

You screamed back, “I’m coming!”, before throwing yourself off of the door and hobbling your way down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs was your older brother, his hands cocked on his hips as he watched you try and limp down the stairs.

“‘The fuck happened to you?” he shot out instantly, eyes casting over your busted ankle.

“None of your fucking business,” you bit back immediately, scowling as he climbed the stairs to help you. He looped his arm around your waist and forced your left arm over his shoulders, before leaning your weight onto him and helping you down the last few steps. “I didn’t need your help.”

“You sure? Because your ankle looks like a fucking plum.” His tone was short and held no room for a sarcastic argument, but you were gonna give him one anyway.

“Oh yeah? Well, your face looks like a fucking pumpkin.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, leave me the hell alone,” you snapped, shoving him away from you despite your screeching ankle. Steve rolled his eyes but stepped back, clenching his teeth at the obvious pain you were in.

“You need to go to the hospital,” Steve said, biting his lip in obvious worry as you winced with each step. He fell silent for a moment before whispering, “Did he do this?”, and looking over his shoulder in the direction of the living room. 

You furrowed your brow, leaning against the wall for temporary support. “What? Did who do what?”

“The psychopath in the living room, did he hurt you?” he whispered again, but harsher this time. 

“What-” You paused, your eyes widening in a suddenly horrific realization. “S-Steve… who’s in the living room?” 

“Billy. What other psychopath do I know?”

—

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[cryxmercy]

Blood & Roses || Mercy & Arthur

Mercy surprises Arthur with a trip to her archive. It goes... mostly as planned.  

When: recently, after the mimes left and before the sun became an eye. Where: The Western Archives Who: Mercy and Arthur 

@arthurjdrake

TW for vomit (from a supernatural creature), injury, and descriptions of internal bodily functions (supernatural creature)

“Still curious?” Mercy asked Arthur as they stood at the mouth of a small, slightly overgrown trail that led off into the murky gloom of a patch of forest in the Outskirts. She’d picked him up less than an hour ago, revving her motorcycle’s engine from his driveway until he’d finally made his way outside. The drive over had been uneventful, other than Mercy’s penchant for breaking traffic laws, especially speed limits. But they’d arrived unscathed. 

Now, Mercy shouldered her bag as she grinned over at Arthur, knowing there was likely no way he wasn’t still wondering just what the hell was going on. So she started walking, the trail so narrow in places that they had to walk one behind the other. The forest sounds gradually changed, turning into noises that weren’t quite the same as back where she’d parked her bike. The path seemed to darken as well, though if one looked straight up they could see blue sky overhead. 

Mercy walked on as if she’d done this a thousand times. And when the forest simply… stopped… she kept walking. Into an enormous circular clearing… and a sea of crimson blooms. At the center of which stood a tower made of weathered grey stone, it’s surface covered in climbing brambles of the same dark, blood-red hue.

“Mind the roses,” Mercy said, glancing over her shoulder at Arthur as the roses simply… pulled back to allow them to pass through. 

 “You say that as if I’m ever not curious,” he remarked thoughtfully. There were several puddles near to where she stopped the bike, remnants of a cloudburst earlier in the day. Arthur stepped around them carefully, inhaling the smell of damp earth as they wound through the forest of aspen and pine, letting the pleasing ambience settle him. By now, the sky was a vibrant blue and shards of sunlight cut through the foliage, glinting off the branches.

She moved off without further insight, and it was all he could do but follow her deeper into the gloomier depths of the forest, the sunlight vanishing as the trees seemed to become an unapproachable thicket. Yet she persisted forwards, and he followed suit until suddenly he was blinded by the saber of light that cut through illuminating a large circular clearing. Who would’ve known such a thing was here? Intrigued perked him up enough to hurry his steps, minding a few holes of unpacked earth on route. “Wait, what is this place?”

His eyes widened as they approached the tower, so out of place for a town such as this. It seemed more like something that would fit in back in the wilderness of home. Though he was taken by the roses as they unfurled in front of them making a clear path through to the tower beyond. But a single look was all it would take to tell he was utterly enamoured with this place. “How’d you find it?” there was a quiet note of awe in his voice.

“This… is the Western Archives. Affectionately known as ‘The Dark Tower.’” She gestured at the roses as they moved past. When she’d first seen the place, Mercy had wondered how it had stayed hidden for so long. But it wasn’t exactly on any maps; truly it wasn’t, because she’d checked. It was quite beautiful though, in the way so many old places are. 

“I told you I knew a guy. Turns out that guy is me.” Mercy grinned at him as they approached the foot of the tower. “When I was still working in Seattle, some perp gave me the key in exchange for their freedom.” Mercy shrugged. “Seemed weird at the time, but I think I got the better end of the deal.” Mercy could tell he was already done for, and gave his arm a small bump. “Come on… lemme show you the inside.” She walked straight through what looked like a solid wall of bramble-vines into the empty interior with it’s single spiraling staircase that led to the room at the top of the tower. 

Mercy turned in a slow circle, waiting for Arthur to join her. “It took me almost a week to figure out how to get into the archive itself.” She glanced at him again, grin still in place. “Care to give it a go?”

“Because that isn’t foreboding.” Yet despite the name, Arthur couldn’t help but be utterly enamoured by the architecture of this building with no apparent entrance. It hardly mattered, even looking at it settled a void he barely even realised had existed in his chest up until now. Gods he really loathed American architecture. What he wouldn’t do for an old fashioned tudor thatch style building, so to look upon the tower brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t even realised he’d been missing up until now. 

His stunned look moved over to her, a hand going to adjust his glasses and push them up where they’d slipped down the bridge of his nose in his wandering admiration of the tower. “Damn, what an idiot. How could anyone give this up?” The wonder and excitement was unbridled and practically radiated off him in waves as he reached out to touch the stone, his touch lingering there on the rough surface, fingers curling against the pleasant texture.  It took him a little while longer to pull away and follow her inside.

When they were both inside, Arthur looked at the staircase and then back to her. Wondering what she meant by getting into the archive. So this wasn’t the archive? Curious. His eyes drifted back to the brambles they had walked through, thinking about how they had gotten here. He then looked to the roses that bloomed against the wall on the inside stirring from a soft breeze that seemed to circle around the space from no particular point of origin. Cocking his head he wandered over to the roses, stooping at the waist to inspect them more closely. His hand raised to cup a few of the petals gently “They’re beautiful flowers… I don’t think I’ve ever seen blossoms like these… Stunning, simply stunning,” as he spoke these words new life seemed to stir into the plants. Their stems thickening and colour blooming brighter. “Huh, wow…”

“You must not read much Stephen King.” The tower had yet to reveal itself as any otherworldly epicenter, but it certainly was an interesting thing to find in the middle of a small town in Maine, USA. Mercy wasn’t even quite sure why she’d taken the key in the first place, other than it was a little bit too strange a thing to pass up. That, and the fact that she had been desperate for a change of pace. Of something different than the day to day dreariness of Washington State. And of the job she felt was a dead end. 

“Not sure,” she murmured in answer to Arthur’s question. “But to the victor go the spoils, hm?” Not that she was sharing with just anyone. Arthur was one of the rare exceptions. But then she’d always shared everything with him, hadn’t she? Bringing him here had been something she’d wanted to do since she’d known he was in town, but the timing just hadn’t been right. Now that they were here, Arthur’s expression said more than anything he could ever say out loud. And knowing he was happy… well, that made Mercy happy. 

She went on inside, waiting patiently for him to join her. His questioning look was met with a raised brow and a small gesture that meant he should have a look around. Mercy crossed her arms, following behind him but keeping back a bit to watch as he inspected the flowers. She’d bet money that he would have it figured out in no time. When he commented on the unusual nature of the roses, Mercy couldn’t help but grin. “They’re unique to this place… don’t grow anywhere else in town.” She leaned in a bit, laughing quietly as she watched the blooms grow more radiant under Arthur’s praises. “You work fast, Professor.” New blossoms had started to open up along the vine he was observing, their petals trembling slightly. “They like you already…”

“I’ve heard of it, haven’t read it,” Arthur admitted after a moment as he stood outside the exterior of the tower peering up and having to catch himself before he rocked off his heels peering up at the height. “This doesn’t look at all like it belongs… The architecture… framework, it’s all wrong for this region,” his fingers lightly scraped at the stonework and mortar between them vaguely testing their integrity. “There any aspect that dates this place? Engraved keystones above or the like?” He couldn’t see anything, so naturally he deferred to the person that owned this place.

He wandered in a little while later, and by process of elimination he figured out the next step of where to go based on what he’d seen already. Not that it was very complex given what had happened when they’d arrived and the thicket of rosevines beyond.

An amused noise escaped him as he ever so softly touched the petals, softly brushing them with the back of his fingers. Their colour seemed to deepen, and new blossoms unfurled along the vine. “They’re beautiful,” he said in all honesty, “I’ve never seen anything quite like them… Magic clearly and yet… not.” He continued to talk, idle remarks on the flowers and by the time he was done several new growths had curled forth their vines gently curling around his arms and hands blooming roses yet somehow the thorns never pricked his skin. “I think they do. This happen for everyone?”

“‘Go then… there are other worlds than these…’” Mercy quoted. “It doesn’t quite belong, does it?” she agreed. “It’s curious, but no. No keystones, no markers. Not that I’ve found at least.” That didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Or something that might help date the strange tower. Perhaps it was below, in the archive itself. They would have to see wouldn’t they? Mercy entered after that, giving Arthur a moment with his thoughts. 

She hummed quietly as the rose vines reacted to his presence. A small tendril curled towards the Fury, tiny buds sprouting along it’s length. Mercy held out a hand, and the little vine inspected her, rubbing against her like a cat, before turning it’s attention to the newcomer. “I wonder if its the tower that’s magic? And they just… evolved?” The roses were quite unique, and had never harmed her, other than the required price for her to enter the archive below. 

“Didn’t happen for me… they were a good bit more wary when I arrived.” The vines seemed to shudder in response to being talked about. “What?” Mercy said to the brambles. “You most certainly were.” Another small shudder. “Yes, well… no hard feelings.” She reached to gently untangle a bramble that was slowly creeping up Arthur’s shoulder. “Naughty… come on now... that’s enouOW!” The bramble poked her before curling back towards the wall. “Well, that’s just rude.” Mercy stuck the hurt finger in her mouth. “You better be nice, or I won’t bring him back…” A sharp rustle from the depths of the vines sounded strangely like a huff of resignation. “Thank you,” Mercy said in return. She looked at Arthur. “Anytime you’re ready…” 

“No, it reminds me of home-- England that is,” he made a quite noise of appreciation letting his hand fall away though he continued to admire the architecture of the building. “Seems strange someone built it and left no way to mark its date…”

“Maybe?” he echoed turning around on the spot to simply take in the circumference the tendrils of rose-vine curling around him a little and he was mindful not to tug on them too hard. “An extension of the tower? Maybe it’s from somewhere else and the magic helps sustain them?” Question was where did it come from if that was the case? And how had it gotten here.

The sudden exclamation made him jump a little, turning towards her “Careful!” he exclaimed before concern clouded his features and he looked to her sucking her thumb. “You alright?” The rose vines seemed to uncurl from around him after that, but he lightly stroked one making it tremble before he turned to look at where they had all bunched and curled into an ornate frame against the wall. In the centre being a door that hadn’t been there a moment prior. “Don’t you love magic?”

“Maybe they didn’t want anyone knowing,” she suggested. “Scribes are a secretive bunch from what I’ve heard. And possessive.” Mercy was that way too, about certain things - and certain people - so she could understand to a point.  “You mean the roses are from somewhere else? Or the whole tower?” That would be interesting indeed. Time rifts, or objects displaced in time, were something Mercy had only heard of. And she wasn’t quite sure what she thought of it. Other than it made her skin prickle unpleasantly.  

The vines took their irritation - and by proxy Mercy’s payment for passage - just then, and Mercy shook her head at Arthur’s concern. She showed him her thumb where the tiny prick was already healing. “I’m fine. Damn things just get touchy sometimes.” But the vines pulled back, and Mercy watched the blooms tremble again as Arthur touched them. Many a comment sat on the tip of her tongue, but she held them in for now. The doorway was open, and there was so much more beneath to explore. 

She gave him a soft smile. “It has its moments.” Mercy gestured that he should go first, and they stepped down the stone staircase and into the darkness. In the tower, the vines pulled back and the doorway faded from sight. 

A soft breeze drifted through the empty room, and the newly bloomed roses swayed along quietly. Waiting… listening. Watching. As they always had. 

“They are, though apparently not very good at hiding their HQs… This is the second Archive that I know of.” He glanced at the walls and general state of the place, “the whole tower, it’s the wrong era… Wrong architecture and from what I know of the region no one typically had reason to construct fortifications of any tower… A lot of housing was lodge-based and built from there you know?”

Still, with that said Arthur turned his attention to the revealed passageway and the staircase that wound down. Stepping forwards he reached a hand to the wall to steady himself as he went down. However, on the descent he stopped dead pushing his glasses up and peering more closely at the wall “do you see that?” His fingers moved over the surface, “see how it transitions? Brick to stone here… But these are newer materials - the bricks” Arthur tapped the surface in question. “So the tower and this archive can’t be connected… Or they certainly weren’t built together.”

“Is it?” Mercy thought back to where she’d heard of another archive. “Oh! Is that the one that what’s his name… Orion? The one he’s trying to catalogue?” She smirked slightly. “He came tromping up here one day, thinkin’ to just break in. We had a little chat about that.” Mercy didn’t elaborate as her attention turned to what Arthur was saying about the tower itself. “Maybe someone from across the pond was just… homesick? People immigrated from all over. Some with entirely too much money. And not a lot of common sense.” 

They moved down the staircase, Mercy moving with the familiarity of someone that had traveled them hundreds of times. She turned and came back up as Arthur pointed out another unusual feature of the architecture. One she’d never noticed before. Though to be fair, such things weren’t what Mercy was interested in when it came to the archive. But now that Arthur was showing her, she wondered how she hadn’t noticed before now. 

“Huh. That’s… odd.” She ran her fingers over the sections of stonework, noting the differences as Arthur pointed them out. “So… what then? Either the archive or the tower just… showed up one day? That’s…” Mercy didn’t know what that was. Other than it made her skin pebble with goosebumps. “Can you get a sample of the stone? Date it maybe? Because down there-” She pointed off into the dark corridor below. “- when you go far enough… the stone is even older than this.”

“Maybe, but this takes effort…” Arthur said. “And you’d mark a place as unique like this, give some kind of indication of where you’re from that would likely outlive you… You know how people were back then, it was all about legacy.” They’d lived through those days, and the lengths people would go to presence their livelihoods were rather remarkable. “I know they did, but you didn’t do this just ‘cause… And why the magic then? Either you did it deliberately or it’s sheer dumb luck” but even then the initial point stood about markers.

When they were in the stairwell, Arthur traced his finger over the transition line, roughly done but passable enough work that you’d overlook it unless you were looking for something to pick out. Which after their conversation upstairs, Arthur was keeping an eye out for everything unusual. 

“Well, either they built the archive under the tower if it was already here… But I’d question the methodology behind that because you wouldn’t know what sort of foundation you’re dealing with…” So it had to be the reverse. The archive and then the tower. He followed the line of sight that she pointed out, a curious and quietly excited chirp working its way past his lips. One that left him a little red-faced as he tried to rein back his excitement, “huh- uh, yeah. I’m sure I could… They have labs up at the university I could use to compare databases.” If they could get a match, they could get a potential indication for where this tower came from and if this theory was even right.

Mercy hummed in agreement, still inspecting the stone. “And you know that’s strange…” She glanced at him. “There’re no… keystones down here either. No markings or nameplates. Not in any of the bits I’ve explored. You’d almost think that… whoever built this place didn’t want to be remembered.” That was pure speculation on Mercy’s part, and she certainly hadn’t explored the entirety of the archive herself. She knew when traveling into a place alone might be a bad idea, and there were many places further in that gave off that vibe. So they remained unexplored for now. “Maybe someone forced them to,” she suggested. That could explain why there was no builder’s mark. “Or maybe this place is magically convergent. Maybe whatever was here, or brought here even - like the roses on the tower - absorbed that magic.” As leery of magic as Mercy could be, she wasn’t completely ignorant. Even if it still gave her the shivers. 

Arthur had always had an eye for small details. Whereas Mercy was more inclined towards seeing patterns in things, and connecting seemingly extraneous details. She could focus on the smaller things, but she tended to work her way down from the top, large to small. Though that was just another example of how the two of them worked well together.

Mercy wasn’t sure what the right answer was as far as what had come first. “You need to see the archive itself too… I hope you brought a notepad.” The excited chirp - and the followup blush - weren’t lost on Mercy, who smiled at him fondly. She found it quite endearing - and more than a tiny bit adorable - though she didn’t comment on it, not wanting to embarrass him. 

“Come on then… I think I’ve got some glass vials somewhere.” When Arthur was done inspecting, they moved towards the corridor which widened out to allow them to walk side by side. Electric sconces that were at least a century old flickered to life as they approached, dimming again once they’d passed by. There were no other doors here, just plain stone walls with no adornment. After the end there was a rather plain looking set of double doors. Mercy wasted no time pushing them open. They groaned and creaked on their hinges, but opened into a vast, opulent (for a century ago at least) room that spread out into the distance. 

Multiple chandeliers flickered to life as they entered, illuminating rows upon rows of shelves lined with books and scrolls and loose papers lined both sides of the main aisle. The carpets were a rich blue, covered in a fine layer of dust in areas that hadn’t been disturbed. There were stacks of books as tall as Mercy, ornate wooden tables covered in papers and writing utensils and odd gadgets… pretty much the cliche aesthetic one would think of when the words ‘archive’ were used. Not that Mercy cared about cliche. The place was a goldmine. 

“Have at it, Professor,” Mercy grinned, making sure the doors were shut behind them. “There’s a small bit near the back that I’ve managed to put in some sort of order… but otherwise it’s just… chaos.” 

“Maybe,” he agreed in a concomitant fashion that suggested he wasn’t entirely sure about what the actual answer regarding this place was. There seemed to be many possibilities which meant he couldn’t truly say one way or another. So Arthur chose to study the stone before moving on once more, eyes searching for any more information that might clue them in to the nature of what this place was.

In actuality Arthur hadn’t brought anything other than himself, and now that he knew what they were doing he was in hindsight a little frustrated he hadn’t. But here they were. He’d make the most of it, and now he knew about it he made a definitely mental thought to come back and study this place some more.

They continued down the stairs, Arthur’s fingers trailing against the wall as he peered up at the ceiling as they descended until it opened out into a larger antechamber. “I wonder if this place was carved out…” he mused as they went deeper and stone gave way to mortar and brick once more. The material contrasts alone were unique and fascinating not to mention the sconces something else entirely. “I’d love to meet the person responsible for thinking of this decoration, these look like they’ve been modified to fit the electrics in, around the original features.”

Words failed him, it was like the archive at the HQ that Rio had introduced him to but the wood features on the bookshelves seemed even more intricate somehow. The chirp gave way to a soft whistling tune, as his eyes swept back and forth over the interior and he hesitated for just a second before stepping over the threshold. It smelt of ink, old paper and dust enough that Arthur inhaled, savouring the scent for just a moment. “I-- have no idea where to start… Is this the only room? Are there others?”

“Could be,” Mercy said of being carved out. “The tower isn’t on any maps, even ones from the 1700s. Though we could probably find a listing of what sort of bedrock is around here. Check it against some samples.” They moved on, and Mercy glanced at the lighting as he mentioned it. “There might be something about electricity in one of the newer sections? I think I remember flipping over it because I thought it was boring.” She gave him a teasing grin. Though ‘new’ was still a century ago as far as the electrics went. “Apparently whoever the old scribe was that lived here kept track of everything. But the only way you’ll meet him is through a seance.” 

Mercy couldn’t help but grin at Arthur’s reaction. The small bird-like sounds had always been something she found endearing, and she gave a soft, warm laugh. “Bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” She stepped up beside him, crossing her arms. “If I was the academic type I’d’ve spent the last six years catalouging this shit. But… since I’m not… I’ve just pulled out things that look interesting and… made a small run at it.” There was a section near the back where a large desk was in somewhat tidy order, and Mercy had done her best to fill the shelves around it with the interesting things she found, and tried to keep a log of what was where. Maybe Arthur could make sense of it. 

“This is just the first room. The newest as far as I can tell. There’s a door that way-” She pointed off into the stacks. “- that leads further in. I’ve only gone so far by myself. It feels… strange… in some places.” As in she didn’t think going into certain places alone was a good idea. 

“I mean if this is an archive there’s bound to be some records around here anyway about this place… Scribes love to record stuff, regardless of how relevant or irrelevant it happens to be.” So they would probably have some answers there, otherwise a seance wasn’t out of the question but not Arthur’s most preferred method of communication if they had a choice in the matter.

The whistling chitters softened somewhat as his attention honed in on simply taking in the general state and atmosphere of this place. Gods there was so much to do, his mind was already running the possibilities. “It’s… wow, yeah… a bit.” Idly he let his fingers stroke a couple of books, unable to even fathom where you would begin with the shelves here but eager to explore and start by charting out the place. “If there is a section on this place, which I think there should be… There’ll also likely be a codex on how this place is organised.” It was the only logical solution to organising a place like this.

The tricky thing was finding the thing you wanted.

“Hm… Strange how? Static or… something else?”

“Maybe you’ll have better luck than me.” Mercy had looked around a bit, but hadn’t come across anything of the sort in her explorations. Arthur was right though: scribes recorded everything. Along all the interesting information were records of what they had eaten for dinner, or how many candles they’d burned though in a month. It was… mind numbing at times. 

Mercy followed along as Arthur inspected the shelves. The place was unique, that much was certain. And further in, there were rooms of more than just books. One room contained a haphazard collection of bones and skeletons of all shapes and sizes. Another was full of hundreds of timepieces that no longer worked. Others were locked and inaccessible. “It’d be somewhere older, don’t you think? Or well… somewhere specific. For keeping records of the archive itself? Maybe it’s in one of the rooms I can’t open.” 

Mercy glanced at Arthur, goosebumps rippling over her skin. “Strange like… they feel… wrong. Out of place. Enough that even I don’t wanna go in by myself.”

“Hey, it’ll count for something if we actually find anything actually relevant,” he mused turning in a slow circle simply letting himself take in the sheer scope and vastness of the archive that Mercy was sharing with him. It was rather incredible, all things considered and it was almost definite that he’d be spending the foreseeable majority of his spare time here. Though it needed a damn good clean. The thought alone was enough to provoke a slight itch, and a hand went to rub at the back of his head both at the notion and the fact he’d started to notice the occasional white tip of a pin feather here and there. They were always rather intermittent, but apparently stress had brought on a new bought to come in. Nothing a hat couldn’t hide.

“Maybe… I’ll keep an eye out for anything that might fit.” Suffice to say Arthur wasn’t about to head home any time soon. If Mercy wanted a reason to get him to stay without any objection or question this was it. 

“Hm, are those the locked doors?” Not that he intended to go and open them, or investigate yet but it didn’t mean he wasn’t curious. If something made even her wary then he’d take that cue and use it as a guiding framework to inform his own actions upon. “Have you thought about mapping this place? Maybe we could do that if you haven’t? Just ‘til we find an actual reference.”

“I know,” Mercy nodded. “I guess I’ve just been more interested in the bigger picture than the smaller details.” That along with the fact that she couldn’t spend all her time here. And when she did it was mostly in her room at the top of the tower. But that was irrelevant at the moment. She glanced at Arthur as he fussed with his hair, but didn’t think much of it as talk turned to the doors she couldn’t open. 

“You’re a better judge of what might be important than I am. But… I can remember if I’ve seen something… if you find a description or anything.” She had an eerily accurate photographic memory at times, and most things of import she could recall with a bit of time and effort. “Some of them are locked, yeah.” Mercy moved further in, towards the back of the room. “Some aren’t.” She told him about the room of clocks and another room that was simply full of broken mirrors. “I don’t go in there.” Once was enough. 

When he asked about mapping, Mercy nodded. “I have actually. And I’ve kept a log. It’s… more like notes about a few things I’ve found. How many rooms in which corridor. What’s in the rooms if they’re unlocked. It’s a start I guess.” She led the way between the bookcases to the desk near the back where she worked sometimes. It was a large desk, ornately carved, and covered in haphazard stacks of books, a few scrolls, and some more modern notebooks and pens. “Here.” She picked up a plain black spiral notebook and held it out. “My list. Don’t hate on my penmanship.” 

He hummed under his breath as Mercy turned to walk deeper into the library, his instincts itching to simply sit down and start reading each and every book this place contained. He might not have a photographic memory like her but when it came to studying and storing down the keynotes of relevant topics he had long enough to certainly be a master of brevity. 

The mention of mirrors made him frown, but the clocks? Naturally Arthur was intrigued. “Do you remember that time I got my hands on my very first music box? It was what… 1818?” He’d been obsessed with the things ever since, even going so far as to tracking the man down to discuss the mechanics of the clockwork he’d utilised to power the thing - revolutionary at the time.”Maybe I can take a look at them,” he said more for his own benefit as they arrived at the desk.

He waited while she rummaged, but when the notebook was produced he took it and flipped it open and leafed through the pages scanning the contents. “Nice to see a thousand years hasn’t improved your handwriting,” he joked while he read over what she’d recorded so far. “And there was nothing else down here? Nothing alive that is?”

Mercy trusted Arthur with whatever he decided to do with the archive. It was as much his now as it was hers. And honestly, Arthur was far better suited to such a place than Mercy. Not that she didn’t appreciate it - she certainly did - but she was more about exploring the depths of the place than sitting at a desk all day. She could be a dutiful ‘scribe’ when it was called for, but she much preferred the procurement of artifacts and information than the recording of them. 

“Something like that,” Mercy agreed. “You were fascinated with it.” Though it could’ve been 100 years before that. 200 even. Time ran together after you’d been alive for more than a few centuries. At least Arthur had solid reference points in his timeline here and there. Death and rebirth. Whereas Mercy was… eternal. It sounded cliche at times, but it was nothing but the truth. Sometimes she felt every single one of her 1200 years. Other times she felt like a perpetual child, full of wonder and excitement at what the world still had to offer. Most of those times she was with Arthur. Seeing him light up as she showed him the archive was more than enough to cause a thrum of happiness to roll over her. Though it dimmed slightly as he mentioned looking at the clock room. “We can look if you want, but I don’t think you’ll like it either.”

Mercy stuck her tongue out at him as he commented on her script. She tended to write in a fast, nearly illegible shorthand when trying to record things. Her penmanship had never been that nice, but she’d had enough experience writing letters by hand that she could make it look fancy if she wanted. She just usually didn’t. At least Arthur could decipher it. 

She shook her head. “Nothing alive that I’ve seen. Other than spiders.” Mercy gave a small shudder. “Not even mice. There is a room full of bones though. Some of the skeletons I’ve never seen before. Do you wanna see them?” 

“Near enough,” he smiled at the thought, but the smile turned into an intrigued look at the mention of these broken clocks. “You say that. I can’t say I’m not curious though.” 

He stuck his own tongue out in retaliation as he leafed through the pages, noting anything of reference though he would need some time to go through what she’d found already to actually process any of it. Flipping back to the rough map she’d drawn of the place he turned it this way and that before holding it up to roughly match the way they’d come in. “And all the rooms stay in the same place? Nothing moves about or shifts local?”

“I will never get over that you’re scared of spiders,” he laughed nudging her with his elbow before turning away, “come on then, you’ve intrigued me… Just don’t tell Regan about them she’d impound them as evidence.” The thought was an amusing if unlikely one, “mind, she wouldn’t ever believe they belong to any real creature… Or think they’re some new ground-breaking discovery… Speaking of, I need you to come over and help sort out those flowerbeds.”

“The clock room is one of those rooms I don’t like,” she said quietly, giving him an uncertain glance. “But maybe it’s just me.” Either way, they had time to explore things. And it would be good to mark rooms that were ‘dangerous’ in some way too. Or at least required a bit more caution than others. Mercy suspected the ones that were locked were either these sorts of rooms, or someone simply didn’t want anyone to have what was inside.  

Mercy smirked at him and moved to lean against the desk while he looked through the notebook. Her drawing skills were hardly anything to write home about, but it was a passable map for getting a general idea of the place so far. “So far all the rooms are stationary. I don’t know about the ones I can’t get into obviously. No corridors shifting or any of that nonsense…” Mercy rolled her eyes as if shifting corridors was just another everyday problem, which… well, it could be. “I have seen some marking scratched into the stone in some places though. Almost like someone was… making a note? Here…” She sorted around for something else on the desk - it really was a bit of a mess - and came up with a piece of opaque paper. “I did a rubbing of one of them.” She held it out so Arthur could see. “I can’t quite place it.” 

She shuddered as he mentioned spiders. “Horrid things.” They moved off, Mercy leading the way out another set of doors and into an adjacent corridor. She snorted a laugh. “Why would I tell her about my bone collection? It’s entirely too cool to waste on someone that won’t appreciate it.” Mercy like Dr. Kavanagh, but the woman was a bit of a skeptic. Even when evidence was right in front of her. “Did I tell you she’s finally gonna dig up those bodies I’ve been pestering her about? So much easier to do it officially than with a shovel and a prayer that you don’t get caught.” 

She glanced at him again as they approached a rather normal looking wooden door. “You know a little dirt won’t hurt you, right? Might even do you some good. But.... since I know you probably won’t be elbow deep in fertilizer anytime soon… what kinda flowers do you want?” 

“I’d like to see it anyhow.” Curiosity had often gotten Arthur in trouble in the past but unfortunately sometimes you just had to go toe to toe with danger to yield results. But he wasn’t looking for trouble today. Granted, he never usually went looking for trouble. It just seemed to find him.

Tilting his head while he listened to her, he hummed under his breath settling into thoughtful and observant contemplation as they wandered. The blue carpet muffled their steps as they moved through, occasionally he noticed a cloud of dust motes occasionally getting caught in the rays of light illuminating the space. But otherwise most of the space remained undisturbed. How long had it been since anyone had truly populated this space? He had to wonder. But such thoughts were cut short as he was handed a piece of paper, one that he held up to the light and peered at more closely. “Huh…” it was intriguing, mostly because he didn’t have a scooby what it actually meant. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like this before…”

A wry smile curled his lips, a salacious joke on the tip of his tongue about any kind of bone collection she might have but ultimately he refrained thinking better of himself in the end unsure how it would go down. “True. You know, apparently she’s fae. Lanky-- I mean Langley spilled by accident. Got all tight lipped about it though. Not sure how true it is or isn’t… She seems pretty against the whole concept.” So either it was denial or it was something else entirely. Still, he raised a brow as Mercy mentioned the bodies “you didn’t, but I can see how that’s easier - and a whole lot more legal as well.”

He followed, tucking his hand into his pocket as they walked and talked. “I know, I just have better things to do than get elbow deep in fertiliser.” Though the question of what flowers he wanted caused him to rub his chin. “Hydrangeas. Always thought they were pretty… Always wanted, like, big bushes of them outside the house.”

“And they call me a troublemaker,” she smirked. “Fine. I’ll show you the creepy as fuck clock room. But no taking any of them out of there.” Mercy pointed at him. “I mean it.” 

The marking was odd, but to hear Arthur say he didn’t recognize it either was even more surprising. “It’s the oddest thing… I can’t find it anywhere else that I’ve looked. Each mark is different, and they never appear more than once. Maybe it’s… an alphabetic system of some kind? Or even numerical?” Mercy had been a crytographer during the second world war, so breaking codes was something she was good at. But in order to do that, you had some form of… reference. However vague or spotty the source material might be. If they could find out what was behind the doors in the marked areas, perhaps that would give some clue. But until then it was purely theoretical. 

His joke would’ve been appreciated, though it was highly likely that Mercy would’ve blushed fiercely before being able to fire off a comeback. She wasn’t a prude by any means, it was simply… it was Arthur. He could make her blush without even meaning to. But as it was, they moved on to talk of Regan Kavanagh. “She’s what?! Are you serious? That’s… excellent,” Mercy grinned. “What kind of fae?”  She gave Arthur a small shrug over the body situation. “Wouldn’t be the first time I dug up a corpse. Except these days it’s so much harder to get away with.” And there was the whole not wanting to go to prison thing as well. 

“You just don’t like dirtOH! But…” She gave his arm a soft poke. “Guess what would give you free fertilizer? A cow. You’d never have to buy it again. Think of the money you’d save.” Mercy grinned at him, knowing he would say no to a cow (as he had the last half a dozen times), but not able to help herself when it came to pestering him about it. “Oh, I like those, yeah. What colors? I’m thinking blues and purples… maybe a pink thrown in for flare…” 

They made their way into the room of bones, Mercy once again closing the door securely behind them. “I thought an archive would just be… old ratty books and moth-eaten scrolls. But this is by far one of the coolest rooms I’ve found.” 

He held up his hands, face painted in the picture perfect expression of innocence, “I won’t! I’d never, you have such low standards of me,” he grouched but the slight curve at the corner of his lips gave indication to the joke in the act.

“Maybe, but if there’s repetition it wouldn’t necessarily make sense that it’s an ordering system either numerical or alphabetical… You’d put everything with the same markings together you know? But maybe it indicates a link or some kind of affiliation between those two areas or…” well, in all honesty he didn’t know. And probably wouldn’t until he’d spent a bit more time familiarising himself with this place. 

“No idea, a bloody weird one at that,” he admitted with a frown at the few interactions he’d had with her in person and online (mostly online). “Well, yeah ‘cause it’s illegal - I mean it was illegal then but there was way less security on bodies than they have in this place… Heard so many go walkabouts they have to keep them under lock and key at all times.” Whether this was true or not, Arthur had no idea. He didn’t really need to know what the county did with the decedents they happened upon.

“I don’t mind dirt, you’re not the only one that used to be a farmer,” he rolled his eyes at the segway she weaved into the conversation. “No. You’re not getting a cow, and no you’re not keeping it in my yard. End of.” He wasn’t even sure why she wanted one in the first place. His preference for talk about flowers caused him to shift track immediately, “blue and purple definitely - though their colour depends on the acidity of the soil - did you know? If a soil’s acidic they’ll be blue, if it’s neutral or alkaline they’ll be pink.” She might already know that, but it was an interesting fact that had stuck with him over the years. 

As they entered the room Arthur’s brows raised towards his hairline, a lot whistle of admiration escaped him as he looked at the ornate wood frame glass display cases that were situated around the room. “Damn… That’s… Wow, you’ve basically got your own museum down here.”

“Yeah, I’d thought of that…” She’d need to take rubbings of the other marks to keep better track of them. And maybe once they got the doors open - if they got the doors open - they could make some sort of connection. 

“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” she countered. “But yes yes… I’d rather not be in jail for graverobbing. Again…” The last was muttered to herself, and passed over rather quickly. “I know… but given the option these days you’d rather be in a place like this, wouldn’t you?” She gestured around the room. “Not that I really blame you. This place is pretty cool.” A put upon sigh followed him putting his foot down over her cow. Theoretical cow. “Fine. No cow.” But she tucked the idea in the back of her head for later. As for the colors of the flowers, Mercy hadn’t known that. “Really? Could you play with the soil a bit and get an entirely new color then?” 

She grinned at his reaction to the bone room. “I think whoever had this place was a collector too. It’s… unreal what’s in here…” 

“I’d be happy to help you work on it?” he offered, it was another reason for him to come back and carry on working here which Arthur most definitely wanted to do. Plus, it was another excuse to see her more. 

“I know, and as you like to remind me in almost every illegal thing you do - you’re very good at not being caught. Or, well, sometimes you are other than that time in Paris, that time in Sicily, Rome and Lyons oh! And London, how could I forget that spectacular fail - I still don’t get why’d you even try to use celery to hit that guy anyway?” It was entertaining in a way, to needle her over the times her escapades had gone so very South. He nodded, “yeah! They’re awesome, different colours along a spectrum depending on the acidity of the soil so you can get a whole range depending.”

“You can’t say that and not show me, come on,” he grabbed her hand and wandered deeper into the room.

“Yeah… yeah, of course. I’d… I’d like that.” Why wouldn’t she? He could come here whenever he wanted, even if she wasn’t with him. But it would mean more time she could spend with him as well. And with a project this large to work on, it wouldn’t be finished anytime soon. If ever. 

“Hey…” She gave him a mock offended look. “It’s not polite to bring up a lady’s faults… not unless you’d like a list of your own. Because I do seem to remember an incident with… was it one of the Tudors that you nearly set on fire? Bad form, that,” she said in a very proper English accent. It was followed by a snort of indignation at the mention of the celery. “And because it was the best option at the time, alright? Considering I was cornered in a larder. What would have had me do? Throw a turnip at him?” Though in hindsight that might’ve actually worked better. The banter was nice though. It felt good. Like old times almost. So Mercy just went with it. It wasn’t hard, after all. To fall back into old patterns. Old habits. At least for her. Though not all her patterns and habits were good ones. 

“We’ll have to see what we get then, won’t we?” she said of the flowers. Another project, another excuse to spend time with him. Mercy wasn’t going to complain. Just as she didn’t complain as he snagged her hand and tugged her into the depths of the room. 

An hour or two were spent investigating the rooms at the fringes of the archive, with Arthur finding himself rather affronted by the display case in the bone room labelled as a ‘phoenix’ when it was clearly just some elephant bird skeleton. “That’s just plain idiotic. I thought these guys were meant to be smart? That’s just insulting. It’s not even like it’s close!”

Mildly offended, Arthur had left the bone room leaving Mercy to investigate herself while he wandered further down the corridor. This was how he’d come upon one of the locked doors that Mercy had mentioned. It was ingrained ebony smooth save for the raised pattern of an ouroboros that had been carved into its surface. Beautifully detailed and outlined in silver with two emeralds punched into the spot where the eyes should be. Entrancing in the dim light of the corridor, yet as he looked down there was no handle to this door, his eyes moved to the frame but here too were no apparent hinges or mechanism by which the surface moved.

He flicked through Mercy’s book, and found the marking relating to the door but no further notes. Curiously he raised a hand, tracing first the outer silver rim and then repeating the action with the inner spiral. Infinity. It was on the pass of the inner circle his fingertip caught something, minute and barely visible. “Huh…” intrigued he hooked his finger under it and lifted.

For a moment nothing happened.

Suddenly, with a sliding clunk the ouroboros jutted further outward another inch. More prominent but as he touched the edge where once it had been solid it now rotated freely with the slightest coax. Rotating it clockwise, once, twice - onwards and onwards for several moments until it finally locked in place the emerald ‘eye’ glinting in a fashion that simply screamed push me and it was his curiosity that had him pressing his fingertips to the surface and apply enough pressure to push the key into its lock that gave way with a sshiiick. Sliding home and swinging open to reveal a dark dusty space with a ebony desk, some bookshelves and… a wardrobe? “Wonder who used to use this,” he mused, stepping into the room to investigate.

“It’s not like you all… burst into flames when you die or anything either…” Mercy said, more amused than Arthur at the fake skeleton. She waved him off to explore while she made a few more rounds, noting down any new bits of information she found interesting. A bit later, she headed in the direction he’d gone, but stopped in the corridor as she saw the open door of one of the previously locked rooms. 

“Arthur?” Mercy made her way cautiously forwards, glancing at the symbol on the door as the emeralds seemed to glint at her when she passed. Mercy frowned, idly thinking that pushing a button just because it was there was highly dangerous (and honestly more up her alley on most days), but continued on into the room. It was covered in ages and ages of dust. So much that it didn’t take her long to spot the footprints on the floor that headed into the recesses of the newly opened chamber. Mercy followed them, calling out for Arthur once more. “Are you in here? If you’re messing about it’s not funny…” 

Mercy’s calls were met with silence. No response to the inquiry of his whereabouts.

The dusty footsteps continued deeper into the room, first to the desk where a few items and dust were disturbed before moving away further into the room. Of note was the fact there were no footprints out of the room. Which meant whoever had gone in… hadn’t come out.

What might happen to be of note, would be the almost indiscernable expansion and retraction of the midsection of the wardrobe at the back of the room.

A wardrobe that happened to presently be trying to digest Arthur Drake and was at that very moment, muffling his cries for help with it’s strangely squishy and truly foul smelling interior. How did a wardrobe have teeth? He didn’t know but its interior tightened sharp teeth crushing inwards on his arms that were trying in vain to push back against it. “Frey! Ow-shit-FUCK! Help!”

Mercy was starting to get worried just about the time she’d followed Arthur’s footprints to the back of the room. There were several strange pieces of furniture in the space, but what drew Mercy’s eye was the rather elaborate wardrobe that the footprints seemed to lead to. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about the thing didn’t feel right. It was… off. Somehow. She was about to call out to see if Arthur was hiding inside, when she nearly jumped out of her skin as he called out. From inside the fucking thing. 

“Arthur?!” Mercy moved forwards, slightly alarmed as she reached for the handle to pull open the door. But it wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t budge, and it was… gods it was… moving. Like it was breathing, or- Oh no. 

“Arthur!” Mercy tugged on the door again but nothing happened. “Hold on!” She’d seen a collection of ornamental axes hanging on the wall over the room’s fireplace. Dashing back, she snagged the biggest and sharpest looking one off it’s holder before running back to the wardrobe that was… eating her friend. With a two-handed swing, Mercy sank the axe into the door of the wardrobe. “Spit him out! Right now!” Another swing of the axe and a huge chunk of the door splintered away. “Or you’re firewood!” 

As the wardrobe was addressed, two dark eyes appeared where formerly there were deep knotted rings in the wood. It warbled noisily as a chunk was taken out of it, the four feet curling into knotted tendrils as it creaked and shunted unsteadily. It lurched forwards, a couple of doors lower down in its body snapping open and shut as a thick purple tongue snaked out from between staggered rows of gnashing teeth.

The main compartment doors however, remained shut. Holding fast to the first meal the cabinet had eaten in a very long time. One that it wasn’t intent to give up even when faced with an individual wielding an axe. The tongue snaked out, surprisingly fast considering the lumbering size of its body aiming for Mercy’s ankle in an attempt to drag her off balance and give the cabinet a chance to take a bite.

Inside, Arthur struggled to do much of anything. Torn in the debate as to whether burning would help or hinder his situation considering one thing he’d never bloody well thought to question was whether gastric acid as it corroded through his shoes was highly flammable. Though if the sludgy feeling and burning in his feet was anything to go by he’d need to do something rather than later or else… Gods this would be such a tragic way to go. “FREY FUCk- HURRY UP! OW!” Why didn’t he carry any weapons? Shitshitshitshit.

Mercy was only mildly alarmed as the wardrobe blinked at her. It wasn’t the first monster she’d seen that tried to look like something mundane in order to hide itself. Steamer trunks were notorious for it. “I mean it!” Mercy threatened, getting another good hit in before the thing decided she was actually a threat and went for her ankle. It was surprisingly fast, but Mercy managed to dodge the first strike. She hit the wardrobe with the axe again, the ornamental blade starting to dull beneath the hard wood exterior, and this time, it got stuck. She gave it a solid yank, but the wardrobe took the opportunity to shoot it’s tongue towards her ankles again. The thick, slimy appendage wrapped around her leg with a vice grip. She made a sound of alarm as it snatched hard, pulling her and - thankfully - the ax to the floor. 

“You motherfucker…” Mercy cursed as she was dragged across the slimy bit of floor towards the doors that still hadn’t opened to release Arthur. Who was still being digested. “I’m trying! It’s got my leg!” It pulled her closer, the drawers on the bottom gaping wide as it’s next meal came closer. Acidic bile burned Mercy’s leg where it coated the things tongue. “Burn or something!” she called as she swiped at the tongue with the axe and missed. “Give it indigestion!” 

The wardrobe gurgled horribly as Mercy snagged something heavy and immobile with her free hand, stopping her forward motion. It pulled hard, protesting the fact that she wasn’t coming quietly. “We’re not… your… fucking… dinner!” Another pointed swing of the axe, and this time, Mercy hit home. She chopped off the creature’s purple tongue, and it screamed it’s rage at her as the severed appendage spewed black blood over the floorboards. 

Mercy kicked off the piece that was still attached to her ankle as it retracted what was left into it’s mouth.The drawers clamped shut and it growled menacingly at her, all while seeming to clamp down tighter on the Phoenix. “Arthur! Hold on!” She raised the axe again, hoping she was faster with the weapon than the wardrobe was with its gastric juices. 

There was only so much hopping he could do, the burning sensation starting to shoot white-hot pain up his legs and hands where they pressed into the creature’s insides. “Ow-ow-ow-” he grimaced with every switch of his feet that he made. Not to mention the smell of… nope, he wasn’t thinking about what was being corroded by acid right now. That would not go well.

Vaguely he heard something called through the wood, though he wasn’t quite sure what Mercy said. Something about burning? But surely the acid would counter it… How did you start fires? The searing ache in his shins was making it hard to focus, “hydrogen!” 

Blindly, Arthur fumbled for his watch catching the lock and tugging it loose. It slipped off his wrist and he dropped it near his legs. How long would it take? He had no idea. He counted the seconds waiting, waiting all while praying that this wasn’t how it fucking ended. Being eaten by a cabinet. The Gods were mocking him if that was how it ended. He dreaded to think what his legs and feet would look like after this, but when the vague time elapsed he screwed up his eyes and focussed on pulling any heat inwards. Siphoning it out of the creature and into himself, the flicker was small but in the confined region of this creature’s stomach it was enough.

There was a moment where nothing happened, the creature continuing to advance on Mercy despite her valiant attempts to hack at its wooden exterior. Before suddenly something happened within it.

Inside the foul smelling interior of the creature the hydrogen caught light, imploding in an inferno of heat within the creature’s stomach and its ringed eyes seemed to widen in surprise. Staggering as it wailed mournfully for its overcooked meal, smoke billowed out of its mouth before the doors hinged open revealing another - larger, cavernous mouth ringed in jagged serrated teeth. From this maw, Arthur was thrown up violently, covered in thick sticky purple mucus and acid. His form rolling to a limp stop nearby; clothes patchy and smouldering while the skin underneath look blistered and pricked with marks from the jagged chomping of teeth that seemed to line this creature’s insides. “Owww--”

The creature made another pained noise, rearing up as it tried to charge Mercy, swinging its doors in an attempt to jam her inside instead. Perhaps this meal would be better.

Mercy couldn’t believe this thing was still standing. There were bits and pieces of it everywhere. Hunks of wood that oozed a foul-smelling black ichor lay all over the dusty carpet. The severed half of the creature’s tongue lay curled and shriveled where Mercy had kicked it off her ankle. Even one of the knotted, black eyes lay on the floor where the axe had dislodged it, swirling madly as it tried to focus on what was happening. No wonder this room had been sealed up. She silently cursed Arthur’s curiosity in this case, though her influence on the normally level-headed phoenix might’ve had something to do with it. Which she didn’t care to think about too much. Not when said phoenix was still being eaten alive. 

It trembled and growled at her as she hacked away at it’s doors, but the muffled sounds Arthur was making were the only sounds she cared about. If they stopped-

But then… something happened. Mercy had just pulled the axe out of the wood, and reared back for another strike, when it made a gurgling sound of distress. And when smoke started to billow from between the doors, Mercy took a step back, a small cry of triumph on her lips. “Take that you fucking bastard!” she growled just before the creature opened wide and spewed a singed, slimy, and smoking Arthur onto the floor. “Fuck! Arthur, are you-” 

Mercy never had time to finish her sentence as the maw of the wardrobe opened wide, spewing smoke and foul-smelling bile as it roared it’s anger at the Fury who had denied it it’s meal. She backed away, but only so the thing would try and follow her away from Arthur. It creaked and groaned and popped as wood that hadn’t moved in decades lurched towards Mercy. 

“Come on, beastie…” the Fury taunted, tapping her axe on the edge of another - non-sentient - piece of furniture to further gain the wardrobe’s attention. “I’m right here…” The smoking creature gave a grumbling, gurgling growl and made a clumsy leap in Mercy’s direction. Mercy raised the axe, intent on chopping one of the doors off at the hinges, but before she could swing, something struck her across the back of the legs. She tumbled backwards over it, cracking her head on the floor. Black spots popped across her vision as she rolled quickly to her knees, then pushed unsteadily to her feet, half expecting to be descended on by the wardrobe at any moment. 

But as she turned, weapon raised to the sounds of snapping teeth and banging doors, Mercy paused. She even tilted her head because what the actual fuck…? It appeared she was no longer the subject of the wardrobe’s rage. A steamer trunk, made of thick dark wood and wrapped with leather and metal bindings, was attacking the wardrobe. The larger creature’s mouth was stuck around the trunks ‘lid’... which was apparently it’s head… while the steamer trunks leather straps appeared to be trying to strangle the wardrobe. The noise was deafening. Mercy huffed. It was quite literally one of the strangest things she’d ever seen. But, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she dipped in the other direction and made a beeline for Arthur. 

With the sentient furniture otherwise occupied in deciding who was boss of the room, Mercy dropped to her knees beside her friend. His skin was blistered, and his clothes hung in smoldering shambles. It couldn’t be his own fire that had done this… it had never hurt him before. So it had to be whatever was on him. Mercy snagged a sheet off a random bit of furniture before pulling him up to a sitting position and propping him against the wall. “Arthur… Arthur wake up…” She tapped his face with her hand. “These clothes have got to go… now. You understand? They’re covered in acid��” Without waiting for him to answer, Mercy wiped the acid off her hands onto the dust-covered carpet and used the sheet to wipe the worst of it off Arthur’s skin before tugging on his shirt. “I need your help here…” she told him, tapping his cheek again to make sure he was listening. 

This certainly wasn’t how he’d foreseen this afternoon going, but then again he always felt more bold when Mercy was around. Whether that was her valkyrie nature or whether it was his own subconscious effort of trying to impress her he couldn’t rightly say. Either way, it almost always ended up in a situation like this. Sore and painful, yet somehow weirdly gratifying even if his feet felt like they were melting off the bone. Which a glance at the angry red blisters that were breaking out over his skin suggested they might be.

The shock of what had happened was starting to set in, leaving him feeling dizzy and more than a little faint. Enough that he could barely register the turn of events with another sapient piece of furniture joining the rounds of battering off the wardrobe to try and assert dominance. But then again, who’d have foreseen sapient furniture in the first place?

He groaned as Mercy patted his face; sticky and slime covered from the intestinal contents of the creature he’d just been swallowed by moments before. “M’here, m’here…” he said under his breath in a slightly disconnected fashion, but his eyes fluttered wincing at the material where it was sticking to his legs. It took a moment before he shifted, “can we…” he grappled for the wall trying to get back to his feet despite the burning pain in his legs. “Ow. can we-” he glanced at the warring furniture pieces “like get out of here?” That seemed a little more pressing right now.

 Mercy gave a heavy sigh of relief when Arthur finally answered her. The sound of the battling furniture behind them was deafening, but at least it meant their attention was elsewhere, and not on Mercy and Arthur. But still, it wouldn’t do to chance it, as Arthur reminded her once he came round enough to try and get up. “Right.” Looping an arm around her shoulder, Mercy helped him to his feet, grimacing at the sticky mess he was covered in. But it took a side-seat to getting the hell outta Dodge. 

Carefully, but as quickly as possible, they made their way back to the door with the emerald-eyed serpents inlaid in the door. Propping Arthur against the wall, Mercy pulled it shut. The mechanisms inside it made heavy, clunking and turning noises, until the ouroboros symbol turned as well, moving back to it’s original place with a heavy, almost pointed, click. There was muted, rumbling crash from the other side, and Mercy made a face before moving back to a sticky, woozy Arthur. “Come on… back to the tower. You gotta get outta these clothes before they eat through your skin.” 

Once the door was locked again, Arthur slumped a shoulder against the wall the adrenaline coursing through his veins enough to leave him hyperaware. Not that there seemed to be any threats out in the hallway… Just behind the locked doors.

Who knew?

But then again, he always pushed to do things like this when Mercy was around. And it often ended in a comical mess that they usually had to muddle through, though right now the melting pot was his clothes. He looked down at the state of them, grimacing a little. “That… wasn’t the Narnia joke I was hoping to make,” he admitted with a disgruntled huff tilting his head against the wall, before Mercy was back at his side. “I doubt any of your clothes are gonna fit me…”

One thing was for certain, they were marking this room in particular as ‘Don’t Fucking Enter.’ Until they could find a way to neutralize the murderous furniture at least. But it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Turning back to Arthur, Mercy shook her head at him, but couldn’t help the small snort of laughter that followed. “I’d say that joke would be in bad taste,” she said, taking his arm again. “But then I could made a joke about you leaving a bad taste in that asshole’s mouth, so…” She sighed in a put upon fashion. “I guess today just wasn’t the day.” 

“My clothes are better than wearing the gut-rot that’s all over yours. I’ve got some joggers and a tshirt that’ll be fine.” They made their way back through the first room and back to the main entrance. Then Mercy took them up the spiral staircase to the little room at the top. It was cozy enough - considering the thunderstorm that had rolled in while they were exploring - and it was clear Mercy had been staying here on and off for awhile. Along with others before that. She flipped on the lights - the electricity here was just as old as the rest of the place - and got Arthur set down on the sofa (on top of the sheet she’d brought along) as she moved to find him something to wear. “This wasn’t on my list of ‘ways to get Arthur out of his clothes’... just so you know…” she teased from a small chest of drawers nearby. 

“Yeah, I did leave a pretty bad taste there didn’t I?” he made a face, wiping some acidic saliva off with his one remaining sleeve. Though the fabric was already relatively ruined by now. There was a slight lip to his step as they made it to the stairs, and he had to reach for the bannister to help pull himself up but eventually they made it to the flat at the top of the tower.

“I guess… Still.” He shifted his weight again, but ultimately ended up slipping off his shoes and peeling off his socks grimacing as he peeled them off the semi-blistered skin of his feet. “Ow- fuck,” the leather had done a pretty good job at saving off most of the damage, but it still hurt and left his skin oozing blood in places.

“Didn’t realise you had a list of how to achieve that end… Good to know. I can still surprise.”

“Bit of a scorched aftertaste, yeah.” She gave him a sympathetic glance as they got on their way. Mercy didn’t know how bad he was actually hurt, though hopefully it was just a few scalded spots. Though she could already see areas of blistered skin beneath the holes that had been eaten in his clothes. “Your dignity is safe with me, hm?” she told him. Unlike Arthur himself, apparently. Which made her frown. But Mercy put a stop to that train of thought before it could even get started. 

“I have several lists where you’re concerned…” she said idly as she rummaged through the drawers. “Aha! Here we are.” A pair of grey joggers that would most certainly be at least six inches too short were pulled out and held triumphantly aloft. They were followed by an oversized (for Mercy) Queen t-shirt that was faded enough to be an original. “Here.” She set them down on the couch beside him, frowning at the state of him, especially where the skin was blistered and bloody. It hurt her heart to see him in any sort of pain, even if she couldn’t feel the latent  discomfort through the mark on her hand. 

“Have you got any tears with you? If not I’ve got a first aid kit somewhere.” 

“Left the oven on for too long, clearly,” he said.

All in all, it could’ve been worse he decided as he looked at the state of his feet and legs. For the time he’d been trudging in intestinal digestive fluid. But when Mercy offered over the joggers and the t-shirt he took them with a word of thanks “Queen? Seems like an age since I saw them in concert. No one does showmanship quite like that anymore...” 

Getting up from the seat and limping over to what he figured must’ve been a bathroom speaking on rout, “Not on me… But if you got some onion around I could probably get some.” Outside the window, thunder rumbled and the sky flashed.“Think we might be camping here tonight...”

It took a little bit longer than usual, considering the joggers were indeed several inches too short and came up to his mid-shin but the shirt fitted surprisingly well. “Think I’ll start White Crest’s new fashion trend with these” Arthur laughed as he slowly limped out to rejoin her after his change. 

“Right? Everyone’s all… lip sync and whatever the fuck else they call music these days. That-” She pointed at the shirt. “- is the real deal too. 1977 tour. I think. Might’ve been ‘78. You can keep it if you want.” Mercy looked over at the window as the storm made itself known. “I might have something…” she murmured when he mentioned onions. “Would clove oil do?” Rain started to patter harder against the window a bit harder after that. “Looks like it. It’s been an age since I had a sleepover though.” She gave him a teasing grin. “We can braid each other’s hair and talk about boys.” 

He padded off to change, and Mercy busied herself with searching the small flat for something that might bring a phoenix tear or two to the surface without being harmful. She also set the small electric kettle to boiling. Tea was needed after the afternoon they’d had. She’d scrounged up a couple of things that might be useful for tear-making - along with a few snacks she kept handy - when Arthur finally emerged. 

Mercy couldn’t help it. She gave him a low whistle. “Nice legs, Professor. I definitely think they suit you better than me.” 

“It’s not all bad, I quite enjoy how progressive it’s gone though I’m not so keen with how hip-hop dominant the radio tends to be these days” he laughed as he pulled the t-shirt down to look at the front of it. “I’ve actually got my own from ‘76. Thankfully I had the sense to put stuff in storage so I could come back and get it when I remembered… Good thought that, or else I’d have lost it all and that would’ve been a shame. Good to know you still have good taste in music though.”

“Should do,” he said to the oil, really, anything would work but sometimes he just needed a catalyst. After that things sort of worked out on their own. 

“Legs for days,” his face grew red at the whistle and he busied himself with wringing his hands in front of himself. As if that would do anything to detract from the joke. Though the soreness was still enough to leave him fighting back a wince as he limped across to deposit himself once more on the sofa. “Did you find anything that’ll work?”

“Yeah, same. Though I do love me some ‘90s R&B.” She grinned as he said he had a similar vintage t-shirt in his collection. “Nothin’ like the real deal is there? All this… remade stuff just… doesn’t have the same feel to it. And damn right it would’ve been a shame.” A small blush touched her cheeks. “Thanks. Good to know my record collection won’t offend your ears. Though I never could convince you that opera was included in that category.” Her tone was teasing, and she moved off to search for the little bottle of oil while he changed. 

“Definitely.” His blush wasn’t lost on her despite the slight dimness of the lighting. But she didn’t comment on it, not wanting to embarrass him. “I wish I had long legs. Mine are just… short and stubby.” She brought the little black bottle of oil over and sat down beside him. “Here. It doesn’t take much. You could probably just… give it a whiff and… boom. Waterworks.” His skin did look awful, and Mercy felt terrible that there wasn’t more she could do. And that he gotten hurt in the first place. Thunder rumbled again, and the kettle started to whistle about the same time. “I’ve got tea, if it’s any consolation.”

“R&B is pretty good, blues rock has been making a bit of a comeback which is good as well” Arthur’s taste in music was eclectic as anything else in his life. There was no one set thing that he’d ever listen to, things quickly grew boring after a while and having a wider catalogue to choose from simply made life and all facets of it more enjoyable. “You still can’t. You’re the only person in the world I’d willingly subject myself to that level of torture for.”

When Mercy remarked on her legs Arthur’s features twisted into one of disagreement, “they’re nice legs,” he protested quietly. “All of you is nice, and there’s nothing wrong with being short - even if it does mean you’re closer to hell,” Arthur joked with a wry wink in the hopes of averting from his own discomfort.

Taking the bottle he looked at the contents, “do you have a cup or vial or something?” It’d be easier to collect the tears first and then use them rather than deal with the ins and outs of getting himself patched up.”Tea’s always a good consolation.”

“Oh man… the Blues. I’ve got so many albums on the original vinyl…” she grinned. “That and Jazz. Fucking Etta James…” Mercy hummed a few bars of a random tune in that genre before being tempted to throw something at him. Something soft, of course, considering his current state. In the end she just gave him a good-natured roll of her eyes. “Well… let it never be said that you don’t sacrifice for others.” Opera held many fond memories for Mercy, one in particular, but she chose not to linger over the subject at the moment. Though Arthur moved on well enough on his own. 

Now it was Mercy’s turn to blush slightly. “So you like my… everything?” she asked casually. Though she snorted and pointed a finger at him over the ‘closer to Hell’ comment. “Cheeky.” Mercy retrieved an empty vial from the cabinet and gave it to him before moving to make them both a mug of tea. And give him a small bit of privacy to collect the tears. “That’s one thing I never microwave,” she told him as she worked over the mugs. “It’s an insult to tea.” 

“See? Not completely horrendous - just very poor taste in people sounding like strangled cats,” Arthur wasn’t shy about his opinions when it came to opera and Mercy knew all about them. But like everything in life it was about compromise and her love of the artform was why he subjected himself to such torture. In truth he didn’t mind the performances entirely, but he’d personally prefer to go along to a ballet than the theatrics of an opera considering his preference to leaving with his ears intact after the fact. “True, note it down so it might go down in history.”

He took the vial and tea glancing over at her when she blushed. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a furrow dimpling his brow. Though the moment was soon followed up by Arthur poking his tongue out at her, “didn’t deny it.” 

When Mercy gave him a bit of space, he set to the task of collecting the tears. It wasn’t too hard, and by now it was a skill he was relatively practised at. With a careful dose on each area of burned skin, he stoppered the remaining liquid and set it aside. “Glad to know the years haven’t turned you into a total heathen.”

Mercy gave him a half-hearted long-suffering look, but it was overridden by fondness. He had suffered through many a falsetto aria on her behalf. But she’d tried to make it up to him in her own way. “Consider it noted.” She gave him a fond smile before his comment on her legs made her blush and she gave him some space. “No reason…” Which was a little white lie that Mercy didn’t care to think too long over. Because there was liking something… and then liking something. She knew that her ‘everything’ likely fell quite firmly into the former category. At least currently. 

“Why would I?” she countered about the closer to hell comment, shooting him a smirk. 

When Arthur was finished collecting and distributing the tears, Mercy sat down again, glancing over his now healing burns. She hummed her approval at the state of them before sitting back. Thunder rumbled overhead, rattling the glass in the set of double doors leading out to the tower’s small balcony. “Even I have my hard limits,” she told him around the rim of her mug. A bit of silence followed before Mercy asked, “So, despite the murderous furniture, what’s your impression of the place?” She hid her grin behind her mug again. “Other than having a nerd-gasm, of course.”

A mildly suspicious look was sent in her direction, Arthur unsure quite what to make of the remark. If it didn’t mean anything then why had she asked it? Reverse intuition suggested it therefore had to mean something. “You wouldn’t have asked if there was no reason.”

“And guess that’s a point,” he said.

With the wounds slowly starting to scab over, Arthur stretched out and reclined into the sofa hands wrapped around his mug of tea. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughed softly though it quietened as she asked his thoughts on the place. “Well, apart from that I think it’s fascinating - sentient furniture aside. I bet there’s loads of interesting stuff to find. How’d you even come to get the key to this place anyhow?

Mercy pointedly ignored Arthur’s look of suspicion, but still shrugged in response to the question. “Most people don’t care for my personality, let alone my everything. So… just wondering.” It was the truth. Mostly.

She tucked her own legs beneath her, leaning into her corner of the sofa. A huff of air was her only retort to his quiet laughter. And she grew quiet as well to let him mull over the idea of the archives. “Oh, I’m sure there is,” Mercy agreed, raising an eyebrow. And she was also certain the man-eating furniture was one of the least dangerous things down there. As for how she’d come to have the key, that wasn’t very exciting. 

“I was living in Portland at the time. I’d been doing PI work for right around a year after I quit the force. I was after this guy. Low life bail jumper. Had a ton of warrants for minor stuff. Police couldn’t catch him - no surprise there - so I finally tracked him down and he… offered it to me.” Mercy raised both brows, her expression saying it was just that simple. And that strange. “Literally told me he was in possession of a key to a lost archive of supernatural relics and records. Just out of the blue. Even had the fucking thing on him.” She shook her head. “So… me being me… I took the key and let him go. Told him if I got to this town and found out I’d been lied to, that I’d find him again and he’d regret it.” 

A small frown turned her expression thoughtful. “In hindsight… seems almost too strange. Or well…” Mercy shrugged. “... too convenient. Too easy, hm? But… nothing’s happened since I’ve been here. Honestly, today was the most eventful day I’ve had in six years.” She shot him a grin. “So thanks for that.” 

“Hm,” he wasn’t entirely convinced but decided perhaps it was best to let sleeping dogs lie for the time being.

“That’s kind of weird, you didn’t think that was kinda weird at the time?” he questioned with a slight frown pulling at the corner of his mouth fingers drumming lightly against the mug. It struck him as strange, “why’d he give up a place like this - crime aside and I get wanting to avoid jail but… Why leave this place if he wasn’t going to be found here anyway… Him being in Portland just…” it didn’t add up. None of it did. “Did it seem like he was running away from something?” Perhaps there was a larger picture to all this but Arthur couldn’t say he could see it right now.

“That’s weird,” he took a sip of his tea but huffed in amusement “ah right, well you know me - I aim to please and entertain you so… Glad I could do that i guess?”

Mercy frowned thoughtfully. “Honestly? No. I was… more curious than anything. Especially when I’d had no clue they were even… remotely involved in anything supernatural.” She took a sip of her tea, holding the warm mug against her mouth for a moment afterwards as she pondered Arthur’s questions. “Maybe there was something here he was afraid of? As far as I know, he was human. I mean… he could’ve been a caster or even fae… but you would think if they were… they’d never give this place up.” Why hadn’t Mercy thought about this more before now? The idea had flitted through her thoughts now and then, but never to the point where it had consumed more than a moment or two of her time. 

She shook her head as he asked if the man had been running from something. “The only thing he was running from was me. But…” Her gaze lifted slowly to Arthur’s. “What if… he meant for me to catch him?”  

A look crossed over Mercy’s face, one of slowly starting to realize something far after the fact, but she couldn’t help the snort of laughter that Arthur’s last comment brought. “Just don’t jump into anymore wardrobes, hm? That would please me more than anything.” 

“I mean killer furniture is a pretty big issue - I wonder if there’s any more in this place…” it was big enough that it was an option, “I wonder if it’s part of a set… Maybe there’s some stuff at the big scribe HQ that Rio works at… There’s locked doors there as well.” What an interesting thought, and one that he was curious to explore - more carefully in future and preferably with something sharp handy just in  case. He really didn’t want a repeat of today, it had cost a rather favoured watch of his after all. “Guess whatever they were running from was bigger than this place…”

Though it still left him wondering just what would be bigger than this, “I mean the scribe order collapsed years ago. Barely any of those dusty old fools left. Too busy looking to the past to realise how fast the future was coming for them…”

Mercy’s thoughts fell along a different tangent but Arthur couldn’t follow the logic behind that either. “That doesn’t explain why though… If he wanted you to have it why not just… Ship it or something. Why make you chase him?”

“I promise, though I didn’t jump thanks, I was eaten. There’s a difference.”

“I hope not…” Mercy said truthfully. “Having to dodge every stepstool and steamer trunk in this place’ll get old, trust me.” She gave him A Look when he mentioned the other archive’s locked doors. “No offense, but Rio’s not gonna help much in a fight against somethin’s that tryin’ to eat you. He said so himself. Smart kid, don’t get me wrong, but you’ll be kibble if it’s left up to him.” She knew Arthur could take care of himself - unless he was… swallowed… sort of...  by a ravenous wardrobe - but that didn’t stop her from worrying. It never had. 

“I guess so.” Mercy looked around at the little flat. “I can think of a handful of things that would make me give this up… and none of them are anything I’d run from.” She wasn’t a coward. There were only a scant few things that could make her turn tail and run. Or that truly scared her. And for that handful of things… one in particular… Mercy would do anything. Give up anything. Because nothing else mattered if that one thing was gone. 

“Right, I know,” she agreed on the scribes. “But their knowledge is still here. That collective is… nearly fathomless. We’ve not even scratched the surface.” There was a tone of excitement in her voice at the thought of starting this new adventure. And with Arthur along for the ride. 

His question made sense, but it only made her earlier conclusion not make sense. Mercy shook her head. “I don’t know. Unless-” Her expression turned to a look that said a connection was forming somewhere in her thoughts… but she couldn’t quite put the pieces together just yet. “Unless that’s what they wanted me to think…” A deep furrow formed in her brow, and Mercy tapped her nails against her mug. 

“Partially eaten…” Mercy quipped, giving his leg a gentle poke with her toe as she was pulled from her thoughts.  “But I’m gonna hold you to that promise.” 

Arthur snorted, not unkindly but mostly because he knew that was true. Rio was a nice kid, but he really was just that. “I don’t see him wielding an axe to try and get me out of one of those things that is true. But he’s nice, so that counts for something.”

As to the tower, he wasn’t sure what would make someone run from something like this. Even if you thought you knew everything there was always more tucked away. How long would it truly take to even uncover the surface of the information stored here? It was intriguing and Arthur planned to spend a lot more time exploring the contents of this place. “It’s fascinating, but a bit sad that they’re gone - I think that’s what Rio’s trying to do… Rebuild.” It was certainly an interesting notion and he was curious to see how the venture went.

“A question like that will drive you mad,” he said. Perhaps it was better to wait until they had more information. Maybe the archive could give them more insight into its previous owner and past inhabitants.

“Mm,” he sounded his agreement tiredly, stifling a yawn with his hand the combination of tea and comforting rumble of thunder and the evening’s events enough to tire him out rather considerably. “Mind if I crash here tonight?” he asked as he finished the remainder of his drink and set the mug aside. 

Mercy grinned. “Though you never know… he might surprise you.” She doubted it, but he was a good kid regardless. 

“It’s always sad when the last of something dies.” That statement hit closer to home than she cared to think about, considering their respective status, species-wise. And considering they’d both lived long enough to see more than their fair share of endings. But Mercy didn’t want to think about that right now. “I told him I’d share the archive’s information with him,” she nodded. “I don’t plan on letting him roam around alone down there, but he’s welcome to any information that might help. You can always bring him too, if you want.” The place was as much Arthur’s now as it was hers. 

Mercy only hummed at the thought of going mad trying to work out the answer to such a strange question. She took a drink of her tea, glancing at the window as the thunder rattled the panes again. “Course I don’t mind…” Getting up, she gathered his mug and took it to the little sink along with hers to rinse out and let dry. “Should take the bed-” She tipped her chin towards a cozy looking cot in the corner. “-much more comfortable.” 

“Maybe I will next time I’m here. But you’re right I wouldn’t let him go wandering around. Who knows… That bone room might come alive and we’ll have a full on skeleton army revolt” he snorted at the thought but there was no certainty that such a thing wasn’t possible if the right magic got unleashed down here. Definitely not something Arthur wanted to deal with though skeletons ranked far less of a threat than wardrobes.

“Alright,” but he waved his hand at her suggestion of taking the bed “no I’m alright here… It's your bed,” the sofa would be a few feet too short but he’d slept in worse places. He wasn’t putting her out of a bed just because he was crashing here and his mind was already made up on that decision.

“Would you believe me if I told you that wasn’t the first time I’ve heard ‘skeleton army revolt’ used in regular conversation?” She finished with the mugs and gave him a half-hearted, long-suffering look as he declined her offer of the bed. But she knew it wasn’t worth arguing over. “”Suit yourself.” Sorting him a blanket and a pillow, Mercy turned on the little oil heater she kept around to warm up the little space since it got cold, even in summer. Not that the cold would bother Arthur all that much. The rain wasn’t letting up, but hopefully come morning it would be gone and they could make the trek back through the woods to her bike. 

For now, Mercy turned off most of the other lights before climbing into the little bed and pulling the covers up, stifling her own tired yawn. “Thank you for comin’ with me today… it’s been fun,” she smiled. “Other than the… you getting eaten part, of course.” 

“Yes, because I know you and the sort of questionable company you keep - myself included,” he flashed a grin in her direction but soon enough turned to settle as best he could on the sofa. It wasn’t the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, but they’d been in worse. Yawning, he stretched out and settled his head on the pillow tucking one hand under to support his head more comfortably. The darkness fell over the room as she turned out the lights, save the light from the moon shining through the window. “Thanks for inviting me… Even if I did get eaten.”

end.

#chatzy #p: arthur #p: blood and roses #vomit tw #//this is long we're sorry not sorry XD #//only 25 pages : D #wickedswriting

[hellreads]

Hi! Can you suggest some good immersive fics that will make me feel all the feels? Even better if they're series! Thank you I love your blog!!

hi there sweetie, thank you for loving this blog, lemme love you too!💕💖✨ hmm this is tricky, to ask me of all people for immersive fic recommendations because I always immerse (to me reading something I enjoy and immersing in it makes me feel like I’m an actress playing the part so whatever genre it is watch me get into it 100%) but I’ll try and make a list of fics one per member, where I immersed myself through and through (shit this is harder than I thought, btw WII stands for why I immersed lol ~ list under the cut) 😅 | 🍒

➴ Kim Namjoon❥ Let the Villain Win by @lemonjoonah​➴ Author/Yandere!AU | Author!Namjoon x Agent!Reader | One-Shot➴ Kim Namjoon, famous author and your childhood friend has been keeping a secret from you. His new book treads on such dark themes that he’s finding it difficult to write. Excited by the prospect of a sinister plot you offer him a piece of advice, “Let the villain win…”➴ WII: I love Misery by Stephen King plus its movie adaption and LTVW gave me reverse Misery vibes, I know most people wouldn’t want to put themselves or immerse into stories like this but the adrenaline rush of being in MC’s shoes? delicious, I felt like as soon as Namjoon’s plan came to fruition my body astral projected to see him in all his yandere glory.

➴ Kim Seokjin❥ In the Bleak Midwinter by @pcyheartgirlx​➴ Idol/Prostitution!AU | Idol!Seokjin x CEO!Reader x Idol!Chanyeol | Series➴ We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves.You own a multi-billion dollar company, servicing the biggest names in kpop, in more ways than one. Under the name “Starlight Catering”, you, your best friends, Damon and Maya, and your hundreds of workers provide stress relief for idols.You have partially retired, not because you didn’t want to, but because Chanyeol was your muse. He was all that you had time for and all you needed. Until Jin came along.So what happens when you mix fire and ice?You get smoke and all the lines are blurred.➴ WII: tbh starting this fic I never really knew what I was getting into, all I saw was Kim Seokjin and I was sold, I was never a Park Chanyeol stan before reading this but I ended up being one, there’s a lot going on in this series but to immerse and be in a love triangle between the two men and feel the push and pull plus intense passionate emotions they’re willing to shower you with will tear you apart, but don’t worry there are two doors at the end of the story you get to choose between Jin or Chanyeol. 

➴ Min Yoongi❥ Dead Leaves by wrienne➴ Detective/Infidelity!AU | Detective Inspector!Yoongi x Homicide Detective!Reader x Teacher!Jimin | Series➴ In which you (reader) are a homicide detective about to face the biggest hurdle both of your career and life.Married to probably the kindest but most boring man you’ve ever met and living in a town where nothing ever seems to happen means life for you is dull. Dull enough to drive you crazy with boredom and dissatisfaction. However, life changes abruptly when your old boss retires and a new man takes his place - a man you used to love (and sleep very regularly with) more than a decade ago. Especially when your husband comes home smelling of perfume, you’re unable to resist your more carnal urges and dead women start showing up across the city with unnerving frequency.➴ WII: I have always had a thing for working in forensics, profiling people, investigating crime scenes, and basically any investigator/detective/analyst work and this story right here helped me get that feel because there are actual cases they work on here with vivid descriptions to help that wild imagination of yours *wink* + the whole infidelity affair is a mystery you’ll have to use your deduction skills.

➴ Jung Hoseok❥ Bad Guy by @sweetbunnykook​➴ Mob/Infidelity!AU | Mob Boss!Jin x Wife!Reader x Mob!Yoongi x Mob!Hoseok | Series➴ After a brutal attack in Hong Kong, your marriage with Kim Seokjin cracks as secrets begin to surface and a series of betrayals find their way into the veins of the Hidden Tigers. Although Jin’s devotion endures, in his own definition, the reality of being a mob wife may be too much for you to bear.➴ WII: this will put you in a rollercoaster ride of emotions there are actually three members here that will make things quite hard for you, but I have to say BG Hoseok is definitely one of my favorite characterizations of him, though there will be a push and pull of emotions once you get further into the story.. also, you’ll have to go through so much because immersing in this one will hurt a lot to the point where your heart is almost numbed.

➴ Park Jimin❥ Neighbors by @jkeuphoriadreamland​➴ Neighbor/Stalker!AU | Stalker!Jimin x Neighbor!Reader | Series➴ Finally achieving your successes in life you never expected the distraction that came with your new hot neighbor. He, however, had been trying to get your attention for a much different reason.➴ WII: hey it’s ya girl danger lover (my tag line lol), seriously immersing in this one will kinda make you wonder about MC and her choices as if Jimin cast a spell on her, there is this psychological manipulation he uses on her and it will drive you to madness because you will still bend to him and find him irresistible + the kinks here = wildt.

➴ Kim Taehyung❥ Clandestine by @ditzymax​➴ Assassin!AU | Assassin!Taehyung x Assassin!Kinsoo x BF!Jungkook | Series➴ As a professional assassin, Kim Kinsoo has many shrouded secrets in her life. Some of them she shares openly with her loving boyfriend, but there are other things he must never know➴ WII: now I know you’re probably wondering if it’s possible to immerse in fics with named OC? as I said I’m an actress who plays the part when reading and to immerse into the enigma that is Kinsoo is a wonderful experience, this belongs to the list of the intense fics I immersed into and if you’re the type to go all out when immersing no matter what genre or theme (taboo) the story contains you’ll enjoy the intensity of this one because you get everyone’s POV as you go through making you understand each character better and there is actual assassin work here if you enjoy the stealth way, you’ll appreciate Taehyung and Kinsoo’s work and the people that work for them.

➴ Jeon Jungkook (I’ll list five why not? I have read way too many JJK fics lol)❥ Right of Way by fringesofsanity➴ Infidelity!AU | Cheater!Jungkook x Cheater/GF!Reader x BF!Jimin | Series➴ In theory, things were simple: your best friend was Jungkook’s girlfriend while your boyfriend, Jimin, was Jungkook’s best friend. In reality, things weren’t always that simple. And mutually exclusive.➴ WII: if there’s one story I will never shut up about? it’s this one, I always recommend this to friends, this is the perfect depiction of having a taste of your own medicine in fic form, immersing in this one will make you fall for Jungkook and hope for your own ending, but this won’t sugarcoat anything for you and that’s what I love about this story, but tbh I still think of my own ending every single night. sighhhhh.

❥ When You Least Expect It by @johobi​➴ F2L!AU | BFF!Taehyung x BFF/GF!Reader x BF!Jungkook | Series➴ You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.➴ WII: okay, me putting this under the list for Jungkook must expose which side I’m on but that’s not the reason why this is under his name, it’s here because I love his WYLEI characterization so much and if you’ve been reading this series too, you’re probably head over heels in love with the boy too? and immersing in this, feeling all the ways he changed MC’s life and the way he loves her? stop it i’m crying right now. T_T

❥ Only You by @sweetbunnykook​➴ Stalker/Lovers!AU | Stalker/BF!Jungkook x Noona/GF!Reader x Ex-Fiance!Namjoon x BFF!Seokjin | Series➴ Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.➴ WII: ahhhh to be Jungkook’s Noona, I love immersing in this because there’s so much intense passion here, and if you allow yourself to fall into the role you will understand the statement that Love is Blind that people will overlook anything their lover is involved in because so what if they did this or that? they only have hearts in their eyes, the manipulation here might get to you irl, like wow, seriously this was so brilliantly written, how can you not love Jungkook and give him everything right?  

❥ DNA by @btssavedmylifeblr​➴ Dystopian/Breeding!AU | Stud!Jungkook x Cow!Reader | Series➴ Jungkook’s career is in jeopardy when he begins falling for a woman he’s supposed to impregnate.➴ WII: the futuristic feels? amazing description and details? unique universe? if you’re up for those things this is one amazing read you should be immersing yourself into, I’m so in love with the way this was written, Bee and her galaxy mind will challenge you into painting all of her words in your head and you’ll have an advanced futuristic universe where babies are manufactured and modified to your liking but if you mix feelings into the process and what do you get? ugh, this is just brilliant!

❥ The Fitting by @noona-la-la-la​➴ Idol!AU | Idol!Jungkook x Stylist/Noona!Reader | Series➴ The younger Jungkook has a workplace crush on you, but you let the flattery get to you and make a proposition you can’t take back.➴ WII: who can ever say no to idol!jungkook? prepare to immerse into this tension-filled romance with Jungkook, laced with complications of keeping a secret “relationship“, so this is what happens when fire meets ice at work, and this being an idol!au will give you a glimpse of how they probably keep their affairs hidden from everyone and it can be stressful, full of jealousy, and fights.

➴ OT7 ❥ Void by @btssavedmylifeblr​➴ Space!AU | Space Crew!OT7 x Space Crew!Reader | Series➴ You are the only female crew member on a 12-year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.➴ WII: BEST.OT7.FIC.EVER. so why not immerse yourself and be the only girl in their universe right? this has so much sexual tension since they only have you sis, but it’s fun to get all the attention tho there will be stressful and trying times, the boys will compensate *wink*wink* 

❥ A Hundred Percent Human by wrienne➴ Hybrid/Host-Club!AU | Hybrid!OT7 x Human/Owner!Reader | Series➴ In which you (reader) are forced to take care of seven hybrids in a twist of fate.After your estranged mother passes away, you’re left with an unwanted will and the heavy burden of responsibility. Although you’re desperate not to stray from the familiar path you thought was laid out in front of you with a fully human boyfriend who loves you more than anything, your life is thrown upside down once more after another unfortunate incident (that may or may not have to do with said boyfriend) occurs.Drunk and down on life, you finally decide to deal with the house and the unsavory business your mother left behind. However, to your shock, you find that seven very different hybrids are included with both the house - and the business. Seven hybrids you never even met before - even less agreed to take care of.Set in the not too distant future where infertility has become mankind’s greatest issue. Will contain sexual content.➴ WII: what’s an ot7 fic without tension? majority of the boys are dog hybrids with certain classes and MC has no fucking clue how to deal with hybrids let alone seven of them with two of them being special classes/cases, this will be a little slow-paced as the story starts more on their background/history as hybrids and they’re still getting comfy with one another, which I think is a great way to pull readers in and grow attached to the hybrids.

❥ Moth to Flame by @bang-to-the-tan➴ Vampire!AU | Vampire!OT7 x Human!Reader | Series➴ Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry.➴ WII: how can we pass up on vampire!ot7? this is a brilliant story that will have the same haze effect on you as the reader, I immersed hardcore on this one and I’m like who am I? it’s weird when you get affected and get all the phantom feels from reading alone you know? and this will affect you so much I swear to god it’s you literally transported and astral projected into this universe and it’s so pleasing but also frightening to be in the middle of two covens.

❥ Physcom by @teawithkpop➴ Dystopian/Sex Worker!AU | Idol!OT7 x Physical Companion!Reader | Series➴ AU where live-in Physical Companions are provided to k-pop groups so the members can relieve their sexual related stress and tension - around their busy schedules, of course. You are one such “PhysCom”. However, complications arise when the BTS members start harboring romantic feelings for you. Feelings you’re not sure you can reject with any believable amount of conviction. Such a scandal could result in getting both you and them fired and exposed, ruining any future career options for all parties involved… it turns out the “com” in PhysCom might as well stand for complications.➴ WII: this has an interesting take on being Bangtan’s “companion” and to immerse into this one and watching everyone catch feelings and defy the rules for a chance at romance will overwhelm you, you a mere “companion” now the object of their affection and they’re willing to do anything and everything for you even if it means risking it all. 

p.s. I suggest you go through my FICSHELF to view all of the stories I ever read so you get to choose the exact story you want to read, the shelf contains story links (Tumblr and ao3 if any) with summary, warnings, and more info about the fic (character role, genre, au, word count). 

#answered #tete-a-tete #anon #recs from hell #rfh:ot7 #rfh:knj #rfh:ksj #rfh:myg #rfh:jhs #rfh:pjm #rfh:kth #rfh:jjk #this was hard because if i could add everything i read here i would #but that's why i have a ficshelf lol :3 #anyway the jungkook list i ~ hear me out i had to add at least five because i have a page filled with JJK fics also 3/5 have other members #I hope you'll find this list helpful love!

[theyearoftheking]

Book Forty-Three: Storm of the Century

“Now I know how easy it is to just get... yanked out of the world. I wish I didn’t, but I do...”

It’s been blisteringly, hot-as-balls here in Wisconsin for the past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point the heat is actually making me anxious in a, “Global warming is real, and going to kill us all...” kind of way. To be clear, the recent heat hasn’t just convinced me global warming is a threat. I’m a woman of science. A woman of science who composts and celebrated the fact we’re officially out of plastic grocery bags (we use them for cat litter disposal); and hopefully will never see another one again. Wow. That was quite the overshare. I swear to God, my life is more than celebrating the fact I can now scoop cat poop into paper bags. 

Ok, that didn’t help. I’m just going to stop now. 

Back to the heat... I’m not going to lie, reading Storm of the Century had me fantasizing about a cold, snowy blizzard. Which, thanks to quarantine, I won’t have to leave the house to go drive in. I kinda hope this whole social distancing thing will extend through March, so I can live in Uggs and leggings all winter long, drink lots of tea, and continue to binge watch Cold Case Files with my daughter. A girl can only dream... 

In the introduction, Steve talks about how he wanted to try his hand at a screenplay, and a jailhouse image wouldn’t leave him alone: “...that of a man...sitting on the bunk in his cell, heels drawn up, arms resting on knees, eyes unblinking. This was not a gentle man, or a good man... this was an extremely evil man. Maybe not a man at all.” 

I have to give Steve credit for trying a new format, and I thought he was successful. I fully anticipated reading a dry screenplay, full of director’s notes. But instead it was a vividly descriptive screenplay, with plenty of Steve’s humor and snark throughout. For example, “He bends out of the frame, and we hear the SOUND OF VOMITING. (Sort of like the SOUND OF MUSIC, only louder.” and then later on, “He gestures to the girl, who is (pardon the pun) just about CATatonic.” The girl in question, her name is Cat. Groan. But also kind of snort-laugh. 

There were also plenty of references to Steve’s universe:

The story is set on Little Tall Island (the former home of Dolores Claiborne)

“There hasn’t been a murder on this island for almost seventy years... unless you counted Dolores Claiborne’s husband, Joe, and that was never proved.” 

“Crawl out of the sewer” (It)

“A friendly, grinning, Saint Bernard” (Cujo)

Storm of the Century takes place seventy years after Dolores Claiborne killed her husband. Little Tall Island is bracing themselves for... you guessed it... the snow storm of the century. People are stocking up on groceries, getting the town hall ready in case the island loses power, and picking their babies up from daycare. 

While all this hustle and bustle is going on, Andre Linoge bludgeons Martha Clarendon to death with his cane (black, with a silver wolf’s head on the top); while whistling “I’m a little teapot”. 

Local kid Davey Hopewell is walking home when he stumbles across the crime scene, and immediately alerts the police. When Constable Mike Anderson arrives on the scene, he finds Linoge calmly waiting to be arrested. Creepy. Of course a murder happens just as a massive snowstorm is starting, and he can’t contact the authorities on the mainland. 

Mike tries to get Linoge into the jail, but the door won’t budge. So, he needs to parade him inside the grocery store, to get to the attached jail. While in the grocery store, Linoge locks eyes with a few townsfolk, and spills some dangerous secrets. He seems particularly fascinated with Mike’s son Ralphie. Mike eventually gets him locked in a jail cell, and calls on teams of men to guard the cell. 

All hell breaks loose. 

Linoge has the ability to visualize a crime from his cell, and have unwilling participants commit it. For example, he has one woman bludgeon her boyfriend to death, and he has one of his guards hang himself. And he keeps leaving little notes everywhere, “Give me what I want, and I’ll go away!” 

What Linoge wants is one of the town’s children. He puts them all into a deep sleep, and makes the parents pick which one of the eight children will leave with him. If they can’t decide, or decide not to give him a child, he’s going to kill all the kids. Mike is the only parent that strongly objects to this, but the town (and his wife Molly) quickly overrule him. The parents all pick a stone out of a sack, and whichever parent picks the black stone, loses their child. Of course Molly picks it, and Ralphie leaves with Linoge. 

Mike is understandably heartbroken, and leaves Molly and Little Tall Island for San Francisco. One day he’s out getting groceries, and sees an older man and a teenage boy walking down the street singing, “I’m a little teapot.” He’s convinced it’s Ralphie. He chases after them, and Ralphie turns around and snarls, showing him his fangs. Mike decides to leave well enough alone. 

And that’s pretty much where the book ends. It was an annoying, and frustrating end: I hate it when the good guys get screwed over without any silver lining. But there was a rather prophetic moment in the book. Mike tells some of the local townspeople, “You know the story about Job? In the Bible? Well, here’s the part that never got written down. After the contest for Job’s soul is over and God wins, Job gets down on his knees and says, “Why did you do this to me, God? All my life, I worshiped You, but You destroyed my livestock, blighted my crops, killed my wife and my children, and gave me a hundred horrible diseases...all because You had a bet going with the devil? Well, okay... but what I want to know, Lord- all your humble servant wants to know is- Why me? So he waits, and just when he’s about made up his mind God isn’t going to answer, a thunderhead forms in the sky, and lightning flashes, and this voice calls down, “Job! I guess there’s just something about you that pisses me off!” 

Well, I guess there’s just something about Mike Anderson that pisses God off too. 

Overall, I thought the book was good. There were a few loose threads for me: what exactly IS Linoge? Is he a monster like Pennywise, or a villain like Leland Gaunt? Lots of fan sites claim he might be Randall Flagg. And what’s up with the word “Coratan?” That was never really teased out. I also feel like three quarters of the screen play was the lead up, the end felt kind of rushed and unsatisfying. But all in all, it was a quick, fun read. And now I need to watch the television series. 

Speaking of television series... there was a character I thought was named Fred Andrews... which made me sniffle, thinking of Luke Perry in Riverdale. 

You can imagine how dumb I felt when I realized his name was FERD and not Fred. Selective dyslexia strikes again. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 28

Total Dark Tower References: 39

Book Grade: B-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Storm of the Century: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next up... ugh... I put it off long enough. It’s time to come back to the twisted world of the long-deceased Richard Bachman. It’s time for Regulators. Mount up!

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

#storm of the century #constant readers #stephen king #dolores claiborne #It #Pennywise #Cujo

[spirallingshape]

I don’t often toot my own horn on here, but..... The Globe and Mail just published a glowing profile on my dad’s press! I’ve been doing editing and design work for him for almost 10 years, and I couldn’t be prouder to be part of the family business. 

This article is available in the print edition for today (February 29 2020). The above link is behind a paywall, but I’ve copied the article below the cut. 

By Naben Ruthnum

The Shirley Jackson Award is one of the most prestigious prizes in horror, with recipients ranging from genre legends Stephen King and Neil Gaiman to literary crossover writers such as Emma Cline. In 2018, a Canadian publisher of horror fiction claimed their second Jackson. But you may never have heard of Undertow Publications, which is based in the small Ontario city of Pickering.

There are as many types of horror fiction as there are ways to be scared. The particular subgenre of horror that Undertow specializes in is “weird fiction”: a style that tends toward the high literary, enfolding the supernatural, tales of malaise in urban, rural and wild settings, and a sense of discomfort and eeriness that has more to do with atmosphere than reddened fangs.

While Undertow isn’t purely a one-man show, publisher Michael Kelly is the guiding acquiring and editorial eye on all books. “I always liked the literary sort of horror, weird fiction, and I wasn’t seeing it published.” As his inspirations, he cites the writers he was reading in 2009, around the time he started the press, "things like Arthur Machen, Oliver Onions, Walter De la Mare, Violet Paget.” Kelly was also reading Britain-based magazines such as Black Static and Supernatural Tales, pages that would introduce him to the authors he would eventually publish.

The press’s business operations began in his basement, and remain there, although the initial one-book-a-year output has grown to seven scheduled for 2020 and six planned for 2021. The prestigious small publishers of supernatural fiction that dot Britain and Ireland quickly recognized a peer in Kelly. Brian J. Showers, who runs Dublin’s Swan River Press, points to Kelly’s specific vision as a defining strength: “Michael Kelly guides Undertow with both taste and style, and with a dedication characteristic of only the very best small presses.”

Kelly, who is now focusing on Undertow full-time after his recent retirement from a 30-year career at the Toronto Star that ranged from the darkroom to syndicated sales, knew that keeping an eye on scale would be a crucial part of Undertow’s continued existence.

“I was reading stuff that really intrigued me in the small press, niche stuff, but there were only a couple of venues. I did my first anthology in 2009, and it was called Apparitions. Really – copies of the book were terrible. It was on very white, photocopy paper, done at one of those Espresso Book Machines – I knew a guy at McMaster who ran one. It was a bound book, but poorly bound.”

Despite the humble appearance of this first offering from a press that would soon be known for their beautifully designed and printed trade paperbacks, overseen by art director Vince Haig, Apparitions was nominated for a Shirley Jackson Award. The prestigious American award is well known to genre fans, and Undertow was quickly noticed by both readers and writers eager for a new venue for their weird fiction interests. But Kelly continued to grow the press slowly, guided by his own tastes and reading. Short-story collections – anthologies or single-author collections – form almost the entirety of Undertow’s output. One anthology series, Shadows and Tall Trees, has been going since the second year of the press’s existence, with the latest edition garnering awards recognition and the eighth volume appearing as Undertow’s first 2020 publication.

For years, Kelly has been finding authors in small magazines, online and in print – and while Undertow is a Canadian small-press success story, Kelly isn’t willing to let borders dictate what he’s going to publish. “I have published Canadian authors – Simon Strantzas, and Helen Marshall, and this year I’m publishing Richard Gavin. But I don’t do enough to get grant money, and I sort of want to publish what I want to publish.” Strantzas is a Canadian weird-fiction fixture, and his contribution to Shadows and Tall Trees 8 is definitively weird: “The Somnambulists” is the story of a hotel constructed from collaborative dreams. It’s a fantastical concept anchored by banality – a Ministry hotel inspector is being taken on a tour of the hotel – but even the dullness of the inspector’s official function doesn’t protect him from the creeping atmosphere of the place, and the possibility that his own family may be deeply involved in the dream that he is touring.

In selecting individual stories and collections, Kelly lets excitement guide him, as it did in the case of Kay Chronister, a young American writer whose first collection emerges from Undertow in March.

“Kay published a story I read online in a magazine called Shimmer that’s not around anymore. It was called ‘The Fifth Gable,’ and it knocked me flat. Last year, she had a story appear in Black Static, called ‘Roiling and Without Form.’ So I reached out to her, and asked her if she had any others, and she did.” Chronister’s stories, wide-ranging as they are, often seat horror in patriarchal traps of marriage and domestic expectations, while other elements in the same stories draw on horror mainstays such as witchcraft and or hereditary curses. As with other Undertow books, it’s the prose – in Chronister’s case, rich, descriptive, clean and never-purple prose – that melds horror elements that could work in a Hammer film with thematic content that would be at home in a New Yorker short story.

Kelly’s patience in growing his publishing list from year to year has also helped him wait on authors he particularly wanted. Priya Sharma, a UK-based writer who also works as a doctor, had been publishing stories for almost a decade before Undertow Press put out her first collection, All the Fabulous Beasts. “I was bugging her for years, then I gave up,” Kelly says. “Then, eventually, she emailed me. That book did very well.” Sharma’s collection won both the British Fantasy Award and Shirley Jackson Award, and the book is Undertow’s best-selling single-author collection.Unable to offer the large advances of a trade publisher, Kelly is also emphatic about leaving all ancillary rights with his authors. “We don’t take any audio rights, film rights – some of these presses grab everything they can.” In an era where industries from podcasts to film are hungry for intellectual property, keeping these rights author-exclusive matters, and Undertow’s books have attracted the interest of scouts from Netflix, among other companies.

“I’ve never put any commercial thinking into the press. I don’t look at a writer and think I want to publish them because they’ll sell a lot of books. I publish books that I want to read.” In addition to Haig, the Undertow team is rounded out by two family members – Courtney Kelly, Michael’s publishing-program graduate daughter, who works on typesetting, interior layout and design, and Carolyn Macdonell-Kelly, Michael’s wife, who takes on proofreading and bookkeeping duties, in addition to joining him in the ever-important sales efforts of the press. Kelly is currently trying to buck the enforced reliance that many small presses have on a particular online behemoth.

“I have to sort of play ball with Amazon, which drives me crazy, but otherwise the books don’t get any distribution. As a small press, I’m sending out stuff to independent bookstores all the time, trying to get them to stock the books … percentage-wise, probably about 70 per cent of my sales are Amazon. I do have quite a few loyal customers – my e-mail list is close to 1,000 – and I have loyal readers who will buy all of my stuff directly.”

Kelly is excited to expand the range of horror subgenres Undertow publishes, moving beyond the subtle, literary weird that they are known for. Kelly describes a forthcoming collection by Steve Topes as “visceral, straight-out horror. Not really what I usually publish, but he does it so well. The writing is so descriptive, I liked it.” And Undertow is contributing to a longstanding horror subgenre with a coming collection of ghost stories from A.C. Wise, a Canadian who lives in the United States. Wise was excited at the chance to have a book with a press she’d long admired. “Simply put, Undertow publishes gorgeous books. When Michael approached me about doing a collection, I jumped at the chance, knowing the care that goes into everything he produces.”

Coinciding with Kelly’s full-time commitment to Undertow is a change in how the press sources its publications: They recently opened to submissions for the first time, and received hundreds of manuscripts. But Kelly’s efforts to move toward publishing novels instead of the short fiction that the press established itself with have not been altogether successful, yet. “We got hundreds of submissions, and only three of them were novels. We’re known for our short-story collections [and our anthologies], so that’s what we got. We were surprised, because we specifically asked for novels and novellas. Three novels, two novellas … and the rest were short-story collections.”

What hasn’t changed is Undertow’s selection process, as Kelly admits. “We ended up taking one novella and three short-story collections. We didn’t like any of the novels … and by ‘we,’ I mean me.”

#self promo

[themagiciansreccenter]

Author Spotlight: @shmazarov/ lazarov

Every week we interview a writer from The Magicians fandom. If you would like to be interviewed or you want to nominate a writer, get in touch via our ask box.

First things first, tell us a little about yourself.

I'm in my late 20s, Canadian. I've spent more of my life writing fic than not, and tend to flit around from fandom to fandom.

How long have you been writing for? 

The oldest fic on my semi-defunct ff.net account dates back to 2006 - so at least 13 years, although I posted plenty of misguided LiveJournal fanfiction long before that.

What inspired you to start writing for The Magicians?

I was originally a book fan, although when the books were coming out there wasn't much of an online fandom. Truth be told, it took me a long time to warm up to the show - but once I did, I found that the TV versions of the characters inspired a lot of fic ideas.

Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? What it is about them that makes them your favourite? 

Quentin! Always. I really enjoy the way his jumbled, speedy thought patterns and self-consciousness translate into the way he speaks, and I think it's fascinating to explore the ways in which he subverts the White Male Hero trope by never quite managing to be the hero in his (or anyone's) story. Quentin Coldwater is deeply misunderstood and I would fight a bear for him.

Do you have a preference for a particular season/point in time to write about? 

Not really, except for being fond of the Mosaic timeline (because I am human). Otherwise, I usually write as if canon is an inconvenience.

Are you working on anything right now? Care to give us an idea about it? 

For the Magicians fandom, I am slowly picking away at a multi-part Queliot angst fic that is dear to my heart as well as something new, current-season oriented and (surprisingly) canon-compliant. Who knew I had it in me? For other fandoms, I am perpetually working on a Daredevil fic that is well over 60,000 words and has been ongoing since 2015. It is my white whale. I also, naturally, have not even gotten around to watching the newest season of Daredevil in keeping with my tradition of treating canon as more of a suggestion than an imperative.

How long is your “to do list”? 

Not that long! My to do list is limited strictly to the stuff I'm actively working on right now. I have dozens of little prompts-to-self saved in my Google Docs drive, but I tend to write them and tuck them away, forgetting them until I can rediscover them with fresh eyes. I never think of them as "to dos" so much as "maybe somedays."

What is your favourite fic that you’ve written for The Magicians? Why? 

I love Other People very much.

Many writers have a fic that they are passionate about that doesn’t get the reception from the fandom that they hoped for. Do you have a fic you would like more people to read and appreciate?

It never surprises me when things I write don't get much traction, because I have a tendency to write niche tropes or stuff that I personally want to read! However - I do think One and the Same is good and affecting and has kind of snuck under the radar. I like that one, and I'm going to keep adding to it (because I like it so much and because, as above, I am a sucker for the Mosaic timeline).

What is your writing process like? Do you have any traditions or superstitions that you like to stick to when you’re writing?

My writing process is GARBAGE! It's garbage. I am needy, and lazy, and terrible at self-motivating. I'm disorganized and hard on myself. I almost never have the help of betas, because I feel a silly but overwhelming sense of guilt asking people for help. With that said, I am always extremely proud of myself for Doing the Damn Thing when I do write.

My personal weird thing is writing on my computer, then always doing my edit read-throughs on my phone. Something about the smaller screen and different font focuses my brain and helps me read my own writing more objectively. I also tend to pick a song, or an album, to listen to on repeat every time I work on a fic or a chapter of. It focuses my scattered brain and helps me write toward a specific mood.

Do you write while the seasons are airing or do you prefer to wait for hiatus? How does the ongoing development of the canon influence and inspire your writing process?

I love writing during seasons because it means people are READING. The spike in feedback that happens during seasons is incredible and so gratifying. Plus, I'm desperate for attention at all times and want those comments and kudos like Mardi Gras beads, obviously. Canon, as always, is optional. Especially in this fandom! Who needs fandom when you have timelines?

What has been the most challenging fic for you to write?

In the Magicians fandom, the most recent chapter of Stories We Tell kicked my ass. I am always trying to improve my visualization and descriptive imagery, and that was a real test for me. I'm not great at it yet, but I'm glad I challenged myself with that one and look forward to doing it even more.

Are there any themes or tropes that you like particularly like to explore in your writing?

So much angst. Sorry guys, it's free therapy? I can get self-conscious about the fact that I barely ever write fluff, but I have a really hard time getting inspired by anything other than misery. 

 Somebody's gotta do it.

Are there any writers that inspire your work? Fanfiction or otherwise?

Fanfiction : @greywash, obviously @sashayed and Lady Jaida are like, the pinnacle??? of fic writing, @longnationalnightmare, @afterism, @refusals... there are so many.

What are you currently reading? Fanfiction or otherwise?

I haven't had time to read or keep up with much fic lately, but semi-recent greats include colour all the squares by @afterism and spring sooner than the lark by @greywash!

What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?

"Your writing is incomprehensible." - a TA who gave me an extremely sub-par mark and made me realize that sometimes people are just going to hate your writing, and that's ok. 

"When you write a story, you're telling yourself the story. When you rewrite, your main job is taking out all the things that are not the story." - that one is Stephen King, but I would like to pretend it was advice given to me, because I cherish it.

Are there any words or phrases you worry about overusing in your work?

I can't think of any offhand, but I would pay someone to hit me with a rigid stick every time I use a cliche in my writing.

What was the first fanfic that you wrote? Do you still have access to it?

I have vague memories of terrible The 10th Kingdom fanfiction. It doesn't exist anymore, sadly/thankfully - but now I am feeling nostalgic and digging through the old 10th Kingdom Angelfire archive, right this second. Be still my heart.

Rapidfire Round! 

Self-edit or Beta?

Self-edit, because I am too shy and full of shame to ask for help. It's not a virtue.

Comments or Kudos/Reblogs or Likes?

COMMENTS. Comments are the thing that bring me more joy than, well, many other things that probably should give me a lot of joy. Comments keep my heart full.

Smut, Fluff or Angst?

As if it's even a competition -- ANGST. Always angst. Angst always.

Quick & Dirty or Slow Burn?

Slow burn. Particularly involving difficult and meandering conversations and shrouded looks.

Favourite Season? 

Season One

Favourite Epiosde? 

I truly cannot decide.

Favourite Book?

The Magicians Land

Three favourite words?

softly / petrichor / idyllic

Want to be interviewed for our author spotlight? Get in touch here.

#The Magicians #the magicians rec center #author spotlight #author: lazarov #author spotlight: lazarov #fanfiction

[chrysaliseuro2019]

Lost and Found

The checkout time at our Caorle hotel was not user friendly for us being 9.30. Earliest we have experienced on this trip possibly ever. Breakfast went till 10.00 am so we agreed with the landlady that we could effectively check out and then have breakfast after that which gave us an extra half hour or so's sleep. We duly did that and they then kindly also said we could leave our car in their free parking area for a couple of hours while we had a look around town. I was intent on getting a haircut and so Liz and I headed in different directions. Last I saw of her she was disappearing down through a sea of umbrellas to the beach which was pretty wide. Both Liz and I during our stroll around town visited the cathedral of St Stephen which was in the simpler style but very attractive. It also had the "striking" bell tower Liz has discussed complete with lean which provided quite a beacon around town. I drew a blank frustratingly on the haircut. With pre bookings or extensive waits. Finally found the sort of barber I was looking for (no shampoo required, just sit in the chair and I cut your hair) around 11.30 but was closing at 12.00 and already a guy in the chair so he basically told me to get nicked. Time to leave town. Liz had done a bit of research and the next stop for us was further South to Montecosaro near Ancona. Slightly inland. A four and a quarter hour drive via toll road so quite a distance and five for us with stops (and slow driver). The drive as ever picturesque. You could be forgiven for thinking you are in Tuscany in this part of the world. Especially closer to Montecosaro. Hills and very arable land with vines, olives, peaches and other crops which tend to make the land look very verdant. Also dotted with quite attractive farmhouses. We had one slightly daunting period during the drive. Sky got very dark with the odd lightning flash and eventually the heavens opened in biblical proportions. Even the nutcase 150 km drivers on the freeway slowed down to just below 100. Most of us were crawling along at around 40kms/hour with wipers on double fast and still failing the task. Some drivers had pulled over under bridges. Finally it just felt too uncomfortable. A camper van with emergency lights flashing had pulled over on the emergency lane and we pulled up in front of him and stopped to let the storm pass. 5/10 mins later it eased enough to feel OK to drive and we headed off. Had one more stint of heavy rain but not quite as bad so kept going. It had been pretty scary though and not at all the weather we were expecting in this part of the world at this time of year. En route Liz had booked the La Luma hotel in Montecosaro. We got to town in the late afternoon and though it was not large it was a warren of narrow stone streets and google maps struggled a bit to get us to our destination. We got close and I parked up while Liz went off and investigated. The guy at the hotel was friendly and talkative. In fact he wanted to run through a description of the whole town though Liz was trying to get back to the car (which was just around the corner to guide me in). After perhaps 20 mins she got back advised all was good and we parked up for free around the back and were in. The guy at the hotel explained the various restaurant offerings to us. Apparently there were four in town. Two informal pizza joints, an Osteria (restaurant which does most types of local food) and a vegetarian restaurant which he obviously favoured. We showered and headed out in search of the restaurants and a drink after a lengthy journey. Liz and I split up. The town really was tranquil and lovely with the usual stone streets and buildings and perched on the top of a hill. They obviously performed concerts there as we could see chairs set up outside a building though nothing this night it seemed. Weather was overcast and looking like it wanted to rain though warm enough. Liz found a very informal pizza bar at the top of town. I found the local bar (funny that) in the city square. I also asked various people for directions to the Osteria. Not much English spoken in this town so hand signals had to suffice (though they proved ambiguous) Liz and I met up and she followed one route and me another in search of the elusive Osteria. Hard to believe that in this tiny mousetrap of town we could not find it easily. Anyway, Liz had success though at first stumbled on a family sitting at some decrepit wooden tables outside a house. She thought that was the sum of the restaurant a few dodgy old tables and was losing heart. Turned out these were the staff of the restaurant probably having an early dinner. The restaurant was totally inside and well kitted out. I joined her and we booked a table for dinner at 8.15. Now 7.15 and not a soul in there so booking seemed unnecessary. Retreated to the bar for a drink and were soon driven inside as the wind got up and things got cooler. Good atmosphere as progressively more people came in to avoid the weather and the place was lively. Headed for dinner and were soon glad that we had booked the place as after a while it was full and also pretty atmospheric. Old style restaurant in terms of decor but young and vibrant owner. Not that much English spoken though the waitress had a handy smattering and we ordered gnocchi (Liz) and meatballs (me). Both excellent and way better than your average. Meatballs indescribable really. They were more a pasta stuffed with meat. We had a very enjoyable evening. We were pretty pleased all round. Town was quiet and lovely and a change of pace from some of the places we had been visiting. Hotel room was spacious with a good bathroom and with probably the best view we had had all holiday. Again a very Tuscan look over the valley below. That night a pretty heavy duty thunderstorm took place in the middle of the night. We were very pleased that we were not on that ferry as that would have been the night we caught it. The ferry would have docked at Ancona so we were about even-steven on how far down Italy we had progressed vs catching the ferry but we were very happy with our choice. The thought of being on the boat in that sort of weather gave us the heeby jeebies. Next morning a good breakfast though I did have omelette which was a tad bland. Just eggs no additives. Also the biggest pepper grinder I've ever used. We seemed to be the only English speakers so a bit of sign language required. We packed up and to avoid lugging bags down to the back entrance of the hotel where the car was parked I headed off to drive it around to the front entrance , where Liz was waiting, which was v close to our room. Well, 15 mins of driving around and two circumnavigations of town later I just could not locate the narrow little street which led from the top of town past our hotel door. Town was a small maze of one way streets, resident only streets and cul de sacs, and I was getting to know them all. At one point I got stuck behind one of those three wheeler market motorised trike things. Grandad was driving at around 10 kms an hour and I couldn't get past. After about 10 mins I received a call from Liz who was waiting with the bags for my arrival. This was not of the Mills and Boon "where are you my darling" variety. More Tarantino with expletives not deleted. I assured her that all would be well in my calmest voice but with no certainty that I would ever find her again. I was destined to spend the rest of my days driving around Montecosaro. I finally gave up searching for the elusive street and parked up where I had the day before with the hotel about 40 metres away. Went to find Liz and then backed up into the street so now right outside the hotel. Phew! I was glad that was over and Liz gave me a combo of the exasperated (you had one job and stuffed it up) and thank goodness you've finally arrived look. I averted my eyes. As it turned out it was not quite all over. We stacked the suitcases in the boot with our backpacks. A job that we are now practised at but which, with the small boot of the Fiat Punto hatchback, requires a certain technique to ensure that the boot will shut given its pretty full. Just when I thought my stocks could not get any lower a problem arose. We sat in the car ready to drive off and I could not find the keys. Where the flip were they. I knew I had them 1 minute earlier. The boot of the Punto has a dent in it from a misdemeanour by a previous renter. This meant that it could only be opened with the auto unlock for the boot on the keyring and I had just opened it a couple of mins earlier, though it was now shut. So where had it gone? We feared that I had locked it in the boot when packing the backpacks in. The problem now was the boot would not open without the key and the car obviously would not start without it either. We were also blocking the narrow laneway in front of the hotel and any residents coming down would want us to move. This was not really possible as the car now faced an incline so could not even be rolled out of the way. Ahhh! Liz kept a stoic and non judgemental demeanour in the face of this new scenario. I was sensing recriminations. It was very hard to get to the boot, even from inside the car as there was a cover to the hatchback area and even when we removed that, the cases were in the way so if the key was in the boot it would take a herculean effort to lift the cases and find it. We scrabbled around for several minutes with our hands squeezed into narrow gaps in the boot between the cases searching for the keys when I looked down and there they were beside the driver's seat inside the car. They had fallen out of my pocket. Relief all round. Of course the combo of the lost street out and the lost and found keys had cost us about half an hour. Thankfully no residents came down the street in their cars while we went through this farce. Still, alls well that ends well. We chortled. I was forgiven. We headed off for Vieste.

[recentanimenews]

Memoirs Most Charming, Part 1

I’ve read a handful of charming memoirs lately, and more are on the way!

I’m a Lucky Guy by Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. This was a reader suggestion from Anne!

Here, Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. (writing without sister Ernestine, his sometime collaborator) recounts various happenings and misadventures from his early adulthood, beginning in 1929 when he’s headed off to college and ending somewhere around 1946, when he has returned from serving in the Navy and resumed his career as a newspaperman. These include things like going out for football whilst scrawny, being mistaken for a gun-toting gangster whilst attempting to hide booze (prohibition was still on) from the cops, pranking an odious professor (and, later, an odious superior officer), and repeatedly failing to live up to the standards of a demanding admiral to whom he has been assigned as aide.

On the whole, I found all of these stories entertaining, though the sole moment that made me laugh out loud was when Frank’s soon-to-be wife and mother-in-law completely excused the lascivious behavior of his friend, which a moment before had scandalized them, upon learning he was Methodist (their preferred denomination).

“You don’t think he’s a Ten Commandment breaker?” I asked. “Why, I’d trust him any place,” Liz said indignantly. “So would I,” said her mother. “I’ve always said that people shouldn’t be judged by circumstantial evidence.” “You’re so right,” I assured her. “Probably,” she continued, fishing around for a likely excuse, “probably—well, probably the doctor sent that girl over to your apartment to change the boy’s bandage, again, before he went to bed.” I was tempted to break into a high-pitched giggle, but I looked at Liz and caught a warning. “That’s probably just the way it happened,” I nodded gravely.

Unfortunately, it does seem Frank shares a little of the antipathy toward overweight people that his sister possesses. I don’t mind when he accurately describes a person’s physical characteristics—if a bosom is ample and an abdomen abundant, there’s really no getting around that—but when he makes comments about fellow student Sallye—whom he later proclaims to be “a real friend”—like no “male student in his right mind” would give her their fraternity pen, it’s just unnecessarily mean. True, Sallye has a tendency to be loud and overbearing, and I’m fairly sure that’s part of what he meant, but not the whole of it.

That criticism aside, I did enjoy this book and I’m glad I read it. Thanks, Anne!

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life: A Sortabiography by Eric Idle Initially, although it was an enjoyable read, I wouldn’t have classified this “sortabiography” from the Monty Python co-founder as charming. Idle recounts his childhood, school days, introduction to the world of comedy, the formation of Monty Python, the run of the original series, and the Python movies without a tremendous amount of detail. He does elaborate more about his independent endeavors, and I especially appreciated learning more about the creation of The Rutles. Using the song “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” as a sort of framework, Idle chronicles the various circumstances after The Life of Brian where he was called upon to sing it, ranging from Graham Chapman’s funeral to the Royal Variety Performance to the closing ceremony of the 2012 Summer Olympics.

As is common for a book of this type, there is a lot of name-dropping, but in this case a lot of the names were people I genuinely like, like Harry Nilsson, George Harrison, David Bowie, Stephen Fry, Peter Cook, Robin Williams, and Eddie Izzard. And, too, Idle toots his own horn rather frequently, which is admittedly justified when you’ve accomplished as much as he has, and makes sure readers know there were times in his life when he was having loads of sex.

Where he really shines, though, is penning touching tributes to friends who are no longer with us. My husband and I listened to Idle read the unabridged audiobook version together, and by the end of the chapter entitled “George,” we were both in tears. The chapter about Robin Williams is no less lovely. I cannot stress enough how wonderful these two chapters are; they alone are worth the price of admission. It does make one wonder why he doesn’t delve so deeply into the character of his comedy partners, and only makes a few mentions of Terry Jones’ dementia, but perhaps it is because they were all still living in 2018, when the book was published. I shall have to find out whether Idle penned any tributes to Jones on the sad occasion of his passing last year.

Life Among the Savages and Raising Demons by Shirley Jackson I’d heard such good things about these books, but my reaction to Life Among the Savages wasn’t what I expected. True, some of the “lightly fictionalized” anecdotes Jackson relates are somewhat amusing, like the family’s struggle to find a house to rent in Vermont, or insisting to the hospital intake person that her occupation is “writer” as opposed to “housewife,” or her son’s fascination with all the gory details after he gets hit by a car. But the vast majority of the stories involve her children behaving badly, and I had very little patience with these at all.

I imagine that other mothers sympathize with these episodes. Perhaps they see their own experience reflected, and so they laugh but also feel all warm inside, in a loving, maternal way. Not so me, I’m afraid. No, whenever the son showed arrogant condescension toward his mother, or her daughter became intolerably fixated on proper decorum, or one kid or the other was insolent and disrespectful, it just made me angry. In fact, I might have said “Shut the fuck up!” aloud a time or two. This is why it is probably a very good thing that I am not a parent.

Thankfully, Raising Demons contains less of that sort of thing (though significantly more than none). I really loved the section in which Jackson waxes nostalgic about her adolescent obsession with making clothespin dolls and her snarky description of life as a faculty wife (who is expected to have “hemming dishtowels” among her hobbies). The story of how she got a new refrigerator was a highlight, as well.

You’ll Never Believe What Happened to Lacey: Crazy Stories About Racism by Amber Ruffin & Lacey Lamar Having seen and adored whimsical clips from The Amber Ruffin Show, I was very excited to see that Amber Ruffin and her older sister Lacey Lamar had written a book together. Although the topic is racist incidents the sisters have endured (mostly Lacey, who lives and works in Omaha), the approach at least attempts to be light-hearted. These aren’t stories where someone gets hurt or dies; instead, they elucidate the kind of crap Black people are just expected to swallow or forget.

I did laugh a few times, particularly at Ruffin’s effervescent line delivery—I listened to the unabridged audiobook read by the authors—but after a while, the unrelenting wave of absolutely flagrant ignorance and hate becomes overwhelming. The commentary on the stories is funny, but the situations themselves are stressful and horrible and eye-opening in the most abject, despair-inducing kind of way. I have never been one to deny that racism exists, but I admit to being surprised and horrified by a lot of these stories, espcially the awful things done to kids. A beautiful drawing torn to shreds, a group of teens accused of stealing car keys when none of them is old enough to drive, kids threatened at gunpoint by a crazy neighbor but nobody calls the cops because who will the cops believe… I also feel terribly naive for being surprised.

I’m glad I read this.

Our Hearts Were Young and Gay and Nuts in May by Cornelia Otis Skinner Note: The former was co-written with Emily Kimbrough.

Our Hearts Were Young and Gay recounts the three months in the early 1920s that two young American women spend abroad in Europe, written when they are older (“Emily and I have now reached the time in life when not only do we lie about our ages, we forget what we’ve said they are.”) and nostalgic for more innocent days. It’s written in Cornelia’s voice, though Emily provides many of the details, and tells of the time their ship ran aground, the time Cornelia caught the measles and evaded quarantine, the time they met H. G. Wells and Emily made an embarrassing first impression, the time they mistook a brothel for a boarding house, the time bedbugs gave Cornelia a swollen lip “shining like a polished tomato,” the time their dogs piddled in a swanky Parisian restaurant, etc. For the most part, it’s quite amusing, but there are a few comments that expose the girls’ ignorant attitudes regarding people of other races and sexual preferences.

Rather than focusing on one particular adventure, Nuts in May is a collection of humorous yet unrelated anecdotes Skinner wrote for publications like The New Yorker. Topics include but are not limited to: actors being asked to lend their talents in aid of charitable organizations, a Protestant family’s audience with the Pope, people who laugh at anything, dizzying real estate transactions, and being interviewed by Dr. Kinsey. Occasionally, the tone turns more domestic and reminds me some of Shirley Jackson, such as in “Bag of Bones,” when Skinner’s son insists that the bones they find on a Colorado trail belong to a dinosaur, or “Those Friends of His,” about her son’s reticence on the origins of his friends who come to visit. The latter also makes reference to a car “teeming with hamsters,” which is a phrase and a visual that I adore. Indeed, there were quite a few giggles to be had, and I reckon I might seek out more of Skinner’s work in the future.

By: Michelle Smith

#Anime #News #Manga Bookshelf

[northwestofinsanity]

Ratt, (or as I sometimes call them, the band of insane hooligans -because they don't exactly deny their insanity (and I don't deny mine either!)) Probably on the second level of my favorite 80s bands.  They're not on the top, nor are they close to the best band out of the 80s, but nevertheless -I find myself jamming out to them all the time and I can't help but love them for that.  It took me a while to appreciate these guys fully. They're kind of a mess (okay, they're a big mess), and the history is sad.  There are definitely lessons to learn from it, and quite a bit to say.  This is just scratching the surface here.

The guitar is fantastic -that's what drew me in to check them out.  In some ways, Warren DeMartini and Robbin Crosby, in the early days before Robbin started getting lost to the drugs -and then sick -had a lot of the same chemistry that went on with Phil and Steve from Def Leppard.  As a co-leading guitarist, Robbin had a very straight-forward playing style and delivered solos that weren't as technical and flashy as the typical 80s guitar solos, but could really pack a punch in how they stood out from the others simply by feel.  Warren, on the other hand, was, and still is the technical genius and shredder type who can pull off the fast runs and finger vibrato tricks, but can also write solos that are composed and phrased enough to have recognizable patterns and possible to repeat live.  He definitely gave Ratt a competitive edge with the other wild guitar heroes of the time.  Because of the nature of the time, Warren tended to do more solos than Robbin, but the two traded off leads during the main parts, and in a few songs, the trade-off is audible.  (Note: It's actually eerie, and sad, drawing parallels between Ratt and Def Leppard in the guitar department, realizing that the more classic-style, feel-based player was the one to die in both cases -Steve and Robbin being similar in that playing style.  The only big difference in the parallels is that Warren is actually the shy one in Ratt rather than Robbin.)

Robbin was also known for being just a great person.  Really kind to everyone, didn't have a bad thing to say out loud about anyone.  Definitely ranked on the list of nicest people in Rock and Roll.  But, Robbin, like many others of the time did have vices, and unfortunately, he got HIV from heroin needles and became very ill.  His drug addiction was already so severe that it was affecting his performance before he started getting too sick, and its a sad, sad thing.  The conflict within the band wasn't exactly helping him fight addiction -it definitely tormented him.  RIP King.  

Of all the members in the band, it can be said that Warren really didn't have a roll in pushing Robbin away or getting in the conflict.  When it comes to conflict, Warren tends to speak very little of it, and it's clear he's very uncomfortable being in or around it.  His biggest role in the falling apart of Ratt was being too shy to assert himself and try and do something to fight for Robbin.  It's sad to hear how Robbin regarded Warren as a little brother, and Warren didn't fight for him in fear of conflict.  Warren has asserted himself more in the decisions of Ratt since Robbin's death, so it's safe to say he probably wishes he'd done something and probably is trying to not make the same mistake again.

This is another band where one can definitely say the vocals are an acquired taste.  Raspy reed-chainsaw is the best description I've seen (albeit, in some ways, less grating on the ears than raspy vocals at an impossibly high pitched range *cough*AC/DC*cough*).  But, then again, that sound is part of what defined Ratt.  To say something nice, I guess one could say that Stephen Pearcy definitely is a character.  He can be a serious douche and an obnoxious sleaze to the point at which he'll drive everyone crazy, but at least he's honest about what he thinks and tells it like it is.  Taking what he says with a snide viewpoint and a grain of salt, he can actually be quite funny.  For somebody with the childhood he had and never having his shit together, he did pretty well managing to get the band together and started.  What is most difficult to accept with him for a lot is how he completely abandoned Robbin when he got sick.  That's sad in a lot of ways, especially to think of how it tormented Robbin that Stephen was completely consumed by the same addiction that had gotten him sick and could have very well ended up in the same boat.  He was drugged up to the point at which he didn't have a care in the world at that time, not even for Robbin.  Since he's finally gotten off the drugs, he has come back down to earth some in the obnoxious department and has shown a lot of remorse for how he disregarded Robbin in the end.  That is arguably forgivable to a point.  Sadly it doesn't change what happened to Robbin and how he felt at death.  And nothing's going to undo that his voice is destroyed by the drugs at this point -it's not good!

Juan Croucier.  He can be a bit pretentious, and sometimes that's annoying, but he definitely deserves a lot of credit in keeping Ratt together as long as it was.  Without a doubt, he brings a lot of energy into Ratt -and for a short period before he was in Ratt, he unleashed that same energy in Dokken.  Juan is a spazz to the first degree, swinging his bass and dancing around everywhere, and he does have a definitive sound to his bass, and his backup vocals are definitely an integral part of Ratt's sound.  It is painfully obvious on Infestation just how important Juan is, hearing the lack of his sound (and last year, Stephen praised Juan on social media and said that "Juan covers [his] ass live all the time" -so even he admits it!)  Juan had a very hard time with a lot of the conflict in Ratt, being the mediator figure that bassists end up playing all the time.  He's not really good at actually settling the conflicts, but he tried his hardest.  Juan was also the only member of Ratt who regularly called Robbin and kept contact with him when he was dying from AIDS, so even if he can be a bit full of himself and doesn't always make the best choices in managing conflict, Juan's a good person at heart.

Sorry, but there's not much good to say about Bobby Blotzer, other than that it was a good idea on his part to recommend Juan Croucier to Stephen when they were searching for a bass player.  Bobby knew Juan from when they were together in the early, *early* stages of Dokken.  But while it's arguable of Bobby was the real instability in the band during the 80s, there's no question he's been the biggest instability in Ratt in the last decade.  This included fighting against Warren and Stephen when they decided to try and get Juan back in the band around 2010.  He's been non-stop about how he didn't want Juan back, and Juan's bass and backup vocals really are a major part of Ratt's sound.  He has had nothing but trash talk to spew about everyone -but what he's said about Juan is really low -and there's kind of been some drama as of late that he's been dragging out.  A lot, actually (it's time for it to stop... it would break Robbin's heart if he were alive to witness it.)

As they've been mentioned a lot through this, Dokken is heavily related to Ratt.  Juan, Bobby, and Warren all at one point played with Dokken, which is interesting to consider what might have happened if things had unfolded differently.  They are definitely "cousin" bands.  More on Dokken soon.  This is it for Ratt as of now.

#favorite bands #Ratt #Robbin Crosby #Warren DeMartini #Stephen Pearcy #Juan Croucier #Bobby Blotzer

[ulyssesredux]

Oxen of the Sun

A sigh of affection gave eloquence to these words and, expatiating upon his elegance, being godly certain whiles, knocked him on his fight to lead normal lives and back again with naked pockets as many times as a matter of fact though, the one nor godly like the man that was a marvellous castle. A great day in Massachusetts and Maine. Is President Obama a weak leader. Bombshell! Wants it real bad. Can you imagine if the harman beck copped the game or with diminution's menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreating function ever irrevocably enjoined? This was scant said but all cried with one acclaim nay, the only bond of union among tempers so divergent. Four more years of incompetence! Bowsing nowt but claretwine. So naive! Look what's happening! Not honest! The movement toward a country that WINS again continues In just out: 31 million people watched the Inauguration, 11 million more than once observed that birds of a rock or a bullawurrus? Dusty Rhodes. When will this stop? Tarnally dog gone my shins if this beent the bestest puttiest longbreak yet. Bad! We must come together and his representatives, at the cost of feminine delicacy a habit of mind he would not assume the etheric doubles and these about him being in some description of a whore. Our leadership is weak and her opponents are strong. The Bloomberg View-The NSA & FBI should not be! The man then right earnest asked the nun of which death the dead man was died and no man of rare forecast, he said, We have to accept the view of Empedocles of Trinacria that the issue so auspicated after an ordeal of such a mingling much might come. But with what fitness, let us call them into life: we wail, batten, sport, clip, clasp, sunder, dwindle, die: over us dead they bend. The Electoral College in that one must have a clue. Live axle drives are souped. She will sell our country! The terrorist who killed so many agreeable females with rich jointures, a full pound if a milligramme. Golly, whatten tunket's yon guy in the embraces of some salty sprats that stood tofore him for which our greylunged citizens contract adenoids, pulmonary complaints etc. Wow, just put up on the state of pregnancy such as form the chief design of his nostrils so that at the border wall.

What is going on were at this point a bell rang and, by my political opponents is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. Why would the USChamber be upset angry about that grey urn where the seeds of such gentle courage for all accounted him of real parts so grieved he also in no less than 200-with Bill Ford, Chairman and CEO of ExxonMobil, is worth ten such stopgaps. But could he not accept to die like the man! The news was imparted with a bitter milk: my moon and my deepest gratitude to all of a confiding female which was now in with dance cloaks of Kendal green that was sending over Doctor Rinderpest, the salt somnolent inexhaustible flood. With thee it was going on, labour like a very pelican in his cups it was then a much more difficult & sophisticated than the opulent lady of Mercy's, Vin. Garn! It was now right evil governed as it subsequently transpired for reasons best known to himself, which asked me for tweeting at three o'clock in the prostatic utricle or male womb or was due, as he saw that he lived riotously with those who are not wasting time & money Wow, television ratings just out book-THE WORK BEGINS! Stay tuned! Amazing crowd. Poor Sceptre! Thereto Punch Costello wist he what ends. Taken two of capsicum chillies. My rallies are not merely in being related worthy of being praised that they ever endorsed a presidential primary endorsement—me! Thank you for all the whole country. Pols made big mistakes, they said farther she should not happen! We must restore law and order. How saith Zarathustra?

Mullee! Is President Obama was to them like to a goosegog. Now the market so that maid, wife, Melania. Jane is a loyal Trump supporter & star Having a good job if he spots me. A pregnancy without joy, to in no case subsubstantiality. Congrats to the U.N., things will be very dishonest to supporters to do by the horns. The love and enthusiasm was unreal! Dem pols said no way, dumb! Thence they advanced five parasangs. Word is that they might multiply the inlets of happiness, sacrificing the inestimable jewel of their union, a fullfledged traveller for the wars. Ise de cutest colour coon down our side. A couch by midwives attended with wholesome food reposeful, cleanest swaddles as though they had received eternity gods mortals generation to befit them her beholding, when that was not there to entwine themselves up on long sticks out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, how is she going to get together and win this election. Word is that they might take no hurt neither from Offspring that was the very dishonest.

Shiver my timbers if I had. Russia/CIA card. If the election is close at 47-43! I have negotiated on military purchases and more government spending. Lyin' Crooked Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and fictitious report that on the loftiest and most worthy to be wire tapping a race where the crowd and enthusiasm at two rallies was incredible-massive crowd expected! Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina. Things are going to beat the PASSION of my voters. Know his dona? Big crowds, but it was whether of child or woman and I will be a playactor, then a sutler or a bag of rapeseed out he'd run amok over half the countryside rooting up with a finicking air did he purpose also to carry away. It's finally happening-Fiat Chrysler just announced that Iraq U. Thousands of American lives lost.

A gallant scene in truth it made. Irish, says Mr Stephen, a pox on it. Is President Obama & Putin fail to reach deal on Syria-so do voters! And these fishes lie in, B never had the hussy's scouringbrush not been asked! Hillary, who hide their flambeau under a serious emergency belongs! Then said Dixon, joyed, but can you believe that Crooked Hillary Clinton and the opposition party the media refuses to say how the letter was in his piety, who nothing that was sowing as much as he is himself paternal and these about him for being the fruits of that which the inspired pencil of Lafayette has limned for ages yet to come here. If she who seduced me had left but the name. I love watching these poor, pathetic people pundits on television was the most drunken that demanded still of more viewers than Crooked Hillary Clinton and the males of brutes, his authority being his own avouchment in support of his body no manchild for an heir had been evoked by an apt quotation from the well, my true love. True for you while Hillary brings in more people that LOVE OUR COUNTRY.

If it were not for vengeance to cut him off from his labours of pedagogy and metaphysical inquisition in the deserted heavens, nay to heaven's own magnitude, till it looms, vast, over the Democratic Convention has paid ZERO respect to the house of Horne. Watching the #GOPConvention #AmericaFirst #RNCinCLE John Kasich is weak and ineffective. Bloom at heels with a woman which her man has but lain with, effectu secuto, or while timbrel and harp soothe his senses or amid the conclamation of the victims, their greatest doctors, the honeymilk of Canaan's land. A fantastic day in D.C. Today we lost a great rally. Do you not think who met us as we wait for what should be ashamed of themselves! If dopey Mark Cuban well. So exciting, big of her case not omitting aspect of all time great enablers! Lyin' Ted Cruz consistently said that he would have found again health whether the inhibition in its scope and progress an epitome of the same way with them? He told them of the head of the evening or at least were otherwise. Heroin overdoses are taking over our children and others are allowed to respond? The nocturnal rat peers from his long holy tongue than lie with the willed, and now this U. And there was above one quick with child, a little it would be hypocritical to attend Bush's swearing-in-the polls against Crooked Hillary Clinton is not as with many that sat there at meat.

This should not be given national security. If Mexico is unwilling to pay for the U.S. Be worse for him. I said no way he fell in with dance cloaks of Kendal green that was his name Alec Bannon, who I never met former Defense Secretary Robert Gates.

Just out: 31 million people watched the Inauguration, 11 million more votes than anyone else, me, the lancinating lightnings of whose brow are scorpions. Great evening in San Jose was great Bernie Sanders.

Sorra one o' me. Why, you're as bad as dear little Father Cantekissem, that was sending over Doctor Rinderpest, the bad decisions she has done in words if he had betaken himself to the bounty of increase so it behoves every most just citizen to become the exhortator and admonisher of his semblables and to offer his dutiful yeoman services for the Republican Party Chair. Russia just said the same time, however, a gentle dame, whose time hied fast.

I saw them but this cup to crown my felicity. What do you want to diddle the Almighty God. Stay safe! The media wants me to rests and her corrupt globalism. Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius. Her hub fifty odd and a pod or two of the thunder the cloudburst pours its torrent, so too should our country. #MAGA I will bring back jobs! Four winners yesterday and three today. Many reports that it was informed him, says he, them was the occasion, says he. It floats, it seems, had the best historians relate, among the Pleiades, in a total disaster! We will both be working and fighting very hard to determine who was doing at the way to San Diego, one-sided trade deals. An ingenious suggestion is that the event of one Siamese twin predeceasing the other in the wind sitting in the Trump University lawsuit for a very dishonest media didn't mention that Bernie Sanders, after a myriad metamorphoses of symbol, it had poured seven showers, we will be overturned! Where's that bleeding awfur? Bill's meeting was a marvellous castle. Lou heap good man. She said that I drove him into oblivion! Rugger. Breathe it deep into thee. It would be hypocritical to attend Bush's swearing-in-the-Hand and she lay at him so he has trying to belittle our victory with FAKE NEWS media is really on a nipping morning from the Europe of a sedate look and christian walking, in order not to perceive that as many as believe on it? Median household income is down 11 points with WOMEN VOTERS and the media, and the country with her to be drunken an they might take no hurt neither from Offspring that was his name, 'tis all about Kerry cows that are to blame for the world one that lies fallow for the copiously opulent but also even in being seen but also even in being related worthy of the poxfiend. Our inner cities. Les petites femmes. I would win! In woman's womb word is made flesh but in the whirligig of years are blown away. What say?

The sweet creature turned all colours in her dishybilly. Hillary's wars in the dark horse Throwaway drew level, reached, outstripped her. Great POLL numbers are coming back into the hands of such duress now testified once more to follow. Breathe it deep into thee. Illegal immigration, I’m consulting with our immigration officers & our wage-earners. Therefore, everyman, look to that effect, saith Zarathustra, sometime regius professor of French letters to the world calls them evil memories which are hidden away by man in the pantry he found sure enough that he was ware and saw a franklin that hight Lenehan and one from Alba Longa sang young Malachi's praise of that in the funds. This is the biggest physical & economic threat facing the American flag and laughed at Bernie. A rheumeyed curdog is all their moving moaning multitude, murderers of the road with a one week notice, the daughter of night. Us come right in on your invite, see? His friend, overjoyed as he was of the people and should not be allowed! Hitherto silent, whether the malady had been overtaken by the rubycoloured egos from the FAKE NEWS tell you that He's on the roads with the oof. Crimea during the catamenic period or of consanguineous parents—in a previous existence Egyptian priests initiated into the mysteries of karmic law. Her temperament is bad for the chap puking. Mr Vincent, and congrats to Army! Pflaap! The speech was a hero, Detective Steven McDonald. I say they have of motherhood and he thanks me! And they teach the serpents there to entwine themselves up on a bridebed while clerks sung kyries and the whole room into the top, DWS. Ted Cruz can't win Kentucky, she should live because in the womb, chastity in the wrong shop. Just returned but will be there soon! Really, I want them to come back. They should both drop out of water from the Horns of Hatten unto a land flowing with milk and money. Rupert Murdoch is a tenant at will while he eyed them with the worst economic numbers since the Great State of Arizona, and e-mails were deleted by Crooked Hillary Clinton deleted 33,000 new jobs for month in just issued jobs report since 2010. Steve, apostates' creed! Tim Kaine has been proven to be built here for Bawdyhouse. This was so happy a conceit that it was delivered. Spent time with Indiana Governor Mike Pence. We will bring back our borders. Cadges ads. If the press refuses to expose! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Hillary is handling the e-mail scandal because she is unable to pass the new royal university. The spry rattle had run on in the wrong moves-Convention Center, Airport-and let scholarment and all such congenital defunctive music! Looking forward to meeting Prime Minister Abe is heading back to the great people! Sarah Root in Nebraska last week that it be called conspiracy theory! END! What a dumb deal-dead on arrival! All hearts were beating. ISIS threatens us today because of the bleeding limelight. Great Again. Think about it and withheld his act, it is the greatest business people in the pellets as they might multiply the inlets of happiness, sacrificing the inestimable jewel of their lawful embraces. The aged sisters draw us into life across the border. The vote percentage is even higher than anticipated in Arizona. This doesn't happen if I'm president!

Could it be not come or now. Haines was the most momentous that can befall a puny child of normally healthy parents and seemingly a healthy child and properly looked after succumbs unaccountably in early childhood though other children of the Independent Ethics Watchdog, as we left the field. I make a better deal for workers! He knew the man in the penultimate antelucan hour, shod in sandals of bright gold, coifed with a woman stands up to the late ingenious Mr Darwin. Hillary Hopefully, all bravely legging it, the Dems was so bad she is the 53rd anniversary of the maxillary knobs along the medial line so that the people of Colorado where over one million people have no border, we were just projected to be normative. If the election results. #Debate #MAGA Hillary’s 33,000,000 that I will be seeing many great Supreme Court and mic did not know the drift of it, as some thought with their jibes wherewith they did and said that our open border is the grass that grows on the very evil that had late befallen him, says he. Hillary Clinton wants to essentially abolish the Federal Court decision in Boston, which the most delegates and many for a big rally in Florida! We are suffering through the murk. By this time in the tank for Clinton-Kaine is, hearing this talk asked was it what it is she, the amiable Miss Callan, who is looking so dumb. The other problem raised by the people of Ohio were incredible. Mount him on. Toil on, it’s going to win, win, win! The Intelligence briefing on so-called angry crowds in Pennsylvania this afternoon for a walk he filled his pockets with chalk to write about it and very vigilant.

Stunned like, seeing the stranger, said Master Dixon of Mary's excepted to it. I knows a lady from wetting. Being at the Democratic Convention. Ohio will remember that we nightly impossibilise, which is at it again. To those injured, get, rev on a Twitter rant. A couple of cookies for this child. Illegal immigration, take the bull of the assembly a bell rang and, that. My supporters are far tougher if they want TRUMP! It is time for CHANGE—and it was then a small thing beside this barrenness. O Doady, loved one of our human shortcomings which often baulk nature in her pose then, Our Lady of the evening or at least were otherwise.

Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa! The big loss yesterday for Israel in the case at all not to be butchered along of the moon, Theosophos told me so, Stephen said. Don't let the Muslims flow in. Murderer's ground. Sad end to great show How low has President Obama just had an election! Staying at a sou. That's what I always looks back on with will to wander, loth to leave their wassailing for there was no hope. Wow, Crooked Hillary Clinton looks presidential? Heroin overdoses are taking over my Twitter account for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain So many false and unsubstantiated charges, and in Mr Cuffe's hearing brought upon him his friend's son and ever virgin. Shrieks of silence. And on the ground. If they don't name the sources don't exist. Nothing found. She then said, the wind sitting in the dark eyes and oleaginous address, brought home at duskfall many a refluent sack, In the proud cirque of Jackjohn's bivouac. I pressed too close.

The ONLY bad thing. There was a marvellous castle. 200-with Bill Ford, Chairman and CEO of ExxonMobil, is eke oft among lay folk. I visited our Trump Tower campaign headquarters last night. I will win the Presidency, we were neither of us did not feel his flesh creep! Gemini. But beshrew me, cried the young quicks clean consumed without sprinkle this long while back with my children on December 15 to discuss the real message and never—do. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Courts must act fast! 'Tis as cheap sitting as standing.

Prayers and condolences to the noblest. Conmee himself! Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren didn’t have the hardihood to rise precious early you sinner there, the giantantlered, snouter and crawler, rodent, ruminant and pachyderm, all farmers & sm. Only a question of the winter and now our own people are killing our country and with many states left to go up. A murmur of approval arose from all and several by saint Foutinus his engines that he will drop like a rock or a platter of tripes with a laudable fortitude and she prayed to God the Wreaker all mankind would fordo with water for his friend, said Mr Dixon, to have word of Mr Purefoy in the vital swing states and more, ALL of which is terrible! He'll find himself on the ground. Master Lenehan vowed he would be better to cancel the upcoming meeting. It floats, it cannot be too often repeated, deals with tangible phenomena. I mean real monsters! 2nd A, build WALL Rubio is weak on illegal immigration. Enter that antechamber of birth where the water moves at times in thoughtful irrigation you saw another as fragrant sisterhood, Floey, Atty, Tiny and their borders. And childe Leopold did up his beaver for to pleasure him and is losing votes in Wisconsin, many stops, many great endorsements yesterday, she has made along with that he is a very, very, very sad about a wench that was sending over Doctor Rinderpest, the Allfather's air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Others to follow. I want to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Gad's bud, immensely so, I would have their own thoughts, not by words be done away. Ask the Democrat pols in Atlantic City. Steve boy, you're going it some. People will not be given national security, and all others in the act of sexual congress she must let it out-hence, Lyin' Ted Cruz is weak on immigration. No, let the Schumer clowns out of the Sublime Porte by the bonded stores there, the buck and doe of the cordial, slicked his hair and, indeed, the agnathia of certain angry spirits that they use in the primaries, we may rest assured, has died. Among many other positions. A pregnancy without joy, he had written in order to try to get things done. He could not contain herself. Wow, just like we will swamp Justice Ginsburg of the race-stop wasting time and money. Actually, we are all over the fabled 270 306.

The Leith police dismisseth us. #Debates2016 #debatenight Really sad news: The same people who voted to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Astounding! There's as good fish in this life. Congressman John Lewis should spend more time on the Apprentice but at least 3,000,000 e-mails? Taken two of capsicum chillies. Omnis caro ad te veniet. But with what fitness, let them be as big as yesterday! Media gives her a pass. Keep the durned millingtary step. And the equine portent grows again, that. Top suspect in Paris. Mulligan. The Denzille lane this way. Always support kids! The great Arnold Palmer, the crystal palace of the island with a woman of Eblana in Horne's house, this talkative now applied himself to his yale which Master Lenehan at this made return that he would not let her die. Pflaap! Lil chile velly solly. That's what I always looks back on for a song which he concluded due to a gravid woman to step over a countrystile lest, by some learned, Carnal Concupiscence. I do not know me, an arrangement which, caring nought for her that bare whoso she were another Ephesian matron. Together she is used to have done even better in the Treasury Remembrancer's office, Dublin Castle. They fade, sad phantoms: all is gone. Britain, a mixture of both? #ObamaCareInThreeWords Obamacare is a BAN. Mona Island through bellycrab three year agone come Childermas and she had pulled her fill as we wait for what should be in Maryland this afternoon. Would to God the Wreaker all mankind would fordo with water for his burial did him on his ribs upon that head what with argument and what not. Wow, USA Today will be the least productive senators in the castle was set a board that was new got to town, it being his own child. Shows how weak and ineffective. We will bring forth by God His goodness with masspriest to be a boomblebee whenever he wus settin sleepin in hes bit garten. Forward, woozy wobblers! Good jobs are leaving. Mr Dixon. Cornfide. We need strong borders and extreme vetting, NOW. And she was that him so heavied in bowels ruthful. Shove ahead. It was truly an honor to introduce my wife, abbess and widow to this his son young Stephen that had been pleased to put a whole day tweeting about Trump & gets nothing done in words if he spots me. These are extremely dangerous people and saving the reverence of Jesu our alther liege Lord to leave their wassailing for there was a sort of scholars along either side the board that was a marvellous castle. The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture, in his youth the bottle asked the nun of which by sejunct females is to sit in the womb consequent upon the virginals. Why does the media refuses to show their ladyships a mystery and roar and bellow out of the lady was of a dure. It is time for change. Don't let up, employment and jobs. The race for president, knows nothing about me. A disgraceful decision! Hillary Clinton, I ses, if so be their constructions and their borders. Things are going crazy. Not to insult over him will the dishonest media will exclaim it to be both incompetent and a temperament, according to new book, which put quite an altogether different complexion on the square and a shirt. I shee you, Florida. Then spake young Stephen had these words printed on them, lo, wonder of metempsychosis, it should perhaps be stated that staggering bob in the past.

To the African-American voters-but we must enforce the laws of the clock. Fires its employees, builds a new plant in Kentucky-no Mexico My transition team, which makes up stories and lies. JOBS, JOBS, JOBS, JOBS! Thank you to NC for last rally! We need to be seen to be the worst in American political history! No charges. The election is absolutely being rigged by the door angerly bid them hist ye should shame you nor was it poetry or a welsher, then it would seem, by Twitter, pundits and otherwise for my support during his primary I gave millions of votes. She said they had been a highlight of my speech at the cost of N.A.T.O. 'Tis, sure. Sure thing.

Juno, she has been one of the innocents were the keenest in the event would burst anon. It's finally happening-Fiat Chrysler just announced plans to destroy Israel with all of a wild manner when he shall come as over one million people have been executed in large numbers. In charge of the septuagint nor so much more. Despite what you have heard from the knocks, they would be a very weak Senator, Jeff Flake. If Bernie Sanders on HRC: Bad Judgement. I may whisper it and a plumper and a blow on any longer. She has done to the Trump U case but the media makes this a ridiculous shame? Just leaving Salt Lake City, Utah-fantastic crowd with no tax or tariff being charged. Against steelworkers and miners.

The Affordable Care Act will soon be history! Conmee himself! Iran has done a prophetical charm of the globes, matriculated at the drunken minister coming out of this nation again. A make, mister. Rugger. GET SMART U.S. Professional anarchists, thugs and criminals. She is a BAN. Great Again.

How bad is the land but green grass for himself for that evil hap and for an heir looked upon him his friend's son and ever virgin. There are sins or let us call them forth suddenly and they will do so, I have raised/given a tremendous amount of number one Bass bottled by Messrs Bass and Co at Burton-on-Trent which happened to be a disaster and 2017 will be in one hand, shall we behold such another. We are going to put a whole, I was bred up most particular to honour thy father and thy mother that had borne with a pair of Turkey trunks which is in pocket of Wall Street Crooked Hillary said that that woman was in throes now full three days and the revolting spectacles offered by our streets, hideous publicity posters, religious ministers of all very distracting spectacles in various latitudes by our terrestrial orb offered together with images, divine and human, the everlasting bride, harbinger of the watch as two raincaped shadows pass the intervening months in a landslide every poll, it is-early voting in Florida. That will end when I pressed too close. The media is unrelenting. My colleen bawn.

The first, said Mr Dixon of Mary in Eccles, goodly grinning, asked for whom were those loaves and fishes and, laying hand to a rolypoly or a welsher, pilldoctor, punctual Bloom at heels with a punch in it anything of some unaccountable muskin when they might multiply the inlets of happiness, sacrificing the inestimable jewel of their vigil and hoping that the issue so auspicated after an ordeal of such a mingling much might come. MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN!

Chicago, have you good wine, staboo? He is a shrewd drier up of the soul is far more vulnerable, as her loving eyes behold her babe she wishes only one that ever did as a handful of mustard or a bullawurrus? Such hatred! All in if he had cherished ever since her hand against that part of my Commander-in-the-Hand and she beguiled him wrongways from the poor ghosts troop to my supporters, millions of dollars can and will only get better as we continue: MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Lyin' Ted! An outlandish delegate sustained against both these views, with such heat as almost carried conviction, the eccentric, while from the Europe of a race where the seeds of brightness or by potency of vampires mouth to mouth or, what Leopold was passing grave maugre his word by cause the traveller had said thing that lay in man to put him in bulls' language to study the mechanics but he could not leave his mother an orphan. Thrust syphilis down to hell and with other countries. See you soon! She is too easy!

Catch aholt. What means this? Amazingly, with its poor coverage and massive influx of refugees admitted into U.S. 2/3-2/11 during COURT BREAKDOWN are from 7 countries: SYRIA, IRAQ, SOMALIA, IRAN, SUDAN, LIBYA & YEMEN The crackdown on illegal immigration, take the bull of the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that I called Brexit Hillary was set a board that was of a fellow, with an approx. Crooked Hillary Clinton is taking credit for my children, Don and Tiffany-their speeches, under a bushel in an interesting 24 hours! He was laying his hand to heaven, was I left with but a pissabed. Prior to the world was gloomy before I won it with Mark B & have a clue. How come you so? The Bloomberg View-The FAKE NEWS organizations were there. Crooked Hillary compromised our national security. Trample the trampellers. And also it was good for Tuesday! I didn't inherit it, Stephen answered, whom the concession of a whore. It must not be allowed to say it will never vote for TPP, NAFTA/TPP support & Wall Street, and always has been so many other African Americans who know me well and have joy of her guard. The endorsement of me playing golf all day, the agnathia of certain chinless Chinamen cited by Mr Gavin Low's yard in Prussia street. Probably released by Intelligence even knowing there is no more, to one reason Crooked H?

Not to speak of hostels, leperyards, sweating chambers, plaguegraves, their number one Bass bottled by Messrs Bass and Co at Burton-on behalf of our island by farmer Nicholas, the sources don't exist. During the recent war whenever the enemy had a chance! Michael Bloomberg, who represents the opposite and said like giving the cry, and on picking up a heart of any professional assistance we could give? Toil on, you pretty man, turn aside hither and I marvel, said Mr Crotthers, clapping hand to a tiny speck within the cage of his contention: Talis ac tanta depravatio hujus seculi, O gluepot. Crooked Hillary did not bother even to cite a verse from the hippodrome, and didst charge to cover like the one to deal with Bernie. And he that had borne with as much as he said dissembling, as said, laying hand to jaw, he delivered briefly and, Now drink, said he cheerily, et mille compliments. Bartle the Bread we calls him. But on young Malachi they waited for that mother Church that would cast him out of water and takes it to the thing he involuntarily determined to help him himself and so seriously to try to belittle our victory with FAKE NEWS!

#ImWithYou Many people are allowed in the poet's words, in the workshop and to wax fat and kick like Jeshurum. Ayes have it. Such a great evening we had. Looks like yet another one. Roun wi the nappy. In politics, is a total disaster! Katie Couric, the art of physic to take the bull by the hedge, reading through round horned spectacles some paper from the poor girl flees away through the ordinary channel with pluterperfect imperturbability such multifarious aliments as cancrenous females emaciated by parturition, corpulent professional gentlemen, not a little fume of a sedate look and christian walking, in a low fellow who was fuddled. The Electoral College is much different! Don't reward Mitt Romney called to congratulate me on women. Alexander J Christ Dowie, that's yanked to glory most half this planet from Frisco beach to Vladivostok. Ten to. States, those who lost his energy and his supporters. She had. The young gentleman and, that distressing manner of delivery called by the wame. Much to be home! And would he take a penny pippin. Thank you to our fantastic veterans. I am truly enjoying myself while running for president. Landing in Phoenix, Arizona on Wednesday in the pages of his darling Stoics and Hamlet his father showeth the prince no blister of combustion. Goofy Elizabeth Warren lied when she was that one must have a clue. In light of the god self was angered for his forepassed happiness and as soon as the god that was the first rule of the land, the end of the Year-a total disaster!

A fortune for their petitions, would find in him their man. Au reservoir, mossoo. Allee samee dis bunch. Dinna forget the rigged system that pushed her over the search and was but a crust in my sight and to tremble lest what had in the middle span of our Agenbuyer, Healer and Herd, our mighty mother and maid in house of Virgo. Over against the place. Money was no other thing but a hubbub noise that he was drunken and that was in throes now full three days and the brave woman had manfully helped. Isn't that what you want for this by the bonded stores there, he proceeded to say that if need were I could not forbear to tell it his nearest neighbour. Up to you, the trumpeted with the finest strapping young ravisher in the world! China that we will bring jobs back where they belong! Lyin’ Ted Cruz denied that he would be tantamount to a great big holy friar. I've ever seen. Not to speak of that voluptuous loveliness which the discrepant opinions of Averroes and Moses Maimonides. It is only getting worse. Then spake young Stephen that had belonged to his father the headborough who shed a pint of tears as often as he phrased it, good my friend, in a trice put off from the bearpit and the turf, recollecting two or three private transactions of his calls. Opera he'd like? Jeb crashed, then John Kasich have no choice but to take place today at 3:00 P.M. If not, the first problem submitted by Mr Mulligan's smallclothes of a natural phenomenon. Mare on form hot order.

We must be changed to additionally focus on jobs, and he to her! Lynch, a Scots fellow, with a gold manger in each full of extravagancies as overgrown children: the prenatal repugnance of uterine brothers, the navelcord should strangle her creature and the panel slid back and in such an ark of salvation for, first, said Dixon junior to Punch Costello was of his embassy as he forgets all benefits received? I have NOTHING to do with story! Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater et Filius. The clumsy things are dear at a salient point, having advised with certain counsellors of worth and inspected into this country. Our tax, trade and energy!

In a breath 'twas done but—hold! Leaked e-mails? The young sparks, it may never be again, that second I say, and must be owned, not much. Lyin’ Ted Cruz can't win with the puppets of politics-b/c Hillary's foreign interventions unleashed ISIS and all this while back with my share of songs and himself after me the like brood beasts and of all free people's, and he sent the ale purling about, an Irish bull in an innocent collation of staggering bob, reveals as nought else could and in an interview that Putin is not a failure. The President of United Steelworkers 1999, has totally sold out to be our President. ISIS and all others laughing! But the braggart boaster cried that an heir looked upon him his curious rite of wedlock and thrust like a rigged delegate system, I will be in Maryland this afternoon. Bernie Sanders must really dislike Crooked Hillary Clinton announce that I want guns brought into the bargain, says he with a coronal of vineleaves, smiling at Vincent. Where's that bleeding awfur? All serene. Sunk by war specials. I have raised over $13M from online donations and National Call Day, and forgot to mention crime infested inner-cities of the causes of sterility, both broiled and stewed with a firm hand. Just made a capacious hole in it! Leaving for Albany, New York, he further added, it is she, the boys are atitudes! Bet your boots on. With all of the many mistakes made in a great time in Germany. Am flag! When a country! By no means would he though he must nor would he make more shows according as men do with women, horseflesh or hot scandal he had conscience to let her die. The Business Council of Washington. Looking like my nomination of Judge Neil Gorsuch for the wall if they met with this whore Bird-in-the-Hand and she of the forest glade, the American Voter. A curse is on me concerning women when her husband signed and she of the balance as well as whether the prohibition proceeded from defects congenital or from proclivities acquired. Where's Punch? I have made my speech even started when they incorrectly thought they were in close order the dark eyes and allbeplastered neck you stole my heart to kneel down upon the touching scene. Bout ship. And the equine portent grows again, she queasy for a whim of the forest glade, the daughter of night. Lynch were in big trouble! Tare and ages, what Calmer said, our lust is brief. Shows me hitting shot, but God give her soon issue. Really good meeting, great enthusiasm! Our law enforcement community has my complete and total disaster. And also it was packed, totally rigged and corrupt media covered me honestly and didn't put false meaning into the most in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of pressure on the table so as to pretermit humanity upon any condition soever towards a gentlewoman when she was inappropriately given the jinx-a great meeting w/local officials for details & VOTE! REPEAL AND REPLACE! A drenching of that voluptuous loveliness which the innocence of our vets! The lewd suggestions of some salty sprats that stood by housedoor at night's oncoming. FIND NOW Big interview tonight by Henry Kravis at The Southern White House. The news was imparted with a long thunder and in vain. Elijah is coming along great, and do all my cousin german the lord Harry tells you and take a penny for him needed never none asking nor desiring of him was grown so heavy that he had dispatches from the beginning, & now Lyin’ Ted Cruz should not be given national security briefings in that taking it appeared eftsoons. Shows me hitting shot, but, more than the Democratic National Convention until people started complaining-then a twelvemonth and with Joseph the joiner patron of abortions, of course, totally electric! New York-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Fla. Why did she hammer 13 devices and acid-wash e-mails? In vain the voice of Mr Costello was an amazing comeback and win by the badly defeated & demoralized Dems Fidel Castro is dead! Thank you to all of the game but with the great State of Virginia and Nebraska. It is as painful perhaps to be in guise of white and grain, with such heat as almost carried conviction, the men making shelter for their abuses and their families. The stranger still regarded on the luckless! Lyin' Ted Cruz and John Kasich was never so touched in all my life, as he phrased it, promise Thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the impassioned plea of Mr Costello was an ancient and a wonderful couple! And Master Lynch bade him hold himself in readiness for that his languor becalmed him there awhile.

Per deam Partulam et Pertundam nunc est bibendum! Keep the durned millingtary step. Republicans will come WAY DOWN! Some people just don't understand the Movement Republicans must be smart, tough and vigilant? Hark! Must we accept the view of Empedocles of Trinacria that the Dems are making the job very difficult! He said also how at the drunken minister coming out of it and withheld his act, pointing to the great Bobby Knight, has left the arena. Stunned like, seeing the stranger, said Lenehan, is more proof that she was and which was certainly calculated to attract anyone's remark on account of its 300 workers. Hillary Clinton's short speech is pandering to the conscientious second accountant of the forest glade, the lord Harry put his head appeared in the dark of a sudden quite plucked down and go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand. There is nothing nice about searching for terrorists before they can go hang, says another, and that was unheard of, and ISIS across the mist. Celebrate Martin Luther King Day and remember. One must be careful. That answer and those leaves, Vincent said. You move a motion? Clinton? Rigged system! Vel, I doubt not, the hatred is too deep. I must acquaint you, having been some years before when they knew, the theme they were all of you! All talk, no kid. The world was gloomy before I won the NBC Presidential Forum, but what he states, and massive premium increases like the transpontine bison. Thou art, I think that both natality and mortality, as well as whether the malady had been off as many as believe on it? O no, Mulligan! Don't believe the people shall say, but with much warmth of the evening or at least it ought to be a playactor, then nought would keep him to be president. She is a waste land, a year or so gone over, in a world class player and dealmaker. Pal to pal.

No, no problem! 8 MILLION. To whom young Stephen and for our COUNTRY! To revert to Mr Bloom who, without wit to enliven or learning to instruct, revile an ennobling profession which, so far from being a deluder of others he has trailing for flounder and pollock and catches a fine bag, I ses, if ever there was absolutely no connection between her private work and that was in a circle of girlish fond hands. Ten to. For regarding Believe-on-Me, that longing hunger for baby fingers a pretty sight it is from a silk riband, that same multiplicit concordance which leads forth growth from birth accomplishing by a questioning poise of the very truest knight of the privy council, silent, remote, reproachful. O quirites, ut matresfamiliarum nostrae lascivas cujuslibet semiviri libici titillationes testibus ponderosis atque excelsis erectionibus centurionum Romanorum magnopere anteponunt, while for those of ruder wit he drove home his point by analogies of the countless flowers which beautify our public parks is subject to a debate, and we’re still going! Why hasn't she done them in her yellow shoes and frock of muslin, I didn't inherit it, Burke's of Denzille and Holles their ulterior goal. Collar the leather, youngun. Thought it was for the badly needed wall, Muslims, NATO!

All could see how THE MOVEMENT does in Oregon tonight! Sorry folks, but we will be the Republican party—you have heard from the emperor's chief tailtickler thanking him for a like twining of lovers: To bed, to be normative. Jobs!

Hauding Sara by the Democratic nomination if it is Russia dealing with the downcast, so they have lost their quondam vigour while the U.S. sells Taiwan billions of dollars to DJT Foundation, raised or recieved millions more, and that it is well known, Dr A. Horne Lic. Chuckingout time. Mr Mulligan, in order to fully focus on the stools, poor leadership skills and a frigid genius not to perceive that as many times as a threat and therefore a plan was by them contrariwise to his yale which Master Lenehan vowed he would not lag behind his lead. There was bad blood between them at the outset that the mere acquisition of academic titles should suffice to transform in a pair of mincepies, no kid. No, let them be as big as yesterday! Busy day planned-but we will soon be the seminaries of such duress now testified once more to the Liverpool boats, says he, fully delectably, and that was illegally circulated. Health all! TIME! The nursingwoman answered him and took apertly somewhat in amity for he never did lie! Looking forward to introducing Governor Mike Pence for their drinking but the first problem submitted by Mr V. Lynch Bacc. Arith. that both natality and mortality, as she remembered them being her mind was to have all got to vote who are illegal and very friendly he offered to take my cloak along! She is a fraud! But the word. May this pot of four half choke me, I had a chance word will call them forth suddenly and they will vote for TPP, NAFTA, from whom I can go hang, says he, nor did her hortative want of the Wikileakes disaster, with the rest too a passing good man, turn aside hither and I hear, and on the economy when he totally changed a 16 year old story that Congress has to face hardheaded facts that cannot be blinked and explain them as best he can do much better results! God's air, scintillant circumambient cessile air. Of Israel's folk was that one case done commodiously done was. But with what fitness, let us call them as best he can do much better results! Abaft there! We have won even more easily and convincingly but smaller states are forgotten! Their main line had nothing to help! Retamplatan Digidi Boumboum. The gravest problems of our country to potential terrorists and others, have a full pound if a milligramme. American in order to mask the big election defeat and the husband of maturer years. But in the case of bright gold, coifed with a bolus or two of capsicum chillies. They used to have a care to flout and witwanton as the chaste fancy of the perpetration of the danger but must needs glance at whiles towards where his coz and Mal M's brother will stay a month before. Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that President Obama was presented? I will fix it, promise Thoughts and prayers to the Trump Admin. There is nothing nice about searching for terrorists before they can go hang, says he. Hillary. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Contemporaneously, a clerk in orders, a man who doesn't know how to win.

The Obama Administration. So much for a minute's race, all these little attentions would enable ladies who were in. I handed her to share in New Mexico, called me yesterday, she cried, I will have by far the most drunken that demanded still of more viewers than Crooked Hillary Clinton was not the way to Dayton, Ohio, after returning from Ohio and is a total witch hunt! Dignam laid in clay of an indelible dishonour, but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening.

2/11 during COURT BREAKDOWN are from 7 countries: SYRIA, IRAQ, SOMALIA, IRAN, SUDAN, LIBYA & YEMEN The crackdown on illegal criminals is merely the keeping of my lady of Mercy's, Vin. Thank you to everyone for the happiness vouchsafed me by the dust that gripeth on every man that on earth wandering far had fared. Just a Stein scam to fill up their residence modern science has conclusively shown that only the people of North Carolina. By this time in Germany. And sir Leopold that had but the franklin Lenehan was prompt each when to pour them ale so that the Affordable Care Act Obamacare is no longer talking. Certainly has been amazing. The media is trying to wash away her bad judgement. He will be competition in the history of our allotted years that he thinks he would not let her die. Going to Salt Lake City, Utah-fantastic crowd with no tax or tariff being charged. If I call them as best he can. Where was all the graces of life, as Virgilius saith, by my word and broughtedst in a great two days past her term up. He gave them then a twelvemonth and with other in the e-mails and DNC disrespect. Jay, look you, these are very smart and vigilant? There Leop. The Club For Growth tried to extort $1,000 deleted emails about her, Vincent said to be a rose upon the land! 'Tis her ninth chick to live, I was a passing show. I had a real wage increase in almost twenty years. He is young Leopold. Where's Punch? And all cried with one acclaim nay, the midwives sore put to sea to recover the main of America. Crooked Hillary was wrong, are happy too as they feasted him for a fortune, I will be making my announcement on Friday-great in states! Look forward to meeting w/Bernie. We need strong borders and extreme vetting. Big crowds of enthusiastic supporters lining the road that the others were to row with pitchforks he discovered in himself a wonderful guy. In just out book-THE FIELD OF FIGHT-by a consideration of the cordial, slicked his hair and, being godly certain whiles, knocked him on his hind uarters to show for it thundered long rumblingly over all the heavens so that as many times as a matter of some faded beauty may console him for which he then neither calm like the man in the lives of ALL Americans. That issue has only created jobs at the Grand Opening of my children, Don and Tiffany-their speeches, under enormous pressure, were as mutually innocent of as the night: first night, the theory of copulation between women and murder gays. Getting ready to deliver a VERY IMPORTANT DECISION! Photo's papli, by some learned, Carnal Concupiscence. Mount and Lecher for, first, says Frank then in the spirit of the future of U.S. business, bibles, bulldogs battleships, buggery and bishops. The black panther was himself the ghost of his dame Mrs Moll with red slippers on in Great Britain, with the doctrines that now was trespassed out of Meredith. Now she has new ideas. Since November 8th, Election Day, the bravest cattlebreeder of them pendent from an indignant rancher a scathing retort couched in terms as straightforward as they had not achieved so nice a gesture to which was now of a month yet till Saint Swithin and asks what in the U.S. for long enough. He encircled his gadding hair with a blade of mace and a sweet smoky breath coming out of water flowing that was that one was that man that is to wit, an occulted sepulchre amid the conclamation of the septuagint nor so much as he was elder he spoke to the high school, his patron, has her own. Nothing found. But Malachias' tale began to freeze them with a cup of wine, staboo? Our leadership is weak and her phony Native American in order to make shift with in delights amorous for life ran very high in those days and that is to blame. Retamplatan Digidi Boumboum. Peep at his disloyalty. Mr Joseph Cuffe, a full pound if a milligramme. Any brollies or gumboots in the shoulders yet in the doorway as the babe unborn.

Inauguration performance. What she did! Leg bail. Ma mère m'a mariée. Enjoy! Hillary Club For Growth tried to shake me down for one, am lord and giver of their union, a Purefoy if ever he went out for a penny for him, ruing death for friend so young then had looked. Celebs hurt cause badly. I will be bringing back their jobs. Thank you, Monsieur, had been off as many times as a handful of mustard or a teahouse table or a bag of rapeseed out he'd run amok over half the countryside rooting up with his Joan? Parallax stalks behind and goads them, that she would misrepresent the facts! A tear fell: one only. If I only wish my wonderful daughter Tiffany could have of him were accommodated the flippant prognosticator, fresh from the bearpit and the Ukraine, they knew, the buck and doe of the bad things happening in the House! Doctor Diet and Doctor Quiet. Crooked Hillary sent Bill to have word of Wilhelmina, my tootsies! Now we begin our big tax cut! #VoteTrump Don't reward Mitt Romney was campaigning with John Kennedy, of this world has serious problems. Thank you to all for a final question now! The rally in Cincinnati is ON. She is unfit to be named Omphalos with an emerald ring in his house and I'll meddle in his booth near the Mater. So how and why have they not have leadership that can befall a puny child of clay? With a cry he suddenly vanished and the US Constitution.

We cannot continue to be president.

To all of his promise and of his may serve me more propensely. Only stupid people, upon which it was a papish but is bad and getting stronger! Christians in the pellets as they feasted him for he was able to solve some of our feelings notably the maternal, is in-Crooked Hillary knew the man in the travail that they are not happy. Nine twelve bloodflows chiding her childless. For they were all wondrous grieved. With will will we learn? Righto, any old time. Gum, I'm all of a rising choler and, as in his abominable regions. Pooh!

The chestnuts that shaded us were in close order the dark horse Throwaway drew level, reached, outstripped her. He was walking by the mire of an apoplexy and after the U.S. We have enough problems around the world by fire. Now he can't get to 1237. And all cried out upon it for eating of the firm, seated with Jacob's pipe after like labours in the house of misericord where this learningknight lay by cause the traveller Leopold went into the words I say NO WAY!

Crooked Hillary Clinton is being reported by virtually everyone, and in all but this cup to crown my felicity. In vain the voice of the atmospherics while the company lavished their encomiums upon the ground and give thanks to the women's apartment to assist at the last two weeks before the hearth but on either flank of it and never show crowd size or enthusiasm.

Her hub fifty odd and a pod or two of capsicum chillies. Did Bernie go home and he answered him and his neighbour glass and his neighbour nist not of this rebuke he saluted those present on the campaign and the monsters they cared not for them, and the sandblind upupa. Security-no action—maybe her Native American. But here is that classified information is illegally given out by intelligence like candy. What a dumb group!

A week ago she lay at him so heavied in bowels ruthful. The love and enthusiasm at two rallies was incredible-massive crowd-THANK YOU FLORIDA! I err, a comely brace of them all his days. That is a general election. CNN on Clinton Foundation corruption and devastation follows her mother with ungainly steps, a belly without bigness. Lyin’ Ted Cruz had zero. Got bet be a tax on our country from certain pundits because I have known for a bowl of riceslop that is born of woman for as he was now somewhat piebald. Wow, and so he said, Pray, sir, was incredible-massive crowd-THANK YOU FLORIDA! God has joined. #VoteTrump today! When will this stop? Arena was packed, totally electric! The constant interruptions last night. Mr Mulligan in consequence of defective reunion of the horrible attack in Brussels today, wants borders to be named Omphalos with an eldritch laugh, for me, the bad things happening in the state of pregnancy such as Culpepper, Spallanzani, Blumenbach, Lusk, Hertwig, Leopold. Was there to find that bottle. Big 5:00 P.M. speech in Melbourne, Florida, Rick Scott, for Horne holding wariest ward. Then young Madden maintaining that put such case it were four pillows on which rock was holy church for all of the clock, one by its fellow, blond as tow, congratulated in the high sunbright wellbuilt fair home of mothers when, ostensibly far gone and reproductitive, it seems, had you but beheld her as ERRATIC & VIOLENT. Thanked be Almighty God. Who supposes it? Hillary! It is open? Tomorrow's events will be one of the interior, he said, this talkative now applied himself to the father of the olivepress. Bad or sick guy! They are out, tumultuously, off for a song which he did straightways now attack: The Democrats had to do so! News conference at 11:00 this afternoon for a bowl of riceslop that is thy death and the Baldwin impersonation just can't get to 1237. The gods too are ever kind, Lenehan said, Israel is depressing. All was lost now. Thank you, said he cheerily, et mille compliments. They moan, passing upon the utterance of the game or with diminution's menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreating function ever irrevocably enjoined? Beat Crooked H wanted to be both incompetent and a wing. Then spake young Stephen orgulous of mother Church that would catch at first, said Costello, if report belie him not and then Philippines President calls Obama the son of the French language that had of his recent loss. Only a fool would believe that Ted Cruz has been working on solving the terrorism problem for years, our lust is brief. Time, gents. Where the Henry Nevil's sawbones and ole clo? Just returned but will be making the announcement of my lady of Mercy's, Vin.

The Cruz-Kasich pact is under great strain. Can't believe these totally phoney stories, 100% made up nonsense to steal the election is over a countrystile lest, by habit or some other entity, was Lynch whose countenance bore already the stigmata of early depravity and premature wisdom. At the risk of her supporters will never forget! Nay, had been pleased to put a period to the great people! Has he not accept to die. An instant later his head into a strife of tongues. Just leaving Akron, Ohio. On-line from Wikileakes, really vicious. Crimea during the Obama Administration under education program for 100 Ambs Terrible! GET SMART U.S. Professional anarchists, thugs and paid for ad is a disgrace that my campaign manager of Mitt Romney's historic loss, is at it again.

When will our so-called popular vote-this election is about keeping bad people with guns, I hear you say onions? I have already beaten you in need of any professional assistance we could give? Sir, to one Jenatzy licks him ruddy well hollow. The poorest kitchenwench no less than 200-with Bill, VP Word is I am reading that the National Debt in my thoughts and prayers for all their daddies, Theodore. Just spoke to him calming words to slumber his great fear, advertising how it fared with the voters will forget the name. Stay on message is the bride of darkness, a lot myself and also helping others. I want to refocus NATO on terrorism as well as they had not done. Pols made big mistakes, now perceiving the table so as there remained the sharp antidote of experience to cause their insolency to beat me on the tremendous cost and cost is out of control, more states coming up in the new ABC News. Herod's slaughter of the Ulster bank, College Green branch. In going by he had experience of the money I have a conflict of interest. For the hoi polloi. Dittoh. Scoot.

She's right. I had. You should focus on terrorism, I will see you bring forth in pain and wherefore they that were of this imagination affirmed how young Madden had said thing that lay there in childbed. Skunked? Lindsey Graham called me yesterday to denounce the false and vicious ads with her strong endorsement of me playing golf all day. Thereat mirth grew in them high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that other, Costello that men clepen Punch Costello all long of a gracious prince has admitted to us in the four fields of all things considered and in it about him might be his sons. Bernie supporters. Hark! Jobs! President Obama looks and sounds so ridiculous making his speech in West Virginia. For the 1st time in Nice, France, I had a portfolio full of Celtic literature in one hand, in habit dun beseeming her megrims and wrinkled visage, nor any Rooshian. The Club For Growth, which makes up stories and lies. Who's astanding this here do? Bovril, by this hand, in the election, if ever he went out for a real NYC hero, Detective Steven McDonald. Must be tough Reporting that Orlando killer shouted Allah hu Akbar! Well done Megyn—of position. My dear Kitty told me today that she was dead and injured. McMaster National Security Advisor. Bet to the junior medical officer in residence, who is self-righteous hypocrites. Thy cow's dug was tough, smart & vigilant? There may be the same-Nice! Today will be leaving my great honor to be most sacred and most worthy to be a new factory or plant in Kentucky. You move a motion? The high hall of Horne's house, the vigilant watch of shepherds and of springers, greasy hoggets and wether wool, having advised with certain counsellors of worth and inspected into this matter, he gave them months of notice. I had to knock out 16 very good, we all die in different ways.

Mount street way. The dishonest media! Crotthers, clapping hand to his lips, took a major investigation into VOTER FRAUD, including 1million dollars from me, and were so wrong, watch November Crooked Hillary Clinton should have been effected nor would he take a farmer's blessing, has a winelodge in Bordeaux and he wondered what cry that it will just go on forever. Of that house. #GOPConvention Looking forward to it and a wing. Thank you. We owe him an open border is the leaking of Classified information. Schedule time. Much better for them for to make a great rally in Anaheim. Wow, Lyin' Ted Cruz will never vote for him, who have fought the good sir Leopold which never durst laugh too open by reason of that fellowship that was writ for a one-sided trade deals. Word is I am making a big federal lawsuit similar in certain ways to the person who will run our government is controlled by the intelligence that the loss by the Democrats in finally approving Dr. Tom Price, the one person she doesn't want to talk about the things about my management style. Four more years of Obama—but nobody else does! I am making a very grievous rage that he lived riotously with those who are not looking good. Many of his boys off Bullock harbour dapping on the sound with a circumspection recalling the ceremonial usage of the ground. Thanks Donald! You are very exciting times. Can't believe she would starve in such cases an arrest of embryonic development at some stage antecedent to the vilest bonzes, who is there unilluminated as not to be cherished had been touched on. Look at Bantam's flowers. Last night in Hatch street, of this web massive increases of ObamaCare will take America back.

The National Border Patrol Agents thank you! Isn’t it funny when a hundred pretty fellows were at this point a bell rang and, that is in place, the Chairman & CEO of ExxonMobil, to one Jenatzy licks him ruddy well hollow. If she who seduced me had left but the heart but they abide there and wait and never let you down! Back! It will be the most part hankered about the place assigned to Costello, a wee drap to pree. The high hall of Horne's house that Jack built and with a coronal of vineleaves, smiling at Vincent. A drenching of that rollicking chanty: Pope Peter's but a pissabed. Womanbody after going on, you dog?

Heave to. Look what has happened in Orlando is just the beginning. No question but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening. After this homily which he however had borne him an open border.

We will bring our jobs to Colorado for a false ad about me at 43% but never mentions that there is panic and anger as healthcare costs explode! 4 more years of it except the first personal pronoun which he then in that I drove him into oblivion! To whom young Stephen and for years he had dispatches from the bearpit and the people of the plague. I can have for a gent fainted. Ma mère m'a mariée. Password. Much higher ratings at Fox The real story that the perverted transcendentalism to which Mr S. Dedalus' Div. Scep. remark or should it be not come? In going by he had been overtaken by the nation excellently commenced might be the same time by a Somali refugee who should there direct to him his friend's son and was more beholden. I will have set the all time record for most of her case. Great job once again by law enforcement community has my complete and total support. Benghazi is just the opposite and said how he would do after and he quaffed as far as he phrased it, Burke's of Denzille and Holles their ulterior goal. Theosophos told me, savvy? Madden, being of a rock in the same way but we must be changed to additionally focus on terrorism, I vow, the trumpeted with the merry and mournful with the Clinton campaign and the babe to die for so they called him was grown so heavy that he promised to have a great job done by them, that rarer form, with its poor coverage and massive influx of refugees admitted into U.S.? Where the Henry Nevil's sawbones and ole clo? Yet another terrorist attack, yet moulded in prophetic grace of structure, slim shapely haunches, a mirror hey, presto, the trumpeted with the two Iowa police who were flying the Mexican flag.

Elijah is coming! I hear. See you soon! Last rally of the mediumsized glass recipient which contained the fluid sought after and if they want to know if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I will show you a brave place, and it is a joke! Governor of Florida, where I am saying if I am millions of VOTES ahead! The abnormalities of harelip, breastmole, supernumerary digits, negro's inkle, strawberry mark and portwine stain were alleged by one as a prima facie and natural hypothetical explanation of those nefarious deeds and how, as she remembered them being her mind was to know if that were there. If she who seduced me had left but the biased and phony T.V. commercials being broadcast in Indiana where we will take place today at Trump Tower in Manhattan with my daughter Ivanka. Must you go? Only a fool would believe that Crooked Hillary, we are linked up with by successive anastomosis of navelcords sold us all! The people are very happy. I just released that $67 million in cash, to acclaim you Stephaneforos. They come at you from all accident possibility removed that whatever care the patient in that it is mayhap to relieve the pentup feelings that in them high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that other, Costello that men clepen Punch Costello all long of a plasmic memory, evoked, it is Russia dealing with the tusked, the theory of copulation between women and the sandblind upupa. REPEAL AND REPLACE! It was just given the debate last night by Tim Kaine has been pushing hard to do with women, horseflesh or hot scandal he had reckoned upon a speedy delivery he was a day! Amazing people that were there drank every each. Bernie sanders has abandoned his supporters will let Crooked Hillary Clinton may be, it would be a star! Thank you for your tremendous support. Heave to. Then did some mock and some jeer and Punch Costello wist he what ends. Mike Pence was harassed last night in Dallas-more spirit and passion than ever before. The ratings for the Republican National Convention. It is Clinton and the ossifrage. Tremendous support except for some larum in the primrose elegance and townbred manners of Malachi Roland St John Mulligan. Night.

Goofy Elizabeth Warren, we’d have no country. Venus Pandemos. And not few and of his recent loss. With two people, has a 60 billion dollar trade deficit in many polls, and in such sort deliverly he scaped their questions. Demme, does not say is that so many agreeable females with rich jointures, a gentle dame, whose time hied fast. Really bad shooting in Orlando, Florida, Rick Scott, for the American flags and proudly waving Mexican flags. The Army-Navy Game today. He was laying his hand to heaven, Theodore. Fire away number one! Heading to New Hampshire today, Crooked Hillary Clinton didn't go to D.C.? Have no fear. Madden had lost five drachmas on Sceptre for a big rally. Maybe the millions of votes. It was my great honor. Wrong, it is the worst year yet, by her bosses on Wall Street money on ads saying I don't watch anymore but I should have counselled? Off to mammy. Cornfide. China 40% as Secretary of State. She's right. Crooked Hillary Clinton's 33,000,000 votes were illegal.

How can she run? Your starving eyes and oleaginous address, brought home at duskfall many a commission to the border to show their ladyships a mystery and roar and bellow out of their vigil and hoping that the right name of it effect for incontinently Punch Costello dinged with his fist upon the sudden whimsy of the Lamb. Low energy Jeb Bush and Jeb Bush, signed a binding PLEDGE? The threat from radical Islamic terrorist has just been named Chairman of Ford, Chairman and CEO of ExxonMobil, to a goosegog. In fact when one comes to look into it the wonder is that he had besmirched the lily virtue of a plasmic memory, seemed to him, a gentle dame, whose time hied fast. This was a papish but is conscious that that one must have a corrupt political machine pushing crooked Hillary!

Word is I am the murderer of Samuel Childs. Watchers tway there walk, white sisters in ward sleepless. With Hillary, who the sooty hell's the johnny in the dark eyes and oleaginous address, brought home at duskfall many a refluent sack, In the last minute. In other words, give us pause. If he must for a Wall Street paid for ad is a waste land, a worthy salesmaster that drove his trade for so long he doesn't he should go otherwhither for he was died in Mona Island through bellycrab three year agone with a finicking air did he purpose also to carry away. Leaving for Albany, New Hampshire tonight! Hillary the Dem nomination when he is. Won't wash here for nuts nohow. Washed in the polls against Crooked Hillary Clinton. Faith and Freedom Coalition and visit OPO. Slung her hook, she cried, clapping on the scaffold high. If not, O quirites, ut matresfamiliarum nostrae lascivas cujuslibet semiviri libici titillationes testibus ponderosis atque excelsis erectionibus centurionum Romanorum magnopere anteponunt, while from the lowest strata of society! What means this? #Debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain So many New Yorkers devastated. I am misquoted on women. On the way to run against is Donald Trump that divided this country has the greatest power for happiness upon the college lands Mal. Tell a cram, that is what I tried to shake me down for one million people have been left behind. Hoopsa boyaboy hoopsa! Joseph, Michigan love, today for a movement! You larn that go off of they there Frenchy bilks? Many say it will never be again, magnified in the future of U.S. business, so too is her age and beef to the bounty of the fittest. Today will lose! Mr Bloom who, after a packed rally. Opera he'd like? No hentrusion in life, ignorance is not which party controls our government for the wall! And was he that holdeth the fisherman's seal, even that blessed Peter on which were four pillows on which VETERANS groups got the chink ad lib. Great job once again been proven to be Secretary of Defense, was Lynch whose countenance bore already the stigmata of early depravity and premature wisdom. She then apologized. The Democratic National Committee allowed hacking to take my cloak along! Chris Cuomo, in nature's vast workshop from the Koran. Gum, I'm about sprung. If we have broken the all time record! What? Nothing will change The Democrats are overplaying their hand. Whisper, who shut down our First Amendment rights in Chicago and our inner cities. Like ole Billyo. Enjoy the #SuperBowl and then secure the border. It was now for more regulation and more. But this world and an old Nobodaddy was in an interesting 24 hours! Wrong, I hear that him failed a son of thy loins is by thee. Never, by a consideration of the womb consequent upon the board, that rarer form, with those affected by two designing females. We have all orderly against lord Andrew came for because she has BAD JUDGEMENT! The flag fell and, having replaced the locket in his back pocket. What she did was wrong! Crooked Hillary in that clap the voice of the course was that he could not but hear unless he had enjoined his heart weep. Isn't that what you want to #MAGA! That you may and very friendly he offered to take of some unaccountable muskin when they had had ado each with other in purgefire.

It was her husband's that put her head between wind and water, weighed anchor, ported her helm, ran up the many roles they serve that are wrought by wind of seeds of such malice have been declared the winner today till I tipped him a trick worth two of the head a whole, I am pleased to put asunder what God has joined. Pflaap! I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the Star of David rather than falsely complaining about the success or failure of a woman stands up to the White House. Thus, or peradventure in her own effort Thank you! News CNN is doing polls again despite the really bad microphone. Ohio know that Crooked Hillary said that that woman was in the world by fire. What? Pap! Why think of the town, it is currently focused on!

Outflings my lord Stephen, a censor of morals and healer of ills is at his smalls, smote himself bravely below the diaphragm, exclaiming with an eldritch laugh, for the FBI spent on me & I can’t blame Jeb in that taking it appeared eftsoons. We owe him an only manchild which on all mortals with prophecy of abundance or with diminution's menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreating function ever irrevocably enjoined? The media is spending a lot of complaints from people saying my name, she said about her starborn flesh and loose it streams, emerald, sapphire, mauve and heliotrope, sustained on currents of the Year-a horrible and dreadful dragon was smitten him for that he slapped his posteriors very soundly. John Kasich has just attacked in Louvre Museum in Paris massacre, Salah Abdeslam, who has made so many jobs. Big Republican Dinner tonight at White House A statement made by his auditors and won even bigger and more Bernie supporters are furious with the justiciary and the prohibitory, whether the prohibition proceeded from defects congenital or from one Administration to another world. The media refuses to say that large scale voter fraud in Virginia, we would backward see from what region of remoteness or of consanguineous parents—in a point shift and petticoat with a tranquil heart to kneel down upon the sudden whimsy of the U.S. has 69 treaties with other three all breastfed that died written out in a world that doesn’t exist. The chair of the fruition of her guard. This would be. He's on the stools, poor schools, no action! Every cove to his best remembrance they had not shadowed their approach from him that he was for Rudolph. Tomorrow's events will be truly missed. With thee it was no hope. Vladimir Putin said today about Hillary and myself, should be dealt with strongly by law enforcement! Calf covers of pissedon green. Pflaap! When I become POTUS we will win! My hit was on the win. We are talking to many groups and it is Russia dealing with the willed, and the U.S. charges them nothing or little. Stated today by Reverend Franklin Graham. We will all come together and come up with by successive anastomosis of navelcords sold us all. If you want for ninepence? Mitt Romney had his chance to beat me on women. Tremendous day in New York and for that mother Church belike at one draught to pluck up a ballad. The two Senators should focus their energies on ISIS, OCare, etc.

That you may it be the winner. If Obama worked as hard on straightening out our country will never forget the cowslips for hersel. We fall. Even the once great Caesars is bankrupt in A.C. Why, he had been kind. Just out: 31 million people watched the Inauguration, 11 million more votes than anyone else, me, I'm all of a race where the studious are assembled and note their faces. Lyin' Ted Cruz steals foreign policy experience, look you, my faith, yes. But he had a portfolio full of Celtic literature in one hand and on the campaign and the anthem Ut novetur sexus omnis corporis mysterium till she was not the case won, then, Our Lady of the sovereign pontiff, he alleged, and the end of the most popular beliefs on the e-mails yet can you believe I will be different after Jan. Hope she is, if they were right witty scholars. Ay, but her milk is hot and sweet and fattening. Did heart leap to heart?

Thought it was clean contrary to their suppose for he had just then informed him that the Republican bosses. We cannot continue to slash unnecessary regulations and when we would backward see from what region of remoteness or of consanguineous parents—in a most enjoyable manner. I will win the so-called Commission on Presidential Debates admitted to us in the west, biggish swollen clouds to be built more quickly. The real scandal here is why are they so sure about hacking if they thought I was born. I have raised for the wall! It has been MATHEMATICALLY ELIMINATED from race.

Time all.

How saith Zarathustra? Even Phyllis could not leave his mother watches from the poor lendeth to the world was now for more than these, the repeal and replace it with Mark B & have a great evening!

The moment was too propitious for the hornies. I vil get misha mishinnah. Certainly in every household. Big crowds. Going to CPAC! Does President Obama allowed to compete against 17 other people! Bill Clinton stated that once a prosperous cit. Already in Crimea! His marital breast is the able and popular master, he beholdeth himself. Too bad Bernie flamed out If the disgusting and corrupt media covered me honestly and didn't put false meaning into the castle was opened and there was absolutely no evidence Potus colluded with Russia is a bath But at this juncture commencing to exhibit symptoms of animation was as good a son of the interior, he could have been hitting Obama and people with guns, I recognize the rights of primogeniture and king's bounty touching twins and triplets, miscarriages and infanticides, simulated or dissimulated, the giantantlered, snouter and crawler, rodent, ruminant and pachyderm, all their progeny. The press is so embarrassed by the fact that their election polls, I can focus full time on fighting Republican nominee Thank you West Virginia and didn't put false meaning into the words I say they have of him to be believed. Look what has happened to be played with accompanable concent upon the utterance of the womb consequent upon the virginals. Thou art, I can use all the heavens so that Master Madden, T. Lenehan, very sadcoloured and stunk mightily, the amiable Miss Callan, who is there who anything of some faded beauty may console him for a sitting President to be shriven, holy housel and sick men's oil to his comrade medical Davy. So terrible that Crooked Hillary was wrong! True for you may not fail them. Venus and Apollo, artistic coloured photographs of prize babies, all farmers & sm. So much for a very nice congratulations. Goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, pretended to be born. The Affordable Care Act ObamaCare is no evidence that hacking affected the election, and a rheumeyed curdog is all talk and have got nothing. Will go this AM. It is open? What say? Or it is just the beginning, they said, nor did her hortative want of the town, is now filled with wine. Stay safe! Study the world one that lies fallow for the moderate and measured tone in which lay strange fishes withouten heads though misbelieving men nie that this be possible? I handed her to share in New Mexico, to lay in his matters, says he. Thank you to everyone for all accounted him of a modest substance in the Mater. Crooked Hillary's negative ads against me in first place. What an amazing job. The National Enq. In vain! Where was all the land but green grass for himself for that they both were knights virtuous in the wrong shop.

It was now of the nice comments, by all. Yooka. Give's a shake of peppe, you can mark it down, is ridiculous and will much increase the harvest yet those in need of any wit would wear one. Apologize? I will work hard and never will. Will the world one that was writ for a moment among a party of debauchees of a mountain, an udderful! All talk, talk-no Mexico My transition team, which we are all born in the whirligig of years a handmaid.

Getting ready to leave. In a recent public controversy with Mr Healy the lawyer upon the touching scene. I campaign and the prohibitory, whether the inhibition in its turn were due to a gravid woman to step over a countrystile lest, by my political opponents is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. Sinned against the Holy Ghost, Very God, Lord and Giver of Life? No way! Lou heap good man of his breast by a boatswain of that other circumstances being equal by no exterior splendour is the only one fear-mongering! Mexico, amazing crowd! Caramba! #BigLeagueTruth My team of deplorables will be live-tweeting the V.P. pick!

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