#john bevis

[pagan-stitches]

Today’s blogging and stitching soundtrack:

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted’s Opinionated, Non-Consensus Guide to the 1990s

The Fatima Mansions

The 1990s. Some of us lived through them. A few formed our musical selves during this pivotal decade. We watched hip hop emerge and swell to vast commercial proportions. We wondered what indie meant…and if it meant anything at all. We pondered whether lo-fi was charming, or just made it harder to hear the flaws. And mostly we listened to records that moved us, a few of which turn up on the decade-defining consensus lists, but most of which don’t. Here are a few albums that made us who we are. We chose one each and refused to put them in numerical order (they’re alphabetical by artist). Feel free to add your own in the comments. Everybody’s 1990s were different, after all.

Contributors include Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Andrew Forell, Bryon Hayes, Christian Carey, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Mathers and Justin Cober-Lake.

Bark Psychosis — Hex (Circa/Caroline)

Perhaps most famous for prompting music writer Simon Reynolds to coin the term “post rock,” Hex by Bark Psychosis still sounds oddly timeless — and certainly unlike many bands who would come to be described by the phrase. While legions of post-rock bands would emerge during the late 1990s and early 2000s with a lamentable dependence on dramatic shifts in dynamics, Bark Psychosis used rock instrumentation in more subtle and unique ways. Hex has more in common with bands such as Talk Talk and The Blue Nile, who prized atmosphere and texture over more direct songcraft. As a result, the album’s seven tracks take a long time to go nowhere, elegantly prowling around in the shadows like a stray cat. While Graham Sutton is far from a conventional singer, his disaffected vocals sound right at home in these ink-black, urban expanses. “Absent Friend” is perhaps the album’s most dub-influenced track, dappled with melodica and pinned to terra firma by a stubbornly simplistic bassline. “Fingerspit” is an eerie jazz nightmare, as if the players in some subterranean club have forgotten to play their instruments, so instead resort to hammering away at a single chord. The band’s commitment to maintaining a desolate tone makes the moments of levity all the more gorgeous, such as the woodwind textures on “A Street Scene” and “Eyes and Smiles.” The magnificent instrumental closer, “Pendulum Man,” eventually delivers some lasting reprieve from the gloom.

Tim Clarke  

The Bevis Frond — Son of Walter (Flydaddy/Reissued on Light in the Attic)

Son Of Walter by Bevis Frond

Already a decade into his run as the Bevis Frond, Nick Salomon pulled back from the full-band, studio-produced aesthetic that culminated in New River Head. He recorded Son of Walter by himself, at home, but “bedroom pop” this is not. It sprawls. It rears. It rages. It surges in inexorable waves on the strength of spiralling guitar solos and delicate, folk-derived melodies. From the opening blare of fuzz in “Plastic Elvis,” through the wistful jangle of “Goodnight from the Band,” I love every song on this album. Sure there are highlights, the blistered, caterwauling romance of “Red Hair,” the Neil-Young-into-Jimi fireblast of “Barking or False Point Blues,” the lilting, surprisingly earwormy chorus of “Raining on TV,” but it’s really all good. As a young mom in the late 1990s, I found solace in spidery “Forgiven” about a love sanded down by life (“She’s always…exhausted”). The tune is worn down to a thread but still lovely, and it leads right into the black hole swirl of “All Hope Is Going Without You.” Spare beauty and psychedelic overload, cheek by jowl and wonderful.

Jennifer Kelly

 The Fatima Mansions — Valhalla Avenue (Kitchenware)

On The Fatima Mansions’ 1992 album Valhalla Avenue, songwriter Cathal Coughlan (who passed this last May), sets his sights on corruption, religious extremism and human stupidity like Flann O’Brien’s furious younger brother. Moving between a Scott Walker croon and the coruscating intensity of a barroom preacher with Ministry on the jukebox, Coughlan and his bandmates create moments of poetic beauty (“North Atlantic Wind,” “Purple Window”) and maelstroms of indignant chaos (“1000%,” “Go Home Bible Mike). The fierce irreverence of their musical juxtapositions — lounge, industrial, sampling — and their no-fucks-given attitude remains singular today and Coughlin’s intense romanticism, mordant wit, political satire and apocalyptic imagery marks him as one of great lyricists of his time. Valhalla Avenue spent a week at the low end of British album charts, was not released in America and made nary a dent in Australia. Thanks to an Irish workmate in Germany who ceremoniously presented me a cassette of their early singles “Only Losers Take the Bus” and “Blues for Ceausescu”, Valhalla Avenue is still on regular rotation round here.

Andrew Forell  

  Flying Saucer Attack — Further (Domino / Drag City)  

Flying Saucer Attack was the flagship band of that other 1990s Bristol scene, the one that didn’t revolve around trip hop.  David Pearce and his friends favored a blend of coruscating noise, delicate drones, and airy folk over downtempo hip hop beats. With its DIY aesthetic, FSA championed home recording and a “less is more” attitude to music-making, paralleling that of contemporary acts such as Windy & Carl.  Further was the band’s sophomore release and stripped away much of the razor wire-laced bombast of its debut.  FSA, which at the time was a loose collective centered around Pearce and then-girlfriend Rachel Brook, began to incorporate more acoustic guitar into their songs, and took a measured approach to noise and feedback.  Pearce allowed his deep and resonant voice to drift above the misty haze of the music; Brook uncharacteristically emits rays of vocal sunshine on “Still Point”.  The resulting album is one of raw grace, a careful balancing act between tranquility and chaos.  Further is as bleary and beautiful as its cover art, and it stood out elegantly amidst the various frayed threads of 1990s underground music.

Bryon Hayes 

John Hiatt — Walk On (Capitol)

John Hiatt’s 1995 recording Walk On is an under sung masterpiece. Two collaborators that he would continue to keep in his band, until they were purloined for more lucrative gigs, multi-instrumentalist David Immerglück and bassist Davey Farragher, join drummer Michael Urbano and several backing vocalists, Bonnie Raitt noteworthy among them, to support Hiatt and supply versatile arrangements. “Cry Love,” “You Must Go,” and the title track provide a kick-off of catchy singles. Deeper in the release, Raitt and Hiatt duet on “I Can’t Wait,” a song that, if there were any justice, would have charted higher. Hiatt is prescient about the endless investigations and rise of militia groups during the second term of the Clinton administration in “Shredding the Document” “Native Son,” and “Wrote it Down and Burned It.” A hidden track hearkens back to the height of CD distribution. 

Christian Carey

 Peter Jefferies — The Last Great Challenge In A Dull World (Xpressway/Ajax/De Stijl)

In retrospect, the musicians who joined forces to form the Xpressway collective can be recognized as aesthetic game-changers. Not only did they unleash the forces of sonic resistance in their native New Zealand, raising clouds of gilded splinters as they pushed against the grain; they issued a permission-granting challenge to every subsequent wave of refuseniks determined to freely fuse noise, rock, and anything else at hand. But their success was by no means a given when Peter Jefferies made The Last Great Challenge In A Dull World on borrowed gear in a drafty old house on the edge of a container port at the end of the southern winter of 1989. At the time, the Xpressway crew were just the losers who were left behind when Flying Nun Records chased the brass ring north. Jefferies, like Alastair Galbraith, the Dead C, Peter Gutteridge, David Mitchell and the Terminals, had given Flying Nun some great music, and subsequently found himself ignored. A gifted multi-instrumentalist, singer, and sound recorder, he became the scene’s four-track documentarian, and he called on key associates to help make what he then felt might be his last testament. On Last Great Challenge he synthesized Cale-derived balladry, early Ubu rock, and post-This Heat sound manipulation into a singular statement of intent and reproach so acute that it, and everyone associated with it, could not be ignored. The album, which has been issued by three different labels, is currently out of print, but not that hard to find. It remains a stern condemnation of every lazy record out there that can’t be bothered to reach past the sky.

Bill Meyer  

 Nausea — Extinction (Profane Existence)

More and more, metal is moving out of its subgenre-specific silos and beyond its backward-gazing obsessions with hidebound traditions. But from its start, crust was a hybrid form, combining the politically motivated anti-aesthetic of anarcho-punk with metal’s swaggering muscle. It makes some sense, then, that this influential American crust record emerged from the Lower East Side, where hardcore punk was already cross-pollinating with metal; see Cause for Alarm (1986), the second LP by Agnostic Front, a band dominated by Roger Miret, then husband of Nausea’s singer Amy Miret, nee Keim. By the time Nausea made Extinction, its only LP, Al Long had joined the band, filling out the dual-vocal, female-male attack in a nod to Crass. And while “punk” usually follows the word crust in discussions of the style, Extinction is crucially informed by metal: “Butchers” owes much to Motörhead; “Clutches” rumbles like early Saint Vitus; the opening minutes of “Blackened Dove” could be from a Witchfinder General record. For this reviewer, “Inherit the Wasteland” is the key song, full of dystopian dread, replete with an enormous breakdown section and Vic Venom’s enthusiastic shredding. It’s an unhappy, unstoppable blast. Other metal and metal-adjacent sub-sub- and microgenres had formed by 1990: goregrind was already a thing, and the Slap a Ham crew was busily birthing powerviolence. Bandana thrash was just over the horizon. But few of those modish musical notions have had the substance (grimy, grotty and grave as it might be) and staying power of crust. Exhibit A: Extinction. It still stinks up the joint.

Jonathan Shaw

 Readymade — The Dramatic Balanced By (No Records)

By 1997 shoegaze had ebbed back significantly from whatever high tide mark it had attained, and nobody was particularly looking towards Vancouver for it, if they were looking at all. And yet out of what sounds like a combo of ennui, political unrest, movies (particularly, from the cover on down, Mean Streets), “taking speed in Germany,” drum machines, insomnia, rain, power grids, airports, four-track recorders, windows, and urban sprawl, enigmatic trio Readymade created one of the great lost epics of the era and genre. They didn’t stop here, absorbing members of the sadly even more obscure Pipedream and producing two excellent, gleaming and ambiguous records in the next decade, but only on The Dramatic Balanced By was their rougher, fuzzier, more expansive side given free reign. The result, whether the craggier, more anthemic likes of “Bloomsbury Boxcutter” and “Dreamt I Fled,” the crepuscular trudge of “Following a Typewriter to Sleep,” or the mournfully lambent “Hamburg,” holds together as a great example of the kind of record that forms its own world, one you can get lost in. That record climaxes with “Head Falls to Shoulder,” one of the most overwhelming storms of sound and feeling anyone was making in 1997. The band may be long gone in 2022 (although blessedly for anyone wanting to check them out, all three LPs can be streamed), but their expansive opus of city-bound alienation endures.

Ian Mathers

 Spaceheads — Spaceheads (Dark Beloved Cloud)

Spaceheads by Spaceheads

On first listen, Spaceheads' self-titled 1995 album can feel like a throwaway. The record contains a fair bit of silliness and didn't come about as a deeply theorized piece of art. Trumpeter Andy Diagram and percussionist Richard Harrison had been playing in various jazz bands together when they started recording some duo improvisations and playing with the tapes. Early release Ho! Fat Wallet sounds as indebted to 1980s hip hop as anything, and its mix of brass and beats would still make for great backing tracks. Spaceheads followed with a weird twist on, well, just about everything. It can sit not uncomfortably on an EDM shelf, but that term doesn't accurately capture what they were doing. Stretches of the album are funky without being funk or industrial without being industrial. Some moments are abstract enough to be almost incoherent while others could play in a Hollywood soundtrack; “Down in Outer Space” sequencing into “Joyriding” provides all of that in a short burst. Spaceheads sound like a group that could have been any number of things or that could have floundered with pointless fiddling and experimentation. Instead, they pursued the only thing they seem to have any interest in being: exactly themselves. In doing so, they created an album with quirks and surprises that continue to provide as much joy and listening pleasure as anything going on around them (whatever that field might be).

Justin Cober-Lake

[the-californicationist]

Hey🐻❤ Can i say something ? Yeah ? Sooo

Price and Reader have sex in an abandoned parking lot after going to a bar🍻

That's all I had to say 🙇‍♀️❤

omg hot!!! hope this is kinda what you were looking for. im so sorry for the wait. thank you for being patient with me!

The After Party

The MacTavish wedding was the party of the century, and you were feeling the effects of their pricey Brut champagne. Your husband, John, had stolen a bottle for you, and you were nearly half-done with it, carefully pulling it up to your lips and letting the tiny bubbles pop on your tongue. 

Even though it was almost dawn, the party was still raging inside the bar Johnny had rented out. John had taken you aside and whispered into your ear,

“C’mon. Have a smoke with me, missus.”

While the newlyweds were distracted by their guests, so you and the captain had made a break for it, sneaking out of the reception undetected. You smiled, following him out back into the parking lot, admiring his ass in those silky black slacks. He always looked so fit when he got dressed up, even if he hated every minute of it.

John headed to his truck, popping open the door and digging around for another cigar. You leaned against the tailgate, trying to find some relief for your aching feet. John noticed your discomfort,

“Those heels botherin’ you, love?”

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Here,” he helped you up onto his tailgate, sitting you on the cold metal, “Let’s sit for a while. Give me a chance to enjoy this.” He wiggled the fat cigar in his hands, smiling at you. 

“Aren’t they gonna miss us?” You nodded to the bar, listening to the sound of muffled dance music coming from its bright, glowing windows. 

“Ah, I’m sure the happy couple is plenty distracted.”

John hopped up on the tailgate with you, puffing on his cigar, making sure the tip was evenly lit. When he was happy with it, he offered it to you. You took it, sucking the smoke into your mouth and tasting its sweet tobacco and vanilla notes. It was a huge cigar, so too much of it and you’d really be wasted. The champagne was already enough to make your cheeks hot. 

You closed your eyes, trying to sober up a bit. John’s hand rubbed your bare back, fiddling with the straps of your low-cut dress as he fussed over you. 

“Is my girl a little bevied up tonight? Maybe I should take that bottle back,” he laughed at you, teasing you good-naturedly. 

“No,” you clutched the bottle like a prize, playing with him, “Pry it out of my cold, dead hands, mister.”

He held his hands up in mock-surrender, 

“Alright, alright. Just don’t blame me when you get into trouble.”

“What trouble?” You took his cigar from him again and purposefully took a long drag, challenging him, trying to goad him into flirting with you. 

He fell into your trap, chuckling as he took one of his fingers and traced his way from your sparkling gold necklace all the way down into the cleavage of your dress, making you gasp, 

“You know what trouble,” he leaned in for a smoky kiss, stealing his stick back, “My woman, dressed like that, gettin’ sloshed on champagne… I know where this path leads.”

“Oh?” You giggled, running your palm across his heavy thigh, feeling his muscles through the expensive cloth, “Where’s that?”

“I’ll show you.” He raised his eyebrows, getting a little smart with you, and hopped off of the tailgate. He stood in front of you, cigar bitten in his mouth, and used both of his hands to pull you closer to him, forcing your legs apart to accommodate his wide body. 

You giggled, letting yourself be man-handled, enjoying every moment of it. 

Then, he reached both of his warm hands up under the glittering hem of your dress, tracing up your legs, feeling their shaved smoothness, until he found your hips. John smiled, balancing the cigar expertly on his lips, enjoying the surprised look on your face. His fingers twirled around the straps of your thong, and he pulled it off of you, guiding it over your knees and past your strappy heels, admiring the gold lace that filled his palm. 

He brought the panties to his nose and dodged your half-hearted kick as you admonished him, 

“John!” 

“What?” He was incredulous, “I know this smell.”

He had the audacity to sniff them again, and you smacked him on his chest, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him react. John smiled, recoiling, teasing you, 

“Smells like sloshed, horny wife, so it does. Mmm.”

“Oh, my God! What if someone saw you?” You hissed, laughing in pure shock at your husband’s actions. 

“And?” He put on a serious face for you then, pocketing your panties, spreading your legs, and tucking his body between them again, getting right up in your face and taking a long pull from his cigar, letting the smoke linger between you, cascading down his full lip. He snarled, “Who’s gonna stop me? Did you see any bloke in there bigger than me? Stronger, hm?”

You shook your head, feeling your heart race with excitement at his sudden dominance. Even if you knew he was just trying to get you riled up, it was working. 

“Did you see anyone who would have the bollocks to stop me from touching my woman…” His hands were wandering, rubbing your smooth thigh up and down, pulling on the tight muscle of your calf, “Whenever, or wherever I want?”

You shook your head again, biting your lip, leaning back into the bed of the truck, letting your breasts lift towards his face, taunting him with your skin. 

He took one of your shoulder straps and pulled it down, letting it dangle across your arm. As it did, the top of its delicate fabric triangle folded, lower and lower, until the top of your breast was exposed, falling almost as low as your nipple. 

His eyes narrowed, giving you a hard stare,

“Give me your hand, missus.”

You held out your hand, palm up, submitting to his whim. 

He took it in his and pulled you forward, lowering your arm until your fingers felt the rigid marble cock he was concealing behind his zipper. John pressed your palm on him, flexing his muscle for you, letting you feel his desire.

You were leaning so far over that his face was right by your ear, and he whispered to you, menacingly, 

“If I wanted to, I’d have taken you in that bar, and there’s not a fuckin’ man alive who could stop me.”

“So,” you said, staring him down, showing him your fearless hunger, “Take me, then.”

It was his turn to wear a mask of surprise on his face, but it quickly turned to joy. He hopped up into the truck bed with you and pulled you inside, lifting the tailgate closed with a loud slam. 

John kept a thick blanket in the truck bed for emergencies, and he folded it up, laying you down on it, making sure you were comfortable. He kissed your neck, but he wasted no time in peeling down the top of your dress, exposing your nipples to the night air. You took the cigar from him so he could suckle on your flesh, leaving little hickies where he wanted to, something for you to admire later. 

You smoked his cigar, letting it get you high as your husband fondled you. His mouth was hot and greedy, and you realized John was a little more worked up than you had previously assumed. You could feel him thrusting against you absentmindedly, not realizing he was doing it, rubbing himself against your beaded gown.

You caught his furry jaw in your hands, pulling him away from his delicious work, dragging him up to kiss your mouth. You shared his smoke between you, letting it fill your senses. You’d take a drag in, share it with him, letting it fall into his lips, and then kiss him through it, tasting each other among the warm notes. 

“John,” you whispered between his wet kisses, “I need you.”

“Need to work up to it, love. Don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispered, rucking up your dress. 

You smiled, knowing he would realize the truth in just a moment. Indeed, as soon as you felt his fingertips dip into your pussy, his eyes shot up in shock and wonder. He breathed in a gasp, dipping his finger into you again, not believing what he was feeling, 

“You are so wet for me. Naughty girl. So ready for your man’s cock, hm?”

“I told you,” you kissed him, feeling his finger sink deeper inside of you, drowning in you, “I’m ready for you, John. Don’t make me wait.”

He brought his hand to his mouth and sucked you off of his skin. Then, he went back for seconds, dipping his forefinger into you like you were the batter of a cake, sugary sweet and forbidden. 

Then, once he had his fill of your taste, he fumbled with his slacks, raking his black leather belt off in one long pull, letting it clatter somewhere in the metal bed of the truck. His fingers pried open his button and yanked down his zipper, freeing his fat rod and jerking it with his hand. 

Unceremoniously, and in a bit of a rush, he mounted you, rucking up your dress even further. You spread yourself for him, wrapping your legs around his strong glutes, feeling them squeeze together to help him thrust into your hungry core. 

It was a tight fit, as usual. John was always so heavy and thick; you had a hard time working up to his size. But, you took a deep breath and let your wetness glide him in. His ragged sigh of relief was intoxicating. 

“Oh, bloody hell, missus.” He furrowed his brow as if in pain.

“You alright, John?” You tried to relax, but you could feel your body responding without you, pulsing around him with a warm, eagerness. 

“You’re warm, baby. Just what I needed. So fuckin’ good to me.”

He ducked his head into the crook of your neck and began to thrust into you, deeper and deeper until he found his end. In the back of your mind, as you gazed up at the sparkling stars, you hoped no one could hear you, but your husband’s earlier dominance made you care a little less. And as he built you up to a frothing orgasm, you found yourself caring not at all. 

Suddenly, the music from the bar got louder, and you heard the door slam closed to the bar. John stilled above you, covering you with his body, watching over his shoulder for someone to come by. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, and you gave his cock a squeeze from inside of you, pulling at his shaft with your muscle. He looked down at you, smiling, and gave you a quick pulse in return, teasing you. Both of you were clearly excited about the prospect of being caught. 

Footsteps made their way through the gravel lot, the loud jingle of keys, a door opening and slamming shut. Then, their engine revved and they pulled away, leaving you alone again. 

“Filthy little thing,” John whispered, picking up his pace again, “Squeezin’ me like that. You tryin’ to get caught, missus?”

“Just wanna make you feel good, John. Want to feel you come in me.”

“Christ,” he lamented, clenching his teeth and fucking you faster, obviously heated by your words and your wet, sticky desire, “Squeeze me again, then. Yeah… ungh… just like that. Keep doin’ that, pretty girl. You’ll get your wish.”

When he thrust into you, you tried to relax, letting his cock slip inside. Then, when he tried to leave, you twisted your muscles against him, pulling him in, trying to milk his come from his swollen head. It was driving him wild. His eyes fluttered, rolling back into his head as he thrust into you, harder and harder, chasing down your orgasm with a vengeance. 

He put his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself, growling at you through clenched teeth, 

“Suck.”

You grabbed his hand with both of yours, feeling your tits bouncing as he fucked you, holding his fingers in your mouth, and you began to suckle on them dutifully. You could smell and taste your scent, and it was making you feral. You let your tongue loll between his fingers, sucking hard on his sensitive tips, watching his face as his jaw fell slack. 

Then, he pulled them away from you and used them to rub against your clit, one finger on either side, making tight circles and teasing you until your legs began to shake. 

“Holy fuck,” he said, watching you fall apart, “Such a good girl for me, aren’t ya? Gonna come on me, baby?”

You nodded, plucking at your nipples, squeezing your breasts as they shook from his thrusting. 

“Good girl. Come on me. Let me feel it.”

You felt your body go rigid as the bright, flashing pleasure coiled its way into your belly, and you couldn’t help but let out a deep moan. Quick as a flash, John kissed you, letting you moan into his mouth instead of into the night air, quieting you as you exploded underneath him, shamelessly bucking against his hard length as you rode out your pleasure. 

He kept kissing you, sucking at your tongue and bottom lip, talking to you through your bliss, 

“That’s it. Just what I needed, pretty girl. Love this fuckin’ pussy.”

“I love you, John,” you said, suddenly overwhelmed with your emotions and the deep sensations he was giving you. 

It caught him off-guard, and he smiled from it, 

“I love you too, baby. You ready for me, hm?”

You nodded, whispering a yes into his neck. He looked at you with a pleading expression, 

“Tell me.”

“I need your come, John. Come in me. Fill me up, please. I want you to come in my pussy.  I want it running down my legs.”

“Oh, fuck!” He raised his voice just for a moment, but you didn’t care.

As you watched him tumble into his orgasm, shuddering between your legs, nothing would distract you from that gorgeous scene. His face twisted and then relaxed, exhausted from his efforts, a half-smile painted on his lips.

He looked down at you in surprise, breathing heavy and recovering. He slid himself out of you, leaving you with a terrible emptiness. You felt his cream drip from your body, and he wiped his cock on your thigh before he tucked himself back into his dress pants. 

John collapsed next to you in the truck bed, staring up at the stars for the first time, resting his head on your breast. 

You were wrecked, and you pet his hair, softly soothing yourself with him. 

He looked up at you, that playfulness returning to his eyes, 

“Runnin’ down your legs, hm?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, 

“Yeah, so? You seemed to like the idea, mister.”

“I do,” he kissed your breast and took your nipple into his mouth, watching you squirm from being overstimulated, “In fact, I think it’s a good idea.”

“You’re not serious,” you gasped. 

“C’mon. No one’ll notice.”

He sat up, checked the surroundings to make sure the coast was clear and then helped you up. He lowered the tailgate and helped you stand. Your feet still ached in your shoes, and you had to catch yourself on his strong arm. He steadied you, making sure you were alright before he grabbed your hand and led you back inside. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this, John,” you felt your cheeks blush bright red. 

“Be brave, missus. I’ll make it worth your while later.”

His face suggested more of his dirty fun, and you nodded, crossing your fingers no one looked at you too closely. 

Luckily, no one had noticed your absence. John helped you into a booth and ordered two more glasses of champagne, sliding into the seat beside you. All night, through the slit of your gown, he rubbed your leg, getting little drops of his come and playing with it on your skin, working you up and teasing you in front of all of your friends, secretly smearing his gift into your thigh. 

All night, and during the drive home, you couldn’t keep his hands off of your legs. He kept playing with you, getting bolder and bolder by the minute. When you got into the house, he stripped you, leaving your gown abandoned on the kitchen floor, carrying you straight into the den and laying you on the couch, not even bothering to make it to the bedroom.

He had a burning look in his eye as he commanded you, taking off his clothes as he barked his orders, 

“Spread your legs, missus. Let me see you. Wider.”

You did as you were told, your mind reeling from his threatening tone, eager to submit to him again. 

“Mm. You are fuckin’ gorgeous covered in my come. It’s everywhere,” he stared at your pussy and your inner thighs with wonder, using his hands to feel the shining fluids coating your skin. 

Then, to your shock, he bent to lick you clean, sucking on your folds and lapping at your wet hole, wriggling his tongue deeper and deeper, trying to eat himself out of you. 

“John!” You gasped, “What are you — ungh, fuck!”

His fingers fucked you as he ate from you, swallowing what your body gave him, licking up his mess from your legs and lips like a hungry dog, ignoring your cries of protest. 

“You want me to stop, missus?”

You shook your head, petting his scalp and scratching your fingers through it.

“Aye,” he grinned, “Didn’t think so. Hope you’re ready for round two.”

If you enjoyed this story, please consider a reblog! Thank you!!

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[javelinbk]

A week after taking the historic photo, Evans returned to the Santa Monica beach house on April 6, 1974, to have one of the most difficult conversations of his life. After dedicating himself body and soul to the Beatles for more than a decade, he was about to tender his resignation. It was the only way to forge his own path as a budding producer, songwriter, and talent scout. Thankfully, three of the Fab Four were in residence at the beach house that day, so he could say his farewells in person.

Girding his courage, Mal sought out John first. To his relief, the Beatle was sitting alone by a table in the living room. “I told him that I felt it was time for me to become my own person and do my own thing,” Mal later recalled. He had to admit that “doing his own thing” wasn’t entirely clear in that moment. “For too long, I had been resting on my laurels,” he told John, “not doing anything constructive for them nor myself except on a personal level, and I would never stop doing that, no matter what.” And with that, Mal braced himself for John’s reaction.

Without missing a beat, John piped up, saying, “It’s about time, Mal. I was wondering when you would come to it. You’re certainly capable of standing on your own two feet now, and I wish you all the luck in the world. If you ever need me, I’ll be there,” he continued, “and I know your songwriting will develop into a career for you.”

As it happened, Ringo’s reaction was more difficult to gauge. In Mal’s memory, the two old friends “sat together at the bottom of the garden, just lying back in the sunshine.” When Mal informed the drummer of his decision, Ringo went quiet. By contrast, Paul proved to be eminently more receptive, taking Mal in a warm embrace and saying, “Good on you, lad. I know you’ll be very successful—you deserve to be.”

That Sunday evening, [Mal] joined John, May, and a bevy of other friends for a seafood dinner at the Crab Shell, a bistro on Venice Beach. Harry was there, of course. He confided in Mal that Ringo had stayed up with him drinking well into the night and weeping as he took in the full measure of Mal’s decision. “Now that Mal’s left,” Ringo had cried to Harry, “the Beatles are really over.”

Excerpted from LIVING THE BEATLES LEGEND: The Untold Story of Mal Evans by Kenneth Womack (2023)

[publicdomainreview]

Capricorn.

From John Bevis' Uranographia Britannica (ca. 1749), a watershed in the history of celestial atlases, being among the last to show allegiance to the old animated mythology of the heavens.

More in our latest post: https://publicdomainreview.org/collection/bevis-uranographia

[simply-ivanka]

Vice President Candidate Tim Walz - Some of his Issues Before The Voters

• The Floyd riots. Walz managed to infuriate mainstream voters when he initially refused to quell the riots and arson that followed George Floyd’s death in Minneapolis, only to enrage activists later when he called in the National Guard. Violent crime continues to plague the state.

Walz also signed a 2023 bill giving felons the right to vote except while they are incarcerated.

• Covid: Minnesota was a proud lockdown state; Walz enforced closures, restrictions and curfews, as well as a mask mandate, for more than a year. Police arrested a business owner who defied restrictions, while Walz set up a hotline that allowed residents to tattle on others who weren’t following his rules (Walz said the snitching was for people’s “own good.”)

• Spendalooza: Minnesota is racing to become the California of the Midwest, via a spending blowout that has ballooned government and depleted coffers. Walz hiked taxes, blew through a $18 billion surplus, and is on track for a $2.3 billion deficit. The money was thrown at a bevy of progressive priorities, including public education, “free college,” paid family and medical leave, and expanded government health care.

• Green New Deal: Walz tied his state’s vehicle emission standards to California regulations, among the strictest in the nation. And he signed a bill requiring state electric utilities to be 100% carbon free by 2040—an insane, and costly, fantasy.

• Culturally weird:  Walz gave his party a laugh when he declared Republicans “weird,” though it’s Minnesota that’s rapidly moved away from cultural norms under his tenure. He signed a law making the state a “sanctuary” for minors seeking transgender hormone treatment and surgery; another one mandating the dispensing of tampons in school boys’ bathrooms; and a law that declares an “individual” right to an abortion with no time limit or requirement that minors notify their parents.

Dept. of Conventional Wisdom: Walz has a jovial Midwestern style, and is often found chatting about his love of hunting or coaching while sporting a Carhartt jacket and baseball cap. Democrats intend to present him as their bridge to working-class voters and argue he’s capable of presenting progressive policy as practical and positive for most Americans. Think Pennsylvania Sen. John Fetterman or Montana Sen. Jon Tester. Yet Minnesota has little to show for its massive spending and liberal governance: Crime is up; education proficiency rates are down; capital and residents are leaving; inflation remains high; and job numbers are ticking down. Minnesota’s tax rates—individual, corporate and estate—are now among highest in the nation. Walz didn’t fare well with working-class voters in his gubernatorial elections. And his policy history magnifies the perception of a far-left ticket.

The real error may be lost opportunity. Vice-presidential candidates don’t usually make-or-break a ticket, but with another potential razor-thin presidential race in November—one that may very well run straight through Pennsylvania—Harris’s decision to walk away from a popular Keystone governor was risky.

[notanichan]

otome masterlist

Warning: May have spoilers.

🌕 - Routes I have finished. 🌑 - Routes I need to finish. 🌗 - Routes I have started but not finished. 🌟 - Games I have finished. 🕒 - Games' Developers/Publishers

-> Mystic Destinies : Serendipity Of Aeons 🌟

🌕 Shou Hatori 🌕 Shinji Hirayama 🌕 Takumi Arai 🌕 Tatsuya Yukimura 🌕 Hikaru Kazama

-> Amnesia : Memories 🌟

🌕 Toma 🌕 Ikki 🌕 Shin 🌕 Kent 🌕 Ukyo

-> Nightshade 🌟

🌕 Kuroyuki 🌕 Gekkamaru 🌕 Goemon 🌕 Chojiro 🌕 Hanzo

-> Seduce Me

🌕 Sam 🌕 Damien 🌕 Matthew 🌕 Erik 🌕 James 🌑 Suzu 🌑 Naomi 🌕 Andrew 🌕 Diana

-> Seduce Me 2 - The Demon War

🌕 Sam 🌕 Matthew 🌕 Erik 🌑 James 🌑 Damien 🌑 Diana

-> Demon Crashers

🌕 Kael 🌕 Orias 🌕 Akki 🌑 Mirari

-> The Men Of Yoshiwara: Kikuya

🌕 Hayabusa 🌕 Takao 🌑 Kagura 🌕 Kagerou 🌕 Iroha 🌗 Iroha 2nd Season 🌑 Tokiwa

-> The Men Of Yoshiwara: Ohgiya 🌟

🌕 Ageha 🌕 Utsusemi 🌕 Takigawa 🌕 Gakuto 🌕 Asagiri

-> Seven Boys 2 🌟

🌕 Vincent 🌕 Randle 🌕 Bevis 🌕 Kevin 🌕 Aaron 🌕 Clement 🌕 Rock 🌕 Julian

-> Soulset 🌟

🌕 Yvonne 🌕 Shira 🌕 Apris 🌕 Verin 🌕 Shirr 🌕 Marco 🌕 Feathor 🌕 'Secret'

-> Hustle Cat

🌕 Reese 🌑 Finley 🌑 Hayes 🌑 Landry 🌑 Mason 🌑 'Secret'

-> This World Unknown

🌕 Asa 🌗 Luca 🌑 Garett 🌑 Val

-> The Royal Trap: Confines Of The Crown

🌕 Callum 🌕 Oscar 🌗 Nazagi 🌑 Gaston

-> Let's Not Stay Friends

🌕 Frenz 🌕 Taf 🌑 Burain

-> Nameless: The One Thing You Must Recall

🌕 Red 🌕 Lance 🌕 Yuri 🌕 Tei 🌑 Yeonho 🌑 ???

-> Hakuoki: Kyoto Winds

🌕 Souji Okita 🌑 Toshizo Hijikata 🌕 Hajime Saito 🌕 Heisuke Toudou 🌕 Sanosuke Harada 🌑 Shinpachi Nagakura 🌕 Keisuke Sanan 🌑 Susumu Yamazaki 🌕 Hachiro Iba 🌑 Kazue Souma 🌑 Ryouma Sakamoto 🌕 Chikage Kazama 🌑 Independant

-> Hakuoki: Edo Blossoms

🌕 Souji Okita 🌑 Toshizo Hijikata 🌕 Hajime Saito 🌕 Heisuke Toudou 🌕 Sanosuke Harada 🌑 Shinpachi Nagakura 🌕 Keisuke Sanan 🌑 Susumu Yamazaki 🌗 Hachiro Iba 🌑 Kazue Souma 🌑 Ryouma Sakamoto 🌕 Chikage Kazama

-> Re Alistair 🌟

🌕 Derek 🌕 Travis 🌕 Shiro

-> Backstage Pass

🌕 John 🌕 Benito 🌕 Adam 🌕 Matthew 🌑 Lloyd 🌑 Independant 🌑 Nicole 🌑 Alvin

-> Dream Daddy

🌕 Joseph 🌕 Robert 🌕 Craig 🌑 Mat 🌑 Brian 🌑 Hugo 🌑 Damien 🌑 Joseph Secret Ending

-> Fashioning Little Miss Lonesome

🌕 Saito Shinjou 🌑 Miki Hiraizumi

-> Monochrome Heaven 🌟

🌕 Kamishiro Akito 🌕 Kamishiro Asuka 🌕 Kamishiro Riku 🌕 Touma 🌕 Misaki Ryuuto

-> Dandelion: Wishes Brought To You 🌟

🌕 Jisoo 🌕 Jiwoo 🌕 Jihae 🌕 Jiyeon 🌕 Jieun 🌕 Wizard

-> Amplitude

Katy's Route 🌕 Jon 🌕 Ari 🌕 Simon and Bunny 🌕 ??? Jon's Route 🌑 Michelle 🌑 Katy 🌑 Liz 🌑 Luna 🌑 Grace 🌑 Eric

-> Cinderella Phenomenon

🌕 Rod 🌕 Karma 🌕 Fritz 🌕 Waltz 🌑 Rumpel

-> Home For The Heart

🌕 Joshua 🌑 Philippe

-> The Letter

🌕 Luke x Rebecca 🌕 Luke x Hannah 🌑 Luke x Marianne 🌕 Hannah x Zachary 🌑 Hannah x Marianne 🌕 Ashton x Rebecca 🌕 Ashton x Isabella

-> Crossroad

🌕 Wolf 🌕 Hunter 🌑 Fox 🌑 Wizard 🌑 Main Route

-> Night Class: A Vampire Story

🌕 Rowan 🌕 Aaron 🌑 Both? I think?

-> Miraclr

🌕 Lucifer 🌑 Michael 🌑 Gabriel 🌑 Uriel 🌑 Raphael

-> Heart No Kuni No Alice

🌗 Boris Airay 🌑 Peter White 🌑 Blood Dupre 🌑 Julius Monre 🌑 Twins 🌑 Ace 🌑 Elliot 🌑 Gowland 🌑 Vivaldi

-> 7'Scarlet 🌟

🌕 Isora Amari 🌕 Hino Kagatsuchi 🌕 Toa Kushinada 🌕 Sosuke Tatehira 🌕 Yuzuki Murakumo 🌕 True Route (Toa Kushinada) 🌕 Bonus Character Route (Hanate Yatsukami)

-> Steam Prison 🌟

🌕 Eltcreed 🌕 Ulrik 🌕 Adage 🌕 Ines 🌕 Yune 🌕 Grand Ending 🌕 Fin

-> Destiny's Princess

🌕 Sanada Yukimura - The Twin Brother 🌕 Takenada Hanbei - The Fiance 🌕 Fuma Kotaro - The Ninja Reinforcement 🌕 Oda Nobunaga - The Father 🌑 Date Masamune - The Commander

-> London Detective Mysteria

🌕 Holmes 🌗 Watson 🌑 Akechi 🌑 Jack 🌑 Lupin 🌑 Kobayashi 🌑 Baker Street Boys 🌑 Grand End

-> Psychedelica Of The Black Butterfly 🌟

🌕 Real World Ending 🌕 Bud Ending 🌕 Happy Ending 🌕 Bad Ending 🌕 Kagiha Ending 🌕 Hikage Ending 🌕 Yamato Ending 🌕 Monshiro Ending 🌕 Karasuba Ending 🌕 Karasuba Good Ending 🌕 Kazuya Ending 🌕 Yamato Good Ending

-> Red Embrace: Hollywood

🌕 Common 1 🌕 Common 2 🌕 Randal 1 🌑 Randal 2 🌑 Randal 3 🌕 Randal 4 🌑 Randal 4 (Leader) 🌕 Randal 5 (S.E.) 🌑 Heath 1 🌑 Heath 1 (Leader) 🌕 Heath 2 🌕 Heath 3 🌕 Heath 4 (S.E.) 🌑 Markus 1 🌑 Markus 1 (Leader) 🌑 Markus 2 🌕 Markus 3 🌕 Markus 4 (S.E.)

-> Psychedelica of the Ashen Hawk 🌟

🌕 People 🌕 Heroes 🌕 Bad 🌕 Lord 🌕 Lavan 🌕 Heroine 🌕 Levi 🌕 Lugus 🌕 Hugh 🌕 Traveler 🌕 Links 🌕 Wolf

-> Dark Nights

🌗 Zeikun 🌑 Junoru 🌑 Sachiro 🌑 Kurato

-> Gods Of Love 🌟

🌕 Lysander 🌕 Helder 🌕 Exinious 🌕 Rhane

-> Re:Birthday Song 🌟

🌕 Yoru 🌕 Kairi 🌕 Syun 🌕 Ame 🌕 Nami

-> Ayakashi Gohan

🌕 Inushima Yomi 🌕 Serigano Manatsu 🌕 Hana Suou 🌕 Inushima Uta 🌗 Ibuki Haginosuke 🌑 Kimura Asagi

-> Bad Medicine ~Infectious Teachers~

🌗 Kuzuha Kakeru 🌑 Shido Kaname 🌑 Yanagi Ryota

-> Taisho x Alice I 🌟 🌕 Red Riding Hood 🌕 Cinderella

-> Taisho x Alice II 🌟 🌕 Gretel 🌕 Kaguya

-> Taisho x Alice III 🌟 🌕 Wizard 🌕 Snow White

-> Taisho x Alice Epilogue 🌟 🌕 Alice

-> Taisho x Alice Heads & Tails 🌑 Cinderella 🌑 Red Riding Hood 🌑 Kaguya 🌑 Gretel 🌑 Snow White 🌑 Wizard 🌑 Alice 🌕 Ryouishi

-> Ozmafia 🌕 Caramia 🌑 Kyrie 🌑 Axel 🌑 Scarlet 🌑 Caesar 🌑 Soh 🌑 Pashet 🌑 Robin Hood 🌑 Brothel 🌑 Hamelin

-> Fxxx Me Royally!! 🌑 Kaoru 🌑 Ryuusei

🕒 Cheritz

-> Mystic Messenger 🌟

🌕 Jumin [valentines confession|http://aminoapps.com/p/200ytad] 🌕 Yoosung 🌕 707 🌕 Zen 🌕 V 🌕 Ray 🌕 Jaehee

🕒 Voltage

-> Love 365

🌕 Yamato - My Forged Wedding 🌕 Yuma - Buter Until Midnight 🌕 Genji - In Your Arms Tonight 🌕 Sosuke - Finally In Love Again 🌕 Subaru - My Sweet Boyfriend 🌕 Eisuke - Kissed By The Baddest Bidder

🕒 Visual Wordplay

-> Locked Heart

🌗 Sol D'Lockes (Mama Bear) 🌑 Royal LeBlanc (Papa Bear) 🌑 Deon D'Lockes (Baby Bear)

🕒 Hunex Co. Ltd.

-> Ephemeral

🌕 Shiba The Werewolf (R) 🌗 Shiba The Werewolf (L) 🌑 Nagi The Invisible Man (R) 🌑 Nagi The Invisible Man (L) 🌕 Ray The Vampire (R) 🌗 Ray The Vampire (L) 🌕 Natsume The Mummy (R) 🌕 Natsume The Mummy (L)

-> On The QT 🌟

🌕 Hibiki 🌕 Keima 🌕 Akira

-> Ephemeral - Miniature Garden 🌟

🌕 Hisui 🌕 Rion 🌕 Yugu

-> My Lovey

(Secret Crush) 🌟 🌕 Soshi Kujo 🌕 Masaki Kirigaya 🌕 Kotaro Kurumi 🌕 Reo Takatsuki

(Fantasy Of The Mind) 🌟 🌕 Julius 🌕 Kay 🌕 Lucian 🌕 Diorca

(Shinobi Kakuran Musou) 🌗 Hayate 🌑 Mikage 🌑 Kugumo 🌑 Yukinojo

🕒 NTT Solmare Corp. Games

-> Story Jar

🌕 (Deluxe Ver. The Last Sacrifice | The Demon King's Desire) 🌕 (The Last Sacrifice | Forbidden Ties)

(The World Or You)

-> Ninja Love

🌕 Sasuke Sarutobi 🌑 Goemon Ishikawa 🌑 Saizo Kirigakure 🌑 Kotaro Fuma 🌑 Musashi Miyamoto 🌑 Munenori Yagyu 🌑 Rennoshin 🌑 Hanzo Hattori 🌑 Nobunaga Oda

-> Obey Me ��

🌕 Lucifer 🌕 Mammon 🌕 Leviathon 🌕 Satan 🌕 Asmodeus 🌕 Beelzebub 🌕 Belphegor

🕒 Hanabi Media Games

-> Love Magic 🌟

🌕 Minuet 🌕 Paris

-> Love Magic 2

🌕 Minuet 🌑 Paris

-> High School Love

🌕 Tetsuya 🌑 Naoki

-> Love Triangle 🌟

🌕 Tsukasa 🌕 Kazuya

-> Ghost Love Story

🌕 Kyle 🌑 Vincent

-> Vampire Love

🌑 Tom 🌕 Sam

🕒 Ciagram Co. ltd.

-> Princess Closet

🌕 Reo 🌑 Shuu 🌑 Kai 🌗 Akito

-> Nightmare Harem

🌕 Lucia 🌕 Kaim 🌕 Levy 🌕 Mikael 🌗 Noel 🌕 Ricardo 🌑 Mefy 🌑 Oswald 🌑 Lucas

-> Dateless Love 🌟

🌕 Soji Okita 🌕 Toshizo Hijikata 🌕 Shota Yuki 🌕 Yoshinobu Tokugawa 🌕 Akinara Aiya 🌕 Shinsaku Takasugi 🌕 Ryoma Sakamoto 🌕 Shuntaro Furutaka

🕒 Genius Inc.

-> My Twin Romance

🌗 Haru 🌑 Yuki 🌑 Both 🌑 Shizuki

🕒 Seec Inc.

-> Jimi-Kare My Quiet Boyfriend 🌟

🌕 Prince Ending 🌕 Arrogant Ending 🌕 Dark-Side Ending 🌕 Princess Ending

-> In Search Of Haru 🌟

🌕 Haruka 🌕 Takaharu 🌕 Bad Ending 🌕 Haruto

🕒 Day7

-> Miss Detective's Undercover

🌕 Sean 🌗 Jeremy 🌑 Walter 🌑 Mystic Thief

-> Love Signal: D-Mate

🌑 Simon Lane 🌑 Richard Upton 🌑 David Mason 🌗 P:Ure 🌕 Greg Odell 🌑 Tay Caden

-> Marked By King Bs 🌟

🌕 Ashton Griffin 🌕 Nicholas Rosada 🌕 William Kal 🌕 Zack Snyder 🌕 Joel Barret

-> Loved By King Bs

🌑 Ashton Griffin 🌑 Nicholas Rosada 🌗 William Kal 🌑 Zack Snyder 🌑 Joel Barret 🌑 Erick Blanche

-> Sleeping Delivery

🌗 Damian Kraus 🌕 Luke Morris 🌕 Julian Parker 🌑 Leo Reinhardt 🌑 Sebastian Weiss

-> Beauty Rental Shop

🌑 Toby Lowell 🌑 Lucian Vasilis 🌗 Soren Rayne 🌑 Kylar Xander

-> SECRET Fan Crush

🌑 Leon 🌑 Woobin 🌑 Haejin 🌑 Dohwon 🌑 Taehee 🌕 Parang Ki

-> Proposed by A Demon Lord

🌑 Penn 🌑 Hael 🌗 Laika 🌑 Riley 🌑 Vernius 🌑 Ren 🌑 Cornell 🌑 Isaac

🕒 Avocado Entertainment

-> Vampire Idol

🌑 Edgar 🌑 Kang Tae Jun 🌑 Ian 🌑 Lee Sun Woo 🌑 Baek Do Ha

🕒 DeareaD Inc.

-> Monster's First Love

🌗 Achille 🌑 Ibuki 🌑 King

🕒 StoryTaco.inc

-> Dangerous Fellows - Romantic Thrillers

🌕 Zion 🌕 Eugene 🌑 Lawrence 🌕 Harry 🌕 Ethan

-> Queen's Number - Jackpot is not my concern 🌟

🌕 Aaron 🌕 Freyr 🌕 Gon 🌕 Mo-wan

🕒 Nix Hydra

-> The Arcana : A Mystic Romance

🌗 Julian 🌗 Asra 🌑 Nadia 🌑 Lucio 🌑 Muriel 🌑 Portia

-> Storm Lover Kai!!

🌕 Kyosuke Mikoshiba 🌕 Yuto Uzuki 🌑 Mio Ikari 🌑 Rikka Toratani 🌑 Soya Tatsuhara 🌕 Takumi Mishiro 🌑 Tsukasa Sugai 🌑 Chihiro

-> Collar x Malice 🌟

🌕 Kei Okazaki 🌕 Mineo Enomoto 🌕 Takeru Sasazuka 🌕 Kageyuki Shiraishi 🌕 Aiji Yanagi

-> Code Realize ~Guardian Of Rebirth~ 🌟

🌕 Arsène Lupin 🌕 Abraham Van Helsing 🌕 Victor Frankenstein 🌕 Impey Barbicane 🌕 Saint-Germain

-> Piofore: Fated Memories

🌗 Nicola Francesca 🌕 Dante Falzone 🌑 Gilbert Redford 🌕 Yang 🌑 Orlok 🌑 Finale Route

-> Birushana 🌕 Noritsune Taira 🌕 Shungen 🌑 Benkai Mukashibo 🌕 Yoritomo Minamoto 🌕 Tomomori Taira

-> Cupid Parasite 🌑 Allan Melville 🌑 Raul Aconite 🌑 Gill Lovecraft 🌑 Shelby Snail 🌑 Ryuki Keisaiin -> Virche Evermore 🌟 🌕 Lucas  🌕 Mathis  🌕 Scien  🌕 Yves  🌕 Le Salut (Adolphe/Ankou)

-> Hana Awase New Moon Here I am considering each game as a single route. 🌕 Iroha Volume 🌕 Mizuchi Volume 🌑 Karakurenai/Utsutsu Volume 🌑 Himeutsugi Volume

-> even if TEMPEST 🌟 🌕 Crius Castlerock 🌕 Tyril I Lister 🌕 Zenn Sorfield 🌕 Lucien Neuschburn 🌕 Ish

To Play 1. Olympic Soiree 2. Butterfly’s Poison; Blood Chains

[ridenwithbiden]

Last June, Supreme Court Justices John Roberts and Brett Kavanaugh shocked observers by joining the court’s three liberal justices to reject an Alabama congressional map aimed at diluting Black voters’ power. The ruling marked a (likely temporary) hiatus in the Roberts court’s systematic dismantling of the Voting Rights Act. It also invited a bevy of columnists to opine, See, this court isn’t so bad after all!

On the one hand, some fanfare was warranted. The Allen v. Milligan opinion was a genuine surprise, and as a recent lower court ruling in Georgia demonstrates, its effects will reverberate throughout the 2024 election cycle and beyond. A bad ruling would have been disastrous.

On the other hand, focusing on the decision obscures a disturbing reality: In the decade since it decimated the VRA with its notorious Shelby County v. Holder decision, the court’s right-wing majority has used its docket-setting power to tilt the playing field so sharply against democracy that even the rare “wins” simply preserve a degraded status quo.

A new study published on Thursday and led by my colleague Chelsey Davidson found that since the 2012–13 term, more than 80 percent of election-related cases on the Supreme Court’s hand-picked docket could move the law only in a direction that degraded fair elections.

In that time, the Supreme Court accepted 32 cases involving core democracy issues such as redistricting, ballot access, campaign finance, and VRA enforcement. In 26 of them, the lower court had issued a pro-democracy ruling. This means that the best-case scenario at the court was affirmation of the status quo, while a reversal of the lower court would restrict voter participation. By contrast, the justices picked just six cases where they might reverse anti-democracy rulings.

It’s not quite “Heads I win, tails democracy loses,” but it’s pretty damn close.

[seattlekrakenyaoi]

the joey chants …… a 4-0 lead…. forslund just said bevy of humanity … john and edzo having a great time … THIS IS KRAKEN HOCKEY!!!!

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 9: I Don't Know If I Can Do It

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Chapter 8 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Gif Credit // Chapter 10

“Well done,” You said as you handed Chance two twenty pound notes and sent them on their way.

Čiernik neutralised and Shepherd’s fate in the wind, the debrief was long over. Both teams had waited for you and Price, but only Price would be joining them. Part of you wanted to hear the war stories from the 141, really catch up. Then your stomach flared up and your eyes threatened to steam up and you remembered how fragile you’d let yourself get over this calendar month.

Bronze - still conked out on meds - demanded that someone have his drink for him, so you weren’t the only one missing out. Tonight, you’d spend your time numbing your ribs and hidden away.

A naughty mood plagued your mind, a naughty and self-destructive mood that cranked open a trunk of memories concerning the good old days that Price might’ve brought up via his reappearance in his life. You groaned over being at a point in your life where your twenties were “the old days”.

That naughty mood consumed your thoughts with flashbacks you hadn’t considered for years, even since realising Price was alive. Routine for your training years was what was currently playing. Two pints into a night out, you and John used to arm wrestle – an excuse to hold his hand on your part as well as an excuse to display how much you’d been working out – over a sticky table and damp bevy napkins. If the place had a karaoke machine (like your first local did), you’d always sing “Losing My Religion” like you were trying to convince each other of your perspective. Not once did you look at the screen for the words. You would put it on the jukebox if there was no karaoke, create your own jam session that would result in a warning about getting barred.

First time John convinced you to sing with him, he had his hand on your shoulder and stared intensely at you with his forehead to yours as he sang matter-of-factly, if a little unclear due to the cider. You, on the other hand, giggled through each lyric at how overwhelmed by how his steadfast cornflower eyes held you on that stage, losing yourself in the final chorus and getting cut off by your colleague, dragged home by the collar of your shirt and insisting you weren’t that bad, John egging you on all the while.

Difficult emotions bubbled like the beer you used to drink, forming a cathartic yet strangled cry in your throat as you opened the door to your temporary room. You were too injured to wear yourself out with some exercise. That was your usual cure for avoiding uncomfortable thoughts, the energy expelled causing you to pass out without any struggle of tossing and turning – or of nightmares. Even though you were absent of any gear, or your weighted blanket back at your base, to ground you into a mattress, your ribs would’ve complained the entire night. So today you were forced to recognise that the cork on your anxiety was coming loose, and the presence of Price – paired with your lovestruck Sergeants – was the equivalent of shaking the bottle. 

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself with a hard sniff.

The expletive offered a mild release of emotion, staving off the crying for a little longer. Long enough to raid the medical wing for some more disposable ice packs, long enough to get caught red-handed and by none other than the main cause of your pain.

“You’re back early,” You remarked as if you weren’t using your shirt as a makeshift basket for icepacks.

Price pushed a hand through his hair, smoothing it out whilst stuffing his beanie into his coat pocket, “Had my fill. The boys were insisting it was because I was getting old.”

“You’re not old. ‘Cus if you are, then I am too, and I’m not old.”

“Course not,” Price said wryly. Then he gestured to your haul, “Need a hand?”

Already, he was approaching you and – against your better judgement – you let him scoop a couple out before you both headed back to your room.

Holding your nerve, you made an attempt to be blasé: “Don’t suppose you had a sing-song at the pub?”

“No. Haven’t since I lost my duet partner.”

You winced around the corner, hoping Price would take it in response to your injuries. He must’ve done, for he didn’t allow any silence to linger on his remark:

“Played a few sessions of Shithead to determine whose round it was. You got any other plans for tonight?”

You crushed and placed a pack onto your ribs whilst John opened your door, letting you in first as you replied, “Just lie in a pile of these.”

Price’s hum with approval was masked beneath the bed creak as you carefully placed yourself on the edge of it, your chin in your hand, whilst you awkwardly iced your back. Your eyes closed without considering the extra person in the room, yet you took note of the mattress waning beneath their weight and refused to be shocked by the calloused fingertips that touched over the condensation on your hand.

“Here,” Price said, his voice low in volume and tone.

Fingers slipping out of his gentle hold, you let Price take over holding the icepack against your side. His other hand squeezed your corresponding shoulder, thumbing out the knots on that side of your spine – and there were a lot of knots. Needless to say, you were not expecting this, nor were you expecting to crave this kind of treatment until you found yourself sitting up straighter, following Price’s hand whenever it adjusted its grip on your taut muscles.

Clearing your throat, you opened your eyes, “You always made fun of me for my spa days.”

“Well, I’ve matured now,” John said quietly, his thumb digging around the edge of your left shoulder blade, “Enough to understand the value of a back rub – maybe a good bath bomb too.”

Laughter that coughed and clogged up your throat erupted from you. A tear splashed between your spread legs, leaving a little mark on the thin rug. Another ran through the same track and slipped down your face faster. That laughter slipped into sniffles fairly quickly after that.

Price’s hands stilled, “Did I hurt you?”

You sniffed and shook your head. You massive liar.

Very easily, John could’ve just offered you a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Instead, he moved to kneel in front of you, and he went to cup your face. Tilting your head away, you pushed his hands down.Temptation was enticing you to rest your forehead against his for just a second, how it would heal all torment he’d caused you – inadvertently and otherwise. You knew this was beyond a slippery slope. It was a straight drop down a crevasse with the bottom masked by fog. Shaking your head, you looked to your bedside lamp instead of him.

Without forcing you to look at him, John spoke, “I know I’ve got no right to ask you. But I’m a selfish man.”

Stubborn, yes. Ruthless, agreed. Cold. At times. But you’d never describe Jonathan Price as selfish. Not until now, at least. You realised you were still holding his hands away, a light grip he could’ve escaped from easily but hadn’t. Your face crumpled on itself and more tears fell, your head knocking against John’s as he lowered himself to his knees between your own

“Even just a scrap of that time to apologise, properly – now I know you’ve said you’re okay with what happened, but I’m not-”

His hands curved around your wrists. There, his thumb traced over your wrist where your pulse jumped under your Viking helmet tattoo – the one he argued wasn’t accurate because it didn’t have horns.

That night you got it, he’d jeered with a beer in his hand, “I should know; it’s my damn call-sign!”

You had been so drunk on his company but so jilted by his accusation that you were prepared to cross the country with him there and then to retrieve your GCSE History certificate and wave it in his face as you declared that Vikings never actually had horns on their helmets. But then you would’ve lost your spot at the parlour, and you really liked that tattoo artist’s style so you had a juvenile John sat beside you, mumbling under his breath how wrong you were to wind him up.

Your brimming tears shocked you back to the present day, having ignored most of John’s apology in favour of reminiscing of when things felt easier.

You tuned in to the end of his speech: “I kept you in the dark and lost you. I’m sorry for that and the pain I’ve caused you. I don’t expect anything. But we’re on borrowed time already. I don’t wanna waste any more of it.”

At that, you snatched your wrists back, for his words had breathed new life into the anger you convinced yourself was dormant. “We could’ve had all the time in the world, but you left me! Why did you leave me? Don’t patronise me with the “I wanted to protect you” shit. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

And you broke down sobbing, gasping for breath as your head lolled in shame, your neck and gut rife with rile. You’d never felt so pathetic, weeping over him like this after saying it was all okay. Nothing was okay. You wanted all the years of your mourning back. You wanted them back and your John back too.

He was looking upon you with pain pinching in his brow, and his voice was as gentle as he could be: “Because I’d pick you over everything.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to leave for me!”

“You wouldn’t have to. You never did.”

God, you wanted Chance or Ghost to use you as a punching bag to block out this agony that wracked your entire body with the vines of grief. Worse still, John’s honesty struck worse than any condescending comment he could’ve conjured. It told you all you needed to know about him, and it asked you something new about yourself: if he asked you to leave team Banshee, would you? Your hesitance frightened you to your core, and you know it did the same to John and his commitment to the 141.

“I’m so sorry I took you for granted, that I never came back for you. I’ll spend my life and the next making it up to you. And at the moment all I can offer you is when our leave aligns, a flat by the Mersey, and a bottle of bourbon. But I’ll give you all I am, all of it.” John sealed his promise with a kiss to your forehead,“I’ll be behind whatever you want to do about this.”

The vines were wrapping around John now, constricting you two together, interlocking your bodies together until your anguished lips found his. He tasted like the mint he’d sucked on during his walk back to base.John’s stubbled chin grated as if your face wasn’t melting with tears, desperate to print onto him. Your irreverent fingers ploughed through his cropped hair, too short to hold onto. Teeth pressed uncomfortably together. You couldn’t picture any of the romantic whirlwinds you’d conjured on lonely nights in times gone by; your mind only allowed you to take in how you and John clawed at each other, as if a loose enough grip would lose him to you forever.

As your tears blurred your sights, the truth came clear in your mind. Through an exhale that tremoured like a needle on a gauge, you pushed away from him and heaved out, “I can’t take the trying to get on without you again, I can’t. I can’t go to your funeral again. Don’t make me.”

And how you begged him, when you knew he couldn’t guarantee you a damn thing.

John’s misty eyes clung to your form without breaking contact once as he swore, “I won’t.” He renewed the vow to every plea you made, each one a plate of glass placed around you two until you were surrounded by the fragile promises that would shatter as soon as one of you left the room.

He kissed you again, simple and sweet like nothing else in your lives. You finally touched him with those hands you’d killed with, cradling his jaws as your noses slanted together, chests levitating both your bodies up and down in asynchronous panting.

But even as you felt his touch prickle across your goose-pimpled skin, the rest of your truth pushed out of your mouth and into his:

“I wanted to forgive you, I really did. But I can’t.”

Your sobbing ceased the second you finished speaking, nothing but your wrecked breathing and tears left behind in the shock that you’d finally said it. In its wake, you were faced with John’s broken expression as he stared unmoving at you. His lips parted with a shuddering and short exhale. In that moment, you knew then that he thought you would forgive him. All you could respond with was a touch of your hand to his cheek in an offer of little comfort when you repeated yourself:

“I can’t.”

John’s eyes flickered but still did not blink, as if you would vanish the second he dared not to keep you in his sights. Nowhere in those eyes did you see him imploring you to change your mind. He simply reeled in the agony of reality crashing into dreams, splintering them beyond repair. You looked, really looked, past the youths you used to be. Borrowed time indeed, in your line of work, the flecks of grey in John’s beard and minute scars in his skin hinted at what remained of his life.

You decided to let yourself yearn for your history one more time.

“But can we…” You wiped your nose and sniffed, “Can we pretend, for the next few hours, that I have forgiven you?”

John swallowed and nodded. His eyes were wet, but he released nothing until you kissed him again, and you felt the first splash from where his cheek bumped yours, salt soaking together.

Trembling and keeping your lips to his, you removed John’s watch and touched over the nerve diagram, your not-so-matching tattoos. Your fingertips treaded along where his pulse ran on tracks through thick hairs and collected the sleeves as they went. Forming fists, you tugged at the bunched-up fabric, gently at first, then growing rapidly impatient, soon grappling with his shirt just as his tongue made an intrepid entrance in your mouth. An intrusive hand beside your injured ribs spun you around and into his lap, John now perched beside where you’d been, his shirt somewhere else. He was holding on tightly, and you were scratching his furred chest too harshly, the kiss clunky and incoherent.

Grief was forcing its way back up your throat, rejecting this attempt to compel reconciliation. Your last ditch effort to keep it at bay made you press your lips hard against hard down his neck until your broken cries were bleated against his collarbones.

John’s agitated chest kept you trapped with his arms warped around you. His trembling tongue whispered over and over “I’m sorry” beside your ear, his intentions clear but muddied by the impact of his words, stabbing you in your heart with every repetition.

Mustering enough energy to hold yourself together, you shut him up with your mouth on his, determined to make this easier for you both. Smoothing out his sticking-up hair did precious little to conjure the comfort you were seeking. Your face slid away from his in the rush of tears pouring down John’s face like rain on a car window. Resigned, you slumped against his chest, letting your breathing hiccup in your aching chest. John drew you back into his arms, applying an icepack to your side as he somehow manoeuvred you both under the blankets. At least he wasn’t apologising anymore.

You began phasing between light sleep and wake. Though you were roused from sleep by your ribs, each time the vines’ grip he held you in squeezed intermittently and kept you safe in a bubble whilst acting as if you weren’t in these impersonal quarters, maybe even in that apartment he mentioned. A few times, both of you were awake, having moved away to the far edges of the bed in your soporific turmoil. He returned to you every time and did just as you asked: pretended that this you could have each other like this, every night past the sunrise.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“When I next wake up, I want you gone.”

Silence for a minute. And then:

“Ok.”

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

AN: Black Viking was an access code for Captain Price, so I reworked it as a callsign for this fic - though it's more like "Viking" as the callsign.

Thank you for your patience with the uploads! Only two chapters more to go! Thank you also @bunnyreaper for being a Beta on this chapter <3

Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @algor-babe

[hollywoodfamerp]

WELCOME TO THE EXCELSIOR HOTEL GALLIA

Right in the middle of Milan, you'll find our home away from home for this trip. The Excelsior Hotel Gallia is a five star luxury escape known for its remarkable spirit and prestigious pedigree. When you're not enjoying our fashion show or the rest of what the city has to offer, our celebrities will be able to relax at the spa and salt cabin, enjoy a plethora of the best Italian cuisine, and take in the sights of the city at the rooftop bar.

Under the cut is the roommates list. Couples have been roomed together and everyone else was randomized by a generator. If you have been roomed with another fc that you play, please message us politely and we will fix it asap! Roommates are subject to change due to unfollows, follows, activity check etc. so please like this post to keep up to date on any changes.

PLEASE LIKE THIS SO YOU CAN KEEP TRACK OF UPDATES!

Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Josephine Skriver

Adria Arjona and Mason Mount

Akanishi Jin and Lee Sunmi

Alexa Bliss and Joe Jonas

Alycia Debnam Carey and Wong Kunhang

Ana de Armas and Jensen Ackles

Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh

Anne Hathaway and Xu Minghao

Anya Taylor Joy and Vanessa Merrell

Ariana DeBose and Miles Teller

Ariana Grande and Emma Mackey

Ashley Fliehr (Charlotte Flair) and Demi Bennett (Rhea Ripley)

Ashton Irwin and Harry Styles

Aubrey Plaza and Renee Rapp

Austin Butler and Beyoncé

Awsten Knight and Renee Paquette (Renee Young)

Bae Joohyun (Irene) and Maxence Danet-Fauvel

Barry Keoghan and David Tennant

Bella Hadid and Troian Bellisario

Benson Boone and Manu Ríos

Bill Skarsgard and Lauren Jauregui

Billie Eilish and Mazz Murray

Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds

Brittany Baker and Cha Eunwoo

Byun Baekhyun and Megan Thee Stallion

Cameron Boyer and Saraya Jade Bevis

Candice Swanepoel and Tom Hardy

Cari Fletcher and Victoria de Angelis

Cate Blanchett and Choi San

Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul (Ten) and Jackson Wang

Chloe Bailey and Josh O’Connor

Choi Minho and Kim Ahyoung (Yura)

Choi Soobin and Jeon Wonwoo

Chou Tzuyu and Lupita Nyong’o

Chris Evans and Naomi Scott

Chris Pine and Sam Claflin

Christian Yu and Kim Jisoo

Christopher Bang (Bang Chan) and Hwang Hyunjin

Cillian Murphy and Jonathan Bailey

Colby Lopez (Seth Rollins) and Rebecca Quin (Becky Lynch)

Dakota Johnson and Sam Heughan

Damiano David and Ethan Torchio

Danny Amendola and Olivia Culpo

Diamanté Quiava Valentin Harper (Saweetie) and Kim Hongjoong

Dove Cameron and Sophie Turner

Dua Lipa and Joseph Quinn

Elizabeth Lail and Jason Sudeikis

Emily Blunt and John Krasinski

Emma Stone and Vanessa Hudgens

Georgia Tennant and Liam Hemsworth

Gigi Hadid and Ryan Gosling

Glen Powell and Romee Strijd

Hailee Steinfeld and Leigh-Anne Pinnock

Hailey Baldwin and Luke Hemmings

Halle Bailey and Olivia Rodrigo

Hannah Waddingham and Jenna Lyons

Harry Kane and Momgo Hirai

Isabela Merced and Lily Collins

Jack Grealish and Lily James

Jack Lowden and Saoirse Ronan

Jang Gyuri and Veronica Merrell

Jenna Ortega and Perrie Edwards

Jeon Jungkook and Lucy Hale

Jeremy Allen White and Maika Monroe

Jessica Chastain and Madelyn Cline

Jessica Lange and Sarah Paulson

Joe Burrow and Rylee Arnold

Joe Keery and Kelsea Ballerini

Joe Locke and Kit Connor

Jonathan Good (Jon Moxley) and Nick Robinson

Jordyn Woods and Niall Horan

Joshua Hong (Hong Jisoo) and Kim Taehyung

Jung Wooyoung and Taylor Hill

Jung Yoonoh (Jaehyun) and Lee Taeyong

Kang Seulgi and Pedro Pascal

Kathryn Hahn and Shawn Mendes

Kendall Jenner and Sabrina Carpenter

Kim Jongin (Kai) and Lee Taemin

Kim Jungwoo and Lucas Wong

Kim Mingyu and Sana Minatozaki

Kim Minjeong (Winter) and Yoo Siah (YooA)

Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi

Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) and Mark Lee

Lee Felix and Sydney Sweeney

Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin

Lili Reinhart and Zoë Kravitz

Margot Robbie and Sebastian Stan

Matt Smith and Tate McRae

Mercedes Justine Varnado (Sasha Banks) and Pamela Martinez (Bayley)

Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan

Natalia Dyer and Tom Holland

Nicholas Galitzine and Taylor Zakhar Perez

Nick Jonas and Selena Gomez

Olivia O’Brien and Rihanna

Park Seonghwa and Shemar Moore

Paul Mescal and Zendaya Coleman

Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce

Xiao Dejun (Xiaojun) and Yoo Jimin (Karina)

Vanessa Kirby and Zac Efron

Taron Egerton and Valentina Zenere

Chris Hemsworth and TBD

[boasamishipper]

since new night court brought back roz and the wheelers last season, here's everyone else who could conceivably show up in s3:

tony giuliano (ray abruzzo)

quon le robinson (denice kumagai)

patty douglas (mimi kennedy)

joan hobson (janet zarish)

lisette hocheiser (joleen lutz)

benet collins (pam grier) + baby reinhold (literally anyone)

rene robinson + charlie giuliano-sullivan (again could be played by literally anyone)

leon (bumper robinson)

buddy ryan (john astin)

the angel of death (stephen root)

billie young (ellen foley)

lana wagner (karen austin)

donna fielding (susan diol)

margaret turner (mary cadorette)

wanda flinn shannon (cathy mcauley)

sheila (leslie bevis)

[vintagerpg]

Advanced Fighting Fantasy takes an unusual path — dungeons first, cities second, the wilderness last. They’re covered in Allansia (1994), which came out after a gap of several years. Coming at the end of Fighting Fantasy’s initial lifespan, this book was printed in smallish quantities and is pretty hard to come by these days (forget it if you’re in the States, honestly).

For all the difficulty I had tracking this one down, the series definitely peaked with Blacksand. Most of the rules are arranged around mass combat. You know how much I love that, and since the hand-to-hand combat system here is already kind of tedious, well. It’s better than Battlesystem, at least. The included scenario is pretty good, even ending as it does, you guessed it, with a big battle.

The methods for generating wilderness locations are handy, though the actual details on Allansia are frustratingly brief. What isn’t frustrating at all is the bevy of new John Sibbick artwork. Never mad about that.

[isadomna]

Constance of Castile becomes Duchess of Lancaster

Following the death of their father, the daughters of Pedro of Castile and his mistress Maria de Padilla (whom he secretly married prior to Blanche of Bourbon) were kept at Bayonne. With nowhere to go, Princesses Constance and Isabella lived under the protection of the Black Prince, having initially served as collateral for Pedro’s promise of payment. The payment never came, and the Princesses now lived in exile as potential heirs to the throne of Castile. According to Froissart, Sir Guiscard d’Angle approached John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, with the idea of marrying into Castile: ‘My Lord, it is time you should think of remarrying. We know of a very noble match for you, one from which you or your heirs will be Kings of Castile. It will be a charitable deed to comfort and advise damsels who are daughters of a King, especially when in such a pitiable state as those ladies are. Take therefore, the eldest as your bride’.

Constance was in every way an ideal choice of royal bride: she was young, beautiful and devout, and she brought to the marriage the promise of a kingdom. Her tragic plight appealed to John’s sense of chivalry. The Duke of Lancaster sent four knights to bring both princesses to Bordeaux. However, he was impatient to secure the match. Rather than waiting and marrying Constance in a grand court ceremony, he rode out to meet her on the road. On 21 September 1371, thirty-one-year-old Gaunt married seventeen-year-old Constance at Roquefort, near Mont de Marsan, and she became the new Duchess of Lancaster. John’s wedding gift to Constance was a gold cup ‘fashioned in the manner of a double rose with a pedestal and lid, with a white dove on the lid’, while Constance gave him the finest gold cup he ever possessed.

By the time Gaunt relinquished his Lieutenancy in Aquitaine in September, he was eager to return home and introduce his new wife to his family, and to the realm. Around the end of the month he sailed from Bordeaux with Constance and her sister Isabella on a salt ship, requesting the ship’s master remove a cargo of bay salt to make the ship available for their voyage. John was attended by a train of Castilian knights wearing the Lancastrian livery, and Constance by a bevy of Castilian ladies. Having shouldered a significant financial burden in Aquitaine, John of Gaunt had little wealth to spare on the luxury of a fine ship; when they arrived in England, Constance was even forced to pawn some of her belongings. On his way to Westminster, John left Constance at Hertford Castle, close to London, one of his favoured country residences. Then in December, John travelled down to Kingston Lacy in Dorset, where he and his bride kept Christmas, feasting on venison and rabbits.

After three months in England, Constance of Castile made her state entry into London. Her long sojourn in the West Country had perhaps been necessitated by her suffering the discomforts and sickness of early pregnancy. Constance was formally welcomed as Queen of Castile by the Black Prince, who had risen from his sickbed and struggled onto a horse for the occasion. He was accompanied by ‘several lords and knights, the Mayor of London and a great number of the commons, well-dressed and nobly mounted’, who conducted the new Duchess ‘through London in a great and solemn procession. In Cheapside were assembled many gentlemen with their wives and daughters to look at the beauty of the young lady.’ This statement suggests that Constance’s physical charms were already renowned. ‘The procession passed in good order along to the Savoy’, where John of Gaunt was waiting to greet his wife. The Black Prince’s welcome gift to his sister-in-law was a golden brooch or pendant depicting St George, adorned with sapphires, diamonds and pearls, while the King presented her with a golden crown set with diamonds and pearls.

Soon afterwards, Constance took up residence at Hertford Castle, where her three Lancastrian stepchildren -Henry, Philippa and Elizabeth- were sent to join her. John of Gaunt assumed the title of King of Castile and León in right of his wife, and insisted his fellow English nobles henceforth address him as 'my lord of Spain’. He impaled his arms with those of the Spanish kingdom. John set up a Castilian chancery that prepared documents in his name and signed by himself with the Spanish formula 'Yo El Rey’ (”I, the King”). 

In the summer of 1372 Constance gave birth to a baby girl at Hertford Castle. She was named Katherine – or Catalina, as her mother called her, and as she would one day be known in Castile – and styled Katherine d’Espaigne. Gifts of wine were sent to Hertford that summer, and the Duke was there on 7 July, probably to see his new child. The future looked promising for the new couple. Their union, however, was purely political. There is no evidence of any real love or affection between John and his wife, just mutual courtesy and respect.

After her marriage, although she kept regal state, Constance preferred to live in seclusion with her Castilian ladies in the Spanish manner, residing mainly at the Duke’s magnificent castles at Hertford and Tutbury, biding her time until she could return to her native Castile. Constance was rarely at court. Communication with her husband was probably inhibited by the fact that she spoke little English and he only limited Castilian: seventeen years after their marriage, he had difficulty in following an oration in that language. The marriage survived out of ambition and hatred: John of Gaunt’s ambition for the throne of Castile, and Constance’s hatred for her uncle, Enrique of Trastamara, her father's murderer. However, the real thorn in their marriage was John of Gaunt’s continuing love affair with another woman – Katherine Swynford.

Sources:

Alison Weir, KATHERINE SWYNFORD: THE STORY OF JOHN OF GAUNT AND HIS SCANDALOUS DUCHESS

Helen Carr, THE RED PRINCE: THE LIFE OF JOHN OF GAUNT, THE DUKE OF LANCASTER

Images from youtube's video

[publicdomainreview]

John Bevis explores the various feats of cunning and subterfuge undertaken by the Kearton brothers — among the very first professional wildlife photographers — in their pioneering attempts to get ever closer to their subjects: https://publicdomainreview.org/essay/stuffed-ox-dummy-tree-artificial-rock-deception-in-the-work-of-richard-and-cherry-kearton