Game of Thrones Daily
noise dept.
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Claire Keane
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The Bowery Presents
EXPECTATIONS
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macklin celebrini has autism
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@medicroix-blog
i finally return from my exam hiatus and something is happening with iris? please does anyone have some information about it i am close to her but in my absence maybe i have not been able to be here for her and she has deleted her blogs so i’m not sure how i will ever get in contact and know she is okay!
GO AHEAD AND BLOCK ME, GIRL. I’VE GOT NOTHING TO LOSE.
" you didn’t honestly think you could hide from me, could you? "
The run - down wood of a shed shields the side of the man from a blistering breeze, chin tucked to collar as he smokes to warm his lungs. It’s that incessant voice that pulls him from his thoughts, eyes dragging slowly with some expression of barely amused condescension. “ I did not honestly think I was ‘iding from you, little punk. I ‘ave better things to do with my time than keep you on my mind. So why don’t you run along and ... pick pockets or whatever it is you do, uh? ”
janvier calling kids ‘ little punks ’ gives me life
I’m very…how do you say…..over it
les sanglots longs. des violons. de l'automne. blessent mon cœur. d'une langueur. monotone. tout suffocant et blême, quand. sonne l'heure, je me souviens. des jours anciens. et je pleure. et je m'en vais. au vent mauvais qui m'emporte deçà, delà, pareil à la. geuille morte.
—— Paul Verlaine.
He said nothing. Very sarcastically.
A description of Sherlock Holmes, The Beekeeper’s Apprentice by Laurie R. King
going to be quite busy this week, just a heads up that activity may drop until the weekend!
going to be quite busy this week, just a heads up that activity may drop until the weekend!
five-word sentences.
“ please just let me forget. ”
“ c'mon try to guess what. ”
“ just leave me alone already. ”
“ no, i’m not going to. ”
“ you can’t change my mind. ”
“ my mind is made up. ”
“ i’m not gonna let you. ”
“ don’t do that to me. ”
“ think about what you’re doing. ”
“ why aren’t you listening now? ”
“ i want to sleep forever. ”
“ you need to leave now. ”
“ i’ll always have your back. ”
“ now there’s no going back. ”
“ the view really is spectacular. ”
“ i didn’t think you’d care. ”
“ why can’t you trust me? ”
“ don’t even bother with clothes. ”
“ i don’t love you anymore. ”
“ i am a great person. ”
“ you are a tolerable drunk. ”
“ exactly, why are you awake? ”
“ i’m gonna ignore you now. ”
“ how is that not hilarious? ”
“ please just calm down now. ”
“ i was already calm, asshole. ”
“ i can see your underwear. ”
“ i’m afraid you’ll replace me. ”
“ please stop losing your temper. ”
“ you can cry if needed. ”
“ you have to run away. ”
“ i just wanna be yours. ”
“ ashes, we all fall down. ”
“ i’m hoping you’ll understand me. ”
The Battle of Berlin, 1945.
and by early i mean it’s close to 1am inbox: 5 / drafts: 3
all these wwii muses !!
Very private people have mastered the art of telling you little about themselves but doing it in such a way you think you know a lot
“ ‘preciate it, “ the retort comes easily, a brief flicker of blue eyes as he lifts them from the puzzle to offer the faintest quirk of his lips in gratitude. As it is, he doesn’t think he’ll need it ——– most crossword puzzles are quite repetitive in their clues and even now he can already see a few he recognizes from past times. It’s only a small annoyance, though. Helps him from thinking about the war, the pain in his feet, the buzz of restlessness beneath his skin, the way he just can’t seem to scrub the dirt from beneath his nails or get the smell of gunpowder, metal and blood out of his clothes.
“ Y’ been workin’ as a medic for long? “ the question comes after quite a few moments of silence later, the rhythmic scratching of pen on paper stilling for a second.
Janvier feels the compulsion to suck on something, the severe lack of things handy for that is . . . frustrating. But you have to put up with it and he has been doing so for years amongst the whir of plummeting iron and sea - salt in his eyes. A yawn fashions the constant burn in your throat, so sure all the time that your clothes are damp, even by the fire. “ Somewhat. ” Thinks about the strange route of things as a shoulder hitches to rub at a frozen ear. Always wanted to help people, yet he’s not quite a soldier. Or at least, never fully saw himself as such. Did it make him a coward? or just human? He was afraid of the dying, you would be if the first - hand symptoms were etched into the back of your eyes. Bloodshed and screams burning through your gaze. “ Not all the time here, in the field. ” In fact, ‘43 is really the beginning of the end, isn’t it. Air is exhaled slowly through pursed lips, feet shuffling against the ground for a moment. “ Et toi, what were you doing before . . . this? ”
‘ Oh, no, I’m sure it’s nothing. It’ll pass, ’ she says with a shake of the head. It’s just a dull throbbing at this point, and Peggy’s certain that she can just suffer on through it and it’ll go soon enough. She’s not one to cause much of a fuss, after all, and she even feels bad for going as far as to ask him to turn off the radio. She rubs her forehead briefly before she says anything else. ‘ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your, ah– downtime. ’
He nods, takes her word for it. Alas the medic within the man will always be reluctant to take opinion over temperature. People say they are fine all the time, whether it’s a simple sneeze or their leg is hanging off. Humans are such complex creatures, he thinks, constantly searching for recognition from others yet so quick to dismiss the infliction of concern attention. Elbows take a refuge against knees, fingers interlocking, nails scraping knuckles. “ Don’t apologise. ” That is all, he doesn’t mind and would never think of throwing a a negative word over something so understandable. His head is always pounding, joints always aching. Too many thoughts exhaust him and he in fact prefers the quiet, makes a home in settled rubble,
Attention turns, focusing on the medic beside him for a moment. The fire does little to illuminate dark features, but Joe gives him a SMILE regardless in response to the information given from the other side of camp. & head turns back to the fire, watching the empty pack DISINTEGRATE within the dwindling flames & a sigh escapes past parted lips before leaning closer to, not wanting to be overheard by the others crowded around. “Did they say anything else?”
“ Pas du tout. Just this. ” Shoulder tips, a distant apology lingering withing the thankful heat growing in the thick of the air. Fingers are grey, they settle with a piece of paper he’s torn off the packet, fiddle restlessly as his tongue pushes against cheek. He too, leans a little closer, lashes catching ashen ember. “ They ‘ad a box . . . and . . . une corde ; rope. ” In other words : If I were you, I would not go.
