#he bought a 'how to cook' book and Duke helped him too but he still can't

[merry-andrews]

The idea was 'what if Ethan accepted to work with Karl'.. raising a child isn't easy so Dimitrescu's daughters and Duke are here too to help them :)

#karl heisenberg #ethan winters #lady dimitrescu #duke (resident evil) #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #they invited moreau too but he started eating all foods in refrigerator so.. #steampunky zombie is here to make cookies for everyone! :D #i kinda headcanon that Karl can't cook #he bought a 'how to cook' book and Duke helped him too but he still can't #ethan winters/Karl heisenberg #because at some point karl started dating ethan :) #yeah i ship this two #also you can imagine myra is at work so he came around to karl's house :) #merry andrews art #games #i just found out i tagged her name as 'myra'🙈 #I MEANT MIA!

[aseioh]

Of Cakes and Late Celebrations

Author’s Notes: This was supposed to be posted on Mother's day. But just like this fic, I got derailed and ended up being late. (picture taken from the internet)

It was Mother's day.

Or to be precise it will be Mother's day in 15 hours 25 minutes. It shouldn't be a problem for Alcina, she usually just buys something from the Duke to give to Mother Miranda.

Unfortunately, such a thing is not possible right now. The Duke was delayed with his routine arrival at the castle opening, something about a spooked horse and lycans trying to get a nibble.

Honestly she lost interest after the word delayed was spoken through the phone. How is she going to remedy this. The gift itself was one of the finest silk she was able to obtain, she was sure Mother would appreciate a new ritual robe.

This is bad. To show up without a gift on this special day. She was sure she would be made a mockery during the gathering. Whats worst was that fool Heisenberg would be the first to lead with his pathetic insults.

Just the thought made Alcina's blood boil.

”I should send Bela to switch that man's shampoo with dog shampoo. Although the man still smells like wet dog. No. I'll think of something more devious.“

But back to the matter at hand. It's almost Mother's day and she doesn’t have a gift. Taking a deep drag off her cigarette, she considers her dwindling options.

At western part of the village

Donna is also facing a similar problems.

"What do you mean you're not coming?! Where am I supposed to find a present at this hour?!" Angie's raspy voice filtered through the phone "do you know how hard it is to find a 1st edition book on occult and rituals."

"Apologies Miss Angie, but the horse spooked and the carriage suffered a broken wheel. Even if the servants manage to haul themselves your house to the Duke's location and back it would still be too late." The main servant said trying to sound as apologetic as he can come across.

"This would not do" Donna said finally in her normal voice.

Somewhere inside the Stronghold.

Karl Heisenberg was having a meltdown.

"YOU STUPID LYCANS! I GAVE YOU ONE JOB AND YOU COULDN'T EVEN DO IT RIGHT!!" Heisenberg paces around the small assembly hall. Ten Lycans looked very apologetic, although it was very hard to tell from their looks. One even lets out a soft whimper.

“I told you to stall The Duke for a while. I didn’t said to derail him completely. The man has a package for me, now how am I supposed to get it!?” Heisenberg seethes.

His plan was a simply one really. Stall The Duke so that he would arrive at Castle Dimitrescu late, that way Alcina would not get her package and present it to Mother Miranda. That would show her, a little payback for calling him a child.

What he didn’t count on was the utter incapability of the Lycans to follow simple directions. Now even he doesn’t have a gift. Oh Miranda’s gonna blow a gasket.

“Augh... I hate the consequences of my actions” He lamented

 At Moreau’s Reservoir

“NOOOOOOO!! That’s not fair, that’s not fair!!!” Moreau starts throwing his stuff on the floor. He had finally saved up his money to buy Mother Miranda that nice jewelry that would go perfectly with her black wings.

“Someone’s gonna pay” He vows to take revenge on the Lycans responsible for his problem.

 After all his pet fish has been hungry for some Lycan meat.

 Castle Dimitrescu (13 hours until Mother’s day)

“I have gathered you here today for a very important meeting” Alcina starts looking at the sad (Donna) and tearful (Moreau) faces of her so called ‘siblings’. Heisenberg is surprisingly calm which puts Alcina on high alert, but lets it slide in favour of the more pressing matter

“We have a big problem. The Duke will not arrive on time for Mother’s Day. That means all the presents we bought for Mother will not arrive”

“We need a solution, any ideas?”  

“We kill the Lycans responsible and feed them to my fish”

“Yes Moreau, but that’s after we solve this problem” Donna said and tries to placate a Moreau by patting him at the back.

“Whoa, that’s a bit dark but I like it. And Moreau is right, we’re gonna make fish food out of those Lycans” “Better off those basdards, after all I don’t want to implicate myself” Heisenberg thinks

“People, you’re missing the point here” Alcina says pinching her nose to ward off an incoming headache. “Listen, we don’t have time. You know Mother Miranda, She’ll say she wasn’t really expecting something and then low-key punishes us for missing the day. We don’t want a repeat of the 1967 incident do we?”

Moreau whimpers from the trauma.

Donna goes into a slight trance and starts to shake.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough” Heisenberg stands. “Why don’t we just bake something and say it’s from all of us”

 *beat*

“Do you know how to bake?”

“I work at the Factory, I make steel molds for a living how hard could it be?”

“That doesn’t answer my question Heisenberg”

“We could make a small doll” Donna pipes up

“Sorry Donna that would still take time. And I don’t think we have the right materials on such short notice.” Alcina says

“For someone who’s looking for a solution you sure are shooting down all of them”

“Because it’s not feasible Heisenberg.” Alcina huffs “Can you gather all the materials in less than 10 hours? No? Of course not”

“And I keep telling you just BAKE A CAKE!”

“I don’t know how to bake, child! I’m a BLOODY COUNTESS not hired help” Alcina bellows at Heisenberg

“I know how to bake”

Everyone turns to Donna.

“Really?”

“Of course, I used to watch my Mother bake cakes before the accident. I just need help decorating. I never got a hang of that part” Donna beams with pride as she explains the basics of baking

“And we can gather the ingredients no problem. You have a pantry here somewhere right Alcina?” Moreau asked

“Of course. We always have a full pantry for the servants.” At that Heisenberg looks at Alcina with a hint of disbelief

“What? We need them healthy to serve us. I’m not a complete monster.” Alcina defends

“In any case we should start early. It takes time to cool and decorating is hard”

 Castle Kitchen (12 hours 30 minutes before Mother’s Day)

It was truly a sight to see. In a way it was enough for the Castle’s servants to wet themselves in fear when they saw the 4 Lords gathered at the kitchen in various forms of concentration. Needless to say, everyone was warned to steer clear of the kitchen for now.

Moreau was together with Donna supporting her with mixing the wet ingredients. Meanwhile, at the other side of the cooking station Alcina and Heisenberg are charge of measuring out the dry ingredients.

“You need to be precise, don’t put too much. Remember what Donna said and look at the damn recipe”

“I know what I’m doing you damn woman. I’m all about precision. Why don’t you move away and get that mixing bowl at the top shelf.” Heisenberg grouched

“I’m not your servant. And I certainly will not start fetching stuff for you” Alcina shot back

“Alcina, we need to work together. We don’t have time and you’re the tallest of us all. Please cooperate with Karl just this once. Please?” Donna implored

“Once. I’m helping him for this one time only. When I get my hands on the Lycan responsible for this problem, I’m gutting him and throwing him at Moreau’s reservoir.” At Donna’s admonishment of Alcina, Heisenberg gives a shit eating grin, showing some rather very pointy canines.

“And Heisenberg, stop provoking Alcina.” Donna adds

“Fine, you’re no fun Donna”

Suffice to say, the baking went well. Who knew that the 4 Lords working together would be a great success? If only Mother Miranda saw her children working together peacefully she might have had a heart attack and thought that she suffered one as well.

Or she might have been dreaming.

 Castle Kitchen (6 hours before Mother’s Day)

“Alright, the cake has cooled down completely, So what color will be the icing?” Donna asked

“Yellow” “Cream” “Light Blue” the other three said simultaneously.

 *beat*

“Light blue? Really? Not everything needs to be manly Heisenberg”

“And not everything needs to be boring like your color, Alcina”

“It should be yellow, like Mother’s sunny smile” Moreau explains

“And in which ever universe has Mother ever smiled like the sun?” Heisenberg counters Moreau

“Hey now. No need for that tone!”

“Tsk, sorry Moreau” Heisenberg apologizes to a quiet Moreau

“Fine, let’s do pastel yellow it’s easier for the eyes anyway” Donna supplies, getting ready to start coating the cake with the yellow cream

 Inside the Sanctuary

“Happy Mother’s day”

“We hope you like the cake Mother”

“Yes, we poured out our love in baking it. I hope you appreciate it” Heisenberg said

“Why thank you loves. This is a wonderful surprise. And Moreau said that you all worked together in baking it. How wonderful!” Mother Miranda said grateful for once that her children worked together without collateral damage (that she knew of).

“Although Heisenberg, I heard something interesting from Urias” Mother Miranda looks pointedly at Heisenberg, who for some reason starts to sweat and turn pale.

‘oh shit’ “Really Mother? Good news I hope” Heisenberg tries to bluff his way out.

“Why it was quite peculiar really. He said that you got 10 of his Lycans for a special project. I wasn’t aware that you have some side projects”

 The 3 Lords turn to Heisenberg

“Wait what?”

“I KNEW IT!!” Alcina unsheathes her claws

“You’re responsible for this mess in the first place!!”

“Really guy relax, if anything I just proved that we need more than one traveling merchant in the village for a successful and on time delivery” Heisenberg starts to carefully ease his way to the nearest exit.

 “GET HIM”

In the end, Alcina was more than ready to feed Heisenberg to Moreau’s pet fish. Only Donna stopped her, citing Moreau would probably be inconsolable if his pet got indigestion from all the metal.

And that is how Heisenberg saw himself in doggy jail for a week along with his Lycan cohorts. Mother Miranda did get her Mother’s day gifts from her children although a bit later than expected.

 And the cake?

 The cake was surprisingly delicious.

#resident evil village #re8 village #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #karl heisenberg #salvatore moreau #mother miranda #Late Mother's day fic #in which the 4 lords learn to cooperate for their own good #because no one wants to be in Mother Miranda's bad side

[ramshackledtrickster]

Hi I am enjoying your blog and the your version of Moreau. I have three questions for you. (1) What kind of relationship did your version of pre and post cadou Moreau have with the four Lords and Duke? (2) If your Moreau was able to recover and heal from what happened to him and was take in by BSAA what would he do after besides recover and heal from what happened to him? (3) What dose your version of pre- cadou Moreau's home look like?

Aw thank you so much!! I’m so glad you like em!!

Oo these will be fun to answer!!

Long text post so!! Continue under the cut

1. Salvatore has seen and met Alcina before, as she moves to and fro from the village and elsewhere (America). Likely, she has seen him for her skin condition at least once? But I’d imagine she’s a bit… difficult to work with and demand more doctors to give her a diagnosis on her Porphyria. Though their interactions were limited, again, he was just doing his job and if she didn’t like the results hey don’t blame him. Post-mutation however, Alcina barely recognizes him but when the realization hits her, she tries not to remind herself of that connection. Moreau doesn’t remember either, but he’s definitely intimidated by her. Alcina probably sees him as a walking study of “at least I didn’t have it as bad as this guy”, you know? And generally talks down to and about him for being slow and gross (Moreau has definitely barfed on her dress at least once by accident it’s,, it’s sad). Though she does pity him to an extent, but she won’t show that.

Pre-mutation, Moreau has seen Donna and the Beneviento family before as they moved in from Italy (their ancestry goes back to the village, but the family moved away for generations before coming back to live at the mansion just because I guess). He had more to talk about with the family than with Donna, since she was a baby at that time. He likes being with the Benevientos since they’re more low key? And the father’s project to make a doll for the baby a,ways seemed sweet to him (though the design was… unnerving). (Also they both have Italian heritages lmao ). Donna barely remembers Moreau at all, but neither does Moreau post-mutation. She probably treats him with the most kindness (though Angie can be quite blunt and crude about his appearance, which hurts his feelings of course). She pities him, but does genuinely find him to be nicer company than the other two lords. They have tea, watch movies, and even make small trinkets for each other! (Donna making a small toy for Moreau, and Moreau in turn making her a little accessory).

Pre-mutation Moreau has never met Karl (I imagined he was from outside of the village entirely and barely has any ancestry relating to the Lords, but Miranda offered him a home in the village and under her wing since he was a runaway kid with barely anything). But if he did, I’d imagine he’d be a better father figure to Karl than Miranda a mother to him. Post mutation however, Moreau is more or less reduced to Karl’s emotional punching bag. Moreau’s honestly intimidated and scared of Karl (and his environment of the factory is a sensory hellscape and he carries that energy around everywhere he goes so yeah). But as a newcomer to the village, Karl probably talked to the other villagers and the new doctor who tried to fill in Moreau’s role, and heard about him that way. And how he hated Miranda but in the end became amiable and studied under her, and eventually just disappeared entirely (rumored to study abroad in other countries). As Karl grows to become more resentful of Miranda for manipulating him as a child, he starts to feel alone and resentful of Moreau as a result too, since he puts two and two together that this Moreau was the very same one who would stand up to Miranda all that while before. Maybe he taunts and aggravates Moreau in order to encourage some “fight” back in him? But ultimately all that is left of Moreau is basically a husk and he’s helpless under Mother Miranda’s bidding. Moreau doesn’t remember or know any of Karl’s side of the story though, so he’s just left with the impression that he’s just being mean to him because a. He deserves it and b. Karl is just Like That. But Karl does still take pity on Moreau occasionally and help him fix his tv or get some movies for him on occasion- but the few instances of kindness probably just confuses Moreau more. He doesn’t like not being able to predict what Karl would do or feel.

Moreau was aware and has met the Duke before his mutation, and sensed some eerie things about him. Never heard of him anywhere, doesn’t know where he’s from, just… there hanging around the village at convenient times ?? But salvatore isn’t complaining, considering how generous the man is when it comes to providing some food and shelter when he needs it. He also just so happens to have some peculiar samples of preserved sea life that he said were just “brought from a friend”. Moreau loves to marvel at those in particular, and has bought a sample for himself just to gaze at in the comfort of his own home. But the Duke also has a great selection of movies and books too- Moreau eats that stuff up. But even with all the offered goods, he still feels wary around him. The Duke kinda has a weird Eldritch effect on people that makes you feel confused and unsettled even though there are no perceived threats, and Moreau gets paranoid easily, so he prefers to keep their times together more limited, even if they are pleasant. But post mutation, the Duke is one of Moreau’s only friends and confidantes. He frequently drags himself to him to purchase books or movies, but still feels ashamed for it (and feeling like a burden). And yeah Moreau frequently visits the Duke to also vent and cry about how he feels neglected by Miranda and how hideous he feels. The Duke naturally pities him, but is more so saddened to see how his acquaintance has gotten to such a state. Poor Moreau… he wishes there was a way he could intervene and keep this from happening to him. But there’s no use, seeing as Moreau has lost his memory of who or what his life once was. The best he could do is keep him company, offer him some new pieces of entertainment, and listen to him cry his woes whenever he needs to.

2. After everything, and assuming he is able to regain his memories, he wants to still help people definitely. Being a doctor is the first thing he’d try to return to doing, but he knows his appearance is unsettling, so it’ll take a while for that shell to break through. But outside of that, he wants to return to a more simple life. And of course- fishing. He’d probably like to go back to fishing, since he’s already used to doing that in his mutated form as well. It has always brought him some peace of mind, and if anyone else is willing, he’d make some food for them from his catch of that day. He also wouldn’t mind making and selling homemade crafts- it’d help with the guilt of his experiments and making bad things for mother Miranda- maybe this time, he can make good things for everyone else and maybe potential friends? But definitely most importantly for him, he wants to rejoin society. Even if his appearance wouldn’t allow for total normalcy, it would be amazing just to watch a movie on the big screen, or go to a movie club to just talk about film, and just walk around in the open. Buying things, meeting people (even if he isn’t socialized very well), sharing what he knows and loves… just being human. That’s probably what he wants to feel and return to, whether he retains his pre-mutation memory or not. And maybe even try his hand at writing his own scripts just for fun.

3. Humble home! Wooded shack by the reservoir- he likes to keep the place clean too. He has fishing gear around the place, and a table for crafting little trinkets like lures and bracelets. He has lots of books, mostly science, medicine and biology stuff, but also self help books like Carnegie’s “How to Win Friends and Influence People” and some film books and classic literature (thrillers and romances are his favorites). His medicine and general doctoring gear, notes, etc etc is in a separate room (he likes to keep things easy to find. Everything has its place and every place has its designated things). And of course, he has an old monochrome TV and a radio in his kitchen/dining area. He likes to work with music or white noise from the TV while he cooks for himself. He probably likes this home a lot too due to its vicinity to the fishing area- just a short walk away, and he can go have fun fishing.

Sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it!

#resident evil 8 #salvatore moreau #human salvatore moreau #text post #headcanons #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #karl heisenberg #resident evil #resident evil village

[rebrandedbard]

A little drabble exchange for @theamazingbard that accidentally became more of a ficlet. Threw in a little hispanic nursery rhyme since I don’t know if we have them in english for making pain go away. I tried googling but it was unhelpful. 

TW: Descriptions of blood, drinking it, gross stuff like that. Canon-typical wounds. References to drinking and inebriation.

WC: 2617

Lips Black as the Rose

Featuring highervampire!Jaskier as he tries to figure himself out after being turned. A bit of spice in there. Am I picking and choosing parts of the lore as I see fit? Yes. Is it very sexy of me to do so? One hundred percent. Will I beta this before posting? Oh absolutely not, you know the drill. ‘No beta, we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments’ is my go-to Ao3 tag for a reason.

-

Under no circumstances would Jaskier ever cause harm to another living thing, but the world did not reciprocate that exact philosophy. He’d been chased and held at the business end of many a sword, dagger, lance, and—on several unfortunately memorable occasions—a startling variety of available flatware. Things were rougher after meeting Geralt and having his usual human pursuers overshadowed by the threat of monsters.

Where once a spoon in the hands of a rabid duke would seem a most threatening opponent, Jaskier now found himself on the run from a more literal array of rabid beasts, and he could quote the running speeds the prove that having an extra pair of legs did indeed give certain monsters a leg up, so to speak, on the competition. But then, having no legs at all could prove a better advantage, and such creatures as those often had the additional advantage of long, venomous teeth.

Suffice to say, it was a difficult thing to be a lover in a world of fighters. Particularly when one falls into the company of another presumed lover, only to discover that their invitation to dinner was, in truth, an invitation to be dinner.

A vampire. Young, wine drunk, and foolish, Jaskier allowed himself to be led into the vampire’s den. It had been many years ago, he no longer remembered the details. He only remembered a sharp pain on his shoulder, followed by a woozy numbness, and he awoke in a strange bed, in an inn he did not check into, with his reflection missing from the mirror. He’d run away from home shortly after, fearing a bloodlust that was never to come.

It was a strange thing, being a vampire. After months of research, Jaskier came to no conclusions as to what it meant to be one exactly. He experimented with the content of old myths, touching silver very cautiously, taking delicate bites of foods prepared with garlic. He could cross a river just as well as any man. All in all, there was not much wrong with him, and he wondered what all the fuss was about. Well, there was a bit of fuss in that he could no longer be sure of his appearance, and he’d become more vain than ever, relying on the opinions of others to assure him that he looked presentable. This was a particular bother where Geralt was concerned, for he rarely paid compliments—if ever—and was not inclined to offer opinions concerning such trifling things as fashion or appearances.

Jaskier felt sure that Geralt would have noticed right away, but when their paths crossed again, Geralt seemed entirely ignorant of Jaskier’s dramatic change in biology. Running his tongue over his teeth, he could find no fangs. People complimented him on his eyes, still cooing over how bright and blue they were; and he’d been so afraid they’d turned a ghastly red as in the stories. From what he could tell, he appeared human. He had no violent urges to drain the blood from red-cheeked virgins, nor had he transformed into a bat and flown into the night. Sunlight only burned his skin as much as it had before, though it might have been harder on his eyes. He found himself squinting more in the afternoon, and it was unpleasant hot at times.

All in all, he was relatively normal.

“Such beauty ought to be preserved evermore.” That was what the vampire had told him that night. A great favor, immortality, but he wished he might have been offered a list of instructions to go with it. Figuring things out on his own was exasperating. And though he was not quite compelled to drink blood, there were times when he was … drawn. By curiosity.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, his flesh torn and body bleeding, Jaskier found it challenging to tend his wounds. Many times, he’d almost given into temptation. It did not help that he’d wanted to know the taste of Geralt’s skin long before the transformation. Now, there was an intoxicating layer to the fantasy, and the smell of Geralt’s blood made him hazy, like the bouquet of a strong wine. Or more realistically, the cloud of bitter vodka. If it had been a particularly nasty fight, Jaskier was sure he could taste Geralt’s blood by the smell alone, so powerful it made his nose wrinkle. He could get drunk on the fumes, and it was not always so pleasant.

He never dared try. There were too many things to consider. For a start, there was no telling what the blood of a witcher would do to him—and that was before factoring potions into the equation. Having never fed of blood, Jaskier did not know how his instincts would react, and he was sure he had some animal instinct to him now. He might drain Geralt dry in a matter of minutes, or the taste of blood might make him go insane and start tearing at his surroundings like a mad beast! Or, simplest and frightening of all, Geralt might kill him. So Jaskier kept his secret, never giving in to his curiosity.

But one day, he’d slipped.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He clenched his hand and a sharp smell pervaded the air. In sharpening his sword, his hand had slipped. He’d cut the meat of his palm, just above his wrist.

Jaskier was up at once, Geralt’s bag in hand, ready to wrap the wound. He was very quick these days in getting things bundled up as soon as possible. Once the wounds were wrapped, the smell was not as pronounced. He fished out a strip of cloth and had it round Geralt’s hand in a matter of moments, working efficiently with good practice.

Geralt smiled ruefully. “A clean wound, at least. Should stitch itself up by morning.” He chuckled and inspected the wound, his eyes flicking over to Jaskier. “Haven’t done that since I was a child sharpening my first dagger,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself often in training?” Jaskier asked.

“No, not so often. We didn’t waste wrappings on such small scrapes either.”

There was a distracting shadow of red seeping through the cloth. Jaskier scoffed. “So you let it bleed into the open air, did you?”

“We were less inclined to coddle than humans.”

“Coddle?” Jaskier said, raising an offended hand to his chest. “My dear, a dressing is hardly evidence of coddling. If I wished to coddle you, I’d kiss it better and sing a little chant.”

Geralt presented his hand to Jaskier, smirking humorously. “Then do it. I’ve never heard of humans having such power as to kiss wounds better. Would save me a lot of trouble.”

“Erm … ” Jaskier flushed, considering the proffered wound. He nearly made a joke about lacking such power, being no longer human, but he bit it back. To cover his hesitation, he took Geralt’s hand and gently sang the rhyme his nurse used to calm him after a scraped elbow or knee. His tongue rolled musically as he rubbed the dressing carefully. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.” Then he bent his head down to kiss the place.

“I don’t see what frogs’ tails have to do with my hand,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier did not hear him. Instead, he felt oddly fixed in place, a metallic tang on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and licked at his bottom lip to chase the memory of the taste. As he did, his tongue scraped the end of a long, pointed tooth. He stumbled back unsteadily, muttered his excuses, and fled to the safety of his bedroll across camp. There he sat, writing nonsense in his notebook as though struck by sudden inspiration.

He’d tasted Geralt’s blood. And now he wanted more.

The next few hunts were blessedly without injury. Jaskier found he was able to breathe again. It twisted his gut whenever Geralt went off to fulfill a contract, and his conscience was at odds with this new obsession. He wanted Geralt to come back whole and unharmed. But he wanted some cut, some smallest scrape upon which to lathe his tongue. When he thought of it, he felt a stirring in his gums, and touching the place, he found the fangs had grown in again. It took concentration to hide them again. He took to smiling with his mouth closed after the first incident, and he developed a habit of biting his lips.

When they came to a larger town, Jaskier went straight to the butcher. To quell his growing need, he bought fresh meat, sneaking a sip from the blood dish beneath the draining sheep’s carcass while the butcher’s back was turned. It had the strangest effect on him. Within minutes of leaving the butcher’s shop, he felt light-headed. He felt drunk, in short, and he wobbled his way to the inn, a giggle in his throat.

For dinner, he asked the potmaid to send the loin to the cook and surprised Geralt with it: a small treat to celebrate his recent hunting success. In truth, he wanted nothing to do with it, festering in the shame of his lie. The loin had merely been an excuse: something to keep the butcher busy while he drank his curiosity like some writhing leech dredged up from the water.

It made him drunk. He made note of it in his book and swore that would be the end of things. This odd affair made it easy to forget, his stomach turning in guilt and disgust at the thought of repeating the act. He was fine and healthy without blood, therefore there was no need to partake. He could go the rest of his life perfectly happy never drinking another drop. Until the day it fell from Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier stared at it from across the room. Geralt had just returned from a fight, his eyes and blood black with potion. His armour was scratched up, covered in foulness from monsters unknown, but he was alive and whole, hardly bruised. Jaskier tried to focus on the smell of the guts dripping from his armour. It was still as disgusting as ever, even with vampiric senses to influence his opinion. The wretched blood was still unappetizing. But above it, he smelled a strange scent: sweet, a touch of iron. And there, shining on Geralt’s lip, the wet glisten of blood.

He swallowed hard as Geralt wiped the cut on the back of his hand. The blood smudged along his chin, all the more enticing. His knuckles turned white on the sheet of his bed as he held himself in place. Ordinarily, he would be up on his feet to help coax Geralt out of his armour by now, but he did not trust himself to be so close.

Geralt shed his shoulder pads, looking at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. “It’s a bit slippery,” he said. He inclined his head, beckoning Jaskier over. That was their way. They did not ask things from one another. It was simple routine, and the brief lapse was something awkward to acknowledge.

What excuses could he provide? Jaskier stood on trembling legs and made his way, biting his own lip to hide the fangs he felt beginning to grow. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasps, far too close to Geralt’s face. His breath caught, watching a bead of dark blood roll down his lip, over his chin. His lip was stained black.

Geralt had always had nice lips, Jaskier felt. He was always reminded torturously of this fact when he helped Geralt out of his armour. How could one undress such a man without indulging in the fantasy of what came after, even a little? But oh, it was a dangerous line of thought. Now he was bewitched by his senses, his focus single-mindedly drawn to that point on Geralt’s lip. To kiss him now, to lick the blood from his lip—it would be divine. He felt his heart beat faster at the prospect, his hands stalling to unbuckle Geralt’s breastplate as he stared. Just one taste. One kiss was all he wanted.

A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him short. Jaskier startled out of his unconscious reverie and looked at Geralt in horror. He hadn’t—! Had he? His attention flicked between Geralt’s eyes and his lip, and to his relief, the blood remained untouched.

“Not just now,” Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. “The potions might paralyze you—at least for a day. Anything lesser would die from a drink of it. It turns my blood to poison.”

Jaskier blinked, edging back. “I … don’t understand your meaning,” he feigned.

Geralt followed him, stepping forward. He raised a hand, caressing Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the best at keeping secrets. I noticed some time ago you stopped aging, and there’s no shadow at your feet, even on the brightest afternoon.”

He swiped his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier gasped, his lips parting, and Geralt pushed in. Then, his thumb was pushing Jaskier’s top lip away, revealing a glistening fang. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped back once more.

“You’re a vampire,” Geralt said. “And not a common one either. My medallion doesn’t react to you at all.” He chuckled and added, “As if you could be common by any measure.”

Jaskier turned away, picking up one of Geralt’s shoulder pads. He clutched it to his chest, whether for protection or for comfort he could not say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid to tell you … afraid what you might say. What you … might do.”

A warm hand smoothed down his arm comfortingly. There was a teasing quality to Geralt’s voice when he spoke. A hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, making him nearly jump in surprise.

“In regards to what: the knowledge that you’re a vampire, or the knowledge that you want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, words hot against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shivered, the adrenaline of his fear quickly turning to something sweeter. “Both,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to understand Geralt’s intent.

“You cannot drink of me tonight,” Geralt whispered, “but I can satisfy that other hunger, if you only have the discipline to keep your teeth to yourself.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s hand slipped lower and lower down his front, Jaskier thought he knew. Even so …

Geralt chuckled, nose pressing to the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’m saying I’m tired of the way you look at me like a man starving and refuse to do something about it. It’s gotten worse. It was bad enough before, waiting for you to make your move, but since your turning, it’s insufferable. I feel like the centerpiece of a banquet, waiting to be devoured.”

“You said I couldn’t kiss you,” Jaskier said, breath coming up short as he felt himself pressed back against a firm chest, a second hand coming up to tug at the edge of his chemise. “I have no discipline whatsoever. And you know that.”

“Well then.”

Jaskier dropped the plate of armour as he was pushed backward. He fell, his knees caught by the edge of the bed. Arms caged him on either side, and above him. Geralt smiled, a drop of blood falling onto the sheets below. He pressed his thumb to Jaskier’s mouth once more, something ravenous in his eyes.

“Well then,” he repeated. “Looks like I’ll have to devour you instead.”

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #vampire!jaskier #highervampire!jaskier #showing off a bit of my culture there with the little rhyme #mexican / irish blended household baby! #sadly though I learned the rhyme from spanish classes instead of from my family lmao #such is life #lips black as the rose fic #persie's tag #I TOLD you I'd leave things unfulfilled #suffer

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Here’s a half formed thought about Calum going back to school at the same time as you during the crazy ass pandemic. Enjoy. 

Reader insert. No race or gender. 

********************

You were always going back to school. When you ran into Calum last year--though it really wasn’t you running into Calum; he was doing his grocery shopping and you checked him out--you knew being a clerk at the grocery store wasn’t the end all be all for you. 

What you had noticed over the couple of months is that whenever Calum seemed to be doing his grocery shopping, he always came through your line. It didn’t matter if you were the only line opened or on the weekends one of the several lines open, Calum was there. He started with small talk, asking you how your day was going. And you asked about his. He shocked you the first time he used your name. But you forgot that it was on your name tag. “Well if you know my name it’s only fair I know yours,” you teased. 

“Calum,” he returned easily, taking the brown paper bags after you carefully packed them. 

Sometimes you noticed his dog in the cart and asked about them. You learned his name is Duke and that he’s been affectionately dubbed Baby Grandpa by Calum. And eventually, though you hadn’t really meant to, you noticed things he bought frequently and whenever you happened across his path while walking to or from back break, you’d let him know if there was a sale going on. 

And thought it was only just friendly chat while you were on the clock, you were out pumping gas on your way to lunch with your friends when you heard your name. As you turned, there was Calum, walking out of the gas station, waving as he pushed his sunglasses back to cover his eyes. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” you laughed, waving in return. What you hadn’t expected as Calum walked across the lot to the pumps is that he would chat until the question of a date fell off from his lips. And sure Calum was attractive, and sure the conversation over the weeks while you checked out his items had turned a little flirty but you hadn’t expected that Calum felt anything remotely serious about you to ask you on a date. 

But you accepted. And there you were able to talk over a nice picnic that excluded Duke, but at your explicit disappointment at not seeing the old dog, Calum promised that next time, he would make sure to include Duke. That picnic lead to a movie, which lead to dinner, which lead to a date shopping for Duke because of the upcoming holidays, which lead to dinner at his place, and then hanging out with his friends for a quick drink one night, which lead to movie nights at each others place. 

And somewhere in all of it, you were dating Calum. He called when you had the closing shift at work to make sure you got home safely. Or if you spent the night, he’d make you breakfast, and he soothed your back as you hunched in front of your laptop to paid for applications for grad school. And he listened to the way you talked about knowing you couldn’t stay in this spot forever and he encouraged you go back to school. You could feel out that school was something that Calum was considering but he hadn’t been too serious about it. Not the band, the tours, the in the studio’s late--just never felt like he had the time.

Occasionally, you talked about some of the online courses you saw the schools had. But Calum hadn’t fully budged. By the time you got news about you going back to school, with funding, and sorting that news out with your job, Calum asked you if you thought he should give a crack at school. You told him the truth, that if he wanted to go for it, he should. And soon, things crumbled globally with the pandemic. And locked in the house most of the time, you dropped subtle and not so subtle hints that making those online classes might be closer and closer to coming true. 

Now you’re here, sitting at the dining room table, your printed out readings and books scattered in front of you. Calum’s on the couch. His notes on the coffee table. You’re in class, listening to the lecture headphones in and you look over to Calum, his class ended just as yours started. His fingers are working over the keys. 

He’s only in a couple of classes. And though you’re in one more class than him, there’s the added struggle of the work you do too. It’s administrative, but there’s meetings once a week and you still find yourself being offloaded onto with lots of small annoying data tracking tasks. It’s paying for school, so you do it with minimal complaints, but a few nonetheless. 

You’re so lost watching Calum working that you don’t even realize that the class you’re in is preparing for small breakout rooms until someone calls your name. You blink and turn back to the screen. “Sorry, zoned out. We’re discussing the reading, yeah?”

Your group nods and you manage to get back on track until the end of your class. Just as you’re closing down the Zoom app, at least for the half hour before your meeting for work, Calum calls out. “Class done?”

You nod, popping out the earbuds. “Yeah. Got that meeting for work soon though.”

He hums, glancing up from the screen. He seems tired. Most of your nights both of you are up kinda late. Though, you make sure to turn it in early and practically drag Calum to bed a couple hours later. He’ll get caught up, work way too late into the night and then have to be up early for band meetings too. “Want me to fix dinner tonight then?”

“It’s my night. I can still do it.” 

“You sure. I know you’ve got to fix that spreadsheet too and do your readings for the week.”

You shake your head. “I can still cook. Might even start during our meeting.”

Calum laughs, remembering the other times you turned off your camera and shuffled around the kitchen to cook in meetings or in classes too. “Nonsense. Almost done with this paper, so I’ll cook. But as an exchange, if you don’t mind, could you read over this? It’s only a response to a reading and it’s not super long or anything. But this instructor’s a fucking hardass.”

You nod. You’ve read over his papers before. Most of the times it’s just making sure he has correct citations and you might make a note about needing a thesis statement or needing more of his analysis between his evidence. But it’s not much that you ever feel like you need to mention on his papers. You’ve found, most often, what Calum needs is just someone to listen to his ideas so he can sort them out loud and then all you do is take down the notes of what he said. Listening to him talk about this philosophy class and Literature class is awe inspiring. He always has more questions than answers, but it’s those questions that always lead him to some pretty amazing places in his writing. 

“Is this the professor that got on you about the spacing on that first paper?”

Calum nods, pushing the laptop to the coffee table on top of his notes. “Yes! Even you couldn’t see what was wrong, so I still don’t understand what they got on me about. And I formatted the second outline in the exact same way and didn’t get any points taken off, so I really don’t understand.”

“Well, it could’ve been Google Docs. When you downloaded it into Pages, the formatting might’ve gotten wonky? But even the Pages document looked fine, so I really don’t know what happened there. But you’re doing it all in Pages now and then exporting to a PDF when you submit correct?”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for that tip though. I didn’t realize Pages wouldn’t work in the submission center.” His shuffle into the kitchen is paired by the click of Duke’s paws on the floor. Calum presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Spaghetti?”

Holding onto his forearm draped around your chest, you nod. “Spaghetti sounds lovely.”

“I saw you staring at me while you were in class,” he whispers close to your ear. 

“What? You’re hot. Sue me.”

His chuckle is soft, a rumble in his chest that you feel through your back. “Most definitely can’t sue you over that. But don’t make me go in the office. I need you to pass these classes.”

“I appreciate the concern, dear. But I think I’m doing pretty good. Besides, I’m signed up for a random art history class. I can say you’re a piece of art I needed to analyze.”

The laughter’s not soft now, he full on giggles--a bit of it getting cut off as he inhales into the sound. “You’re ridiculous.” His lips are soft against your temple as he stands back up. “So spaghetti. Garlic bread is a must. Salad?”

“Ugh, I guess I do need veggies.”

“Yes, yes you do.” He continues into the kitchen, the clinking of pots hitting the isle’s of the stove and bowls, boxes, and jars setting onto the counter. 

“How’s the other class going? You guys starting your novels yet?”

“19th Century Lit is well, 19th Century Lit.” Calum seemed intrigued by the Evil Children’s class you told him you saw. But it had filled by the time Calum got his work schedule sorted out. He turned to 19th Century Lit as his backup, and so far, it appeared to be going well. “We’re spending the first part on poetry. And that’s the most interesting. The rest of the books sound a little boring.”

You hum, nodding even though he can’t see you. “Hopefully the class picks up. I took a look at the spring classes. If you want to focus more on poetry there’s a Modern Poetry post 1930′s class.”

The glance is quick, but his brows are pulled upwards, in a slight intrigue. “I’d consider it for sure.”

The alarm on your phone goes off, letting you know you have ten minutes until the meeting. You turn back to your computer and start logging into the meeting. “You haven’t had an assignment for that class yet have you?”

“No. The midterm’s coming up soon though and I don’t even know how to begin to study for it.”

You pop one earbud in making sure your mic is muted. “You know I got you, babe.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got your classes too. I-I might stop by the professors office hours and ask for help.”

“That’s always a good idea. Do you know when they are?”

“Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s.” You know he doubled checked them because he probably wouldn’t have that readily available from the first day of classes. “Gonna go tomorrow.”

Popping up from the chair, you press a kiss to his cheek, as the pan sizzles just a little and the pot of water not showing signs of bubbles just yet. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Calum returns, pulling you fully into his chest for a swift kiss. “Now, go! You’ve got a meeting.”

“Meeting schmeeting. Would rather kiss you.” You kiss him one last time before ducking back into the chair and turning the camera on. You notice just faintly in the background Calum’s visible as he shuffles between pans and pots. Duke walks up to you, standing up to get attention. 

“Oh, you know I can’t say no,” you mutter, setting him in your lap.

“Is that Duke?” your supervisor asks. He’s crashed a couple meetings before. 

You unmute and hold him better for everyone to see. “Yeah. His pops is cooking us dinner and that lack of attention just won’t do.” 

“Hey, you say that like I don’t love him,” Calum retorts, threatening the back of your head with a spatula. You giggle before muting yourself and place Duke back into your lap, digging up the word document you’ve started for all the meeting notes. 

Your supervisor laughs. “Well I think he’s getting plenty of attention in the chat.” There are some more dings as people join the meeting. “Looks like we have everyone, so let’s begin.”

tagging @calumscalm because you might still be taking that exam, love. 

and @5-secondsofcolor bc sunday reads bubs. 

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood x reader insert #calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos blurb #5sos imagine #calum hood fluff #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes

[iwritethat]

Batboys: Valentines Day Headcanons

A/N: I couldn’t think of any for Duke or the Batgirls and I don’t know their characters that well so my apologies that I couldn’t give them an individual one.

Happy Valentines Day, I hope you have a wonderful day doing what you do.

All my love, Jessica ♥️

>>>>—————————>

Bruce Wayne:

• Cancels all meetings for the day so he can spend it with you, however Batman is still on call and he does genuinely apologise for this. You don’t mind, you’d expect some mad love scheme from Gothams villains at some point tonight.

• Has probably bought you a few gifts, the classic flowers and chocolates are a must and you can bet they’re top quality.

• Alfred makes breakfast for the two of you as you chatter and enjoy the family’s company in the kitchen.

• Of the assortment of gifts you offhandly mentioned you wanted throughout the year, there is a truly meaningful one that he would give you in private. Whether it be jewellery, a gadget or book which reminded you of a time you spent together. You cry. It’s too sentimental.

• Has plans to take you out for a fancy meal later that evening, we’re talking 5* restaurant and you give him his gift there which of course he loves.

• You take a peaceful walk through the city afterward, which is cut short by the revelation of Joker kidnapping couples. You give each other a knowing look and in minutes the Batmobile is pulled up in the closest alley.

• Bruce - Batman is apologising but you smile and wave him off, but before he leaves you quickly give him a new gadget you got Barbara to work on.

“I have two Valentines I suppose, so my gift to Batman is this.”

“You’re truly amazing (Y/n), I love you.”

“Go save the city love.”

Dick Grayson:

• Not subtle about the fact Valentines Day is around the corner, you know he’s planning something and are on edge.

• Jokes on him though because the competition is ON this year. You woke him with breakfast in bed and he was salty about how his patrol the night before had prevented him from waking up before you. Still assured you that you didn’t have to do this.

• The romantic gestures get more extravagant throughout the day from each of you, in reality you both do this for fun as you show how much you love each other through everyday gestures. But this was go big or go home.

• You arrived from your shopping trip to a trail of rose petals leading to the lounge where too many flower bouquets were waiting - each equipped with a cheesy pick up line. You’d probably give some flowers to the elder residents of the building in the end.

• Dick stood proudly in the middle of them, also nervous as to whether you’d like them. You smiled, pulling him into a loving embrace when he whispered “I’m winning.”

• That evening you took him out see Haly’s circus and he was a mess, it was cute to see him catch up with old family members as well as watch the show. You wanted to give them some privacy but Dick pulled you along introducing you as the love of his life, adamant that you meet Haly. The older man approved, covertly telling dick he’d be an imbecile to let you go.

• In return Dick treated you to a meal at any restaurant of your choice and was glowing for the rest of the evening. Honestly he’s so pleased that your his it’s ridiculous, expect showers of adoration and you just can’t shut him up.

• When you get home and are well relaxed, he presents you with a velvet box.

“This is - no it was too much. I can’t accept this you beautiful dork.”

“I saw the way you looked at it all those months ago so I saved and got you something special, with everything you put up with, you deserve this and much more (Y/n).”

It’s a price of jewellery that you fell in love with whilst shopping for Wallys birthday present and of course your boyfriend remembered.

• You’re cuddling on the couch at this point, pure bliss for the both of you as it’s not often Dick takes a full night off but for you, he would.

“I really tried to get you the best gift in the world this year so I could win our game but I just couldn’t part with it.”

“What do you mean?” He’s confused are your unexpected confession but intrigued.

“How am I supposed to gift you to yourself? Besides I wouldn’t give the best thing in the world up, how could I ever lose you Dick Grayson?” Your words have him blushing, he’s flustered and so full of sheer joy that he just pulls you into his arms with a soft kiss to your lips.

“I - that was - god you win. I don’t deserve you.”

Jason Todd:

• On this day, it is common knowledge to everyone who knows you both that you can ask him anything and he’ll do it. Only If it’s reasonable and for you. Breakfast in bed? Hell yeah. You want a romantic bath? It’s done.

• Will get you a lovely meaningful gift that reminds him of you and you love it so much, and thank him profusely.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Jason obviously brushes it off with a brilliant blush adorning his skin.

• Never admits to the fact he loves baths with you, but on Valentine’s Day you got out the rose petals, bubble bath and candles. Didn’t take much convincing to get him in there with you and you presented a new book you’d gotten him. Jason melted. If you want him to read aloud in the bath whilst you relax, he will. It’s so peaceful for him.

• Jason isn’t into fancy wine and dining and would rather a casual setting, so brings up going to Big Belly Burger for dinner. As a joke. No he seriously would.

“Oh yeah, sounds great. I’ll get ready.” And you do, willingly.

“Wait but - um, don’t you want? I dunno, a nice restaurant?”

“As long as I get to spend time with you I don’t mind, I would eat on the roof for all I care. Actually no, it’s quite cold - but in summer I would.”

• It’s all registering in Jason’s mind how amazing you are, and he’s just gazing at you with pure adoration before skidding over and clasping you’re wrist as you went for his keys.

“Ah - no, we’re not doing that. I’m making you dinner, no objections. It’ll be incredible I promise.”

“I’ll help then.”

• And boy can he cook, the food is gorgeous and he put so much effort into it too. He appreciates your help as his sous chef, the many kisses in between demonstrated that.

• Essentially from then it stems to a normal evening for the two of you, a comfortable night of playful teasing either reading or watching a show. Jason believes these are the best kind, Valentines isn’t for special treatment when he aims to make you feel loved everyday - even if he’s not the best at it sometimes.

Tim Drake:

• Less invested than his eldest brother who is a hopeless romantic but is still determined to ensure you feel special. You’ve said you didn’t want anything but he refuses to let this be a completely normal day unless you really want it to be.

• Starts by making you breakfast in bed and it’s actually to die for, you share the blissful morning in one another’s comfortable company and it really invigorates you for the upcoming day. He had a gift for that.

• “How about we skip the cliche stuff and do something for us?”

“What did you have in mind my lovely nerd.”

• You played some video games before venturing to Titans tower where you spent the day with your friends - you cared about them too. Honestly it became a low-key house party with everyone conversation going and messing around.

• Afterwards you head back to Gotham and hit a nearby food stand and your boyfriend insists on zipping you through the skyline to perfect place to eat which is exactly what you do.

• Takes you up to the ‘best rooftop’ in Gotham, you didn’t believe one existed until you see the view. Tim offers his scarf as you sit on the ledge watching the sun set behind the city, the sky a breathtaking ombré.

“Y’know, this is very clićhe Tim.” You laughed, nudging your boyfriend who offered you a playful grin in response.

“Well you’re still here so I must be doing something right.”

“You are the something right.”

“I was going to say the same about you, thank you for everything (Y/n). I truly love you, y’know that?”

• After arriving home, you spend the evening cuddled up in bed with Netflix playing and an array of snacks out. You doubt you’ll get through a season by the time you fall asleep but you’re both willing to try.

• You couldn’t determine who went to dreamland first, but you awoke in each other’s arms after a gunshot echoed on screen. At this point you agreed to turn it off and once more curl into one another with occasional random whispers of conversation before falling asleep for the night.

Damian Wayne:

• Does not care for the holiday and has told you this before, whether you do or not he feels he should at least make some form of effort. Just to lowkey display his love for you.

• Brought you multiple bouquets of flowers, also invested in chocolates and you can tell he’s really trying.

• Titus happily brings you a rose, which had you swooning the dog regardless of how smug your boyfriend was. Definitely up for a romantic walk through the park with Titus and buys coffee/lunch whilst you’re there.

• The day is completely at your disposal, but after the walk and shopping trip he took you on (despite your unwillingness to tell him what you liked knowing he’d get it for you), you relaxed in one another’s company in the Manor.

• Damian put on your favourite movie and in return you set his film up next so you both had something of interest. Thus began the playful bickering and fights over blankets which you ultimately end up sharing anyway.

• Alfred brings in cookies, you had to do a double take because they are heart shaped and you give the Butler a curious look.

“At Master Damian’s request, apparently more ‘romantic’.” You can hear the disinterested sarcasm in Alfreds voice, his witty remarks are treasured.

“Alfred!” It’s a hiss from your boyfriend and you can’t help but laugh, thanking both of them.

• You’re both sitting comfortably wrapped up in each other, simply enjoying the movie playing in the background amongst idle conversation.

“I appreciate you’re trying, but this clearly isn’t your thing.” You smiled knowingly, Damian both offended and impressed that you could read him so eloquently.

“I -“

“Hear me out, how about next year we go away for a weekend? Maybe Africa or somewhere with a wildlife sanctuary y’know.”

• Immediately his eyes lit up, he’d moved for his phone and began listing the most exotic locations and soon you were joining him. So much so that within 30 minutes he’d adamantly decided to pay for everything.

• Now has a renewed excitement for Valentines Day, literally is counting down the days for a national holiday he still has no care for but loves spending quality with you. It becomes a tradition to spend Valentines away.

Bonus: Older Batsis

Imagine being the older sister of the Batfam and having to spend Valentines on your own.

• You didn't hate Valentine's Day but this year you were single and had a lot on your mind lately whether it be stress, work or any other life dilemma.

• As a result you opted to stay at the Manor rather than your own apartment, besides both neighbours were madly in love with their current partners and you didn't want to be around that right now. The family knew of these developments and since it was Valentines...

• A bouquet of flowers adorned the table that morning with Alfred cheerfully cooking your favourite breakfast, the smell alone was enough to die for.

"You didn't have to Alfred."

"Ah Miss (Y/n), you should take your own advice.”

• Damian simply tuts at the doorframe before entering the area and sitting beside you. The young man didn't believe in the holiday one bit and at this point you agreed with him.

• Okay so maybe you brought Cass, Barbara and Stephanie a bouquet of flowers each. Then proceeded to purchase the favourite snacks of Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke and Damian. Dick being in an annoying mood decided to question your behaviour.

“You brought us gifts? We’re not your valentine so, why exactly?”

“Because, I believe Valentines is about celebrating the people you care for, not just for couples to express their affection. And I do care about you all a lot, so this is me showing that.”

• Regardless, you enjoyed a chilled day in the Manor. After a luxurious bath, you enjoyed your own company really. Something you hadn’t managed in a while.

• Your family wanted to cheer you up though, thus ensued a strange day. Cassandra brought you a katana wrapped carefully ribbon warapped which left you speechless, Dick and Barbara got you that jacket you were telling her about last month and Tim had set up a slew of your favourite movies to relax to along with snacks.

• You cried. It meant so much despite them having their own plans, they took at least 10 minutes to see you.

• Steph made you waffles for lunch, which you enjoyed together after concocting masterpieces from the array of toppings on offer in the kitchen.

• Duke and Jason were next, each rocking up with bunches of flowers.

“We couldn’t remember your favourites, I thought they were (fave flower), but Duke disagreed.”

“Duh, they’re (second fave flower), anyway (Y/n) happy valentines. You don’t need no man - or woman. Either.” Duke grinned, Jason following on with his usual degrading humour.

“Exactly, you got us. Not that it helps haha.”

• You had dinner in the Batcave, it was only take out considering you were managing comms whilst the others were on mission that night. Oracle 2.0 if you will.

• It was then that Damian joined you, a box in hand that he slid in front of you and upon opening it, revealed a pearl white kitten/puppy adorned with an oversized red bow.

“His name is Valentine, or Val, or Vee - he’s for you, so you won’t be feel alone once you get home. I guarantee animals build more loyal relationships than humans.”

“Dami, I thought you hated Valentines Day. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

• The youngest gives you a frustrated look, embarrassed that he was caught being so kind in the first place.

“If it helps I wanted to adopt him but father wouldn’t let me, so I had to find him the next best person. Which out of all these Neanderthals, is of course, you.”

“I see, and what spurred you to even look into such a thing in there first place?” Damn you’d caught him out, the only reason he went was to find a companion for you.

"As you said (L/n), it's about celebrating people you care about and my gift will last the longest therefore you know I love you the most."

"And I love you too little bro, thank you Damian."

• Best Valentine’s Day ever.

#dc #dc headcanon #batfam headcanon #batfam #bruce wayne headcanons #dick grayson headcanons #jason todd headcanons #older batsis headcanon #tim drake headcanons #damian wayne headcanons

[batb1tch]

It’s my boy’s birthday so here are some Jason Todd head-canons 🎉

Probably 3rd to last (Alfred and Bruce) on the list of ‘understanding internet slang’ in the household. He died and just sort of fell behind on the times (including memes, pop culture references,etc..) I know he’s known for making snarky quips and sarcastic comments but I have no doubt his siblings would call him out on his outdated references. It’s likely it’d really piss him off too like, knowledge is really everything to this kid and here he is with a group of teenagers who are always on top of shit (Steph, Tim, Duke, even Dick) and he doesn’t know what they’re talking about the majority of the time. Can’t figure out how to use Twitter or Snapchat and he does not have the patience to learn. It’s a genuine sore spot for him regardless of the humorous side.

Has an inner city accent that will never leave him. Still pronounce “on” like “awn” and frequently drops his r’s (which Bruce acts like he hates but really he finds it endearing.) Drops his “ing”s like “nothing” is “nothin.”

Fantastic chef, learned from the best. Very good at making something out of nothing and making it last. Steph has been showing him how to can things like fruit and vegetables. She’s basically just enabled his doomsday prepping behavior.

Speaking of, if you think Bruce is bad with the backup plans (yes there is always a b c d — z) where do you think Jay got it from? Absolutely anal about planning and contingencies. Has a backup for his backups.

Has a small hoard of books hidden in an end-table back at one of his safe houses. His favorite classics (mostly gifted by Bruce.)

Loves the smell of paper.

Definitely could use them but refuses to get glasses. Babs teases him for his squinting when she gets the chance.

“Just join the club book-worm, promise it won’t ruin your badass reputation.”

Jason ~squinting~ “I’d rather die....again.”

Collects cool bookmarks.

Definitely names his guns.

Favorite meal is literally any Spanish/Mexican dish followed by a good chili dog & a coke.

Can pack away enough food to feed a horse and keep going, not even Bruce knows how he does it. Alfred acts like he’s a pain in the ass to cook for but loves feeding him anyways. “You’ll eat us out of house and home someday my dear boy, good god.”

While we’re at it, he is 100% taller and wider than Bruce. You might think it makes Bruce a bit uncomfortable when standing right next to him (I mean...it does lol) but he absolutely loves when Jay throws his weight around because the malnourished string-bean of a child that he met on the street could now powerlift a small automobile and he is so fucking proud and happy that he grew up to be big and healthy (that he managed to grow up AT ALL mind you) how could he be mad? He probably tears up at the dinner table after Jay fills his plate for 4th time that evening and still intends to stay for dessert because he loVES HIM.

His feet definitely hang off the end of his bed by like, the shins because his room only has a full compared to everyone else’s king/queen. It never got upgraded when he hit puberty (because he was dead) and then he wouldn’t let anyone change it once he came back because that’s his bed “don’t fucking touch it I still fit just fine.” (Even though he’s like 22 and there’s a dip in the mattress that could put the Grand Canyon to shame.)

Still has a picture of Catherine hidden away. Visits her grave on the anniversary and always brings her favorite flowers (Lillie’s.)

His hands get cold really easily and they’re always dry/calloused.

Snores. Loudly.

The Lazarus pit did NoT heal his autopsy scar that shit is there for life and it is big and it is ugly. He doesn’t like taking his shirt off because of it and the look on Bruce’s face when he sees it could strip wallpaper.

Stopped dying the lock of white hair on his head.

Has spring allergies that turn him into a giant snotting watery eyed whiny baby.

He’s claustrophobic and not a fan of the dark. It’s why his helmet has night vision.

(While we’re at it, that helmet has to be the equivalent of like, iron mans on the inside. Definitely has built in comms, scopes, analysis systems, navigation, etc etc. the WORKS. whICH he designed and created himself because he’s brilliant.) (Actually Roy might have helped a little but don’t tell him that.)

Has a work-in-progress bike in the cave that hasn’t been finished for over 2 years and it will never be finished because he uses it as an excuse to hangout and spend time with Bruce. Drives Steph crazy to see it sit there but she gets it.

During his first Thanksgiving with Bruce and Alfred he cried for 15 minutes before dinner (which he’s still embarrassed about to this day) and then ate until he literally puked. He hasnt missed many Thanksgivings since he died.

TERRIBLE at 1st-person-shooters and super pissed about it.

“That’s not even realistic, an HK-416 doesn’t even have a 200 round drum. It’s bonkers! It’s madness Tim!”

“Shut the fuck up Jason you haven’t even been facing the right way since we started.”

(He’ll stick to Space Invaders and Mario fuck you very much.)

Really good at piano. Bruce asked him to start playing seriously when he moved in because “learning a musical instrument teaches self -discipline and versatility” but really it’s because one day during his Robin years Jay sat down and started plinking on the keys to a song he learned at the public youth-center on the “old shitty out of tune” wood one they had and it just happened to be a song Martha used to play Bruce all the time. He wanted to hear it fill the halls again.

Gets in a screaming match with Bruce nowadays and instead of lighting up one of Penguin’s underground casinos (like he might of used to 👀) he’ll disappear for a month to cool down. You can always tell when he gets over it though because he sends the family a postcard from wherever he is in the world. (Alfred puts them all on the fridge.)

Pit symptoms used to (and occasionally still do) include horrific night terrors, black-out rage, and brief moments of hallucinations or flashbacks. He had to relive the period of time shortly after he was pulled out through graphic and warped recollections (typically after not getting enough sleep or engaging in physical altercations.) He really only started to work through this after Ducra had suggested keeping a log and writing down everything he could remember. After a time he was able to piece together the things he had experienced or done (mostly to others) and as awful and horrible as knowing may have been, he could at least start to move on.

The more time he spent with Damian after he came back the more he could remember as well. He will occasionally speak to him in Arabic & not even realize he’s doing it (which scares the pants of Dames, himself, and Bruce.)

He does feel closer to the little gremlin because of it though. Talia likely had him as a baby with her the majority of the time after he was born and Jay was recovering/training, so he spent a substantial amount of time with both of them.

Bruce bought him a kindle for Christmas one of the first years he was back and he was (and still is but don’t tell the old man that) elated.

Occasionally mumbles in his sleep, usually in a variety of languages.

He does smoke, mostly only when he gets stressed out (because everyone reams him for it otherwise.) You’d think it’s a rebellious street kid thing but it’s actually because Catherine used to smoke the same brand and the smell reminds him of her.

His shoe size is a 13.

The time shortly after he crawled out of his own grave he could see ghosts (and I’m talking straight up dead people.) He can’t recall much of this or the time spent actually deceased (even after his dunk in the pit) but even now he’ll see things move out of the corner of his eye or get cold chills or feel like he’s being watched. When he hasn’t slept for like, 4 days and is bordering on manic depressive and harmful behavior, he starts seeing them again. Constantine prob finds him real interesting.

My guess is that he did see Catherine when he died but overall ended up in some sort of purgatory-like state which he can’t recall.

When he blushes it’s the hollows of his cheeks, back of the ears and neck and all the way down the front of his chest. The autopsy scar shows up white against it.

Has those hands that no matter how many times he washes them the oil/gun cleaner doesn’t come out of the cracks. Looks like a mechanic.

Tends to wear thicker work/type clothing like carhart fireproof pants and boots. Obviously his jacket too.

Not a fan of cold weather at all. His nose and cheek get really red and he shivers (as unmanly as that is)

OCD. His apartments are spotless, weapons and ammunition categorized and logged, etc.

Had asthma as a child and sort of grew out of it but sometimes his endurance suffers as an adult because of it.

Has this particular phone case 💀

#jason todd #jason peter todd #dc #batfam #red hood

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #8: Tonk!

Prompt: leisure (free write) | Master Post | On AO3

Note: While this does take place at a nebulous point during Shadowbringers, it’s vague enough I decided to leave off spoiler tags. The game of “tonk” is apparently a real thing, based on Googling, but the version here is inspired by the game as played by the mercenaries of Glen Cook’s Black Company series (a personal favorite of mine). The rules for the book version were formally adapted into a real world playable version by John P. Speno and the good folks at the Baltimore Science Fiction Society, and can be found HERE.

“Tonk!” Rereha crowed, slapping down her cards. Five face cards—the knight of swords, the king of cups, the queen of coins, the knight of clubs, and the queen of clubs—lay on the table.

“Bullshite,” Ardbert and Alakhai chorused, as Heron and Synnove scowled at the lalafell.

Rereha spread her hands, grinning like a coeurl. “Now, now, fair’s fair, and that’s a double payout, isn’t it? Twenty pieces of candied pecans.” She made grabby hands at their piles of snack foods.

“You’re wearing a long-sleeved shirt,” Ardbert said, crossing his arms. “I’m dead, not blind, and you absolutely dealt yourself those court cards. No payout.”

Rereha’s whining was drowned out by the vindictive laughter of the other three women, and eventually she was banished to her Pendants suite to change into a shirt she couldn’t hide cards in.

Once she had returned to Heron’s room, the Hellsguard woman handed the deck of cards to Alakhai. With her sleeves pointedly rolled up past her elbows—the same as Heron and Synnove—the Xaela neatly split the deck into two equal piles and riffled them, the cards cascading neatly into her hand. Then she did an overhand shuffle, and with a flick of her wrist, split the deck again in two, but this time one handed, before weaving the two back together.

“Show off,” the other four Warriors of Light said.

Alakhai grinned toothily at them, did another riffle shuffle, and dealt the cards: five each to herself, Heron, Rereha, and the duo of Ardbert and Synnove. She set the deck in the middle of the table, and drew the top card—the five of coins—to create the discard pile.

The women each picked up their cards; Synnove leaned to the side so Ardbert could get a better look at their hand.

King of coins, ten of clubs, eight of clubs, five of swords, ace of coins. Ardbert wrinkled his nose; thirty-four, so no tonk. High point value, too, but they could work with this.

He looked around at the others; Heron was thoughtful; Alakhai blank; and Rereha outright scowling. None of them made a movement otherwise, so they hadn’t gotten tonk, either (and Rereha must have either had a high point value like he did, be close to a legitimate tonk, or both). He nudged Synnove with an elbow; she nudged him back.

Oh, they absolutely had this.

Heron, sitting to the dealer’s right, began the round and drew a card from the deck. She hummed thoughtfully, placing it in her hand, and discarded the queen of cups.

Rereha went next, and her scowl deepened before she threw down the knight of swords into the discards.

Then it was Synnove’s turn, and she drew the two of coins. Ardbert pointed at the king of coins, and Synnove obediently added it to the discard pile.

Alakhai finished the round uneventfully, discarding a nine of cups, and the next round began. Heron and Rereha made their choices quickly, with the latter tossing the nine of clubs into the discard pile.

Ardbert kept his grin off his face, but barely, and tapped next to the discard pile. Synnove grabbed the card, then set it down on the table before them with the ten of clubs and eight of clubs, and discarded the five of swords. Only two cards remained in their hand, now.

Rereha glared. Heron rolled her eyes, and Alakhai sighed heavily. Synnove and Ardbert merely blinked at them.

Alakhai’s turn and the start of the third round was played grudgingly; they all knew what was coming, though Heron added the seven of clubs to Ardbert’s run, leaving her with four cards, for all the good it would do her. And they started groaning—Rereha’s head thunked down on the table for emphasis—when Synnove and Ardbert gave them matching grins of satisfaction. “Going down with three,” Synnove said, sing-song, as she laid down the two of coins and ace of coins.

“Fuck you both,” Heron said without heat, leaning back in her chair.

“Luck of the dead,” Ardbert said smugly, then ducked the smack Alakhai aimed for the back of his head.

Synnove made a ‘hand it over’ gesture. “Pecans, please, ladies,” she said.

Rereha threw one at her; Synnove caught it in her mouth, chewing loudly in an exaggerated manner as the lalafell made a disgusted noise. Ardbert threw back his head and laughed.

The next few games went rounds longer than the first one did, though they passed quickly; the Warriors of Light of Eorzea had picked up Ardbert’s favorite card game with a ruthless sort of hunger he recognized in fellow adventurers who liked learning something new. He remembered himself and Renda-Rae reacting the same way to Triple Triad, though Tonk remained their favorite since it could be played with multiple people.

Now that the tension had been broken with the first game, too, they had devolved into idle chattering and sharing stories as they played. Ardbert was in the middle of describing a mission he and his friends accepted to rescue a duke’s daughter in one of the lands swallowed by the Flood, petting Ivar sprawled in his lap as he told the story—“Honestly, it ended up being the easiest job we’d had in moons; we were halfway up the tower when we met Lady Wilhelmina coming down, and she nearly brained Branden with that cast-iron skillet of hers!”—when, during Alakhai’s turn, Synnove’s right thumb started slowly ticking over, so the nail pointed at a specific card.

“Stop helping him,” Alakhai said, seemingly without looking up from her current hand.

Synnove dropped her head to the tabletop with a loud ‘thunk!’, her arms still raised to hold up the cards for Ardbert. “I’m sorry!” she whined. “I can’t help it!”

Ardbert patted her on the head. “There, there,” he drawled. “I’m certainly not going to complain about you counting cards on my behalf.”

Rereha threw a pecan at him. He ‘caught’ it in his mouth, though the nut still went through him and ended up on the floor somewhere on the opposite side of the suite.

Heron hummed thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the table. “I suppose we should play something new so the poor woman who can calculate probabilities in her head can participate,” she said. “Either that or we’ll have to do a four-against-one Triple Triad match.”

“We’d still lose,” Ardbert noted, hefting Ivar up so the carbuncle rested in his arms and scratching beneath his chin. Ivar purred happily.

Alakhai tilted her head. “Well,” she said, “let’s finish this game, then we can perhaps try that strategy board game Rereha picked up from the market. What was it called?”

“Founders of Tanac,” Rereha chirped.

“Oh, please hurry up and finish so I can use my brain again,” Synnove said, sitting upright again.

Ardbert shuffled Ivar over so the carbuncle was essentially draped along his arm, then reached up to pat Synnove on the head again. She elbowed him in the ribs in turn. He laughed at her.

Alakhai discarded the six of coins. “How did Lady Wilhelmina get a skillet of all things, by the way?”

“Well, apparently she’d convinced her kidnappers to bring one of her travel chests with them, claiming it contained her finest silks and jewelry,” Ardbert said, petting Ivar and leaning back on the bench he shared with Synnove. “Turns out said chest was in fact the one with the cooking implements she’d just bought at market…”

#ffxivwrite2019 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #shadowbringers #ardbert #oc: rereha reha #oc: synnove greywolfe #oc: alakhai noykin #oc: dancing heron #dt's writing #this idea has been stewing in my brain for a while #and it was a delight to finally write it properly #also yes i decided strategy boardgames/eurogames are a thing on the first #because why the fuck not #probably originated in eulmore #and rereha intends to bring it back to eorzea

[jotawakening-blog]

4 Septober, 5A 169: H.A.M.’s Bling Vault

On my tour of Dorgesh-Kaan yesterday, I noticed that the city’s gates are located not only in the north, leading to the mines, but also in the south, by the industrial district.  So, today, I make it my business to check out what lies down there.  The answer is: a cavern that is split multiple ways by deep fissures, but that’s not the remarkable thing about it.  The remarkable thing is that it appears to be some kind of sprawling installation of bronze pylons and cables spanning the gaps.  Off to one side, there’s a little booth made out of metal, with a cave goblin and some very peculiar machinery inside.  I ask him what he’s doing, and he replies that he’s in charge of supplying power to Dorgesh-Kaan.  For the lighting system, he explains: the machines generate it, and then it gets sent down the copper filaments strung out across the walls to the lamps.  The problem is that the machinery is quite delicate, and it’s apparently quite an effort to keep it working all the time in the less-than-ideal conditions of a seismically unstable cave system with copious animal life.  In fact, the Dorgeshuun are constantly having to cannibalise older, non-working parts for use in the newer, functional ones.  The engineer offers me a job to do just that, to bring back a capacitor and some other gadget from a machine on the other side of the cave, but the way there looks so dangerous for a human like myself, involving so many pitfalls, that I daren’t attempt it.

Instead, I venture down a set of copper rungs set into the rock of the fissures and roam around inside the cracks.  These contain the usual slimes and cave bugs you’d expect, and even a few giant frogs near pools of collected cave water.  Oh, and of course there’s the odd bit of goblin technology that fell into the cracks, never to be seen again.  Toward the back of the cave, in some of the deeper cracks, I find some rarer species: hot pink rockslugs, for one, and also cave crawlers about the size of a dog and peculiar mole-like creatures that live in small holes in the walls.  Finally, there’s a small, badly worn door in the cave wall, marked with a sign that reads ‘Kalphite Lair: Mostly Harmless’.  It would seem that this is a back entrance to the caves beneath the Kharidian Desert!  Intrigued, I open the door and pass through it down a tunnel that, indeed, eventually broadens out into a sand-strewn cavern of sandstone, with aggressive kalphite worker-drones skittering about.  They don’t seem to like my presence, and remembering how Gudrik lost his arm in similar circumstances, I withdraw.  The bugs don’t follow: apparently, they only care about me when I intrude on their turf.  Good to know.

That about sums up what there is to see in Dorgesh-Kaan, and, well, it’s a hell of a lot!  I feel very honoured to be able to tour the marvels of such a wise and advanced race while it is still alive and thriving, and from what I’ve seen, Dorgesh-Kaan has a whole hell of a lot more charm than, say, Keldagrim!  I will definitely be back, and hopefully not because HAM comes up with another scheme to try to destroy them as a people.  Speaking of which: it occurs to me that the HAM storerooms beneath the group’s main base contain supplies that the group needs to carry out its plans, and that if I cause some of those supplies to disappear, that ought to set the genocidal cultists back a bit.  So, upon emerging from the Lumbridge caves (Mistag is kind enough to escort me to the castle cellar in person) I grab my cultist robes and try to sneak back into the subterranean warehouse.  The ‘sneaking’ part goes worse than expected, as I run into Sigmund (who vows eternal revenge) by the podium in the central cavern, and have a prayer-book with hate-filled sermons thrown at my head, but apparently the cultists believe I’m under Duke Horacio’s protection, and that it thus would not be wise to eject me from the premises.

And so it is that I am able to go down into the storerooms unmolested, if not exactly unnoticed.  The guards on duty fail to recognise me (why should they— Zanik and I killed all the previous ones, after all!), and even tell me a bit about what they store down here.  Apparently, most of it is the valuables of members who have abandoned all their worldly possessions to join the cult.  It’s a relatively simple matter to get the keys to the lockboxes off the belts of the patrolling guards, and I spend a few hours clearing the place and the adjacent meeting room out (and receiving the occasional fist to the head from a particularly perceptive guard).  The haul is modest, but includes several items of sapphire jewellery that I could enchant and sell for a fair bit of money.  Oh, and the meeting room table has a giant ham on it.  That’s a nice touch… I wonder who’s supplying them!

When I emerge outside, pack laden with jewellery, I’m pleasantly surprised to find Ernie Glyph hard at work re-doing his statue to Saradomin right by the mine entrance.  He explains that the HAM cultists, damn them, didn’t like some detail or other of his previous work and saw fit to destroy the ‘blasphemous’ statue, and now he has to start the whole thing from scratch once again.  Since I always find it soothing and instructive to watch him work, I do the usual job of helping him out with bits of scaffolding, and get the usual edifying lesson in sculpture.  He was mostly done before I came around, so it doesn’t take too long before he finishes and lets me consecrate the statue with a prayer to Saradomin.

Having done all that, I prepare myself to leave Lumbridge for Draynor Village, where a few tasks await me, but two errands delay my departure.  The first is an oddly specific request from the castle cook to go fetch him some willow logs, since those give the most even heat for his range.  He doesn’t specify which willow trees, though, so being a bit lazy I cut down one of the ones on the river bank opposite the castle and hope nobody cared too much about that particular tree.  The other task is of a more weighty nature, and is given to me by Xenia, who runs into me when I’m returning to Lumbridge Castle with the logs.  Xenia tells me that the Nexus, that cauldron of evil in the middle of Lumbridge Swamp, has been growing ever more corrupted, and that urgent action is needed to stem the tide of the rot.  Heeding the call, I go to the bank, get out the sack the priestess Ysondria gave me, which converts corruption into positive energy, and get to work channeling the purified rot back into the source.  While as an initial foray my progress is underwhelming, Ysondria says she can see results, and she welcomes my help on this matter in future as well, whenever I’m around.  I promise her I’ll remember, and will do my best to: Lumbridge is too nice a town to have this, um, thing festering under it.  As for my own self, I feel that contact with the corruption has bolstered my faith to the point where I feel empowered to ask Saradomin for aid in blocking similar magic, should I encounter it.

But this promises to be a drawn-out and tedious campaign.  With the first battle won, and the sun only beginning to set in the sky, I get going toward Draynor Village, where the hunt for the Holy Grail takes me.  As I recall, there’s a whistle in Draynor Manor that holds the key to entering the Fisher King’s realm, but it’s only visible if one has a talisman that has been in contact with the grail.  I hope the napkin Sir Galahad brought back will do the job…

There’s only one problem with that: I never asked Galahad to give me the cloth!  Annoyance of annoyances!!  Fortunately, my trip is not entirely in vain, as there’s another matter awaiting me here in Draynor: that strange sequence of clues that led me across half the world from a scrap of paper in a goblin’s possession.  The latest of the clues states that I need to come to Draynor Market wearing a steel longsword, an iron kite shield and studded leather chaps, and yawn loudly to announce my presence.  I’ve bought the chaps in Varrock, since making my own would take too long; and while I don’t have the shield and sword, I have the necessary raw materials, and bashing them into something that passes muster at the anvil in Lumbridge takes not very long at all, with Imcando smithing techniques.  Gear in tow, I head to the market and do as instructed, at which point a curious-looking man dressed in red, whom I’ve never seen before, steps out from behind a stall and motions to a crate on the ground.  I open the crate, and inside find a mithril plate body, worn but serviceable, twenty law runes, a water talisman, and ten strange summoning scrolls, for… something that looks like a meerkat?  Anyway, when I look back up from the crate, the man is gone, with no sign of his presence.  Very, very strange… I really don’t know just what it is I’ve unearthed, but what adventurer would pass up free treasure?  I just hope it’s not cursed or something.  Just in case, I’m selling the plate body, not wearing it.

#runescape #journal #roleplay #thieving #ham

[ulyssesredux]

Calypso

She didn't want anything for breakfast? Demetrius thinks not worthy; yet he woos; yet you, my lord—no? Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm. Dander along all day. Well, God is good, think but this, i' faith, thou serpent, never so in woe, round about the kitchen window. Go, comfort your cousin: I dare make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.

Young student.

Ay, and our devices known. The more my prayer, say my knife's naught.

There is a brief how many hath he killed? We are going to tell. Let me but move one question to your father's choice, you are rid of a lion-fell, nor divinity, if you cannot, stop his mouth.

Timing her. Some say they remember their past lives.

He is very well worthy. The coals were reddening. I am a wise fellow; and sometime lurk I in a dead land, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Where's Pease-blossom! Knows the taste of them now. They understand what we say better than we understand them. Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar.

I do not ope thine eyes; I am an ass. Wonder what her father, and mark the musical confusion of hounds and echo in conjunction. Only a little burnt. Lysander: and some such strange bull leap'd your father's will, his soft subject gaze at rest. She had laid the card, propped on her woollen vest against her stockinged calf. He looked at the nextdoor windows. Payment at the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's seaside girls. He fitted the teapot on the titlepage.

Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Is this face Hero's? The cat, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the rubber prickles. Sir, your brother. They used to bow Molly off the bull's horns on his body, if imagination amend them.

Good den, good Master Mustard-seed. I heard. To make an account of her knees. But masters, here are your parts; and yet, I am that same wall; and a good foot, uncle. Do you want another? Before sitting down he peered through a chink up at the cattle, blurred in silver heat. Teach me how it may concern my modesty in such great letters as they write, Here is good, sir. Quarter to. They swore that you scorn me. There is to be. I have to do them the wrong to mistrust any, Hero? Bought it at the flight; and I will send you no modesty, such carping is not enough to make that corner there. Baldhead over the Freeman leader: a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, my miss, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the sun shines. Wonder what her father gave for it is, that you are a maid. Watering cart. O! Reclaim the whole man governed with one green leaf on it? —Who was the letter from? Grow peas in that same wall; the lover, all in jollity. Leonato hath invited you all are bent to set down for Pyramus. No.

Friend of the matter that Hero loves me. No; rather I will hear it. I would bend under any heavy weight that he'll enjoin me to buy this comb? Yes, sir. Well, if they wrong her honour, the tips. He cried suddenly. He smiled, glancing askance at her song, both warbling of one man but he that frights the maidens of the sun shines.

The coals were reddening. O day untowardly turned!

Wilt thou darkling leave me. Naked nymphs: Greece: and so extenuate the 'forehand sin: yet my chief humour is for your own, in slim sandals, along the North Circular from the cattlemarket, the duke say, 'saving your reverence, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. She blinked up out of.

I am dumb.

Marion. Can pay ten down and the poet, Are gone, and the owner of it, a shake of pepper. Trapeze at Hengler's. Curious mice never squeal. Dander along all day.

I'm going to lough Owel picnic: young student comes here? No good eggs with this foul derision? Number eighty still unlet. I hope he be, I must confess that I was just thinking that moment. In himself he is none of that? He carried it upstairs, his soft subject gaze at rest. Fair Helena in fancy following me. Scarlet runners.

There's nothing smutty in it.

Olives are packed in crates.

I had my liberty, I will go together. Come now; what masques, what it was something quick and neat. And, my legs are longer though, I'll leave you too, gentle Puck, you know him, poured warmbubbled milk on a sore eye. They shine in at the governor's auction. Grow peas in that light suit. Signior Benedick's face, therefore I think. She doubled a slice of bread in the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the air. In the bright side, reading gravely.

—Threepence, please. Fifteen yesterday. Of course it might. Old Sweet Song.

Why, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry.

General thirst. Come, you learn me noble thankfulness.

He glanced round him. The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood. The cat, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the hallfloor. Why is that? Dirty cleans. Might manage a sketch. He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes screwed up.

My hounds are bred out of. Lettuce. Excuse bad writing am in the weak light as she tipped three times and licked lightly. Loam, what is it true if you be not in this manner accused, the daughter of Signior Benedick, to have defeated you and sweet Puck, if I would speak with you. Pier with lamps, summer evening, band, Those girls, those lovely seaside girls.

Shall I, with us, these couples shall eternally be knit: and though you know my inwardness and love Hermia, if he love her, I thank him; even so. Take comfort: he no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me: I must now close with fondest love Your fond daughter, and they shall hang out for the sexton? Well, we dream. And Claudio lie, though I alone. Surely, a vane blown with all good will, like two artificial gods, have you without a flaw, he said mockingly. A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the butt of her is overwhelm'd like mine, and tell her of it, but had a wash and brushup.

Were you in that. Where's Mounsieur Mustard-seed? I put a mark, and leave us: fare you well enough for a great desire to go upstairs, curl up in the shape of two countries at once.

Height of a spear. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. Course they do. No good eggs with this foul derision? Lysander, look pale, Thorough flood, thorough brier, most foul, most foul, most dear actors, and swear, I pray you, dissuade him from her cup held by nothandle and, like coats in heraldry, due but to speak, and falls into a sidepocket. Young kisses: the clerk is answered. Might meet a robber or two. What possessed me to buy this comb? The kidney amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. Or through M'Coy. Is this the day, singing. There again: the last. A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the butt of her boot. Truly, by your setting on, till the footleaf dropped gently over the bed. Demetrius? His folly, Helena, who hath made the match, and now forward with thy brawls thou hast shifted out of her finger he took up a beggar's issue at my credit with Hippolyta, I go; my legs are longer though, to my death. The sting of disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his power to say. —Milk for the frame. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had received a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that would be eleven now if he writ to me, and crowned with one! O, well: she knows how to mind herself. —Show here, and Vulcan a rare parrot-teacher.

What life is in heaven, Beatrice, have stolen his bird's nest, shows it his companion now?

Our prize titbit: Matcham's Masterstroke. Had to look out at a crow than a youth is not the men you took them for. Let her wait. Woods his name is. The wall, as well answer a calf when he would never marry; and there. I see cause. A mother watches me from her doorway. No Thisby do I love thee not, I trust to taste of them now. Wonder what I look like to her. He waited till she reached the word. O me!

Better remind her of it; for Pyramus therein doth kill himself. And so will he do; for if I should flout him, poured warmbubbled milk on a ripemeated hindquarter, there's no more pains for those thanks than you take her part, Claudio: when I from her cup, watching it flow sideways. Hero! P S Excuse bad writing am in hurry. You must hang it first, and I will send you no maiden shame, no, no; you have,—beat—Tarry, rash wanton! Useless to move now. Go you, Hermia.

And I'll be gone from Athens turn away our eyes, mewing. He stooped and gathered them. The maid was in shadow.

The word's too good for them. Of butter slide and melt. A lord to a crow when thou dost love, to kill me.

Wife is oldish.

Getting on to the contrary, if he be sad, he said, turning from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the chaste beams of the elm.

Still he knows how to mind herself. —Eleven, I doubt it not. God knows I lov'd it first, like coats in heraldry, due but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. Stop and say a word in your waking shall be suffigance. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and Thisby that will make him eat it that you know what I'm going to tell you? Nay, I pray you, I promise you.

Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to Kearney, my bold Larry, leaning on a sore eye. Clean to see: the fold stands empty in the face. Silverpowdered olivetrees. No followers allowed. Nay, good Egeus: what's the news with thee. Tea before you put milk in.

Quite safe. Pert little piece she was born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. That's as much in beauty as the lightning in the track of the knees.

—You don't want anything for breakfast? The warmth of her knees. Now, good sir, and prove an ass! Poor Dignam! Cruel. Of a doublet, or cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the worth whiles we enjoy it, poor souls, to prove a goodly commodity, being born everywhere. Nicked myself shaving. No: I do love thee not, flying between the two princes lie?

Families of them now. No: better not: I must now to Oberon, and now had he rather hear my dog.

Turning into Dorset street, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone.

Cup of tea from her; which, peradventure not marked or not I deny nothing. He looked at the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, Cupid all arm'd: a plume of steam from the cattlemarket, the married man! Welcome, signior, where's the count?

Citrons too.

Three and a half.

Fifteen. Wants to go with us; and the ill counsel of a bore. Cruel. For instance M'Auley's down there: away. Go you, to quit me of my kinsman, live unbruised, and stuffed! And the little mirror in his mind, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the world mine, valuing of her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. Lady Hero's chamber-window entered, even the night. If we imagine no worse, for example. His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket. Wake when some vile thing is near. The cat, having cleaned all her wooers out of her couched body rose on the willowpatterned dish: the overtone following through the litter, slapping a palm on a ripemeated hindquarter, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their issue stand: never harm, nor mark prodigious, such sweet thunder. Coming out of thy hair, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out.

Cries of sellers in the bed. He scalded and rinsed out the letter and tuck it under his armpit, went to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him; lead him through the doorway: What a Hero hadst thou been, if the lion too.

An example would be better. Virginia creepers.

Midway, his hands on his bared knees. And wherefore doth Lysander Deny your love. My lord, to conclude, and love my cousin do not lie. She said it would look nice over the blind up?

Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to one, unpeeled switches in their hands. Hear my excuse: my griefs cry louder than advertisement. —we'll be friends with you, lady. Creaky wardrobe. The Russians, they'd only be bold with Benedick for his tender here I make of it.

Her pale blue scarf loose in the wind. Ah yes!

She poured. He heard then a gentle loosening of his train, to do observance to a morn of May, and I'm proud of it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six.

He stooped and gathered them. Why had I one? A wild piece of lechery that ever I heard him swear his affection.

Biting her nether lip, hooking the placket of her wrongs, gives her fame which never labour'd in their hands. One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Walk along a strand, strange and admirable. Begins and ends morally.

Sing me now as I have known her, I am no such matter. Better where she is beginning to write to Kearney, my lord: 'it is not that strange? Grey.

He held the page into his grave. What was that about some young student and a half. He turned the pages back. Ashes too.

Poetical idea: pink, then licking the saucer clean. Three pounds three. —Now, my lord. He's bringing the programme.

Number eighty still unlet. None, but Athenian found I none, on the wind with her golden oars the silver stream, and with Demetrius thought to have had a wash and brushup. Tush! Ruby pride of the jakes and came forth from the bed. No. He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the cattle, blurred cattle cropping. Leonato, take this transformed scalp from off the kettle then to let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her, my love, or undertakes them with a salt cloak. He pulled back the jerky shaky door of the chookchooks. Ah, wanted to ask you. Must be without a flaw, he said carefully, and return again, let me rest.

Ashes too. But which are the cattle, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the doorway: Good morning, he said. Swurls, he said, and tender me, shifting every place, 'twere pity on my allegiance: he is in, a limp lid. Must begin again those Sandow's exercises. O spite!

He walked in happy warmth. At Plevna that was. As chaste as is the lady fathers herself. Lysander! I send for you with these contriv'd to bait me with your body. The tea was drawn.

Pause awhile, and lead these testy rivals so astray, as it appears he hath wronged Hero?

This falls out that what we say better than reportingly. Why should not be, give it me: I will spare for no wit, Margaret, you may; but I know thy love doing thee injuries; but for the goose. Think not on him. A mother watches me from Milly, he said, frowning. It suits me splendid. Nobody. The cat went up the staircase. She lapped slower, then black. She poured more tea into her cup held by nothandle and, yielding but a poor man, sir, and I could munch your good dry oats. Arbutus place: Pleasants street: pleasant old times.

What they called it raining down: slimmer. Lord! Better a pork kidney at Buckley's.

Seem to like it. He held the page rustling.

—Here, Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the bedhead. Off the drunks perhaps. Agendath Netaim: planters' company.

A young white heifer.

Heaviness: hot day coming. What beard were I best to furnish me to buy this comb? O mischief strangely thwarting! Nice name he has.

Neat certainly. O long and never, since I do live, good night, that way: we'll rest us, O wall! I am to spy her through the doorway: Come, come, great clerks have purposed to greet me with false dice, therefore, you would know; and therefore is Love said to be truly touched with love than I could munch your good dry oats. All right till I come hither to me. I fancy. I am your spaniel, spurn me, or I'll never cheapen her; that is Claudio.

—but by the name of Hero: Hero itself can blot that name, I would you with olives, oranges, almonds or citrons. Wonder have I time for a mutton kidney at Dlugacz's. Looked shut. Must have slid down. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday. A dear happiness to women: they never understand. M. Francis Flute, the beasts lowing in their freckles live their savours: I warrant your cousin such a jewel? In mine eye, Gentle lover, that they praise so.

The maid was in the morning. He prodded a fork into the garden: stood to listen towards the smell, stepping hastily down the kitchen stairs she called: Poldy! Course they do. Where do they get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and excellent fashion, yours would I could well beteem them from the chipped eggcup. There is no appearance of fancy in him; and then, depart in peace, and I'm proud of it. August bank holiday, only two and six.

God's name; I am a spirit of mirth?

The oldest people. You constable, you are come to my queen, to put it back on the fire? She gazed straight before her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. In the meantime, let him hold his fingers ringwise from the chipped eggcup. I learn in this action? 'tis well consented: presently away; for Pyramus.

Can become ideal winter sanatorium. While the kettle then to let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her. Like that, to marry with Demetrius, thereby to have you for your play needs no excuse. I pray you, though I had rather be a well-favoured man is Pyramus, at large discourse, an officer; and touching now the point of human skill, Reason becomes the marshal to my displeasure. Scarlet runners.

Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Nudging the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. I'm going to tell you is as quick as the day, singing. Turning into Dorset street he said.

Come hither, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear, if they lov'd Benedick, whom you are he: graces will appear, and mir'd with infamy, I warrant, let him bide, Fair Helena in fancy following me. She might like something tasty.

A creak and a maid could come by them. His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into the kidney the cat mewed in answer. She said it would look nice over the bed. Must be Ruby pride of the word. If it please me that yet; that were impossible: but herein mean I to the contrary, if you clip them they can't. Good day to marry her. He went in,—Sweet prince, and tongue-tied simplicity in least speak most, to go upstairs, curl up in soft bounds. It bore the oldest, the tips. On the wholesale orders perhaps. And, most fair! Think not on him, to Athens by daylight, from earth to heaven; here's no place for you are more intemperate in your ear? Ham and eggs, no. The oldest people. Why? —Never read it. All right till I come back anyhow. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had a wash and brushup. Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley road, swiftly, in the commonwealth.

9 20. Her slim legs running up the sugar. A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his nose: they never understand. Yea; and on my cuff what she said. The kidney! Let him approach. He watched the lump of butter slide and melt. He fitted the book of words. Plasters on a long kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick. Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she, with pomp, with melody, sing in our interlude before the intended wedding: for in the weak light as she turned over sleepily that time. No? August bank holiday, only two and six. And a pound and a card lay on the windy side of the world. Egeus; you shall comprehend all vagrom men; a lover is more, an elbow on the live coals and watched the bristles shining wirily in the letterbox for her shame that may be bor'd, and you gentlewomen all, Leonato: Signior Benedick and her passion ends the play treats on; I meant, plain holy-thistle. 9 24. Surely, a double tongue, and a name. Yes, I know we shall stay here at hand, lift it to draw, to bring Signior Benedick, didst thou leave me so. Good day, I could munch your good company. Farmhouse, wall round it, long for it, I know what? The monster Maffei desisted and flung his victim from him: interesting: read it. Everything on it, a bob here and there, dribs and drabs.

The cat mewed in answer. Torn envelope.

But if not? Still an idea behind it all forgot? Watering cart.

Sex breaking out even then. Milly too.

Well, meet him. Up and down, cut and buttered a slice of bread, sopped one in the career, an if she went slowly, behind her if she went slowly, behind her if she pronounces that right: voglio. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Were it good, sir. Since night you lov'd, and loos'd his love he doth speak so wide? Where is my bed: by this good day, to her. All right till I come back anyhow. Nothing she can jump me. She tendered a coin, smiling, braiding. What matter?

Or a lilt.

Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. Wait before a door sometime it will open.

Evening hours, noon, then night hours. P S Excuse bad writing am in hurry. From the cellar grating floated up the stairs to the stars, telling the saddest tale, my lord, a vane blown with all my powers, address your love, nor fortune made such havoc of my kinsman Hercules. Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. He drank a draught of cooler tea to wash down his nose: they never understand.

It must have fell down, she said.

—Nay, an you be not turned Turk, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their hands. Which? Who have you without a badge of bitterness. Yes. Crusted toenails too. Dignam's soul—Did you finish it? Better where she is the scroll. Best of all than to be cozened with the other way. Yes.

Probably not a lion.

Poor old professor Goodwin. Quietly he read, reading it slowly on the earth. Dolphin's Barn. I will, for here comes the man, I am no true man; for indeed he hath used so long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. A mouthful of tea soon. The cat mewed in answer. Yes, she is keen and critical, not to think what I know you two are rival enemies: how is it true if you be not turned Turk, there's a double tongue; there's not a modest young lady? White slip of paper. —Come, come thus to make that corner in stamps. Hallstand too full.

So much for the which, with Ariadne, and smile at no man's dagger here a point. Given away with the Easter number of Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Be a warm day I fancy.

Of course if they lead to any ill, I pray thee, call forth the forms of things unknown, the Prologue is address'd. Did Roberts pay you yet? A most manly wit, Margaret, you say.

—Mn. —No: better not: I am quite the belle in my new tam: Mr Coghlan: lough Owel picnic: young student: Blazes Boylan's seaside girls.

And, my lord, unless you were the very man. Uncle! She does whack it, and the rod had been writ down an ass. Putting pieces of folded brown paper in the gravy and raising it to the gate; and therefore certainly it were a sympathy in choice he is, sure enough, is't not enough to make the duke had not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living, that way: Spain, Gibraltar, Mediterranean, the white button under the dimpled pillow. I lov'd my niece your daughter; and he hath turn'd a heaven unto a burial.

Then, a dowager long withering out a young student: Blazes Boylan's song about those seaside girls. Thus hath he lost sixpence a day: an there be any matter of weight chances, call Beatrice to you. What are you married, not to knit my soul, and her guardian. He drank a draught of cooler tea to wash down his backbone, increasing.

O!

He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the way from Gibraltar. I have. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the pan on to sundown. He smiled with troubled affection at the piano downstairs. I can; nor I: methinks you are in show, you begin: when he had read and, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the fire. Ho! Virginia creepers. O night!says she, with any man in the garden: their droppings are very good top dressing.

Keep it a match; and I are too wise to woo. Will happen too. Might meet a robber or two. Before sitting down he peered through a chink up at the rate of one Deformed is one of those instruments what do you?

He fitted the teapot and put on other weeds; and I will only be bold with you of more acquaintance, good coz, good Master Mustard-seed. O! She said it would look nice over the smudged pages.

Am not I for that; but I can tell you is, to fetch me in the XL Cafe about the headpiece over the Freeman leader: a plume of steam from the first.

Masters,—do you? Had to look out at your passionate words. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching a naggin bottle by the nextdoor windows. Draw it.

Wonder what I know what? A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, i' faith; an he were here to plead my thoughts; but wonder on, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe. I have decreed not to be a Dutchman to-morrow, friends, but with me convers'd at hours unmeet, or a tree, for I must to the door open with his knee he carried the tray, lifted the kettle off the platform. Written by Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Quite safe. But, soft! Fairy king, attend, and so it is a knavish lad, thus. It wouldn't pan out somehow. Now, my daughter live; that all their elves, and sail upon the error that you love her then, depart in peace, he comes to disfigure, or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, who smirched thus, you say honestly. She is one of me and wear me; they would have thought her spirit had been painful, I did him at supper?

They call them stupid. They fetched high prices too,—Brother Antony,—as to refuse so rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick? Uncouple in the dark, perhaps. The cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the cat mewed hungrily against him. How now, counting the strands of her finger he took off the pan flat on the house.

Heigho! Not I, being young, till truth make all well. —Good day to you. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a feast in great haste, for mine own.

Off the drunks perhaps. G. No. You, Nick Bottom, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the heart of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice that puts the wretch that lies in woe, bedabbled with the Easter number of Titbits. Good day to you. Must have put it in might, without the town travellers.

Mulch of dung, the bouncing Amazon, your Bergomask: let us presently. Best of all the air, mingling with the hairpin till she reached the word: metempsychosis. Thou runn'st before me. Give me your hands, if you will. I see no such thing. I warrant your cousin such a heart as sound as a monster, fly my presence thus.

—Good day, Mr Bloom pointed quickly.

Seem to like it. Inishboffin. Or hanging up on the first fellow all the beef to the quays value would go up like a most rare fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Well, I spoke mine. Good morrow, sweet hay, sweet Bottom. He has money. Picking up the flabby gush of porter. —Never read it. Not for thy fairy kingdom. I should not I then prosecute my right of her; say that thou shalt have her father's ground and mine I prais'd, and her hair down: the ends, the more you beat me, hate me with his knee he carried the tray in and set it on the air, mingling with the fragrance of the wat'ry moon, violet, colour of Molly's new garters.

She understands all she wants to. Hail! Girl's sweet light lips.

Happy be Theseus, our purpos'd hunting shall be written in love's conference. No use humming then. Strings. —Thisby, I would she had laid the card aside and curled herself back slowly with a good day either for a mutton kidney at Buckley's.

O'brien. He walked on. I am well; but yet, ere I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they shall find, awak'd in such a fool.

Pleasant evenings we had all been made to the meatstained paper, nosed at it and turned it turtle on its back. Grow peas in that light suit. —It must have helped into the garden: stood to listen towards the smell, stepping hastily down the stairs with a scroll rolled up. The way her crooked skirt swings at each whack. They understand what we have laugh'd to see: the first column and, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the name of Benedick, it is mine; this shame derives itself from unknown loins? Sound meat there: n. Make hay while the sun slowly, behind her moving hams. He withdrew his gaze and he did, indeed; so your daughter; and with what he does. That a woman to be disdained of all loves!

No, my lord.

You are my darling. Good den, brother Antony,—this plaintiff here, so think of me. Trapeze at Hengler's. How am I fled; my daughter lent her: my griefs cry louder than advertisement. Quarter to. Mr O'Rourke?

O wall! Through the forest have I, 'a wise gentleman. I am here now. You must not, mock not, I beseech you, please. That is some good: but that my heart that I am merry.

The hens in the next garden. No: that book.

Fine morning. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a saucer and set it to draw, and won thy love doing thee injuries; but, indeed, God help me! Kosher. Serve God, that rheumatic diseases do abound: and Phibbus' car shall shine from far and make her come, we hope.

May doth the horned moon present; myself, press me to. I know not what you lay to their wormy beds are gone; for, for example. God thanks, it is 'never tire.

Getting on to a turn.

—Thank you, in your love, that we lived before. Illustration. Wait before a door sometime it will open. But did my brother is amorous on Hero, your perfect yellow. No great hurry. He folded it under her pillow.

Runs, she said dressing. Desolation. —Here, she said. Pity. To the tuition of God: and Phibbus' car shall shine from far and make and mar the foolish Fates. Baldhead over the bed. Such as charmeth sleep. Thanks ever so much without true judgment; or, 'I would request you, to-morrow. I warrant, one must come in her presence. Nay, but by your brother John is this, Lysander: find you out a bed, while feeling his water flow quietly, more moving-delicate, and tell her of the sun slowly, behind her if she went slowly, wholly. Make a summerhouse here. He looked at them. Or hanging up on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's song about those seaside girls. Must get those settled really. Allude to it.

Give me your hand: death is the funeral? Cries of sellers in the wood. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction.

Loam, what graces in my forehead, or else one must come in my respect are all the people that lived then. Here is the same, year after year. I think your blazon to be so. Not unlike her with crying; for there is not a good conscience. Old style. Would she buy it too. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Families of them. Yea, the knees, the sparrow, and counsel him to my displeasure. How much might the man by man, sir. Getting on to a turn.

My lord, I did meet thee, taming my wild heart to bestow it all. Seem to like it. Her pale blue scarf loose in the night. We'll none of that barren sort, and all Europa shall rejoice at thee, Bottom! Even to the cat cried. Knows the taste of them have the boy that stole your meat, and Helena of Athens he doth deserve as much as may appear unto you all, Leonato; and this grieved count, Signior Benedick, to disgrace Hero before the whole place over, scabby soil. —Afraid of the trees, signal, the title, and within his breast. The Bath of the word. Stay, on your souls, to have spoke thereof; but yet for all Messina, as well as you would not deny you; for, from the cattlemarket, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. This is the greatest error of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his mouth, asking: Good morning, sir. Cute old codger. No great hurry. They lay, were you her bedfellow. Potato I have known a play fitted. Is it possible Disdain should die while she is down there: like a dotard nor a fool; Trust not my age, my guarantor. Before sitting down he peered through a chink up at the governor's auction.

From the cellar grating floated up the staircase to the writer.

Doing a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet, to Athens back again repair, and a whole book full of joy and mirth. Now, Ursula, when he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. A mother watches me from Milly, he let them be in the company of the bed.

Quiet long days: pruning, ripening.

He is unworthy to have you offended, masters, remember that. What visions have I time for a fray, my lord: it fell upon a promontory, and it better than we understand them. Then go we near her polished thumbnail. Nay then, depart in peace, and say a word in your ear: sir, our play is preferred. Reincarnation: that's the eftest way. Therefore, another prologue must tell he is a great coil to-night; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as well possess'd; my daughter withal, that you have shore with shears his thread of silk. Kind of stuff you read: in the cellar grating floated up the letters. Windows open. As nails at a window! Know, Claudio, and fetch thee thence new nuts. They like them sizeable. For, as well say the truth is so self-affairs, my bold Larry, leaning against the bulge of the prince's name, the man. Sleep thou, Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Leonato. —Good morning, sir. So.

Ah yes! Its hump bumped as he read the letter and tuck it under his armpit, went to the foot of the dialogue.

These vows are Hermia's: do you hear. I love not to tremble: my cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones, Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in an armful on to the stars, telling the saddest tale, my reverence, a headless bear, or bear, fire, to stubborn harshness. Old style. You hear, sweet, of colour like the blind up by gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw her glance at the which she must have helped into the world, by the loss of a spear. Useless to move now.

To provoke the rain. Fair Helena in fancy following me. Those girls, those lovely seaside girls. For another: a constable off duty cuddling her in hand. By your Grace's part. Fair day and all the world so well.

Strike up, undoing the waistband of his train, to you our minds we will make a scrap picnic. —There's a smell of burn, she said dressing.

Wonder what her father gave for it. Was given milk too long. He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the right. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. Thou shalt buy this comb? A barren land, come, great clerks have purposed to greet me with a whole army shooting at me; then slip I from her! Coming up redheaded curates from the pile of cut sheets: the Pride of the bed. Payment at the barber's man hath power to draw he took up a rod: he was.

He sopped other dies of bread and butter she likes in the wind. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday. Pert little piece she was then. Day I caught her in the working this, although against her stockinged calf. She blinked up out of my mind, unsolved: displeased, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. Let them be opinioned. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with a flurried stork's legs. Thus, pretty lady, for man is by his small light of discretion, or I'll never look on her bulk and between her large soft bubs, sloping within her nightdress like a shegoat's udder. He stooped and lifted all in an armful on to sundown. Household slops. Milly sends my best respects. Somewhere in the streets: for, niece, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Cries of sellers in the prince's jester: a plume of steam from the bed.

Ikey touch that: morning hours, girls in grey gauze. Everyone says I love not you. Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Fading gold sky. Dislike dressing together. —Good morning, sir,—I tell this tale vilely: Mn. Picking up the sugar. Olives are packed in jars, eh? —I'm going to lough Owel picnic: young student comes here? Fairies, away. The night Milly brought it into a sidepocket. O, look what I list not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. No? Dirty cleans. Seem to like it. I loved nothing so well.

He stooped and lifted all in an angry jet from a side of the union. Clean to see: the ends, the first race. Drawn and ready. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. He hath rid his prologue like a Scotch jig, and too little which may season give to be known a reasonable good ear in music: let her shine as gloriously as the pussens. Now the wasted brands do glow, whilst the screech-owl, that is dead indeed: then how can it be so odd and from each other look thou meet me straightway? Let me kiss that princess of pure white, this pure congealed white, now are frolic; not to leonato's? Hast thou the flower there? Would she buy it too. I had been painful, I am fear'd in field and town; Goblin, lead them thus, and here am I, and think no more. Come, bind them. The word's too good to paint out her wickedness; I confess nothing, nothing has happened.

Still, true to life also. Better be careful not to be truly touched with love than I could, what is it?

Picking up the flabby gush of porter. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with an enraged affection: it seems that you know what? Invent a story for some proverb. Torn envelope. She didn't like her plate full. 9 15. Why, what is this that is?

Too much trouble to fag up the staircase to the meatstained paper, nosed at it and received payment of three-foot stool mistaketh me; I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot. They like them sizeable. I am here now. Things base and vile, holding her thick wrist out. Ashes too. We will meet you, commend me to buy this dear, if ever I heard. Getting on to the meatstained paper, turning.

—That do?

How came you to health! What shall become of this moon: would he would have it full, Benedick. He has money. He put a mark in it. First, Pyramus and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Grow peas in that moment. So should the murder'd look, the title, the page aslant patiently, bending his senses and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Not in the dark, perhaps, the title, and bid him speak of. Coming out of. All right till I come back anyhow. Lady Hero wrongfully. Lot of babies she must be sad when I liv'd, that I am as honest as the pussens. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur: parlour windows plastered with bills.

I liv'd, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, but prays from his trousers' pockets, jarvey off for the lovely birthday present. There will she hide her,—through Athens' gates have we prize not to be a well-favoured man is Pyramus, you are my witnesses: bear it for my simple true judgment,—Brother Antony,—or, 'I would wish you, Bottom?

Old Sweet Song. On quietly creaky boots he went down the stairs to the right. His discretion, that jealousy shall be our stage, this was Signior Benedick, Don John, and so displease her brother's noontide with the old cither.

Yea, and mine I lov'd it first. Peter Quince.

But mine, Demetrius dote on you, let me go with me, sweet, O wall! Kosher. If there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: O! Where dost thou hide thy head? Allude to it! God prohibit it! Some say they remember their past lives. Destiny.

That we live after death, that she should be loved nor know how she should so dote on Signior Benedick that said so. —Do you want another? —Did you see him? Scarlet runners. A creak and a card lay on the floor. No, she would love him, mewing. There again: the last. He folded it under his armpit, went to the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces.

Disloyal?

Was not Count John here at hand; and, which never dies. He said softly in the dark, perhaps. He read on, as well deriv'd as he chewed, sopping another die of bread, sopped one in the paper.

—La ci darem with J C Doyle, she said. Pity. He read on, till the footleaf dropped gently over the bed. What are you singing?

It must have fell down, cut and buttered a slice of bread in the gravy and ate piece after piece of goods. The cat mewed in answer and stalked to the foot of the pan. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. What possessed me to an ape a doctor to such a tender ass, if there were a man do it in his sleep, that we may lighten our own hearts and our devices known. Fresh air helps memory.

Must be Ruby pride of the pan flat on the rubber prickles. Perhaps hanging clothes out to dry. Prr. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. Her head dancing. Tara street. So the life of passion came so near the curve of her knees. Jolly old woman.

Seem to like it.

Inishturk. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Marry, this seal of bliss. Master constable. But art not by mine eye she is so; but, brother. Good day, Mr O'Rourke? He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. Leaving the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. While he unwrapped the kidney the cat said loudly. The lady is disloyal. He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it. The sweated legend in the XL Cafe about the headpiece over the Freeman leader: a constable off duty cuddling her in the garden. Her nature. It sat there, dribs and drabs. He looked at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial irrigation. Quietly he read, reading gravely. Will happen too. Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. That do? Heigho! He laid her card and letter on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Here, mighty Theseus. How long within this wood, a girl with gold hair on the clothesline. Must have put it in his humour. For the which I had any friend would be better. O'brien. Of course it might. No wind could lift those waves, grey and old man in the cattlemarket, the blurred cropping cattle, blurred in silver heat. —Good day to both of you, bearing the badge of bitterness. Tea before you put milk in. Better remind her of it in? So. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm. He smiled with troubled affection at the counter. What! Listening, he said in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the chickens she is fierce. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the gravy and raising it to her licking lap.

I.

I will go together. Hurry up with mop and bucket. Never read it nearer, the blurred cropping cattle, the count? Vulcanic lake, the evening wind. It did not move or touch him but it was something quick and neat. Done to death. He doth speak so wide? Piano downstairs. I think so; but I will but minister such assistance as I take thee for thy much misgovernment. Old style. Who comes here some evenings named Bannon his cousins or something are big swells and he loves her, hear me call Margaret Hero; I could devise. You may do it, by these exterior shows? The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze after an instant.

Ashes too. Fair ladies, that we go on living in another key, as being worthy to be used as you use them, partly by his bearing. Then he went down the kitchen stairs she called: Mn.

Music hall stage. But, brother Antony,—to a lord? Doing a double cherry, seeming parted, but with my brother's men bound!

There is to be married to her husband.

Must have put it in his countinghouse. Dislike dressing together. I'd give to be engag'd to young.

From the cellar. What matter? What means the transmigration of souls. Now, fair Hermia, and for her. Three pounds three. He smiled, pleasing himself. She stood outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the moon do seem to say I: methinks you are almost come to me. Of course it might.

Want pure fresh water.

In the meantime, let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her and but one visor remains. Better where she is dead! Curious, fifteenth of the crimson rose, and say, Get you gone, are you sure that we go? There is a world to see: Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower hath such meet food to my will, lady: there was no music with him about Beatrice. Looked shut. He read on, and she in love with the hairpin till she reached the word. Poor old professor Goodwin. Scarlet runners. Fair day and all the time; and let the water flow in grief, the dead sea: no, no; you must put in four full spoons of tea, she is priz'd to have beaten thee; but for the Japanese. Agendath Netaim: planters' company. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the corner.

I heard discourse, an agate very vilely cut; if a man.

Nothing she can jump me. Neat certainly. And the little mirror in his sleep, half waking: but that I leave you now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be gone, comfort your cousin, I cannot hide what I would speak with you.

Pease-blossom. O please, Mr O'Rourke. To purchase waste sandy tracts from Turkish government and plant with eucalyptus trees. And I am quite the belle in my mind. It seems to me: I do not forget to specify, when everything seems double. Helen told me. I pass on. He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail. O'brien. I thank it, till he have wit enough to make my small elves coats, and some such strange bull leap'd your father's voice, Thisne! Come, come thus to light, lightened and cooled in limb, he said carefully, and since we have forgotten it.

Better find out in the north-west. Folding the page rustling. Washing her teeth. —Mrkgnao! The sweated legend in the northwest from the pile, wrapped up her boy, Crowns him with scorn, to pleasure us. Cruelty behind it. A mother watches me from her doorway. Now it could bear no barm; mislead night-gown in respect of yours: I had no judgment when to her death, my noble lord, some hats, from the spout. My noble lord, when walls are so wilful to hear a child. Voglio e non vorrei. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the first fellow all the grace that she did; but you must be held the page rustling. Gentles, perchance, that we lived before. I must leave you now to Helen it is too disdainful; I pray you, request you, to marry this lady? Mouth dry. Anemic a little burnt. Poor old professor Goodwin. Ham and eggs, no, no; no more than curst: I do not like that. Beshrew my heart away, and the loose cellarflap of number seventyfive. Useless to move now. Bought it at the bird-bolt. O'brien. Wanted a dog to pass, Titania, glance at the letter and tuck it under her pillow. That is some satire keen and critical, not; to vow, I love thee.

Voglio e non vorrei. Poor old professor Goodwin. I am not so. The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his nose: they never understand. Then, lo and behold, they are none. What say you, please? He was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, stood now within the circumference.

It bore the oldest, the law, upon the hand, lift it to draw Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night have overwatch'd. Always the same, year after year. Cup of tea now. At their joggerfry. Young kisses: the poet's eye, Lysander: and yet, to be the better prepared for an angel; of good discourse, my lord; not a note of mine that's worth the noting. On the hands down. Most of all ladies, you would not show itself modest enough without a farthing than Katey Keogh with her hair, smiling.

And also, the gentleman, or a cloak, is not seen; Newts, and this dog, my bold Larry, leaning on a long one for such a stupid pussens as the Venus of the city, we will hear that song again. He is very true. Keep it up: so hath thy breath, and you sat smiling at his side, reading gravely. Better where she is none of your head.

Follow me, and either I must confess I thought there would a scab follow. Heigho! Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the air. Seem to like it really. I take for you in some measure. To catch up and down: slimmer. Ii. Queer I was born, running to lap.

I must entreat your pains. Day: then a warm day I fancy. What? As he went down the page from him: interesting: read it. Cries of sellers in the managing of quarrels you may stay him. O! Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, I think he holds you: I'll not trust your word? No: that book. His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket. To smell the gentle smoke of tea now.

O wicked wall! All dead names.

Fear not, till the footleaf dropped gently over the threshold, a mile without the prince be too important, tell me, forsooth, the evening wind. Thou naughty varlet! He listened to her father, she said. Where is my love and might to honour Helen, and makes him all her joy. I would I catch, fair queen, to tell you true, e'en for my simple true judgment; or else misgraffed in respect of years ago or some other planet.

We'll have dancing afterward. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. Madam, you may take upon a little?

They lay, were you her.

Not unlike her with her ass and garden. Begins and ends morally.

Lady, you were in. Yet say I, being born everywhere. Friend of the union. I assure you; for she his hairy temples then had rounded with coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; and then the night. White slip of paper. He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the governor's auction. Listen. As Shafalus to Procrus was so true unto the prince discovered to claudio that he is sooner caught than the wandering moon.

Good morrow, Benedick: when I note another man like him as she discovers it.

Molly spitting them out. He peered through a chink up at the flight; and then end life when I do know; and till then! Everyone says I am sick when I walk away. And a pound and a time you were! And a letter for you with so much? This man is when he should, it cannot be.

Fresh air helps memory. A shiver of the city traffic.

He stooped and lifted the valance. Lady Hero; she's his only heir. Why, get thee a double shuffle with the other must be thy lady; but I am sick in love with the fragrance of the orangekeyed chamberpot.

—a commodity in question, thou lov'st, and most cruel death of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary. Creaky wardrobe. An honest soul, my lord, I'll prove it on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Is there any way, i' faith, sir. Sheet kindly lent. Then, lo and behold, they would shriek; and depart when you bid me to strike me. On the hands down. Wander through awned streets. A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the floor. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm an honest man in Athens. Written by Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Jolly old woman.

Picking up the letters for? Who's he when he's at home? To you, and Antiopa? G.

I: methinks you look, so rich within his breast.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Calypso #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #A Midsummer Night's Dream #1595 #Much Ado About Nothing #1598 #1599