wind through grass

no offense but wuthering heights has the best final line of any book ever in the history of human sentience 

i lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath, and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth. 

i literally ascend to a higher plane of existence reading this, i feel it in my bones. i want to carve this entire book on the back of my skull but this line especially. 

John, frustrated with his place, with his restraints, with his own damned pride, finds himself walking out on the moors in the early morning hours. It is quiet in that way that only the moors can be:  peaceful, but busy with the murmur of late frogs and early birds, the buzz of bees, the song of the wind through the long grasses. 

Beyond the hills, the trees, the horizon, the sun rises. 

John ducks his head into the cover of his collar and walks, the hem of his coat dragging wet through the morning dew. The house behind him is sleeping, but for the first scullery maids and stable boys, and John imagines that he can leave behind the disaster he’s made in his heart as easily as he does his overbearing mother, his newly engaged and unbearably delighted sister, and the oily slick memory of Lord Mycroft Holmes, looming out of the darkness of the safe and familiar rooms of home.

If he is to be unhappy now, it will be only of his own making. 

Yet John remembers the softness around those pale eyes just yesterday, the confession in them as he passed Clara Bingley into Harriet’s waiting arms, and cannot now suppress the seedling of hope growing beneath his breast. 

And then, a hush.

Through the fog, through the grey-green-violet fields, through the first weak strains of sunrise, there is a miracle with hair wild and shirt open, coming across the moor toward him: Sherlock Holmes. 

He is now as John had for so long not been able to imagine him to be – soft-edged and warm-cheeked, looking over John with such wonder and longing, as if he can scarcely believe him to be real. 

If John had been able to see this truth in him from the very beginning, he might have saved them all a great deal of pain. But what’s done is done, and it has been Mr Holmes’ goodness of heart that has slowly begun to repair the damage left in John’s wake, and John can see him now for who he truly is. 

Mr Holmes stands in front of him. John swallows. “I couldn’t sleep,” he offers in explanation. Niceties and social rules hardly seem to apply to a meeting on the moors at sunrise.

“Nor I,” Mr Holmes says quietly. “My brother…”

“Yes, he was here.” John offers a shy smile to soften the blow.

Mr Holmes’ neck and cheeks are flushed against the chill of the morning, and the colour deepens with embarrassment. “However can I make amends for such behavior?”

John would lower his own eyes in shame but finds he cannot tear them away. “After what you’ve done to protect us from Ms Morstan, and I suspect for Harriet, it is I who should be making amends.” 

“You must know,” Mr Holmes chokes out, suddenly overcome, “Surely you must know it was all for you.” John does know. John does, and he nods, and Mr Holmes says, quickly, breathlessly, as if he might lose his nerve, “You are too generous to trifle with me. You spoke with my brother last night, and it has taught me to hope as I’d scarcely allowed myself before. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed – but one word from you will silence me forever.” 

John looks up into Sherlock’s eyes, willing him to see there how John’s feelings have changed, and says nothing.

After the longest moments of John’s life, Sherlock begins again. “If, however, your feelings have changed…” His lips are trembling as he pauses, collecting his courage. John holds his breath. “I would have to tell you. You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love – I love – I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.” 

Oh, but to hear it said, to hear it confirmed, to hear that it is still, after everything, still true: John’s chest is full to bursting, an ache of light and adoration that stills the flurry of John’s thoughts and soothes the very deepest places in his soul.

He steps forward, takes Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock, unblinking, lets him. 

“Well then,” John whispers, bringing Sherlock’s knuckles to his lips. I shall never be parted from you from this day on, he breathes over them, and Sherlock’s chest hitches as if he has heard the words said aloud. “Your hands are cold.” 

John closes his hands around Sherlock’s fingers, holding them close, holding them with promise, and Sherlock leans in, resting his forehead against John’s, letting himself be held, letting himself give in. 

Somewhere in the distance, the sunrise crests over a ridge, and warms the first tentative breath of a kiss. 

I Love You(Tom Holland x Reader)

Let me just start by saying I love your Tom Holland Imagines 😍 I was wondering if you could do a road trip imagine with Tom and Harrison and the readers best friend where Tom and reader are dating and Haz and Reader’s best friend are dating? Thanks!

Originally posted by umisamarto


The rocking of the truck and the light music from inside keeps you in a perpetual state of light sleep. Tom shifts in his makeshift seat at the back of the ford truck to rest his head against the dewy window. He wipes a section to see (Y/F/N)’s and Harrison’s fingers are intertwined and rest against the beige leather seat. He smiles and looks at you, listening to the faded sounds of the James Bay cd as well as the bristling of wind going through tall grasses and bushes. 

You’re more awake now, choosing to stare behind at the road you’ve travelled as your hand cuts through and glides with the wind. The back of Tom’s hand gently pushes at your knee which bends over his to get your attention. “Hey,” he says lovingly. You smile tiredly, “Hey.” He pulls a finger up to the window and drags his finger through the condensation to write ‘I love you’. You grin at him and add ‘ILY2′ to the condensation.

His hand reaches out to you and you take it, linking his fingers with yours. You carefully move in the rear end of the truck so you’re sitting beside him with your face in his neck. “Look at them,” you mumble, “We were right to set them up. They’re almost as cute as us.” He presses a kiss to the your temple and mumbles ‘never’. You walk your fingers up his chest to rest against his cheek and turn his head towards you. A gentle smile graces his face as he leans in to kiss you with shut eyes. 

The truck pulls over into a large field almost an hour later. You and Harrison set up the tents as Tom and (Y/F/N) go to collect scrap wood from the forest beside the open area. “Thank you,” Harrison half-whispers sincerely. You can only ask him, “For what?” “Introducing (Y/F/N) and I. I think… I think I love her. No, I know I do,” he tells you. You smile sweetly and loudly whisper, “No problem,” back to him.

While snuggling up with Tom that night, you tell him about your conversation with his best friend. Tom pulls you closer by the arm around your waist and tells you that he knew that already. ‘I can see it in his eyes,’ he tells you. You cuddle further into your boyfriend’s side and brush his hair away from his face. “I love you,” you tell him. “I love you, too.”

anonymous asked:

what do u think about shrek

I generally try not to. the feelings of adoration and adulation that rise up within me when I consider his emerald visage are almost too powerful to withstand. they rend my physicality asunder. at one point in my life, it became so bad that I felt I had to go…. away…. I had to seek answers, in the spiritual places of the world…. I went to my local supermarket. there was a man there with no eyebrows. I knew at once he was a soothsayer, because when I asked him where the milk was, he pointed me to aisle 5 - which is where the milk would be housed, indeed. in the future. it was, at that time, in aisle 7. the eyebrowless man was a genius, and I knew it. I asked him; I said, “I have travelled for many moons and many suns, and then I also popped to the shops and here you are. tell me, wise one, for I sense your almighty power: how do I move on from my deep and profound attachment to that verdant creature of gritty and fertile beauty??” the soothsayer looked at me in the eye, and he said, “listen… listen… to the sound of the fridges. hear how they hum. is it not alike to a mosquito’s hum, in a swamp?” I nodded, though I was sorely confused. then he said, “listen… listen… to the sound of the wind through the pasta noodles in aisle 18. is it not alike to the sound of the wind through the grasses of a swamp?” once again, I nodded. the pasta noodles were, at that time, in aisle 7. I respected his genius. “listen…” he said, once more. “listen… to the sound of swirling, gelatinous desserts being shaken in aisle 3. is it not alike to the sound of gas bubbles rising from the fetid waters of a swamp?” I nodded, though my mind was yet clouded by uncertainty. the desserts were, at that time, in aisle 7. aisle 7 was a mess. “I don’t understand,” I said aloud. the eyebrowless man raised his above-eye-skin. “He is with us,” he said. “He is all around. He is in the fridges and the desserts and the pasta noodles. His swamp sounds live with us, always.” I fell to my knees. “where,” I said. “where did you get such wisdom? how did you corrode away the foolishness in your soul so completely that it seems as though it has been done with bleach or some shit? what happened, to make you… thus?” The eyebrowless man shook his head. “I must know,” I begged. He turned to me, with eyes like the gooseberries spilling out over the floor in aisle 7. “well,” he said. “some-”

The Signs & Fall Things
  • Aries: Cold morning grass, plucking fruit from damp branches, herbal teas in vintage cups, the first Christmas song on the radio, driving in the rain, heavy pillows, matches.
  • Taurus: Pilled wool blankets, broken cinnamon sticks, hot cider steam that seeps into your cheeks, decaying branches that wake in a coat of crystal frost, stargazing in the frigid air.
  • Gemini: Oatmeal cookies, tea light candles, thrifted sweaters, early sunsets, mismatched mugs, leaves in the pool, board games, a full moon.
  • Cancer: A fluffy loaf of bread, lacing your boots, a vintage thermos, gloomy lights, smoking chimneys, Pinterest recipes, flooding gutters, live music.
  • Leo: A burning log that falls and sends sparks into the sky as it impacts with the dirt, your first bite into a crisp apple, gingersnaps, mini pumpkins, breakfast waffles, rumbling thunder.
  • Virgo: Wrapping up in an oversized flannel, the first snow, stray cats in the night, hot chocolate, fallen trees, county fairs.
  • Libra: Collecting pinecones, warm breasted birds that procrastinate their departure, dark red leaves, classic fall movies, burning incense.
  • Scorpio: Picking an apple from a mound of colors, melting butter on a fresh baked muffin, wool socks, extra blankets on your bed, storm sirens.
  • Sagittarius: Cinnamon sprinkled in the top of your latte foam, shiny copper mugs, boot imprints in the mud, caramel sauce, rain that only dries by the fireside, hot flakey biscuits that burn the roof of your mouth.
  • Capricorn: Wind blowing through tall dying grasses, peanut butter cookies, the sound of migrating geese, farmers markets, harvest festivals, a breeze that blows out your candle.
  • Aquarius: Fog that mutes your perception, wood carved trinkets, warm donuts, hearty stews, spinning vinyl, coat buttons, dusty bookshelves, lampposts.
  • Pisces: Vintage ovens cooking autumnal pies, whipped cream on the tip of your nose, dogs wearing sweaters, scones, leaf piles, misty rivers.
Mr. Laufeyson's Ward

TITLE: Mr. Laufeyson’s Ward

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 9

AUTHOR: goddessofmischief

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are living in the late 1800’s and your parents pass away due to a tragic accident. Leaving you an orphan, you are sent to a miserable orphanage. Then, a mysterious and harsh man named Loki visits the orphanage and takes you on as his ward. He brings you to his crumbling mansion in the English countryside, where you face his cruel intentions, and eventually discover that you care for him much more than you’d like to admit.

RATING: T

NOTES: This is another short chapter, but I promise the upcoming one’s will be much longer! Hope you enjoy, and please comment, like & share. I always love to hear your opinions ♥︎

“I was certain that you would have went back to bed.” stated my master once I met up with him at the stables. He held the reins of his horse Dorian, who was directly at his side, ready to be mounted. I looked up at him through the veil of black netting that partially covered my face.
“It was indeed what I desired, but I thought it’d be best to concur with your wishes, master.” I teased, with an overemphasized bow.
He chuckled. “You will not regret coming with me, I promise you. Now, up you get.” He gestured towards Dorian.

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Cherries (Quiet Me)

@raven-brings-light for you! Sorry this is a bit sad!

One day, Loki asked me for cherries.

He hasn’t said a word in weeks. It was spring and he’d sit outside all day in this spot where there used to be a set of stone steps lodged into this tiny hill. There was this one tree there but it was standing crooked; its roots were exposed on the one side, looking like a giant spider’s web. No one really knew why but the tree getting almost ripped out caused the steps to crumble. Down they went, like a tower collapsing, exposing these ugly dents and cracks in the earth, filled with tiny ants, their sleek backs glinting in the sunlight.

Sometimes I’d walk over and sit near him; there’d be times I’d fill all this silence with all the words I had in me, talk until my throat would feel scratchy and my lungs tired; other times I’d stay silent and listen to the wind moving his light green tunic, feel all the weight and warmth of his knee pressing against mine, watch the complicated dance of the black straps of his sandal winding themselves around a silent ankle.

Sometimes I’d just watch from afar. The tree’s shadow will move, lazy and heavy across the ground, and at some point in the day, it would fall over Loki and swallow him whole; and in that absence of him the constant humming of the bugs moving their airy wings so fast you can’t even see them flying past, and that soft rush of wind moving through the grass and that delightful flutter of a leaf falling from a branch and twirling in the air, I’d hear them all so loud in my head, so clear, and wait with baited breath for that shadow to move again, to catch a glimpse of a pale elbow, of that black hair that sweep of darkness has turned cool and silky.

The shadow would shift and the light would embrace him and I’d know he’d wish to follow that long, whispering shadow everywhere.

Loss had a way of sealing his lips, of bringing silence to where there were once words. He grieved for his brother Helblindi the same way, and then he grieved for our mother. It was a different kind of silence, though; for Helblindi his silence was filled with longing for the brother he’d never met, only heard about from stories and letters sent to Asgard smelling of frost and written in blue ink; for our mother, Loki’s silence was filled with guilt.

Loki’s silence lasted for four weeks, filling my mind with lonely images of beady ants marching in a row, fine knuckles blazing red from the sunlight, and the almost inaudible flutter of light green fabric.

Then, Loki asked me for cherries. We were sitting out there under that tree, following the journey of the sun across all that white light, with the wind moving over our knees and the backs of our hands and I haven’t even noticed that spot in the corner of my eye getting darker and darker as the day traveled on. When I turned my head to look at Loki sitting to my left, that’s when I noticed he was sitting in that column of darkness, and I was sitting in the light still. I could feel how cool it was, that shadow, how damp and drafty; it was inching closer to me and my right arm and leg felt like they were on fire.

And I remembered mother taking us both to the orchard come spring. She’d let me eat as many cherries as I wanted, but would always watch Loki and tell him to stop whenever she’d think he’d had enough.

And I thought: the cherries remind him of her. And I thought of the way she’d offer her palms to us and they’d be filled with wine colored cherries, and they’d catch the light and it would look like she was holding a beautiful fantasy there in her hands.

And when the memories faded away like soft morning fog, I told Loki yes, and hadn’t noticed that the shadow had moved slow and quiet and swallowed us both.

I took Loki to the orchard that day. We walked for a while, our shoulders touching, the hills all around us with their dusty colors, the sun warming the back of our necks, the golden ornaments stitched to the fabric covering Loki’s shoulders catching the light and casting bright glittery spots on the grass and on my arms.

In the orchard, the air was cooler and smelled sweet. Loki’s tunic was painted with shadows. The trees were short, and the grass felt cold and it felt like we were moving through a shallow stream, leading all the way into the heart of some forest. The branches were hanging low, the weight of the cherries pulling them downwards, and it was so easy to reach up and pick them, one only had to choose those he liked best, but none of them had any blemish so choosing was easier or harder, it depended on the way you chose to look at it.

I watched Loki reaching with his fingers; they were pale and thin and they were gentle when he picked the cherries. The shadows of the branches sketched a pattern over his upturned face, slashing a black line over his lips and splitting them right in the middle.

All the cherries I picked, I picked for him. I was not hungry, but I wanted him to eat and fill his heart with joy. We picked until our hands were full and then we lay on the grass.

I offered Loki my palm full of cherries and watched him take one. He ripped the stem out, split it right down the middle and took out the pit. There was red there under his fingernails and he put one half into his mouth and then the other, his eyes never leaving mine. When his teeth crushed that soft flesh, the sweet juice soaked through the cracks in his lips and tainted them dark burgundy.

The sun traveled high in the sky and Loki’s mouth got redder and redder. Whenever I’d feel his fingers brushing my palm I’d reach over to where we placed all the cherries we’d picked and fill it again and watch him bite and chew and swallow and his fingers would reach in and remove those dark pits and his teeth would flash white, and I’d watch his tongue now the bright color of blood moving in his mouth, lapping all that sweetness up.

How hadn’t I noticed the light in his eyes slowly but steadily, dimming?

How hadn’t I noticed the rise and fall of his chest becoming so gentle, barely able to lift the light fabric of that tunic with each one of his breaths?

He was looking at me and drifting away, mouth red, eyes glassy and the shadows were moving over his skin, soft and light, as thin as those cherry stems and I never realized mother would watch Loki for a reason. She’d count the cherries. She’d tell him to stop at a certain number. I never knew why. Loki never knew why, until he did, and me getting to eat all I wanted would make him cry when we were small because he couldn’t do the same.

We didn’t know she was only looking after him. Cherries are poisonous for his kind; only a certain amount is allowed for consumption. Mother knew how many he was allowed to have. I didn’t.

I still stand outside and watch that crooked tree standing there by the steps. At noon, I wait for the shadow to shift. I wait to see the pale elbow, that pale green tunic. I wait, and my ears are filled with sound.

froopinghiddles  asked:

SHALLURA HOUR PROMPT! (PreShiros return) Allura keeps seeing Keith and Lance going on these so called "dates" and her mind keeps drifting to a certain lost black paladin. EXTRA POINTS FOR A SHALLURA REUNION.

ENJOY, FRIEND


They’re on a planet that’s mostly beaches, tropical enough to chase the chill of space from her, and she sees Keith trailing after Lance down a track to the water like he’s a planet caught in the orbit of a star.  Allura watches, and feels cold again, despite the sun beating down on her.  In her mind she’s digging her toes into the sand and there’s a pair of warm dark eyes to take the cold from her.

*

They’re  mopping up the last Galra fighters that hadn’t made it back to their leader’s ship before the coward turned tail and ran, and Allura watches the Red and Blue lions fly in tight formation, listens to the hanging notes in Lance’s usually quick speech, the way Keith picks them up like he’s bonded to Lance as well as his own lion.  They’re doing all right with the Black lion still in her hangar, but Allura feels the loss of her co-leader too keenly for it to just be about tactics or division of tasks.  Shiro had always seemed to know what she was thinking.  It’s an intimacy she hadn’t felt in a long time before him, and now that it’s gone, she realizes just how much she depended on him.

No past tense, she thinks, shaking her head.  He’s out there.  We’ll find him, we have to.

I have to.

*

They’re on a Galra-occupied world (former Galra-occupied world) and Lance is running past her to Keith, wrapping his arms around the Red paladin, his love, their faces close together.  But Allura is looking past them to the two figures coming out of the haze of smoke.  To the one in scuffed and dirty paladin armor, looking distinctly worse for wear, but – oh, stars and ancients help her, she can see his eyes go from pained and weary to light when he sees her, and then she’s running too and flinging herself at Shiro, her vision blurry with tears.  He smells like smoke and sweat.  Allura pushes her face into his throat and breathes deep, feeling a knot between her shoulders loosen for the first time in months.

“You’re back,” she says against his skin.  His hands tighten on her, pulling her in, pulling her flush.

“I’m back.”

*

They’re on a planet that’s so green and beautiful it reminds her achingly of Altea.  Lance had challenged Keith to some kind of weaponry thing, and she can faintly hear the pop pop of Lance’s bayard in the distance, but it’s not nearly as important as the fact that she’s laying on a blanket in a field and her hands are cupping Shiro’s cheeks as he pulls away from her mouth.  He looks shy, unsure.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, his voice barely louder than the wind through the stalks of grass around them. Allura strokes his skin with her thumbs and pulls him back down to her.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” she replies.

Iron Heart

Chapter 3 is up! 

Wah, finally able to update this beast (and baby)! 

Thanks to @kiss-me-khaos and @aya-eisen for being my betas! 

ff.net—>https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12208751/3/Iron-Heart

Ao3—->http://archiveofourown.org/works/8404183/chapters/23449512



Levy paused in the long grass, picking up her long skirts again as they threatened to trip her and cause her to rip the delicate silk. She sighed, turning back to watch the Weyr as the trickle of travelers could be seen from the other side of the lake, obviously there for the festival.  

She hated and loved festival days. She loved the colors of the banners of the traders that poured in from far lands, their wagons packed with goods and ready to sell. She loved the different languages that would fill the air, and the sweet smell of the spices that traveled with them. Cinnamon, turmeric, lemon grass, even a hint of incense would tickle her senses. She loved looking at the different vendors, marveling at the different things they sold, wishing she had more than what she earned.  

Keep reading

6

A small group of Allosaurus have finished eating the body of the prey they killed this afternoon. After taking a drink at the lake they decide to climb the hills south-west of them. Two of the Allosaurus went on ahead and the third one didn’t notice until they were already climbing. Not wanting to get left behind the lone Allosaurus rushes to the top of the hill, only stopping when she reaches the top. She sees her two friends resting at the top of the hill and walks up to join them. 


The sun starts to set as the three Allosaurus lay down next to each other to rest for the night. The air starts to cool down as the sun settles down, the only noise that can be heard is the wind flowing through the grass and some birds in the distance. They see a Spinosaurus in the distance but don’t worry themselves seeing as it’s walking in the opposite direction. When the sun finally sets, the three Allosaurus shut their eyes to get some sleep. they will need to secure a new meal tomorrow, and the day might be hard. But for now they need not worry about the perils ahead, as the sun sets on another day in The Isle.

lionmettled  asked:

Ooh ooh! 7: I know your weakness.  It’s kisses.  You are doomed. (Don’t worry.  We’re all doomed eventually.) is one of my all time favorites ♡

(And here we have another that is slightly nsfw though really only between the lines.)

07. I know your weakness.  It’s kisses.  You are doomed. (Don’t worry.  We’re all doomed eventually.)

“I know your weakness,” Chirrut breathes, face pressed into his hair, lips so close to his ear that they flutter against his skin as they move, only slightly chapped from the cold Jedha nights, only slightly bruised and full from earlier ministrations when Baze nipped at them, sucked them into his mouth while Chirrut moaned.

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Star-Gazing [Lafayette x Reader]

Prompt: “Star-gazing was a good idea”

Warnings: Brief mention of alcohol

Word Count: 596

Tags: @butlinislin @bullcrappery (Who requested it in the first place!)

A/N: Wow, okay so this fic took a smutty turn so many times while I was writing it for no reason but here it is! Smut free!


“Laf, you know I don’t have time for that!”

“You haven’t had time for anything in months, mon amour. Please, just one night. I promise I’ll have you back in time for that…how did you put it? Life or death meeting tomorrow.”

“Fine, but if I’m late or something goes wrong, I’m never speaking to you again.”

Lafayette laughed warmly and wound an arm around your waist, drawing you in close and pressing a scattering of light kisses across your face.

“Relax, it will be perfect. I promise. Now…close your eyes.”

You sighed and resisted the urge to elbow your boyfriend, instead doing what you were told and closing your eyes. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you felt Lafayette grasp your wrists and begin to lead you out of your apartment, voice carefully guiding you down the stairs and out the front door. Several times you tried to ask a question, but he simply hushed you and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

After a long car ride – during which you were forced to pull your hood low over your eyes to prevent you from seeing out the windows – Lafayette helped you out of the cab and you could immediately tell you were out of the city. It was so quiet, there was no cars honking or people yelling, or the sounds of construction. Just the faint chirping of crickets and the rustling sound of wind through tall grass.

“Laf…”

“We’re almost there, I promise.”

You sighed heavily and shook your head, struggling not to smile as you were lead up a slight hill. Eventually you came to a stop, and for a moment nothing happened. Then Lafayette placed his hands on your shoulders and carefully pushed you until you were sitting down. You let your hands splay out, surprised to find a blanket beneath your fingers.

“Bien…Now you can open your eyes.”

You did, blinking rapidly and looking around with a slightly tilted head. You were sitting on a plush blanket on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. There were a few candles and lanterns scattered about, just enough to illuminate the small basket in the middle of the blanket. Lafayette smiled warmly at your look of surprise and opened the basket, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“You have been working so hard, mon petite fleur…I figured you deserved a mini vacation.” He said, holding out one of the filled glasses with a warm smile. You took the glass with a faint murmur of thanks, still looking around the quiet park with a faint smile.

“Gil, this is…you really didn’t need to do this.” You said with a laugh, leaning against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you and kissed the top of your head, glancing up at the darkening sky.

“Well, I remember you telling me about a certain camping trip you used to go on when you were in school. And so I thought…well star-gazing was a good idea, at least to give you a night away from everything.”

You paused and looked up, not having realized that because you were out of the city, the sky was almost completely clear and scattered with stars. You smiled warmly, turning to pull Lafayette into a proper kiss before taking a sip of your wine.

“Thank you Laf, this is…this is amazing.”

It’s as though the haze of childhood still lingers on summer nights, as though I never outgrew my longing to be a writer, as though I still tried to catch sunlight from the window in my palms, as though I never washed the shining dreams from my skin. Something about the air, the warmth, the dulled hush of the cicadas and the grasshoppers and the slow wind through blades of grass, it brings me back in time. Dust particles hang like ornaments in the air, spinning slowly, and I am once again happy and beautiful and radiant.

They say
sound travels
so I listen
for your voice
on night winds
barreling toward me
a declaration
of love
carried upon winds
across mountains
and
long winding roads
bolting
through prairie grass
forging upstream
a sweet whisper
reaches me
closing my eyes
I dream

JD2017

the dress

So @raphcrow and I saw this one dress (on the right) and felt so inspired that we struck up a deal. 

This is a self-indulgent au that I’ve had for a while. This wwas a good opportunity to stretch its legs a little. It’s based on a situation that I was sort of in once (tons of fun, but it didn’t end as beautifully as this, of course). 

Anyway, here’s my half. I await your response, Raph. 


It was ironic, Rose reflected, that to make something so delicate and lovely should require her hands become so very calloused.

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the end is just the beginning;

country roads never took me far but i liked the idea of solitude
i missed the neon streetlights in the city, the orderly chaos
swimming between stop signs, sticky beer puddles in back alleys–
i missed the home i threw up in, my guts on the wall reminded me
of the way her dinners usually looked (thankfully they tasted like food)
i yearned for garlic breath (as bad as it sounds)
but it’s just another memory boxed away, those days we spent
dreaming of exploring the world,
how she wished we could have authentic food instead of tv dinners
i bled sunsets in her arms, painted sunrises on her skin
just like the open countryside i stand in, wishing she was by my side
i could whisper her favorite language against her neck
between her milky thighs
no one would hear us out here in this desolate land
i missed the noise she made, the cars revving outside our window
now the winds howl through the grass, in my ears, in my heart
right where she’s supposed to be–