#linden Hills

[paandaan]

“But she doesn’t count and you know it.” Winston took the lighter off the coffee table and lit his cigarette.

“She’s got to count a hell of a lot if you’re marrying her.” David looked out the living-room window with his hands wedged deeply into his jeans pockets.

“Why?” Winston blew the smoke noisily between his tight jaws. “She wanted a husband—I needed a wife. It’s straight out of a soap opera. And they lived happily ever after until the next floor-wax commercial.”

David shook his head slowly. “If that’s your attitude, then I feel sorry for that girl. She’s got some life waiting for her.”

“What other attitude am I supposed to have?” He savagely crushed the freshly lit cigarette into the tray. “I didn’t want this—they did. And I’d think you’d save a little of that pity you’re so generous with for me. What kind of life am I gonna have, goddammit!”

“It’s the kind you want, Winston.”

“That’s a lie."

[...]

“Then if it’s a lie, son, I guess you’ll be thinking about marriage soon.” Mr. Alcott narrowed his eyes as he spoke, and he tapped the envelope in his hand gently on the top of his desk. “I assume you’re seeing someone now. A young man with your looks and future must be beating them off with a stick.” He smiled slowly.

“Sure, I date a lot.” Winston’s throat was dry. “But I don’t see any need to rush into something serious. For God’s sake, I’m only thirty, Dad.”

“Well, I’d already had two children by the time I was your age.” He continued to stare at his son.

“The world’s a lot different now.” Winston hated the tone creeping into his voice; it was too defensive. And in spite of the air-conditioning in the office, he felt himself sweating. “Some men aren’t settling down until their forties. I figured once I’m thirty-five or so I’d start thinking about it. By then my career should be—”

“By then …” Mr. Alcott’s voice suddenly shed its soft covering. “You might not have a career. Whoever sent me this letter threatened to send one to the senior partner in your firm. And they said that the next one would be accompanied by pictures.”

“Pictures of what?” Winston leaned forward in his chair. “Of me having lunch with David? Of us walking down the street or sailing out at the lake? Those are the only type of pictures that anyone could have. And they can send them to be printed up in the damn newspaper for all I care.” He was horrified because he couldn’t control the rising hysteria in his voice. “Or maybe that sick creep will clip out the picture from our college yearbook, where David has his arm across my shoulder at graduation—yeah, that’s certainly hard-core evidence to condemn me with.”

“It just might be.” Mr. Alcott frowned at the envelope in his hand. “Remember who you are and where you are. A law firm like Farragut and Conway would kick you out tomorrow if you sneezed wrong. So do you think a black man can afford to have these types of rumors hanging over his head?”

“I’m telling you, they’re a lot of filthy lies.” Winston was trembling visibly. “But if you want to believe them, go ahead.”

“Lies or not”—Mr. Alcott came from around the desk and put his hand on Winston’s shoulder—“filthy or not”—he squeezed the narrow back—“they’ll make you hang for it, son. I didn’t invent this world, Winston. But I broke my ass so you and your brother could have it a lot easier than I did. And you’ve done me proud. Your life’s barely begun and you’re already living in Linden Hills. I could never dream of that when I was your age. Sure, worse comes to worst, you could come here and work for me. But in ten years, twenty years, would you be happy as a lousy insurance broker? You’re brilliant, boy. Don’t throw away a chance to be a corporate lawyer with a firm like that because of … well, because you’re young and can’t really see what it might mean later. And since you say you’re planning to think about marriage, now is as good a time as any, isn’t it?”

There was a long silence.

“Well, isn’t it?” Mr. Alcott repeated himself, but Winston knew it was no longer an open question. It was a final challenge to confirm or deny that letter.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good.” Mr. Alcott patted his back. “No one’s asking you to rush out and marry the first woman you see outside today. But mull it over and I think, with all things considered, you’ll realize that it’s the kind of life you want, Winston.”

[...]

“If it’s not the life you really want”—David turned away from the living-room window—“remember, I offered you another.” And his round, brown eyes melted slowly into his words. They melted for Winston like the mist on his steamed bathroom mirror as he stood before it clean and wet with the memory of the hot, beaded water still caressing his back and shoulders. And him reaching out with his hand to clear it away—first from the face that stared back so like his own. The firm even jaw, the damp wiry beard that could be traced down into the chest if he were careful and gentle enough to move aside the stray hairs that grew into the smooth plane of the neck. The mist sliding down the neck toward the chest under his slowly circling hand, revealing the silvery image of his waist, his hips, his lean and woven thighs. The wetness slipping across the sweating glass over the fine down on the testicles and collecting there like crystal welts. Palm following palm, breath meeting breath through the blurred mirror—complete.

Winston tore his eyes from David’s face and they followed his voice into his hands. “I can’t live with you. Not in Linden Hills. That would be suicide, and you know it.”

“There are other places to live.”

“Not like this—and my future is here. My career …”

“Fine!” David threw up his hands. “I don’t need a thousand replays of that tune—I’ve heard it all before. I understand where you’re coming from, believe me. And all this new development means is that you’ve chosen to live without me. It’s really sort of simple, isn’t it?”

Winston looked up at him with narrowing eyes. “Why are you doing this to me? We’ve been through so much together. Why do you want to try and hurt me now? You know she can’t touch what we have between us. If you really understood, you wouldn’t be standing there trying to make me choose when there’s really no choice about it.”

“For Christ’s sake!” David’s fist came down on the windowsill. “No one is making you do anything. You have chosen, brother. So just act like a man and admit it. Have enough backbone for once in your life to accept responsibility for what you really want. Not your father, not your law firm—you, Winston. Because I’m man enough to know what I want. And it’s not playing second fiddle in anybody’s life.”

“So because I have to do this, you’re telling me that it’s over.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t believe you.” Winston shook his head. “I don’t believe that you can turn your back on eight years just like that. People don’t give up friends that way.”

“Sure, we can still be friends. And as your best friend, I’m standing up with you as your best man next week, aren’t I? It would look sort of strange if I didn’t. But that’s not what we’re talking about now, so don’t play games with me.”

Winston looked down into his hands again. No, that’s not what they were talking about. And they weren’t even talking about remaining lovers; they had moved beyond that years ago. Because when two people still held on like he and David, after all the illusions had died, and accepted the other’s lacks and ugliness and irritating rhythms—when they had known the joys of a communion that far outstripped the flesh—they could hardly just be lovers. No, this man gave him his center, but the world had given him no words—and ultimately no way—with which to cherish that. He smiled bitterly and looked up. “Don’t you see what I’m up against? How am I going to live with you when they haven’t even made up the right words for what we are to each other?”

“Oh, they’ve made up plenty of words and you can read them on any public bathroom wall. And that’s what you can’t face. You want the world to turn inside out and make up a nice, neat title that you can put on your desk. And that’s not about to happen. You can’t handle anything less than that because you’re a made man, Winston. They made you a good son, a promising young lawyer, and now they’ve made you ashamed of what you are. You can go ahead and run from it. But don’t expect me to run with you.”

“I’m not running from anything.” Winston forced his voice through his closing throat. “I’ve accepted that I can’t live without you. And I’ve been trying to tell you that all afternoon in every way I can. Do you want to make me beg now, is that it?”

David sighed and went over to the couch and lifted Winston’s face gently. “The only thing I want you to do is finally to try and start making yourself. Make yourself happy with that girl—please, do that.” He took his hand away. “Because she’s all you’ve got now.”

Winston’s face slowly crumbled and he reached for a cigarette, but his hands were trembling so badly he brought them back to his lap ashamed.

David watched him with a sharp tenderness in his stomach, and before he could stop the words, they burst out of his mouth. “But you remember, I was willing to do anything for you.”

Winston’s smile was almost cruel. “You can’t walk into Sinai Baptist next week and marry me.”

David pressed his lips together as if he’d been slapped.

“Right.” He nodded his head slowly. “You got me there. And since I can’t be your wife, I won’t be your whore.”

Linden Hills, Gloria Naylor

[kennedysteve]

Fiberboard Minneapolis Image of a medium-sized cottage with a gray two-story concrete exterior

[isleofgont]

- Linden Hills (1985) by Gloria Naylor

[dylanconrique]

guys i can't stop thinking about those pics of holland and linden ashby. 😭😭😭😭😭

[ludojudoposts]

Premiere - Pit Strike (1977) dir. Roger Bamford, writer. Alan Sillitoe

Starring: Brewster Mason, Bernard Hill, Jennifer Linden, Paul Shane, Paula Tilbrook, Johnny Allan

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[tishfarrell]

June Wanderings: Windmill Hill And The Linden Field

June Wanderings: Windmill Hill And The Linden Field

Two sunny Saturdays in a row and an early evening stroll to check on the orchids on Windmill Hill. First, though, there’s a spot of cricket to watch on the Linden Field: a perfect English summer scene: Apart from the green idyll, there’s some very big history in this view. This is the ground that hosted the annual Wenlock Olympian Games, devised in 1850 by the town’s physician, Doctor William…

[beweep]

Linden Hill Cemetery

[paandaan]

By the time they had finished stripping half of the room, the downstairs foyer was full of neighbors. People were moving slowly between the living room and dining room, forming quiet clusters of conversations that kept breaking and shifting as someone left to greet a newcomer, refill a coffee cup, or help themselves to the cold buffet that was laid out on a sideboard in the dining room. Willie and Lester walked along the banister in the darkened upstairs hallway, trying to locate Parker in the crowd. Lester recognized quite a few faces from First Crescent Drive, and his mother was sitting in the corner of the living room with a plate balanced on her lap. They finally spotted Parker seated quietly in the dining room at the head of a large oval table with a glass top and a centerpiece of white tea roses. The twelve chairs around the table were continually changing occupants. As soon as someone finished eating, another person would take his place, carrying one of the clear glass plates, which were stacked on the sideboard. From the second floor, the brass chandelier reflected the changing faces bent over the tabletop as clearly as a mirror.

Lester tried to get Parker’s attention without calling out, but he sat with his eyes lowered to his lap and his plate untouched. Mrs. Donnell sat beside him and occasionally she would lean over, pat his arm, and urge him to eat.

“Oh Christ, how are we gonna get him up here?” Lester whispered. “He’s down there playing the grieving husband.”

“He won’t have to play soon when we tell him we ain’t finishing that room. Maybe we could throw a note down into his lap or something.”

“Well, let’s just wait a minute. Maybe his neck will get tired and he’ll change expressions. And when he moves into one of those anguished appeals to heaven and rolls his eyes up here, we’ll signal him.”

But for the next five minutes all they could see was the light bouncing off Parker’s smooth bald spot and occasional reflections from his rimless bifocals in the glass tabletop. Then a bloated hum started at the other end of the table and rose above the quiet murmurs in the rest of the room before a woman’s sharp voice cut into it.

“Bob, this isn’t the time or place to bring that up.”

“Well, I still think it’s a damned shame,” the man beside her almost shouted.

Parker’s head swung up toward that end of the table. “What? What’s a shame?” His whisper, carrying the import of the bereaved, silenced the others. “Now don’t be too hasty, Bob. Believe me, Lycentia would have wanted it that way, she was always saying—”

“Lycentia was the first one to bring it to my attention, Chester—God rest her soul—and she was dead set against it.”

Parker began to tremble, little rings of moisture forming on his bifocals. “Why, that’s not possible. She—”

“Chester, just last month she told me she had all the petitions in to the city commissioner and she was sure the council was going to impose that zoning restriction. Now I get the news today that they overturned our petition. And I think it’s a damned shame, that’s all. Because all that aggravation is probably what killed her—excuse me, Chester—this may not be the time for all this. But with all that woman’s hard work, the city’s still going to erect that housing project.”

Forks clattered all around the table. “What?”

“There has to be some mistake.”

“Mistake, my eye. Where’s Bryan?” Bob twisted around in his chair toward the dining room door. “Bryan, you’re the councilman for this district, so I know you’ve got the inside dope. Didn’t the planning commission use our petitions for toilet paper last week?”

“Now, Bob, it wasn’t quite like that.” The champagne-colored man cleared his throat. “There was a lot of time spent considering all the issues involved. And certainly the feelings of this community were given quite a bit of weight. Why, I personally made a vehement appeal and used every ounce of influence I could to be sure that your views were given a fair hearing—just as I did for the new sewage plant and the renovation of those vacant lots across—”

“Cut the mumbo-jumbo,” Bob interrupted him. “We heard all that when we elected you. All we want to know is did they or did they not approve of building those low-income projects.”

“Yes, but—”

“See!” Bob turned back to the table.

“But by a small margin.” Bryan tried to raise his voice above the scattered outbursts. “Bob, you and the others have got to understand that there has been a lot of pressure on the mayor to do something about the living conditions in Putney Wayne. People are over there in tenements that should have been condemned years ago. There’s no heat in most of them and at times no water. The health department reported three cases of diphtheria within six months—and it’s no wonder, the way they live. And one of the kids who caught it last year died recently, so your petition was just bad timing, that’s all. It’s not my fault. People were starting to talk epidemic.”

“Well, you can’t help but feel sorry for those mothers,” one of the women said, “but the city should just renovate the housing that’s already there. God knows they milk us enough as it is for services we’ll never use—all that welfare and food stamps. You know what it costs just to print up those stamps—it’s scandalous.”

“It’s not that simple, Mildred. The city has to apply for federal funds to undertake any building plans and there are regulations about size and number of units. It’s really less expensive for you if they build an entirely new complex.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bob said. “And then they’ve got to fill those units and that means you’re doubling the size of Putney Wayne in half the space. Then we get a whole army of them right across Wayne Avenue. Practically in our backyards. So you can kiss your safe streets good-bye.”

“And just about everything else in our homes. You fill up the neighborhood with people like that, the next thing you know your TV’s and stereos are walking out the door.”

“Well, crime is everywhere. If worse comes to worst, you can always get extra security for your homes. But what about our children? The local schools are overcrowded as it is. We’ve managed to maintain a pretty decent standard of education so far, but this is just going to swing the ratio too far over. And I refuse to have my child suffer because the teachers will be overloaded with a lot of remedial cases and troublemakers.”

“Thank God I don’t have to send my Ernestine to these public schools.”

“Well, if the council gets their way, we’ll all have to take our children out of these schools—for their own sakes.”

“Yeah, or the next thing you know, they’ll be coming home with drugs and knives.”

Upstairs, Lester touched Willie’s arm. “Just listen to them,” he whispered. “Any minute, someone’s gonna say, ‘The next thing you know, they’ll be marrying your daughter.’ Let’s get out of here before I throw up.”

Willie motioned for Lester to wait. He hadn’t really been listening so much as looking down into the faces that were looking up through the clear dinner plates from the glass-topped table. And something was haunting him about the rhythm of the knives and forks that cut into the slices of roast beef. Click-scrape. Click-scrape. Click-scrape. Click-scrape. Now, where had he heard that before? Click-scrape. Click-scrape … These days-of dis-inheritance. Yeah, that was it. These days of disinheritance, we feast on human heads … The plates never seemed empty of the brown and bloody meat. The utensils worked their way from center to edge, exposing an ear here, a chin there. Parts of a mouth, a set of almond-shaped eyes.

The church bells clap one night in the week.

But that’s all done. It is what used to be,

As they used to lie in the grass, in the heat,

Men on green buds and women half of sun.

The words are written, though not yet said.

Willie knew it was just an illusion. Those plates were actually being emptied, so the clicking and scraping couldn’t go on forever. They had to stop in spite of what he was seeing. They had to put those forks down.

But the voices were beginning to circle the dining room in a fevered crescendo accompanied by a steady metallic tempo from the table.

“I hope they don’t expect us to take this lying down.”

“What is this—South Africa? As decent citizens and taxpayers, we should have something to say about what these officials do.”

“Does Nedeed know about this?”

“Bryan, what should be our next move?” Bob asked. “We can’t let it end here.”

“Well, your community isn’t the only one that’s upset about the proposal. I was talking to Phil Mackelberg, the councilman who represents Spring Vale, and he’d just met with an ad hoc committee from the Wayne County Citizens Alliance, and it seems that they’ve been working to place this proposal on a referendum in the next election. It could be stopped in November.” He cleared his throat nervously and glanced around the room. “But it would mean that Linden Hills would have to form a coalition with Spring Vale and the Wayne County Citizens Alliance in order to get enough support to defeat it.”

“I’m for it,” Bob said.

Willie whispered, “But I thought that Alliance was the Ku Klux Klan without a Southern accent?”

Lester shook his head. “Naw, just without the sheets.”

There was an uneasy stirring downstairs.

“I don’t know, we’ve had our differences with that group in the past.”

“Yeah, but you have to sweep all that junk under the carpet.”

“We’ve never needed them before—I don’t see why we can’t fight our own battles.”

“It’s not just our battle. Linden Hills has got to realize that we’re part of a whole city. And if we don’t hang with the Citizens Alliance then we’ll hang separately.”

“Well, I think this entire conversation is a disgrace!” Mrs. Donnell shouted. “Here we are turning this man’s home into a public forum and his wife’s funeral is tomorrow.” She pressed Parker’s arm. “Chester, you haven’t heard a word we’ve said. I can imagine all the things on your mind right now.”

“Oh, no, no.” Parker looked up from his lap and focused on his guests. “Bob was right. Lycentia spent her last days working on that petition. She would often say to me, ‘Chester, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep those dirty niggers out of our community.’ And this evening is in her honor.” He smiled weakly around the table. “So please, there’s more roast beef, folks.”

There was total silence for a moment. Gradually the people who were standing drifted out of the dining room, and the twelve seated around the table bent their hands over their plates in rapt attention to the music of their cutlery on the transparent surfaces.

It is like the season when, after summer,

It is summer and it is not, it is autumn

And it is not, it is day and it is not,

As if last night’s lamp continued to burn,

As if yesterday’s people continued to watch

The sky, half porcelain, preferring that

To shaking out heavy bodies in the glares

Of this present, this science, this unrecognized.

Willie sighed. “You’re right, I’ve heard enough. Let’s do what we have to and get out of here.”

Lester went back into the bedroom and Willie was about to follow him when the doorbell rang and seemed to echo from every glass surface in the room. The crystal balls on the chandelier even tinkled. Luther Nedeed came into the dining room, carrying a cellophane-wrapped cake. He was the only guest Willie had seen bringing food that night, and it surprised him. He knew that his family always fried chicken and baked stuff for a wake and so it was the last thing he expected to see done in Linden Hills. Willie lingered in the upstairs hall a moment and watched Luther as he hesitated in front of the buffet. There was no space for his bundle next to the ornate array of catered food.

“Nice of you to come, Luther.” Parker got up and took the cake from him.

“I guess I have to become accustomed to these modern ways.” Luther seemed embarrassed. “In my time, friends and neighbors always supplied the food for these types of occasion.”

“Of course, of course.” Parker blinked at him. “But I didn’t want folks going to a lot of trouble.”

“It was no trouble, my wife baked it. She sends her regards, Chester, but she’s not up to coming out tonight. And although I’ve been able to serve you in an official capacity in your time of loss, I felt I should come tonight in my unofficial capacity as a neighbor.”

“Yes, haven’t seen your missus in ages. Lycentia had mentioned something about a cruise, wasn’t it? Did she enjoy it?”

“Immensely, but it’s left her somewhat drained, so we’ve decided that she spend Christmas with relatives to save her the strain of entertaining. We’re planning something for the spring.”

“Well, I must give her a call as soon as the holidays are over,” one of the women said. “This has been a dreadfully busy season with the Alcott wedding and poor Lycentia passing.”

“Yes, yes.” Parker nodded. “Everything is all up in the air. When I think about the plans that Lycentia and I had. But she always said to me, ‘Chester—’”

“I’m sure, Chester,” Luther said as he stared straight into his eyes, “that whatever plans you may still have won’t be terribly disrupted.” Parker almost cringed under his gaze. “Because,” Luther continued slowly, “Lycentia would have wanted it that way.”

“Oh, yes, Luther.” Parker began to chatter. “Yes, she would have. Why, just before you came in we were all talking about—”

“I know what everyone in this house was talking about.” Luther took in the entire room with his dark, immobile face, and Willie felt the urge to move back into the shadowed hallway upstairs. “The same thing that’s been discussed every time two or three people from Linden Hills have gotten together lately. And I can tell you that it’s all been taken care of. The Tupelo Realty board met with the Wayne County Citizens Alliance today and there’s little doubt that the referendum on the housing project will be put on the ballot next November. Now, the only thing left is to vote on it, and with our combined efforts there’s no chance of it getting through.”

“Now, there’s a man who’s talking sense,” Bob said. “Luther, I’ve been trying to tell these folks that we all have a responsibility to the welfare of this county, and if the Alliance can see through that and work with us, then we should work with them. It’s not about black or white, it’s about our civic duty.”

“It’s nothing of the kind.” Luther’s voice was soft and low, but it carried throughout the room. “You know, Bob, my father often said, ‘Lie to everyone in this man’s world if need be, but never lie to yourself, because that’s the quickest road to destruction.’ The Wayne County Citizens Alliance is full of some of the most despicable racists on this side of the continent. And there isn’t a soul in this room that doesn’t know that.” Luther almost smiled at the expression on their faces. “And you’re only saved from being beneath their contempt because your education and professional status are above reproach and, more often than not, above theirs. But the people who would move into that new development don’t have that saving grace, so the Alliance is free to engage in myths about inferior schools and deteriorating neighborhoods while all they’re really fearing is the word nigger. And they’ve no intention of letting this county finance a breeding ground for their nightmares.

“We must give them credit for one thing: they’ve become civilized enough by now to recognize that there are two types—the safe ones that they feel they can control and trust not to spill tea on their carpets while they use a dozen euphemisms to form a coalition to keep the other type from moving too close. And I suppose that since I’ve just spent an entire afternoon listening to all that, I’m a bit reluctant to hear it all again tonight from you.”

“Now, Luther, that’s a bit harsh.” Bob pushed the meat around on his plate. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t have been able to meet with those people.”

“I met with them and I’ll vote with them.” And this time he did smile. “Because I know that their nightmares are real enough to send them running from the other side of the hill. Real enough to get this entire district red-lined through the banks, and my realty company wouldn’t be able to finance another mortgage, and I’d have to watch the property values of Linden Hills go plunging into an abyss. And do you think I’m going to let that happen because a handful of fools can’t stomach the thought of living next to another group of people that happen to look like me?”

Willie wanted to applaud Nedeed. He had said all the things that Willie had wanted to hang over that banister and shout: Yeah, you turkeys, I’m one of those people in Putney Wayne you didn’t want near you. Maybe I don’t carry a wallet full of credit cards, but I’ve never carried a switchblade, either. Lester should have been out here for this. At least Nedeed was honest—Willie looked down at the suffocated room—deadly honest.

No one at the table was eating. Wineglasses were turned, napkins wiped clean mouths, and coffee cups were stirred. One woman got up and left the table without a word, but no one’s head followed her out of the room. Luther picked up a clean plate, filled it, and took her seat, completing the circle of twelve. His knife and fork caught the rays from the chandelier as he delicately sliced into the tender meat. He chewed slowly and looked around the table.

“Is everyone else finished as well? I hope not, since I’ve brought dessert—and I hate eating alone.”

One by one, the other knives and forks were lifted as the meal continued with the pathetic motions of children being forced to eat. The rhythm of the utensils was much fainter now, but Willie could still hear it plainly upstairs because it went unchallenged by any conversation. They cut. They chewed. They swallowed.

This outpost, this douce, this dumb, this dead, in which

We feast on human heads, brought in on leaves,

Crowned with the firsi, cold buds. On these we live,

No longer on the ancient cake of seed,

The almond and deep fruit. This bitter meat

Sustains us … Who, then, are they, seated here?

Is the table a mirror in which they sit and look?

Are they men eating reflections of themselves?

Realizing that no one else was going to speak, Willie went into the bedroom. Lester was carrying fresh water out of the bathroom for the steamer.

“Hey, White, I was just about to come get you. I thought you got lost.”

“Naw, Nedeed came in and I wanted to get a better look at him.”

“Christ, I bet they’re down there bending his ears with their gripes.”

“No,” Willie said. “As a matter of fact, they all shut up. Now they’re just eating.”

Linden Hills, Gloria Naylor

[imoutsidelookingin]

Linden and hill

[cryptidclaw]

Cryptidclaw's WC Prefixes List!

Yall said you were interested in seeing it so here it is! 

This is a collection of mostly Flora, Fauna, Rocks, and other such things that can be found in Britain since that’s where the books take place! 

I also have other Prefixes that have to do with pelt colors and patterns as well!

Here’s a link to the doc if you dont want to expand a 650 word list on your Tumblr feed lol! the doc is also in my drive linked in my pined post!

below is the actual list! If there are any names you think I should add plz tell me!

EDIT: I will update the doc with new names as I come up with them or have them suggested to me, but I wont update the list on this post! Plz visit my doc for a more updated version!

Animals

Mammal

Badger

Bat

Bear

Beaver

Bison

Boar

Buck

Calf

Cow

Deer

Elk

Fawn

Ferret

Fox

Goat

Hare

Horse

Lamb

Lynx

Marten

Mole

Mouse

Otter

Rabbit

Rat

Seal

Sheep

Shrew

Squirrel

Stoat

Vole

Weasel

Wolf

Wolverine

Amphibians

Frog

Newt

Toad

Reptiles

Scale

Adder

Lizard

Snake

Turtle

Shell

Birds

Bird

Down

Feather

Albatross

Bittern

Buzzard

Chaffinch

Chick

Chicken

Coot

Cormorant

Corvid

Crane

Crow

Curlew

Dove

Duck

Dunlin

Eagle

Egret

Falcon

Finch

Gannet

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Hawk

Hen

Heron

Ibis

Jackdaw

Jay

Kestrel

Kite

Lark

Magpie

Mallard

Merlin

Mockingbird

Murrelet

Nightingale

Osprey

Owl

Partridge

Pelican

Peregrine

Petrel

Pheasant

Pigeon

Plover

Puffin

Quail

Raven

Robin

Rook

Rooster

Ruff

Shrike

Snipe

Sparrow

Starling

Stork

Swallow

Swan

Swift

Tern

Thrasher

Thrush

Vulture

Warbler

Whimbrel

Wren

Freshwater Fish 

Fish

Bass

Bream 

Carp

Dace

Eel

Lamprey

Loach

Minnow

Perch

Pike

Rudd

Salmon

Sterlet

Tench

Trout

Roach

Saltwater fish and other Sea creatures (would cats be able to find some of these? Probably not, I don't care tho)

Alge

Barnacle

Bass (Saltwater version)

Bream (Saltwater version)

Brill

Clam

Cod

Crab

Dolphin

Eel (Saltwater version)

Flounder

Garfish

Halibut

Kelp

Lobster

Mackerel

Mollusk

Orca

Prawn

Ray

Seal

Shark

Shrimp

Starfish

Sting

Urchin

Whale

Insects and Arachnids

Honey

Insect

Web

Ant

Bee

Beetle

Bug

Butterfly

Caterpillar

Cricket

Damselfly

Dragonfly

Fly

Grasshopper

Grub

Hornet

Maggot

Moth

Spider

Wasp

Worm

Trees

Acorn

Bark

Branch

Forest

Hollow

Log

Root

Stump

Timber

Tree

Twig

Wood

Alder

Apple

Ash

Aspen

Beech

Birch

Cedar

Cherry

Chestnut

Cypress

Elm

Fir

Hawthorn

Hazel

Hemlock

Linden

Maple

Oak

Pear

Poplar

Rowan

Redwood

Spruce

Willow

Yew

Flowers, Shrubs and Other plants

Berry

Blossom

Briar

Field

Flower

Leaf

Meadow

Needle

Petal

Shrub

Stem

Thicket

Thorn

Vine

Anemone 

Apricot

Barley 

Bellflower

Bluebell

Borage

Bracken

Bramble

Briar

Burnet

Buttercup

Campion

Chamomile

Chanterelle

Chicory

Clover

Cornflower

Daffodil

Daisy

Dandelion

Dogwood

Fallow

Fennel

Fern

Flax

Foxglove

Furze

Garlic

Ginger

Gorse

Grass

Hay

Heather

Holly

Honeysuckle

Hop

Hyacinth

Iris

Ivy

Juniper

Lavender

Lichen

Lilac

Lilly

Mallow

Marigold

Mint

Mistletoe

Moss

Moss

Mushroom

Nettle

Nightshade

Oat

Olive

Orchid

Parsley

Periwinkle

Pine

Poppy

Primrose

Privet

Raspberry

Reed

Reedmace

Rose

Rush

Rye

Saffron

Sage

Sedge

Seed

Snowdrop

Spindle

Strawberry

Tangerine

Tansy

Teasel

Thistle

Thrift

Thyme

Violet

Weed

Wheat

Woodruff

Yarrow

Rocks and earth

Agate

Amber

Amethyst

Arch

Basalt

Bounder

Cave

Chalk

Coal

Copper

Dirt

Dust

Flint

Garnet

Gold

Granite

Hill

Iron

Jagged

Jet

Mountain

Mud

Peak

Pebble

Pinnacle

Pit

Quartz

Ridge

Rock

Rubble

Ruby

Rust(y)

Sand

Sapphire

Sediment

Silt

Silver

Slate

Soil

Spire

Stone

Trench

Zircon

Water Formations

Bay

Cove

Creek

Delta

Lake

Marsh

Ocean

Pool

Puddle

River

Sea

Water

Weather and such

Autumn

Avalanche

Balmy

Blaze

Blizzard

Breeze

Burnt

Chill

Cinder

Cloud

Cold

Dew

Drift

Drizzle

Drought

Dry

Ember

Fall

Fire

Flame

Flood

Fog

Freeze

Frost

Frozen

Gale

Gust

Hail

Ice

Icicle

Lightening

Mist

Muggy

Rain 

Scorch

Singe

Sky

Sleet

Sloe

Smoke

Snow

Snowflake

Soot

Sorrel

Spark

Spring

Steam

Storm

Summer

Sun

Thunder

Water

Wave

Wet

Wind

Winter

Celestial??

Comet

Dawn

Dusk

Evening 

Midnight

Moon

Morning

Night

Noon

Twilight

Cat Features, Traits, and Misc. 

Azure

Beige

Big

Black

Blonde

Blotch(ed)

Blue

Bounce

Bright 

Brindle

Broken

Bronze

Brown

Bumble

Burgundy

Call

Carmine

Claw

Cobalt

Cream

Crimson

Cry

Curl(y)

Dapple

Dark

Dot(ted)

Dusky

Ebony

Echo

Fallen

Fleck(ed)

Fluffy

Freckle

Ginger

Golden

Gray

Green

Heavy

Kink

Knot(ted)

Light

Little

Lost

Loud

Marbled

Mew

Milk

Mottle

Mumble

Ochre

Odd

One

Orange

Pale

Patch(ed)

Pounce 

Prickle

Ragged

Red

Ripple

Rough

Rugged

Russet

Scarlet

Shade

Shaggy

Sharp

Shimmer

Shining

Small

Smudge

Soft

Song

Speckle

Spike

Splash

Spot(ted)

Streak

Stripe(d)

Strong

Stump(y)

Sweet

Tall

Talon

Tangle

Tatter(ed)

Tawny

Tiny

Tough

Tumble

Twist

Violet

Whisker

Whisper

White

Wild

Wooly

Yellow

[ice-mage]

Don't mess with Linden Ashby

Teen Wolf guys at the Beacon Hills High School Reunion con via Ryan Kelley’s Insta

[thiswasinevitable-rwrb]

Their first kiss goes a little bit differently.

[ Movie heights. ]

• • • • • •

"You're as thick as it gets."

Alex knew Henry was upset. He knew it the instant he turned around in the storm of confetti and saw the look on his face. He would have thought Henry was about to be sick, if he hadn't been grinning like the sun just 2.1 seconds ago. Alex knew it in the way Henry pivoted into the crowd to get out of the tent. He knew it as he followed footprints in the snow to the slope of the linden tree, where the branches created a broad umbrella. Thankfully, Alex didn't need to look any further.

And okay, Alex is drunk. Maybe insensitive. He wants to go back to that instant right before midnight, the final seconds of last year, when Henry was beside him, smiling bigger than Alex had ever seen, swaying stiffly because the silly Englishman didn't know how to cut loose...

Alex knew Henry was upset. But he didn't know just how much until he stormed down to him on the little hill of the tree, and narrowed in 2.1 centimeters from Alex's face. Zero, in fact, as Henry gripped Alex's head and captured his lips.

Alex is in no way prepared for how soft Henry's lips are. Nothing has silenced his overactive brain like this before. It tries to catch up and fumbles, wondering if this is some sort of joke but also Henry never jokes like this -

Their mouths open. Their heads tilt in harmony and they slot together like they never left. Alex feels the tip of Henry's tongue on the seam of his lips, and then he's sliding into Alex's mouth. And Alex's jaw is going slack, letting him in. This is like...like smelling food and realizing he's hungry. Realizing he's been ravenous for a long time.

Alex's hands found Henry's waist and swooped around to hold his floating ribs. Henry shuddered and reared back, eyes unfocused while alarm swam in the intoxicated pools.

"I'm. Sorry," he stammered, and Alex could see, one by one, as thoughts and recoil began to slam through Henry's brain. His hands started to fall away from Alex as his eyes diverted to see his way out, to hide from Alex who stood way too close for hiding distance.

Henry begins sliding out of his hands, when Alex tightens his hold. Henry's eyes dart up, mouth on autopilot as he repeated, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Alex breathed, and pressed his thumb into the knot of that silly copper tie, holding Henry in position as he claimed his mouth again.

A weak little moan escaped Henry, and Alex was lost, burying that sound into his dreams and chasing for more. Henry took a moment to feel Alex's sincerity, but when he did, his hands raked into Alex's hair. The tingles across his scalp and nape combined with the blunt intimacy of having fingers in his hair and a moan of his own flew right out of his chest as he broke the kiss long enough to turn his head for another. He briefly saw the effect of his voice on Henry, whose brows tilted together in agony, like he would die if Alex didn't keep kissing him.

Alex stepped up the slope, regaining the precious inch he had on the golden boy and being rewarded for it by Henry's hands tugging him ever closer. Like he wanted Alex inside his suit with him, inside his veins.

Their bodies rocked together until Henry's arms slid firmly around Alex's shoulders, holding on as the latter walked them back towards the tree. An exclamation blurted out of Henry when his derriere landed on the arm of a low branch. The surprise opened his legs and Alex stepped between them, hands slipping underneath Henry's suit jacket. One of Henry's hands grasped Alex's lapel, only to splay across the fabric of his shirt over his chest.

Alex had already been hanging heavily between his legs but as his erection began to kick to standing, it moved along Henry's thigh and groin. That hand slipped down Alex's torso as Henry gasped for air--"Oh, fuck,"--and looked vaguely down to follow the sensation between them. That hand moved around Alex's waist, pulling him right against Henry as a leg hooked behind Alex's knee.

Which was good, because at this point, Alex had no idea how to proceed. His brain, or lack thereof, wanted to rut between Henry's legs like a feral teenager, but dry-humping seemed a bit beneath one of Henry's stock...right?

Henry's panting breath was hot on his face, making Alex completely forget that it was, in fact, snowing. Alex's body needed more of him, and as much as he wanted to be some sort of Casanova with better tact, Alex's hips rocked against Henry's pelvis.

Good news: Henry was not above dry-humping.

Less good news: the effect of him gazing at Alex with low lashes, chest heaving, as his hands found the hillocks of his ass to encourage more, fried Alex's brain beyond all reckoning.

He plundered Henry's mouth, more teeth than lips sometimes and Henry took it all. Alex felt Henry's erection and had never wanted something more in his life. He wanted to see it, to feel it on his bare skin, maybe even taste it -

Henry ripped a moan right out of him when he gripped Alex by the hair and drew him down to his throat. Alex was more than happy to kiss, suck, and bite that neck, only regretting not getting the tie and buttons open first.

Alex didn't know if Henry was even aware he was talking, but he heard Henry exhale, "Alex-ah! I want this. Hahh...I want you to remember me. I want to still taste you tomorrow."

Henry's pelvis was trembling. The reality that Alex was making him cum gave him the biggest power trip and the most humbling desire for servitude, he couldn't think. He could only press his forehead to Henry's and watch, trying to keep his own eyes open as Henry's wrecked face and blissful voice ripped his own orgasm from his control.

One might think post-nut clarity would lend some assistance here, but as they panted in each other's faces, and Alex's lips began to drag along Henry's hairline, he decided, "My room. I want to do this all over again."

"Aren't you the host?" Henry blinked at him. Alex understood his meaning: Aren't you supposed to go back to the party?

"My room," he repeated. "Now."

[cricketnationrise]

Your banner of “shut up, shut all the way up!!” Makes me laugh every time so may I humbly request: 8:00 pm, the red room, Alex and Henry, no songs for vibes but how about if they didn’t get interrupted? I’m down for all the spice but it’s up to you my dear!!

Ao3-royalhearthuff

i'm glad you laugh, that's one of my favorite quotes from the book its just so perfectly alex. i am SO DOWN for your prompt its ridiculous. have some canon-adjacent making out for your sunday afternoon.

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

8:00pm, red room

Alex might legitimately be going insane — it’s the most likely explanation for how fucking good it feels to be making out with Henry. And they definitely are making out, not just kissing; there’s nothing remotely polite about the way Alex shoved Henry against the wall, nothing PG about Henry’s hands in his hair and clutching his ass. Every rattle of the portrait against the wall as Henry arches into Alex’s touch drives Alex even wilder. The weight of Henry’s leg around his waist might as well be one of those safety bars for a roller coaster — keeping Alex in the moment, on this ride as he and Henry go through loops and twists and down steep hills.

Alex has been breaking apart since January; only Henry’s lips on his, only Henry’s body pressed close, is keeping Alex in one piece now. Each kiss, each thrust of hips, each new place Alex’s hand lands lights a firework inside his mind. He’s really here — in the fucking Red Room, with a party full of diplomats just down the hall — with Henry. 

Henry, who he would have sworn on his mother’s election that he hated just a few months ago. 

Henry, who kissed him under the linden tree and tilted Alex’s axis completely askew.

Henry makes a low noise against Alex’s mouth and Alex drops a hand to Henry’s thigh. He squeezes the hard muscles beneath his fingers reflexively, rewarded with a gasp so thin it’s almost a whimper. Alex can practically feel Henry’s pulse through his suit and he moves his hand higher, closer to the bulge in Henry’s suit pants. Henry’s hand slips out of Alex’s hair (the one on his ass stays firmly in place) and slams down on Alex’s hand, his nails digging in sharply.

Alex stops moving, pulls back just enough to meet Henry’s eyes. They’re both breathing heavily, mouths less than an inch apart. Henry’s eyes are wide in surprised pleasure. Alex slides his free hand inside Henry’s suit jacket, finds the dip of Henry’s waist as if it’s fucking magnetized.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Alex says, proud of how steady his voice is when he feels so wrecked. 

“Don’t.”

That one word is enough to make Alex’s dick twitch in his pants. He’s captivated by Henry’s flushed cheeks; wonders how far down that blush goes.

“Gonna need you to stop trying to draw blood then,” he murmurs between sucking kisses down Henry’s neck. Henry exhales more shakily than a house of cards built on Jell-o salad, but relaxes the hand trapping Alex’s.

Alex flexes his hand to get some feeling back into it before resuming his task. He brings his lips to Henry’s, kissing him hard, as he finally gets his hand on Henry’s cloth-covered cock. Henry straight up groans into Alex’s mouth and bucks his hips into Alex’s hand, seeking more contact, more friction, just—

“More, Alex, please—”

Alex manages to get Henry’s pants open quickly, only fumbling when Henry nips behind his ear. He doesn’t waste any time working a hand inside Henry’s briefs, wrapping around Henry’s cock; it feels fucking perfect in his hand. Henry pushes into Alex’s grip, establishing a rhythm that matches his racing heart. Henry’s desperation drives Alex wild.

He crowds Henry even closer to the wall, chuckling darkly at the rattle of Hamilton’s frame, and stills Henry’s hips with an arm across his abs.

“Let me.”

“Get on with it, then,” Henry pleads, eyes closed, sweat beading at his hairline, so fucking stunning, and Alex is more than happy to oblige.

It takes Alex a second to find the right angle, but once he does, he starts jacking Henry with fucking intent. Sure, he jerked Liam off, but that was years ago, and he was pretty drunk. This time, he’s stone cold sober — too jumpy during dinner to handle a wine glass. This time, he’s practically on fire from the feel of broad shoulders and strong thighs beneath his hands. This time, it’s Henry — and that, apparently, changes everything.

There’s enough precome leaking from Henry’s cock to make Alex’s strokes smooth, and he wants to record the wet noises for goddamn posterity — proof that he’s the one making Henry feel good, pulling Henry toward his orgasm. Alex doesn’t know what words would spill from his lips if he took them off Henry’s (he’s pretty sure there would be more terms of endearment than he’s comfortable acknowledging), so he doesn’t. He keeps his mouth fused to Henry’s, exploring with his tongue and catching Henry’s moans and hitching breaths before they echo through the room.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alex knows they’re running out of time. Amy told him five minutes and every second past that is borrowed time. He speeds up his hand and now both of Henry’s legs are around Alex’s waist, caging him in. Alex lets Henry’s hips move as they want to, desperate to get Henry’s hair between his fingers. It’s just as soft as he imagined, so you know, fuck him.

“Christ,” Henry moans against Alex’s lips, “close—”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Do it, come on—”

Henry does, with a whimper that would be a scream if Henry wasn’t clamping his lips shut. Alex gentles his hand, letting Henry come down before detangling their limbs.

“Wait, I can—”

Alex cuts him off. “No time, we’re pushing it already.”

“But, I—”

“You are going to be at least five hundred feet away from me for the rest of the night or I won’t be responsible for my actions. And then you’ll come to my bedroom and return the favor and then some and if you fucking ghost me again, I’ll have you put on a fucking no-fly list, got it?”

“Got it.”

Alex takes a few steps back, straightens his own suit and moves to the door with a last wink at Henry. He sees Henry’s blush get stronger before he slips out and shuts the door behind him with a grin.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The former 1928 Spanish Colonial mansion of legendary gangster Bugsy Siegal just dropped in Beverly Hills, California for 17M and it’s phenomenal.

It has been impeccably maintained. 

What you see as you enter the front door. All the tiles are hand-painted. Isn’t this unique?

Wow. Not many homes comes with gigantic statues.

Sitting room has a beautiful fireplace.

The entrance to the dining room looks like the entrance to a castle. Look at the ornate iron gate.

What a ceiling. Doors open to the patio and a huge window also provides a beautiful view.

The chef’s kitchen was renovated, but it’s so white. 

The large main bd. is one of 7 bds. and has a beautiful fireplace in the sitting area.

Huge marble en suite is 1 of 7 baths.

Another large bd. with a bath.

Home office with a wall that incorporates a floor-to-ceiling shelf with windows.

This bath has an Art Deco look and was certainly built in that era.

Lovely gardens and a pool.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/810-N-Linden-Dr-Beverly-Hills-CA-90210/20521406_zpid/

[hapalopus]

Translation of "Lindormen" from "Æventyrets Dyreverden," Ingvor Bondesen (1887). I have added paragraph breaks for easier online readability, and have added translations/comments in brackets, but have otherwise tried to keep the formatting.

The book is available on Archive.

No animal has been subject of as much fear as the serpent, not even the wolf. From the oldest myths to the youngest folklore, the serpent takes the leading role, and imagination is consistently in motion to provide the serpent with all abilities to evoke fear.

The names change, with time and place: Midgard-serpent, sea serpent, hugormekonge [viper king], and, under all names, venom is its terrible weapon. The horrible giant serpent of the Middle Ages is the lindorm. It lives at the outskirts - in Jylland there is, as such, one in Store Vildmose [a largely impenetrable bog/forest] - and it is of monstrous size. In the folk song, "Didrik af Bern,"[1] it takes the horse under its tongue and snakes into the mountain, where its eleven young lie; it throws the horse to them and bids them taste "den liden Brad" [the little prey].

Mads Povlsen from Fastrup has seen a lindorm-baby as long as a ladder, that is to say 12 cubit [7.5 m/24' 8.5"]. Like the Midgard-serpent was a symbol of the sea's destructive might, the lindorm is similarly a symbol of earth's consuming power, of decay and the awfulness of the grave. When the serpent thus leaves its hill [lindorme are commonly said to live in hills in Danish folklore], its heath [the Danish heath is very inhospitable to humans], its Vildmose, it is with the purpose of finding a churchyard, where it will often encircle the church, gnaw the wooden crosses and foliage, and prevent people from visiting the Lord's House, until it has grown so big that it can topple the church.

In other places, it tunnels beneath the church and eats the corpses, just like the serpent Níðhöggr in Hvergelmir chewed on corpses. And like Níðhöggr laid under Yggdrasil and leeched off its root, so is the lindorm hatched within the root of the linden tree when [the tree] grows old[2]; because Yggdrasil was, in ancient times, a symbol of all Earth's bountifulness and fertile beauty, just like the linden tree later became in the Middle Ages. In the old linden tree in Farum town, there is such a serpent. Every time a century has passed, it roars loudly and, in the end, it will topple the tree, break out, and cause destruction.

Andre Steder borer den sig ned under Kirkerne og æder Ligene, som og Ormen Nidhug i Hvergelmer sugede Lig. Og som Nidhug laa under Ygdrasil og tærede paa dens Rod, saaledes udklækkes der ogsaa en Lindorm i Lindetræets Rod, naar dette bliver meget gammelt t. k.* ; thi Ygdrasil var i Oldtiden Symbolet paa al Jordens Grøde og frugtbare Fagerhed, ligesom Linden senere bliver det i Middelalderen. I det gamle Lindetræ i Farum By er der en saadan Orm. Hver Gang hundrede Aar ere forløbne, brøler den højt, og tilsidst vil den vælte Træet, bryde frem og gjøre Ulykker[3].

The following tale is told in Skåne:

A man lived in a remote forest and earned a living by, among other things, making bark ropes. One day he ordered his half-grown son to crawl up an old tree and loosen the bark. During the work, the boy called down to his father: "Dad, down in the tree there is a sow with her piglets!" The father immediately yelled back for the boy to hurry back down, but it was too late; the lindorm had already grabbed a hold of him and dragged him down through the hollow trunk. The boy screamed and called for help, but the father didn't dare come to his aid; he knew that whoever is taken by the lindorm cannot be saved. "I can't say if this story should be believed or not, but I have later met a man, who must have been born to farmers, but who spent most of his time in cities and among gentlemen, and he spoke of the same, or a similar, story, which had been told in the area between Engelholm and Laholm. His parents, who were wealthy farmers, had, when he was a child, at a market in Engelholm, bought bark rope from a poor man, who told them not to barter, as the ropes had been expensive enough already, as they had cost him the life of his son, which was taken by a lindorm."[4]

The Swedes called it Hvitaormen [the white serpent]; it only shows itself every hundred years, and only in great wilderness areas (see also Hugormekongen). Witches seek it greedily to boil it into soup, and gain insight into all nature's secrets, because, as the serpent in the depths of the earth wraps itself around the roots of mountains and rocks, it is thought to have sucked up the urgrund's secretive powers. Simply just licking the serpent's skin will give you knowledge of all the plants and rocks, and of healing wounds and diseases.[5]

The only effective way to get rid of this wretched beast is to rear a bull on whole milk and wheat bread, which was once done in Tjørnelunde on Zealand, where the lindorm had settled at the outskirts of town and ate the cattle, and whatever else it could catch. When the bull was two years old, they were pitted against each other, but the lindorm was strongest, and the bull was chased off. The year after, the bull had grown as big and strong that it may as well have been a fairytale creature itself, and it was once again pitted against the serpent. The battle was awful, but finally the bull won. After the fight, the bull was so furious that no person could go near it; it tore up the earth with its horns so deep that a great lake area was formed, which can still be found East of the town and is called Hovparken. In the end, the bull was shot; but in a field near Tjørnelunde there is a rock with a deep fissure, which is said to have been made when the lindorm whipped its tail around during the battle.[3]

In Kløv Hill, North of the city of Thisted, lies an enormous lindorm. When doomsday draws near, Denmark will be at war, and the enemy will draw in from the South and lay everything to waste. The last remnant of the Danish Army shall gather at Tids Meadow, where a mighty tree stands. Then the Danish king will arrive on his white horse, bind his horse to the tree, and the battle will start. In the midst of battle, the lindorm will break out and bring an end to both allies and enemies, after which doomsday will begin.[6] In this legend, we have a clear echo of the Ragnarok legend; Tids Meadow is the Vígríðr Field, the tree is Yggdrasil, the king on his white horse is Odin on Sleipnir, the lindorm is the Midgard-serpent, which gets loose, and the enemy from South are not the Germans, but rather the Sons of Muspell.

In the image of the lindorm, as an expression of earth's terrible nature spirit, old features are mixed in to express a passion for earthly things, the brooding serpent of greed. We find this in the legend of the serpent on Gnita Heath, just like the tale of Ragnarr Loðbrók and Þóra borgarhjǫrtr. The earl Herrauðr in Gotland sends his daughter, Þóra a little beautiful serpent as a gift. She keeps it in a box and lays gold around it. It grows with the gold, finally encircling her bower and threatening everyone who draws near, with death and doom. This motif is repeated in later legends.

Near Kingstorp in Skåne lived a man who pretended to be so poor that, when he died, his widow went to the priest to get aid for his burial. But the priest was of the opinion that the man wasn't nearly as poor as the widow thought, as he had been terribly misery. The priest wondered if he had hidden his money somewhere. The widow now remembered that the man enjoyed sitting under a tree near their house; a search was conducted at the place, and they found a rock under which laid a kettle, guarded by a large brooding serpent. The priest ordered the widow to remove the serpent, as she was able to do so. She was scared, but obeyed, and the kettle was lifted. Now the priest told the widow to take a few schilling, put them back in the hold, and lay the serpent on top, as the serpent was the dead man's soul. When this was done, the rock was laid on top once more, and the hole was covered up.[4]

Svend Grundtvig: Danmarks Folkeviser.

Evald Tang Kristensen : Jyske Folkeminder, 4.

J. Kamp: Danske Folkeminder.

Eva Wigstrøm : Folkdiktning m. m. från Skåne, 1.

Afzelius: Svenska folkets sago-håfder, 2.

Svend Grundtvig: Gamle danske Minder, 2.