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It is, of course, entirely possible that the Captain is simply aware that the cold temperature of Jopson’s little berth makes it difficult for his hands to do the dexterous work of mending tears and reattaching buttons, and the dim light of his single tallow candle causes some strain on his eyes. But that his Captain would consider his personal comfort during the fulfillment of his duties is its own reward: one of the small pleasures Thomas hoards the way he used to collect buttons and aglets and other bright little findings as a child, a cupped palmful of private joys he tucks away in a most secret place.
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When Harry first saw the name on the roster, his heart leapt before quickly sinking. There must be dozens of John Bridgenses in London, and besides, the age written beside this particular name on the official crew roster for HMS Erebus was 26, and Harry knew his John Bridgens to have surpassed that age quite before Harry had ever met him. But he traveled, nevertheless, to the street north of the Thames where John rented rooms whenever he was not at sea. At any rate, it was a good excuse to see John again.
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you were spring by salvage
Fandoms: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
21 Nov 2020
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Dimitri turned his hand palm-up between them. His fingers, mottled and uneven with calluses and scar tissue, curled gently in toward his palm. The flesh of his palm was also worn into strange unnatural peaks and valleys with calluses, the hard skin forming a curved divot where the hilt of Areadbhar would fit comfortably. His sleeve pulled back from his wrist slightly so that Byleth could see where the broad expanse of his palm narrowed to vulnerable throat of his wrist, the skin there thin and pale in comparison with the thick calluses that marred his palm. Long slim tendons and the little dendritic tracks of veins were visible underneath the skin. “Would you like to feel?” Dimitri asked.
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She hadn’t expected to find Dedue in the greenhouse, although she isn’t surprised to encounter him there. In truth, she is there because she had overheard a soldier admit to some nervousness about the war and she hoped that the relaxing scent of some lavender would soothe his worries, and that perhaps gathering it would soothe her own. She likes the greenhouse, its humid warmth, its scent of wet earth and fresh green growth, the glossy leaves and the bright flowers whose tender petals unfurl even in the dead of winter. It doesn’t get cold in central Fódlan the way it does in the northern parts she had frequented as a mercenary, it likely will not snow again this season, but there is still a bite to the early-morning air and when she steps into the greenhouse she pauses to adjust to its warmth and its wetness and its rich scent of growing things.
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It is sometimes difficult to tell the difference between a good idea and one that has been considered so thoroughly it has become like the divot in the marble steps of an old building: treacherous in its well-worn, unassuming way. This may be, if not the sibling, then certainly the cousin of compulsion, an idea with its jagged edges erased under the relentless consideration of the thinker like a stone at the bottom of a river worn smooth. A stone can, of course, break a glass window regardless of its shape.
“I require your assistance in the conduction of an experiment,” was all Laszlo needed to say to John over the ’phone. John’s voice sounded metallic and far-away when he consented to come to 17th Street despite the lateness of the hour. So Laszlo waited, uncharacteristically nervous, in the front parlor, pacing between the settee and the fireplace, turning over and over again the idea in his head until it seemed not just logical but inexorable, the obvious solution to the present conundrum.
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Names of endurance, names of devotion,
street names and place names and all the names
of our dark heaven crackling in their pan.
It’s a bed of straw, darling. It sure as shit is.
If there was one thing I could save from the fire,
he said, the broken arms of the sycamore,
the eucalyptus still trying to climb out of the yard —
your breath on my neck like a music that holds
my hands down, kisses as they burn their way
along my spine — or rain, our bodies wet,
clothes clinging arm to elbow, clothes clinging
nipple to groin — I’ll be right here. I’m waiting.- Words:
- 6,762
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- Words:
- 8,466
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- 2
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- 9,464
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“It’s not much,” John says as he follows Henry into the attic room he’s taken for them for the weekend.
“No,” Henry says, stepping toward the former window, the blue-lace-edged curtain lifted in on the salt breeze. “It’s wonderful.” He presses up on locked elbows to thrust his face into the cool, generous light of early afternoon. A few blocks of slanting roofs and chimney blocks curve away down the hill and, beyond that, the sea. A silvery undulation of chipped light; the distant, slow beat of the surf. A chill salt scent. Henry inhales deeply.
“I’d thought to find something more… spacious,” John continues. He’s truly embarrassed, Henry realizes, turning to see the tall man with his hands clasped before him, head slightly ducked. He closes the window and turns, taking John’s face in his hands and tilting up to kiss him.
Bookmarked by salvage
18 Jan 2021
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be better than the bad by jk_rockin
Fandoms: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
10 Jan 2021
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He wasn’t struck much, as a child. The odd spanking, here and there; raps over the knuckles at the Charitable School. He’d never seen anyone whipped as hard as Mister Hickey was, but even seeing Hickey’s buttocks bleeding and his lips split with biting back screams, he could not suppress his covetousness. How did it feel to be struck like that? Did the pain blind one to everything else, or was a man still sensible to the humiliation of being exposed in that way before all the men and officers?
- Language:
- English
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- 5,353
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- 1/1
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- 1
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- 10
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- 41
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- 6
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- 192
Bookmarked by salvage
12 Jan 2021
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Crozier takes an interest in Hartnell staying on the straight and narrow. For some reason logicked out through captainly delegation of duty, this makes him Blanky’s responsibility.
- Language:
- English
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- 10,543
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- 1/1
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- 34
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- 3
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- 327
Bookmarked by salvage
10 Jan 2021
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The ship buzzes with the energy of the day and the added Terror crew members, and as John readies himself for bed, he never expects that Henry would be bold enough to slip into his cabin, uninvited.
Bookmarked by salvage
28 Dec 2020
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Magic To Make The Sanest Man Go Mad by TheGreenMeridian
Fandoms: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
03 Apr 2020
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They’ve been home a month when it finally happens. He’s sitting on the settee with a book in his lap and Harry resting on his shoulder, feeling certain for the first time in over a year that no harm will befall either of them.
Bookmarked by salvage
16 Dec 2020