a price for miracles

me: i probably should extend my horizons and watch different kinds of musicals to be able to widen my knowledge on different genres

also me: ok so this book of mormon bootleg mckinley didnt point to kevin during the “being gay is bad” line while the other boot he did. and this bootleg there’s an elder who was acting super gay for kevin before two by two. wait this boot kevin was looking away durin mckinley’s line abt being gay in turn it off while the othe


How was it possible to be afraid and in love… The two things did not go together. How was it possible to be afraid, when the two of them grew stronger together every day? And every night. Every night was different, and every morning. Together they possessed a miracle. ― Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

Haikyuu Fic Recommendations List Pt.2

Hey it’s been a while but here have a part 2 of the fic rec list. All of the fics are complete.


Moonstruck - Kawanishi x Yamagata - Rated G - 2,439 words

Touch - Kyoutani x Yahaba - Rated T - 1,188 words

Isolated Parts - Kyoutani x Yahaba - Rated T - 3,340 words

Of Lame Pick Up Lines And Barely Coherent Texts - Konoha x Inuoka - Rated G - 1,793 words

Tarot And Tea Leaves - Iwaizumi x Oikawa - Rated G - 3,716 words

Here Comes Your Man - Iwaizumi x Oikawa - Rated T - 8,801 words

Stray Arrows - Kyoutani x Yahaba - Rated T - 3,801 words

Our Hearts Still Beat The Same - Iwaizumi x Oikawa - Rated M - 11,804 words

(more under the cut) 

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The Slipper and the Soldier: A Day At The Market.

Summary: This is a fairy tale dear reader, where impossible things happen every day, such as a pumpkin becoming a golden carriage; or a plain honest country girl and a prince falling in love. A Cinderella AU where you dear reader take on the title role while the Avengers and other Marvel characters take on the other roles in the story; such as Bucky Barnes filling in for the role of Prince Charming. Based on this imagine right here.

Prologue - A Day At The Market

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How was it possible to be afraid and in love, Therese thought. The two things did not go together. How was it possible to be afraid, when the two of them grew stronger together every day? And every night. Every night was different, and every morning. Together they possessed a miracle.

Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

This is such a goddamn beautiful line.

He’s Gone.

He looks so peaceful, almost like he’s sleeping, which he is, but not really. Magnus has seen many a people brought to him in this condition. Family members begging and pleading with him to fix their loved ones. Wake them up. Preform a miracle. Sometimes he can, sometimes he gives smiles and souls back to the people who loved them so much they were willing to pay his high prices and demands. But most often than not, there were no miracles. The person never woke up, and never recovered. That’s usually what happens. Not this time though. Not this person. Not Alexander.

He’s going to be fine. He has to be. He’s a good person, he has served the angels up above well. He’s always done the right and good thing, except maybe his association with himself. Half demon, warlock. Maybe not that. But if anyone is to blame for that it should be himself. He begged his Nephilim to choose him, to choose happiness. So if the angel Raziel or any other wants to punish his Alexander, don’t. Punish him. Just leave this one alone. Leave Alexander alone. Let him live, let him be happy for one more moment, one more year, and one more decade longer. Please, please, please.

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RESONANCE OF FATE sentence starters. 

  • “Hey, save some for me!”
  • “This can’t be good.”
  • “Hell just got a little more crowded.”
  • “Simple, but nice.”
  • “Finally mastered the art of brute force, eh?”
  • “Another one bites the dust.”
  • “You’re hard to miss.”
  • “I don’t wanna hear it.”
  • “I’ve never considered alcohol a drug.”
  • “Well, at least you have taste.”
  • “I don’t question the motives of my betters.”
  • “What’s going on? What do you think you’re doing?”
  • “Have you lost it?!”
  • “Too late for regrets.” 
  • “Well, isn’t this a surprise. What’s it been, one? Two years?”
  • “What brings you by? You here on business?”
  • “We have much to discuss, you and I.”
  • “Do you remember me?”
  • “There’s a _____ nearby. Meet me there and we’ll talk. Just the two of us.”
  • “It sickens me to even look at you!”
  • “Their blood is on your hands!”
  • “Kill me now while you have the chance. The next time we meet we’ll be enemies.”
  • “Maybe we can come to an arrangement. If it’s money you want, name your price!”
  • “What’s a miracle anyway? Would you know one if you saw it? And suppose you did. Would that make you happy?!”
  • “You may be a _____, but it won’t save you. You’ll die screaming!”
  • “Don’t move a muscle.”
  • “You want some of this?”
  • “How could you do that to me!”
  • “Please, don’t keep anything else from me.”
  • “How much he/she paying you?”
  • “You idiot! You wanted to die, didn’t you?!”
  • “You didn’t forget, did you?”
  • “Why don’t you hate me? You think you’re some kind of saint?!”
  • “You may not want to kill me, but that won’t stop me from killing you!”
  • “Forgive me. This was not your fight.”
  • “You would have it a whole lot easier if it wasn’t for me.”
  • “You come all this way to pat me on the back?”
  • “Dangerous place for a lady to be walking all by herself.”
  • “Do you know what I see, _____? I see a man clinging blindly to duty because he has nothing else.”
  • “Keep this up and we shouldn’t have any problems.”
  • “Not bad! Next time I’ll show you one trick or two.”
  • “It’s been far too long, old friend.”
  • “Not whom I was expecting, but you’re welcome nonetheless.”
  • “Aren’t you the silver tongue.”
  • “I see right through you.”
  • “Hold that thought.”
  • “Guess we got careless.”
  • “You think this is funny?”
  • “Go on. I don’t want any trouble.”
  • “Was that really necessary?”
  • “You can’t tell me this doesn’t scare you.”
  • “You’re making a formal offer?”
  • “So, you’ve chased me all this way?”
  • “I thought I might find you here.”
  • “I can’t take any more!”
  • “You missed on purpose!”
  • “You’re the witness. What do you make of it?”
  • “Will you knock it off?!”
  • “Always an honor to be asked for by name.”
  • “This is hardly the time for trash talk, pal.”
  • “You do know what you’re doing, right?”
  • “You’re nothing but a bad joke.”
  • “What’s getting killed in a rage-fueled frenzy going to accomplish?”
  • “We’re not so unalike, you and I.”
  • “Trying to find some new playmates.”
  • “Surrender now, make this easy.”
  • “All right, you ready? Time for us to hit the road.”
  • “You’re serious?”
  • “You can’t accept that it was time that changed me?”
  • “Things are fine the way they are. As am I.”
  • “Who do you think you’re messing with?”
  • “I’m working here.”
  • “I see you.”
  • “Care to explain?”
  • “Your only way past is through me.”
  • “Time’s a-wasting.”
  • “Get out of the way!”
  • “Care to hire a hunter?”
  • “You ask too much.”
  • “Game over.”
  • “I like it when it gets messy.”
  • “Hey, hold it!”
  • “Moron! Are you ever gonna grow up?”
  • “Toying with you should be more fun.”
  • “Quit wasting my time.”
  • “Don’t worry, I got your back.”
  • “You gotta be kidding!”
  • “I still got some fight in me.”
  • “I thought you were the bad guy.”
  • “Look who’s talking.”
  • “Would you look at what the cat dragged in.”
  • “I can read your every move.”
  • “It doesn’t get any more real than that.”
  • “You picked a fight with the wrong girl.”
  • “I’ll admit, you got some moves on you.”
  • “I think that qualifies as mad skills.”
  • “Let me be perfectly clear this once: we’re evil men who revel in our vainglory.”
  • “No need for worry when you’re with me, sweetcakes.”
  • “If that was wrong, I don’t wanna be right.”
  • “One of these days, you need to look before you leap. Think things through for once.”
  • “Not bad for a job, but personally I could use a little more thrill.”
  • “Oh come on, that’s not how it goes.”
  • “Sorry, looks like you still have some catching up to do.”
  • “What’s gotten into me?”
  • “I can’t go on like this.”
  • “I’m not laughing.”
  • “Is that a smile?”
  • “Let’s keep moving.”
  • “After you.”
  • “C’mon, get your ass up here.”
  • “Not really a fair fight, was it?”
  • “You think I care?”
  • “Been seeing more than our share of monster attacks lately.”
  • “No shame going for low hanging fruit.”
  • “If you’re gonna point a gun at someone, make sure you know who you’re dealing with.”
  • “We still have some unfinished business.”
  • “Sorry. I’ll pay attention, I promise.”
  • “Don’t try that at home, _____. I don’t think we could pull it off.”
  • “No points for brains, but whatever works for you.”
  • “They even left me wanting more.”
  • “That wasn’t even close, you’re making me look bad!”
  • “Care to dance?”
  • “Once I decide to kill someone, they get killed.”
  • “Can’t say this will be a happy ending.”
  • “My fallen enemies and forgotten lovers outnumber the stars in the sky.”
  • “Two shots to the head, it’s the only way to be sure.”
  • “Don’t feel sorry for them. They asked for it.”
  • “Still holding a grudge, _______?”
  • “Get while the getting’s good.”
  • “Hardly feels like work when you enjoy it so much.”
  • “Watch where you point that thing.”
  • “If you can hold your own, I can use you.”
  • “I know you wouldn’t go unless I asked you to.”
  • “Still want more?”
Back Again | Charles Vane x Reader (part 2 of 2)

Originally posted by kissmyglitter


Requested by Anon: “First off I want to say how amazing your blog is!!!! I’ve been looking for stuff like this since the end of Black Sails! I was wondering if you could write an imagine where the reader brings Vane back from the dead (Kinda like Calypso & Barbosa In POTC) and Vane ends up falling for the reader. Thanks !!”  +  “Vane is Made Pirate King of Nassau and makes reader his Queen” + smut as ‘requested’ by @selldraug

A/N: I just want to thank you, Anon(s), because I really enjoyed developing your request! Also, this is my first attempt at smut since ages, and anyway nobody’s ever read my smuts. Your opinions about how it turned out would be sooooo appreciated!

Fandom: Black Sails. Pairing: Charles Vane x Reader

Warnings: what if in which Vane is still alive. SMUT

Requests are OPEN

Word-count: 2964

Your name: submit What is this?

It took Charles Vane days to convince Y/N to help him with the conquest of the port of Nassau, but he eventually succeeded. He hoped Y/N would keep her promise because once back into civilization he’d really need her help.

He had spent a lot of time training her with the two swords she somehow had in a trunk under her bed. And damn, she was now very good at it! She had whined all the time because she wasn’t sure she really wanted to do this, but he hadn’t listened to her and he was so proud of the result.

And then something happened.

They had been fighting all day and he had taught her some moves. It had been an exhausting day and they had somehow ended up kissing each other. It hadn’t been a sweet kiss or a passionate one: it had been hungry, almost as though their lips and tongues had been continuing that day’s training.

Then, as swift as it had come, the kiss broke.

They hadn’t talked about what had happened ever since.

Even now Charles was sure he had felt the sea on her lips and that wish came up again: to be with her because he loved the sea and she was the sea. And how could he let that slip from his fingers?

He could lose Nassau, he could lose the gold, he could even lose his crew. But the sea, that never-ending and yet finite expanse of water and thrill… Even with nothing left he would never let go of it. That same salt water flowed in his veins and determined who he was.

A pirate.

A Captain.

And even though he could have a safe and peaceful life with Y/N, he didn’t want all those men to let go their real identity. It was love, what they felt, and it was life. And what was a man without love and life? What was a pirate without the sea and all it had to offer?

In front of him, there was Nassau teeming with life and not even night was able to put the town to sleep.

Hidden behind a group of palm trees, Charles Vane and Y/N observed its life, the coming and going of pirates and harlots. Two Englishmen stood at the entrance of the building where – according to Vane – Eleanor lived.

Woodes Rogers probably lives there too, he had whispered in her ear while pointing at the building with his sword.

Y/N had been quiet ever since they had left her cottage that afternoon.

She was scared, Charles Vane could almost feel it on his skin like when the sea gets ready for a storm. He could see the flames of the bonfires in the distance reflected into her eyes while she looked at them.

“I didn’t remember this place to be so beautiful,” she whispered, crawling a few feet back to hide behind the remaining of old launches.

He followed her and laid against the wood. “Why did you leave?”

“I thought we had an agreement.”

“Jack Rackham hasn’t come out yet. We have some time to talk.” He wanted to know. He needed to know something about her. She knew almost everything about him and to him she still was a mystery.

“It’s stupid,” she said, hoping that those words would cut the conversation to an end. But he urged her to speak and she didn’t know how to say ’no’ to him anymore. “I was kind of a slave, something like seven years ago. You know, a fanatic captain found me in the Caribbean and thought I was Calypso. He was so convinced of it that he kidnapped me.”

“Calypso?” Charles chuckled. “As in the goddess of the sea?”

Y/N nodded. “He wasn’t a very lucky pirate and his crew grew angrier by the second. He thought that maybe with me by his side he’d tame the sea, he’d turn it to his side. Which was the most stupid thing I’ve heard ever since I can remember – I am no goddess and sure as hell I can’t tame the sea,” and she laughed a little. “You just can’t tame it. However, I ended up here and when he understood that I couldn’t be of help… well, he did things to me – bad things. No one helped. They all stood by and stared, all those people, but never reached out to help me. In the end, I left.” She turned to looked at him and found him staring intently at her. “I hope this is your only question because – as I’ve already said – the past stays in the past.”

He tilted his head and eventually nodded. He wanted to know that captain’s name but knew well enough that she wouldn’t answer that question.

Charles could understand why that guy thought she was Calypso. She looked beautiful, free yet caged, but there was something inside her, something deep and as old as the sea, that couldn’t be tamed. There was a spark in her eyes, something that death and torture couldn’t switch off.

And yet she had brought him back. He had died and yet still breathed. What human being could do something like that? And what was the price of such a miracle? He knew nature wasn’t keen on giving without receiving something in return.

What had been the price of his resurrection?

He was about to ask her, to force her to answer him, when a well-known voice caught his attention. When he turned, Jack Rackham, his former quartermaster, was taking a piss.

Charles grabbed Y/N’s arm and pointed at Jack. “Go take him. I don’t care what you do, but bring him here.”

She snorted but stood up anyway.

“Hi there,” she smiled when she reached him.

Jack started in surprise and hurried to put his prick where it belonged. He turned around and furrowed his eyebrows. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” she simply answered before she sweet-talked him into following her.

Keeping Jack’s surprise quiet had been quite a challenge, but Y/N had eventually shut his mouth by putting her handkerchief into it.

Convincing him to help the two of them… well, that was something Y/N would never willingly do ever again.

But in the end, Jack Rackham had gathered them an army – or, better, a bunch of drunk nostalgic pirates. Y/N had looked at Charles and stopped herself just in time from saying: “You must be kidding me.”

Even when that Jack guy told them that the Brits had sent back home their ships and only kept two in the bay, the girl remained pissed.

“This is going to be a suicide,” she muttered to Charles a few nights later, after one of their gatherings with the men.

“Probably,” he answered, looking up at her before downing his rum. Fuck, he hadn’t drunk that shit in ages and he had missed it. “But I’m not giving up on what’s mine.”

“And what exactly is yours?” Y/N bit back. “You died. Nothing’s yours anymore.”

“The sea still is. And it’s theirs too. Some of them know nothing else – and others want nothing else. That guy thought you were Calypso and held you captive because of that. Knowing what that feels like, would you want other women or girls to go through that?”

She shook her head no.

He stood up and grabbed her by her waist, surprising the both of them. “I won’t let those men lose what’s theirs.”

It took them time to be ready to attack and to find enough men to win. Charles would’ve been happy to have Flint’s help and that of his crew, but he wasn’t that lucky that time.

Vane and Y/N had split up. He and his men were aiming at Eleanor and the Englishmen on the island, while Jack, Y/N, and their men were swimming silently towards the two British ships left in the harbor.

Y/N still believed this was a suicidal idea. They were all gonna end up dead, whether they’d be shot, hung or pierced by a sword.

“Such a bad idea,” she muttered under her breath while climbing the ladder to get into the ship.

And those fuckers had sent her up first.

Jesus Christ, she’d never understand pirates.

Luckily no one was in sight and she was soon joined by Jack.

She looked at him and shook her head. “You sure we can trust the others with that other ship?”

He simply nodded. “They’ll free the port, and Vane will free the land. We all get what we want and he can rule as he has always wanted.”

She let the men go first. The idea of killing… well, she didn’t like it that much. She’d rather help Charles without murdering anyone, but…

“Hey, you!” someone angrily yelled.

She turned in the direction of the voice. One of Rogers’ men was walking towards her.

“I thought we said no whores on board,” he yelled again. When he reached her, he grabbed her wrist, hurting her.

“Excuse you?” Y/N was fuming. Her? A fucking whore? She stood there, her wrist in his grasp, dripping on the deck of that stupid ship. And she was being called a ’whore’. Before she knew it she had taken her gun and had shot him in the forehead. “Your mother might be a whore, you jackass,” she hissed. She kicked his corpse and took his gun.

She was so done being nice with everyone. She had been called a whore enough when he still believed her to be Calypso. She wasn’t going to stand someone else calling her like that anymore.


“What’s all that blood?” Charles asked when Y/N got back to the shore with Jack and his men.

“You know, the Brits bleed too,” Jack huffed, grabbing the rum bottle from which Anne Bonny was drinking. “Eleanor?” he asked.

“Inside your whorehouse,” was Vane’s answer. “Tied up, with Rogers.”

“How did you even come back to life?” someone asked, his voice standing above all the other voices.

He shrugged the question off his shoulders, grabbed Y/N’s hand covered in blood and headed to what had once been Eleanor Guthrie’s chambers.

The bedroom in which he led her was cool, a blessing compared to the mugginess outside. The shutters were closed and three oil lamps light the room up.

“You okay?” he asked her, turning her face left and right to check for wounds.

She moved his hands off her face. “I’m fine,” she answered, pissed off. “Are you?”

He laughed. “You need more than this to hurt Charles Vane.”

“Should I remember you that the last time Charles Vane got killed?”

She shook her head and turned towards the window.

Dawn was crawling its way through the splits in the shutters.

“What’s wrong?” he walked up behind her, the smell of sea and blood hitting his nostrils.

If she wasn’t Calypso, he didn’t know who else could be.

“I’m so pissed,” she sighed, massaging her temples.

He kissed the exposed skin of her right shoulder. And there it was, the taste of the sea, the taste of life. He shouldn’t be drawn to her, he knew it, but fuck.

“Why are you pissed?” he whispered against her skin. He started to wipe the blood off her cleavage.

“This was a fucking suicide,” she hissed. Her hands were trembling furiously. “I killed four people.”

“Hey.” He turned her around and moved locks of hair behind her ears. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay.”

“Not them,” she whispered back, wiping some blood off her forehead. “Does this make me a bad person?”

Charles moved to grab a shirt from a chair, dipped it into the washbowl on the desk and used it to clean her face. “You brought me back, without even knowing me, without wanting anything in return. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.” He didn’t even know he could be this sweet, he noticed. He just couldn’t help himself around her.

They stared at each other for a while. From outside came the sound of men cheering and singing. Some of the girls from Jack’s brothel were laughing and probably someone was dancing.

Then, suddenly, Y/N reached up, grabbed his cheeks in her bloodied hands and kissed him hard.

It was like a continuation of their first kiss: rough, needy, greedy.

He kissed her back and grabbed her butt, lifting her off the ground. When she circled his waist with her legs, he grunted.

She tugged at his hair, her body pressed up against his, her wet clothes soaking his.

When he broke the kiss she was about to whine, but he attached his lips to her previously bloodied neck and she let out a moan. That kiss had her hips grinding involuntarily against his waist.

Holding her tight, he walked her to Eleanor’s bed and laid her down, laughing a little when she didn’t make a move to remove her legs from his waist. She laughed too and she looked flustered, with her hair dripping on the pillow and her crumpled blood stained clothes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he grinned, taking his shirt off.

She freed herself from her shirt too and got up to kiss his lips again. He tasted like home, like safety, and for a minute of two, she bathed in the hope that she’d somehow be safe with him by her side.

Without breaking the kiss she fumbled with his belt, trying to unbuckle it.

A few minutes later they had somehow managed to undress each other and Charles was now kissing her neck, her hands tugging his hair almost painfully.

His lips burned her skin like fire in their descent down her cleavage and on her breast. Y/N was panting desperately, grinding against his erection.

Charles groaned again and lightly bit the side of her left breast.

“Charles,” Y/N panted.

He looked up at her, smirking, rubbing his thumbs against her already hardened nipples. Some of the blood he had had on his face was now smeared on her skin and this mere fact turned him on even more. “What?”

“I’m begging you.” She was almost whining, wiggling under his gaze.

Her hair was a mess on the pillow and she’d most likely end up knotting it, but she looked like she didn’t care.

Vane went back to kiss her breast and then down to her stomach, lightly touching her bellybutton with his nose. His right hand slipped down to grab her thigh while he positioned himself at her entrance.

He raised his gaze again. She was staring at him, heavily breathing, her chest furiously rising and falling. That was a sight that even the sea couldn’t beat.

He pushed inside her slowly and watched as Y/N’s eyes rolled back in her head, her back arching. He pushed deeper until his hips touched hers and he bent down to kiss her breasts. He let her hands crawl up his arms until her fingers tangled in his hair.

He teased her a little more, kissing her neck and staying still. Then, suddenly, he pushed out and then back in fast. She gasped against his neck and urged him to keep moving, her breath ragged against his skin, her breast brushing against his chest, driving him crazy.

He pushed in again and kissed her behind her ear, inhaling the smell of salt water in her hair and setting up a pace.

Soon enough Y/N was panting even harder under him, kissing and biting the skin of his neck. She was moaning his name again and again and he thought he had never liked it like that before.

“Oh gosh,” she sighed suddenly, scratching his back with her nails, sending shivers down his spine.

He pushed out. “On all four,” he groaned and grabbed her waist when she did as he ordered her.

He opened her legs a bit more and positioned himself between them, bending forward to grab the headboard as he penetrated her again. He straightened his back and started pounding into her fast, hard, mercilessly, grabbing her hips so hard with his hands that bruises were going to form.

She was pushing against him, trying to meet his thrusts.

“Jesus, Charles,” she moaned so loud that he thought everybody on the beach would now know what they were doing.

She stood up, standing on her knees, and rested her head on his left shoulder, grabbing his neck with her right arm. One of his hands snaked up to grab her left breast while he kept thrusting hard into her, moaning her name, biting the skin of her neck, sucking all the salt off it.

A second later he felt her body clench around him and she was a panting mess in his arms, eyes rolled back in her head, body covered in sweat.

He came a few thrusts later, biting her neck and leaving a mark.

When he pushed out of her again, she laid down and dragged him down with her.

“I’m finally king of this fucking place,” he panted, letting her snuggle against his chest.

She laughed. “I’ve never been in the presence of a king.”

He chuckled too. “You helped me with this and with coming back from the dead. I think you can be in my presence whenever you want,” he said. “Wherever you want,” he added and she chuckled.

With Calypso in his arms he’d stand the idea of not going to sea whenever he wanted, he thought. And shit was it worth it!

Tag: @georgiagrl1990 

After seeing the new “Kingsman: The Golden Circle” trailer in which Eggsy is meeting his parents-in-law … is there a single person in this fandom interested in the Eggsy x Tilde romance? It feels like Matthew Vaughn thought: Okay, you’ll get Harry back but this miracle comes with a price … and that price is EGGSY AND TILDE.

Originally posted by skysrblue

A Brief History of the Farm; Or Why Emily is the Way She Is

As requested, a brief (okay it got really really long) history of life, adventures, and my/ my family member’s fuckups on the farm.

@karis-the-fangirl I hope some of this is helpful/ amusing. Feel free to ask questions at any time if you’d like. If living in the sticks can be helpful to anyone I’m more than happy to share the knowledge I have.

So my dad has like the longest list of insane stories related to farmwork, so a lot of these will be his, and I should say that my family farm is only a hobby farm, so the work is a lot less difficult than my cousin’s dairy farm and the farms around me. We’re more of a subsistence farm/ homestead.

           When my dad was in middle school/ highschool he worked on my cousin’s dairy farm, and nearly died there five times that I know of (there’s probably more).

1.)    In the hayloft and a board broke out from under him sending him to the floor below (about a 10ft drop), which would be fine if it weren’t for the fact that the weak board sent him into a pile of very sharp tools that should have probably impaled him. He walked it off.

2.)    Was switching off equipment because he heard a storm was rolling in. The first strike of lightning in the whole night hits the barn, comes through the outlet, and knocks him flat on his ass, gasping for breath.

3.)    Was digging a trench for waterlines out to the barn. His little cousin was playing with her sisters in the back yard and went running, fell into the trench and straight on top of my father (she wasn’t necessarily small at that age and it was a 12ft trench). She nearly broke my Dad’s back, but it was lucky that she landed on him, because if she hadn’t, she likely would have hit a stone at the bottom of the trench and died.

4.)    Rolled a tractor (you’re not supposed to live through that), and not like a John Deere Mt or a little Ford or something, no, a huge commercial farm tractor with no cab. Again, he went flying, but walked it off.

5.)    Some kid decided to walk up to the back of one of the tractors when a PTO (power take off- basically a thing that spins wicked fast that you can use to power equipment off the back of a tractor, like a mower or what have you… this might explain better https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Power_take-off) shaft was running. If you so much as touch one of those babies when they’re going it can break your arm/ leg. God forbid you get a scrap of clothing stuck in there, you’re as good as dead. Anyway, kid gets too close, my Dad sees what’s about to happen and shoves the kid out of the way. You can probably guess what happens to Dad’s pants. If it weren’t for the fact that Dad yelled for the kid to move and the kid screamed, which caused my Great Grandfather to come running and shut the tractor off, I probably wouldn’t be here today. Oh, and what happened to him? He walked it off.

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The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith (a.k.a. Carol)
  • Or to live against one’s grain, that is degeneration by definition.
  • Bu the most important point I did not mention and was not thought of by anyone - that is rapport between two men and two women can be absolute and perfect, as it can never be between man and woman, and perhaps some people want just this, as others want that more shifting and uncertain things that happens between men and women. 
  • The music lived, but the world was dead. And the song would die one day, she thought, but how would the world come back to life? How would its salt come back?
  • Carol raised her hand slowly and brushed her hair back, once on either side, and Therese smiled because the gesture was Carol, and it was Carol she loved and would always love. Oh, in a different way now, because she was a different person, and it was like meeting Carol all over again, but it was Carol and no one else. It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell.
  • “I wonder if I’ll ever want to create anything again,” she said.
    “What brought this on?”
    “I mean - what was I ever trying to do but this? I’m happy.”
  • “What’s going to happen when we get back to New York? It can’t be the same, can it?”
    “Yes,” Carol said. “Till you get tired of me.”
  • “Is it? You can just start and stop?”
    “When you haven’t got a chance,” Carol answered.
  • What was it to love someone, what was love exactly, and why did it end or not end? Those were real questions, and who could answer them?
  • “Lines,” Carol said. “I can’t compete. People talk of classics. These lines are classic. A hundred different people will say the same words. There are lines for the mother, lines for the daughter, for the husband and the lover. I’d rather see you dead at my feet. It’s the same play repeated with different casts. What do they say makes a play a classic, Therese?”
  • “A classic is something with a basic human situation.”
  • “Yes,” she said, smiling. (…) Her answer sounded rather flat, but what other answer was there?
  • She never saw here, but it was pleasant to have someone to look for in the store. It made all the difference in the world.
  • Therese struggled against the chair, knowing she was going to succumb to it, and even aware that she was attracted to it for that reason.
  • Therese dressed herself and went silently out the door. It was easy, after all, simply to open the door and escape. It was easy, she thought, because she was not really escaping at all.
  • She started to ask him (…), but he didn’t, because what would matter if he did or didn’t?
  • The name, the address, the town appeared beneath the pencil point like a secret Therese would never forget, like something stamping itself in her memory forever.
  • She took with the pen poised over the card, thinking of what she might have written - “You are magnificent” or even “I love you” - finally writing quickly the excruciating dull and impersonal: “Special salutations from Frankenberg’s.”
  • “(…) Do you think you have time?” 
    “Yes, certainly.” It was twelve-fifteen already. Therese knew she would be terribly late, and it didn’t matter at all.
  • “I think you are magnificent,” Therese said with the courage of the second drink, not caring how it might sound, because she knew the woman knew anyway. She laughed, putting her head back. It was a sound more beautiful than music.
  • Therese glanced at her face that was somewhat turned away, and again she knew that instant of half-recognition. And knew, too, that it was not to be believed. She had never seen the woman before. If she had, could she have forgotten?
  • In the silence, Therese felt they both waited for the other to speak, yet the silence was not an awkward one.
  • “How is it you live alone?” the woman asked, and before Therese knew it, she had told the woman her life story. 
    But not in tedious detail. In six sentences, as if it all mattered less to her than a story she had read somewhere. And what did the facts matter after all, whether her mother was French or English or Hungarian, or if her father had been an Irish painter, or a Czechoslovakian lawyer, whether he had been successful or not, or whether her mother had presented her to the Order of St. Margaret as a troublesome, bawling infant, or as a troublesome, melancholy eight-year-old? Or whether she had been happy there. Because she was happy now, starting today. She had no need of parents or background.
  • “What could be duller than past history!” Therese said, smiling.
    “Maybe futures that won’t have any history.”
  • She was still smiling, as if she had just learned how to smile and did not know how to stop. The woman smiled with her, amusedly, and perhaps she was laughing at her, Therese thought.
  • “What a strange girl you are.”
    “Flung out of space,” Carol said.
  • As if they were lovers, Therese thought. It would be almost like love, what she felt for Carol, except that Carol was a woman. It was not quite insanity, but it was certainly blissful. A silly word, but how could she possibly be happier than she was now, and had been since Thursday?
  • The wind was like ice against her teeth. Carol was a quarter of an hour late. If she didn’t come, she would probably keep on waiting, all day and into the night.
  • Therese looked up at her, unable to bear her eyes now but bearing them nevertheless, not caring if she died that instant, if Carol strangled her, prostrate and vulnerable in her bed, the intruder.
  • A world was born around her, like a bright forest with a million shimmering leaves.
  • She remembered reading - even Richard once saying - that love usually dies after two years of marriage. That was a cruel thing, a trick. She tried to imagine Carol’s face, the smell of her perfume, becoming meaningless. But in the first place could she say she was in love with Carol? She had come to a question she could not answer. 
  • “ (…) The first adventures are usually nothing but a satisfying of curiosity, and after the one keeps repeating the same actions, trying to find - what?  (…) Is there a word? A friend, a companion, or maybe just a sharer. What good are words? I mean, I think people often try to find through sex things that are much easier to find in other ways.”
  • At any rate, Therese thought, she was happier than she had ever been before. And why worry about defining everything?
  • “Do people always fall in love with things they can’t have?”
    “Always,” Carol said, smiling too.
  • “Are you a painter, too?”
    “No,” Carol said with another smile. “I’m nothing.”
    “The hardest thing to be.”
    “Is it?” 
  • The wine in her head promised music or poetry or truth, but she was stranded on the brink. Therese could not think of a single question that would be proper to ask, because all her questions were so enormous.
  • “Everything’s not as simple as a lot of combinations,” Therese added. 
    “Some things don’t react. But everything’s alive.”
  • “I remember being sure that nothing would happen to me then, but some other time, yes, eventually. And it made me very happy. I thought of all the people who are afraid and hoard things, and themselves, and I thought, when everybody in the world comes to realise what I felt going up the hill, then there’ll be a kind of right economy of living and of using and using up. Do you know what I mean? (…) Did you ever wear out a sweater you particularly liked, and throw it away finally?”
  • I feel I am in live with you, she had written, and it should be spring. I want the sun throbbing on my head like chords of music. I think of a sun like Beethoven, a wind like Debussy and birdcalls like Stravinsky. But the tempo is all mine. 
  • An inarticulate anxiety, a desire to know, know anything, for certain, had jammed itself in her throat so for a moment she felt she could hardly breathe. Do you think, do you think, it began. Do you think both of us will die violently someday, be suddenly shut of? But even that question wasn’t definite enough. Perhaps it was a statement after all: I don’t want to die yet without knowing you. 
  • “It just seems vague,” Therese said.
    “What does?”
    “The whole lunch.”
    Carol gave her a glass. “Some things are always vague, darling.”
    It was the first time Carol has called her darling. “What things?” Therese asked. She wanted an answer, a definite answer.
    Carol signed. “A lot of things. The most important things. Taste your drink.”
  • I feel I stand in a desert with my hands outstretched, and you are raining down upon me. 
  • “It’s an acquired taste. Acquired tastes are always more pleasant - and hard to get rid if.”
  • Therese waited by the table while Carol was gone, while time passed indefinitely or maybe not at all, until the door opened and Carol came in again.
  • She saw Carol’s pale hair across her eyes, and now Carol’s head was close against hers. And she did not have to ask if this was right, no one had to tell her, because this could not have been more right or perfect. 
  • “Are you just a habit?” she asked, smiling, but she heard the resentment in her voice. “You mean it’s nothing but that?”
  • “I mean responsibilities in the world that other people live in and that might not be yours. Just that now it isn’t, and that’s why in New York I was exactly the wrong person for you to know - because I indulge you and keep you from growing up.”
    “Why don’t you stop?
    “I’ll try. The trouble is, I like to indulge you.”
    “You’re exactly the right person for me to know,” Therese said.”
    “Am I?”
  • Nothing about Richard mattered so much to her as the way Carol blotted her face with a towel.
  • Carol wanted her with her, and whatever happened they would meet it without running. How was it possible to be afraid and in love, Therese thought. The two things did not go together. How was it possible to be afraid, when he two of them grew stronger together every day? And every night. Every night was different, and every morning. Together they possessed a miracle. 

iris-descent  asked:

Hi! Im a folk with spd and I was wondering if you know any fun apps for stimming/stress relief.

Hi! So I (Mod Logan) have an iPhone, so my suggestions may not work for all phones - this is obviously open to follower responses of all kinds though, because I won’t know every stimmy app on any platform!

Blendoku - a color-sorting game where you line up colors in a variety of orders, where the colors may all be variations on the same color or a variety of different colors. Price: Free (may have in-app purchases, I don’t remember)

Miracle Modus - a collection of colored light patterns that move in a variety of ways across the screen and can be changed and modified by the user. Price: Free.

Monument Valley - a puzzle geometry game, where you move a character called Ida through many ‘impossible’ geometric shapes. Extremely soothing music and beautiful colors. Price: Initial game is free, also has in-app purchase of more levels.

Dots - connect dots of the same color and try to form squares. Price: Free, offers in-app purchases for more themes and different versions of the game. (Two Dots is a separate game made by the same people that has more of a storyline with it, as far as I can remember).

2048 - yes, there’s an app for that. Slide tiles of the same number together and try to get the 2048 tile. Price: Free.

Piano Tiles - tap the tiles in the correct order in a variety of games. Price: Free, offers in-app purchases.

Flow Free (and Flow Bridges) - connect the colored dots and cover the whole board. Price: Flow Free is initially free and I believe offers in-app purchases, I think Flow Bridges is $0.99 USD.

Pancake Tower - literally you’re just stacking pancakes on a plate (pancakes with faces.). Price: Free.

Android apps (most are also available for iphones, if I’m not mistaken, but I’d double check):

Neko Atsume - most people have heard of this app by now, but for those who haven’t–it means ‘cat collector’ in English, and all you do is trade fish/gold fish (the currency of the game) for food and toys that you put out for different cartoon cats, who come and leave fish and presents for you after playing with the toys (and you can watch them play, which is the stimmy part, along with the music!). Price: Free

Skyburger - like pancake tower, but with a burger, and you usually have specific orders to fill but there are also free-play levels where you just stack as many burgers, onions, etc on the bun as possible. Warning that the app causes the phone to vibrate in your hands if you mess up an order. Price: Free

Juice Jam - sort of like candy crush, but a little less bright and I find a bit easier. Stimmy because it’s still got lots of bright colours. Free, but with in-app purchases for boosts & extra lives. 

Words Free - Basically a word-find puzzle but your finger on the phone traces pastel colours across a white background. Price: free

Here’s a start, with mostly free apps that should all be available on the App Store!