2023.06.09 17:49 DogPoetry Well, would you look at that
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2023.06.09 17:12 autotldr Russia to deploy tactical nuclear weapons in Belarus in July, Putin says
Russia will start deploying tactical nuclear weapons in Belarus after special storage facilities are ready on July 7-8, President Vladimir Putin said on Friday, Moscow's first move of such bombs outside Russia since the fall of the Soviet Union.
More than 15 months into the biggest land war in Europe since World War Two, Putin says the United States and its Western allies are pumping arms into Ukraine as part of an expanding proxy war aimed at bringing Russia to its knees.
Putin in March announced he wanted to deploy tactical nuclear weapons in Belarus, an apparent warning to the U.S.-led NATO military alliance over it support for Ukraine.
"Preparation of the relevant facilities ends on July 7-8, and we will immediately begin activities related to the deployment of appropriate types of weapons on your territory," Putin said, according to a Kremlin transcript of his remarks.
Putin's nuclear move is being watched closely by both the United States and its NATO allies in Europe and by China, which has repeatedly cautioned against the use of nuclear weapons in the conflict.
After the 1991 fall of the Soviet Union, the United States and Russia worked hard to return the vast Soviet nuclear arsenal, then also deployed in newly independent republics such as Ukraine, Kazakhstan and Belarus, to Russia.
2023.06.09 16:44 _karmakiller_ Seeking Passionate Volunteer Storyboard Artists for Horror Drama Web Series
2023.06.09 16:41 sportzyclub BEST TOP 5 ALL TIME ANIME SHOWS
![]() | Top 5 Evergreen All Time Anime Classics And Their Reasons - Why They Are Best ? submitted by sportzyclub to TheAnimeDaily [link] [comments]
5.. "Naruto" "Naruto" is a beloved classic that has left an indelible mark on the anime industry. It chronicles the journey of Naruto Uzumaki, a spirited ninja seeking acknowledgment and striving to become the Hokage, the leader of his village. This coming-of-age story touches on friendship, determination, and the power of perseverance, resonating with audiences of all ages. Drop Your Favorite Series/Episode Or Show From The Above Anime's In The Comments Below 👇🏻 https://preview.redd.it/3f9n5vuo705b1.png?width=1920&format=png&auto=webp&s=3a95113eeecbce208ec44830c1707feb52c3510e |
2023.06.09 16:33 yuanyufeng1995 On the website! A Lesson in Generosity by Khenchen Thrangu
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2023.06.09 16:28 autotldr Ukraine sends Western tanks into battle for the first time to bolster counteroffensive
Two Western military analysts said that the opening stage of the counteroffensive has seen the combat debut of German-made Leopard 2 battle tanks, which were supplied to Kyiv after months of diplomatic wrangling with its NATO backers.
Michael Horowitz, head of intelligence at Le Beck International, a risk management consultancy, reviewed the footage and said he was confident that it showed Leopard tanks in action.
"This would be the first time Ukraine deploys Western battle tanks, which is a sure sign that this is serious," Horowitz told NBC News.
Russia's military claimed it destroyed three of the Ukrainian Leopards during the fighting, as well as 27 other tanks, using artillery and airstrikes.
A spokesman for Ukraine's military declined to comment when asked about the Leopard tanks, in line with Kyiv's policy of not officially commenting on the progress of the counteroffensive.
Armed with a 120-mm cannon, it can hit targets from a range of more than three miles and is significantly more powerful than the Soviet-era tanks previously used by Ukraine's military.
2023.06.09 16:12 rollersky Why left-wingers should be in favour of Freedom of speech
2023.06.09 15:58 IOTSONLINE POLY Gangdong Campus
2023.06.09 15:44 alwaysblessedbygod My(32F) ex bf(33M) of 10 years came back. I am happy but anxious. How can I be comfortable with the idea of getting back with him?
2023.06.09 15:38 AndersIsHorny The Secret - Part Seven
![]() | Here is part seven of a story that I wrote AGES ago. My writing style was pretty rough back then, so be kind. Love you all and hope that you enjoy! You can find all the other parts here. submitted by AndersIsHorny to GayShortStories [link] [comments] Jasper Dmitri Erin When I got to Erin’s house I noticed that her brother’s car wasn’t there. He must have decided to be nice and give her some time alone with me. She met me at the door and we got comfortable at her dining room table. The project wasn’t nearly as daunting as it had originally seemed. After getting to work, we managed to finish it up in an hour or so. As we were nearing completion, I snuck a text message to Dmitri. Now. A minute later my phone rang. I apologized to Erin and answered the phone. “Oh hey.” Dmitri apparently decided to get in character so that I didn’t fuck it up. “Hey sweetie, what are you up to?” “Oh not much. Just at a friend’s house working on a school project.” “I miss you.” I shot a nervous glance at Erin, “I miss you too.” “I had a great time at the movie last weekend.” “Yeah, I had a good time too. You want to go to the movies again next weekend?” “Yeah. That would be fun. Don’t try to make out with me during the movie again though or I’ll give you a slap.” I couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. I might have blushed slightly too. “I won’t, I promise.” “Ok, I’ve got to run. Want to call me later?” “Yeah, I’ll call you tonight.” “Love you.” My heart skipped a beat. Dmitri had never said that to me before and even though we were acting, his voice sounded sincere. My mouth was suddenly very dry and my palms got clammy. “I.. I love you too.” He hung up. I smiled bashfully and sat back down. Erin was trying her best to play it cool. “I didn’t realize that you were dating.” “Yeah, I’m kinda… bashful so I don’t talk about things like that at school.” “You shouldn’t be so bashful. You’re a sweet guy.” I smiled at her compliment. “Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea last night. I just assumed that there would be no way that you were interested in me. If you even were.” I managed to make it suddenly awkward. She recovered gracefully, “So how long have you been dating.” Oh shit. Lying on the fly. Even though I’d been living a lie for so long, lying on the fly was not my specialty. “Well we’ve known each other for a long time but we only started dating recently.” “Well it sounds like things are going well.” She was referring to the phone call. “Yeah, we’re basically best friends so we really enjoy spending time with each other.” I was just describing my relationship with Dmitri. I realized that I was playing the pronoun game. I hoped she didn’t notice. “Well you seem like you’re really happy, I’m glad for you.” She seemed genuine. We finished up the project and then Erin made us some cold drinks to enjoy by the pool. After a while we got talking and soon discovered that we had quite a bit in common. We both loved spaghetti westerns, were addicted to crime novels, and surprisingly enjoyed the same music. Her music choice the day before had been an attempt to please me. I told her that I was offended that she thought I was the type of guy that would enjoy that kind of music. We quickly lost track of time. “Shit what time is it?” she picked up my phone and swiped it on to look at the clock. She suddenly had a confused look on her face. “What?” “Your last call was from Dmitri Novak.” My heart froze. I nodded. Fuck. “You and Dmitri are dating?” she sounded pleasantly surprised. “Umm… yeah?” “Oh my God! I had no idea you were gay!” She seemed excited by the revelation. Holy shit, I’d just told Erin that I was gay. “Erin, nobody knows! You can’t tell ANYONE!” “Why not?” She seemed confused. “Seriously Erin!” my voice cracked and my eyes started to tear up. “Nobody can find out!” She sensed my panic. “It’s okay Jasper. I won’t tell anyone.” “You promise?” “Yes, I promise. Okay? Calm down, you’re scaring me.” “I would die if people at school found out.” She spent the next ten minutes assuring me that my secret was safe with her. I finally managed to calm down a bit. Luckily my stomach was still empty so I didn’t have to worry about getting sick in front of her. I tried my best to compose myself. “What time is your brother going to be back?” I asked nervously. The last thing I needed was them to walk in and see me in this condition. “Oh he had to go back to college this morning. His girlfriend had some paper or something she had forgotten about so they went back to school.” “Oh.” I sounded slightly disappointed. I wondered why Riley hadn’t texted me to let me know. I guess I was just some random high school kid that he didn’t really care about. The thought of that didn’t do much to help me regain my composure. “I’m going to make you dinner.” Erin stood up and collected our empty glasses. “Unless you have other plans that is…” she looked at me. “No, I was just going to hang out with Dmitri later.” She suddenly got an idea. “Invite him over! I’ll make you both dinner.” “I’m not sure if he has plans for dinner…” “Well, call him silly!” I reluctantly picked up my cell. How the hell was I going to get myself out of this one. If Dmitri found out that Erin thought we were dating he was going to be furious. He picked up on the first ring. “Did she buy it?” “Hey, it’s me… yeah.” “Nice, I told you she would.” Erin looked at me expectantly. “Hey, Erin wanted to know if you’d like to come over and have dinner with us.” “Wait, does she think you’re talking to your girlfriend or to me?” I chuckled nervously. “Dmitri you’re such a clown sometimes.” “She actually wants me to come over for dinner?” “That’s ok, I figured you’d have plans.” “No, I don’t have plans. I’ll come over.” “Oh, ok. Do you need a ride?” “No, I’ll be over in a few minutes.” He hung up. Fuck. Erin seemed pleased. “He’s coming over?” “Yup he’s on his way.” I made a feeble attempt at a smile. “Do you both like Mexican food? I was thinking of making enchiladas.” “Yeah we both do.” I was beginning to sweat. She instructed me to stay put as she went inside to begin dinner. |
2023.06.09 15:33 Gomihyang Third Eye Orb
2023.06.09 15:27 Austronasia Welp…. There’s a Best Western next door.
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2023.06.09 15:13 brontozawr Cannes Film Festival 2023 — Main competition movies ranged by Metacritic
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2023.06.09 14:55 kiplet1 [City of Roses] no. 27.3: “Quite distressing” – well as She might – taking Any hand – Something falls
![]() | Patreon submitted by kiplet1 to redditserials [link] [comments] previous Table of Contents tends to crumble “Quite distressing,” says the older man, there in the wingback chair. “Though one does not wish to play the churl. A certain degree of disarray must certainly be allowed, given the shocks – the challenge, the duel – ” “Allowed?” says Agravante, there by the yellow stone fireplace, an elbow up on the mantel, and the older man takes a sip of milky tea from a thin bone china cup. “How is the King’s champion, by the way?” he says. “Death’s door,” says Agravante. There on the mantel by his elbow a fiendish little basket-box, carved from a chunk of dark red wood. “Shame,” says the older man, shaking his head, stiff grey curls swept back, and the collar of his shirt undone, a blue scarf knotted tidily about his throat. “Though it is distasteful, how they might linger, on that threshold? Neither here, nor there,” and another sip of tea. “What is it that distresses you, Medardus,” says Agravante. White-gold locks tied neatly black, his grey suit shot with blue. “It’s a delicate question I’d have answered, Pinabel,” says the older man, setting the cup in the saucer on his lap, clink. “Does the King yet mean to pursue his bold vision?” Agravante’s brow pinches. “Of course,” he says. “Insofar as I know.” Medardus smiles. “Delicately put,” he says. “It’s been two days.” “These things take time.” “Two days,” says Medardus, “since he took from me mine offer,” knobbled fingers closing in a fist, drawn up by his yet-mild smile. “And not a word said since.” “There’s much to be considered,” says Agravante. “Four of you do vie for her hand.” “Please, Pinabel,” says Medardus, dropping his hand, and a clatter of cup and saucer. “It’s an indulgence to pretend the choice isn’t manifestly clear – that mine is not the best offering.” “The best, perhaps,” says Agravante. “But sufficient?” A slatey shoulder shrugs. “The King would demand more?” “How can I answer that,” says Agravante, “when I know nothing of what you’ve promised, or he might require.” “Nothing,” says Medardus, still smiling. “Such a delicate word.” Setting cup and saucer on the low table between them. “I would hope,” he says, “it could always be said that the Hound has done well by Medardus,” and he knots those knobby fingers in his lap. “Much as it can be said, to a surety, that Medardus has done well by the Hound.” Rather carefully, Agravante does not smile at that, or nod, his shoulders do not move, nor does his arm, there by the basket-box. “Of course,” he says. “But it’s also said,” says Medardus, “that a fear grips your court: that the line is not unbroken. That the Queen, despite her, prodigious recovery, has no Bride of her own. That your King’s hand, howsomever reluctantly, is forced. That he means,” and here Medardus leans forward, elbows on knees, “to take the Princess for himself, and that is why our offers go unanswered.” Sitting back, a dismissive fillip of his fingers. “Or so it’s said.” “By some,” says Agravante. “Indeed,” says Medardus. “But not to me,” says Agravante. “Ah.” Medardus pushes himself to his feet. “Tell me,” he says, as Agravante leads him out of the little drawing room, “how fares the Count?” “Grandfather?” says Agravante, pushing open the sliding wood-paneled door. “He sleeps.” Beyond, a narrow hall, in the shadow of a long straight staircase. • “Oh,” he says. “It’s you.” A glass of wine in his hand, something dark. “She isn’t here.” “She will be, soon enough,” says Marfisa, muddy boot up on the side porch step. “Jason, can I just, wait inside?” The collar of her sheepskin coat turned up, loose white hair stirred by a gust. He steps back, the door held open, his lips a sour purse between his mustache and his dull red beard. Up the steps into a mud room, painted blue, forgotten coats and a tangle of umbrellas, a scooter, a chalkboard palimpsested with to-dos and shopping lists, “Ah ah,” he’s saying, pointing, thick-lensed glasses blanked out by the ceiling light, and she scrubs her boots against a mat before stepping up into a kitchen to the left there, ruddy stove and a steaming pot of something, stainless steel refrigerator hung about with coupons and note cards, a calendar, a math test festooned with red checks and gold stars, past a breakfast bar sloppily piled with newspapers and a box of soda cans, into a narrow sitting room, a low brown couch, a girl tucked at one end of it, under a red and yellow blanket, and pink headphones startling against her dark hair, watching something on the tablet on her lap. “Grace,” says Jason, still in the kitchen, but she’s already snatching off the headphones, a burst of chirpy music, as Marfisa steps about the low coffee table. “Hey, Mar,” says the girl on the couch, and “Grace,” says Jason again, “upstairs,” as Marfisa sits herself at the other end. Something bulky’s tucked in her coat, she leans over the table, pulling it out, a flat paper sack that spills out a sheaf of handbills, goldenrod pages splashed with black lines, a dancer rendered in calligraphy, and each marked by the green dot of an eye. “Oh, hey,” says the girl, springing from under the blanket, all elbows and knees and clattering headphones, “is that,” says Jason says “Grace!” again, but she’s already scooped up a handbill, turning it over and back again, nothing else to it but little pull-tabs at the bottom, each printed with an elaborately arabesqued question mark. “You’re putting these up?” Marfisa shrugs. “You’ve seen them?” “Yesterday, at Mississippi Pizza?” says Grace. “Did you hang ’em there?” Marfisa shrugs again. “The Mercury just had a thing about these things, like how nobody knows what they are, or who’s, it’s, it’s you! You’re doing it! Is it like, are you putting the band back together?” “Grace,” says Jason. “What,” snaps Grace, rolling her eyes away. “Upstairs,” he says, “now. Flashcards till dinner.” “Jason,” she says, but she’s kicking off the couch, scooping up the tablet, stomping around the table when back that way there’s a clatter and a squeak of hinges from that side porch, “I’m home!” cries someone, and “Carol!” cries Grace, turning on a dime, scampering off past Jason, through the kitchen, “Guess who’s here!” Marfisa leans forward, slipping the handbills back in the sack, not looking up at Jason looking down at her. And there’s Carol, by the breakfast bar, setting a brown leather book bag on the carpet. Draped in a brown and yellow striped serape, her dark hair neatly short. “Mar,” she says. “How are you.” “Well as I might,” says Marfisa, looking up, pushing back a wave of white-gold hair. “What would you say to a chance to sing again, together?” • A hallway narrow, dim, dark doors to either side, silvery numerals set in the walls by each, slender 1s, a wiry 7, great round-bellied 6es, an 8, a 9. Iona in her yellow track suit leads the way around a corner, stops before the door at the end of the hall. 620, the numerals beside it. She plucks a white card from a pocket, holds it up before slipping it into the slot above the knob. “I miss keys,” she says, as the lock chunks, a green light flicking on. “These may be better, but not in any way that matters.” She opens the door. “Go on,” she says. Within brown walls and gold, bathed in daylight hazed by yellow curtains drawn over corner windows. A comfortable yellow chair, a reading table and a lamp, unlit. A wide bed draped in blue and brown and at the foot of it, sat tailor-fashion, Ysabel, in a white chemise, and soft white leg-warmers thickly rumpled. “Starling,” she says, with a smile. “My Queen,” says the Starling, a shadow there by yellow Iona, black jeans, black sweatshirt, the hood of it up. “This is not our usual Thursday,” she says, in not much more than a whisper. “This isn’t a Thursday,” says Ysabel, nodding to Iona, who steps out, closing the door behind her. “This is a whole weekend, if you’d like.” “But I must dance, ma’am,” says the Starling. “Today and tonight, at the club, and Saturday – ” “It has been cleared, with your, manager,” says Ysabel. “You’re free, till Monday.” “Free to be here, with you,” says the Starling. And then, “If it’s just to be the two of us?” Her words worn thin. “If you’d like,” says Ysabel. “Or, step back through that door. The Chariot will happily take you anywhere in the city you may wish to go.” The Starling reaches for the strap of the black gym bag slung from her shoulder. “I don’t mind,” she says, “being with you. I’ll just go change,” but “No,” says Ysabel, quickly, “Starling, no. Put that down. Sit with me.” “My Queen,” says the Starling. “I am not who I am, when I’m with you.” “Please,” says Ysabel. “Sit.” The gym bag slumps to the speckled brown carpet. Stepping over, the Starling stands a moment before the foot of that bed, and Ysabel sat there, smiling up, but then she turns, the Starling, and finds the yellow chair behind her, and sits, a darkness in that weak light. “I’m glad you came,” says Ysabel. “My Queen desired it,” says the Starling. “I thought,” says Ysabel, looking away. “I’d thought today that I might dance for you. I have danced, you know. At a party. She said I was quite good.” “Of course,” says the Starling. “I settled on an outfit,” says Ysabel, looking down at herself, “nothing too elaborate,” and “Good,” says the Starling, “but,” says Ysabel, “I’ve been flummoxed by my lips. What should the color be?” A hand, lifted to her mouth, her hair, “White?” she says. “To go with the ensemble? Or would that be too much? Would a simple red be enough?” “No one pays attention to the lipstick,” says the Starling. “You do,” says Ysabel, quickly, even sharply, and then, “You take such care, with yours.” That hood shifts, down, to one side, dim light passing over her chin, the tip of her nose. “White’s better for the stage,” she says. “Too bold for such close quarters.” “A simple red it is.” “Your majesty is sad,” says the Starling, then. “Why should that be?” “I,” says Ysabel, shoulders lifting, and her chin, a retort swelling but then suddenly pricked, deflating, and she looks away. “Affairs of the city,” she says. “Not the heart, then?” says the Starling. “Nor the hips?” Ysabel untucks herself, a bare foot lowered to the carpet, and her hands on the edge of the bed. “Tell me,” she says. “Do you know the smell, of blood?” That shadow sits up. “I do, ma’am,” says the Starling. “She sleeps,” Ysabel’s saying. “Peacefully. Her wound is poulticed with a fief’s portion. The bleeding’s long since stopped, but,” and she takes in a deep breath, shivering at the top of it, a sigh, “wherever I go in those rooms I still can smell it, that – tang, like an armor hot from the sun, and I,” but the Starling’s standing, stepping over, she kneels at the foot of the bed, reaches for a hand that Ysabel lifts away, “here I am,” she says, “holed up in a hotel across town.” The Starling sits back on her heels. “Would you rather go to her?” but Ysabel’s shaking her head, “The Mason,” she says, “watches over her. She wants for nothing. I am,” but then she stops, and the Starling catches her hand, draws it down, covers it with her own. Ysabel says, “My brother once told me,” but then she stops again, blinking rapidly, looking down at the Starling looking up from under her black hood. “He was once a little boy,” says Ysabel. “Did you know that?” “The King,” says the Starling, “yes, ma’am, of course. I remember those days.” “Not even a Prince, just an infant, he came to me, in the little garden, and took my hand, and asked me, sister, why are you crying?” Turning her hand in the Starling’s hand, taking hold of it, squeezing. “And I said, because I do not wish to wed. But I am the Bride, I said, and one day a King will come, and I must take his hand. Whether I will or no, I must, but he,” looking away, “he swore to me, then and there, most earnestly, that he would one day be the King, that I might never need take anyone’s hand.” The Starling says, “And he did just that.” “My brother,” says Ysabel, “the King, this,” and her eyes close, the lashes of them shining, “city,” she says, and her mouth closes about another, unsaid word, she swallows, and a lick at her lips. “Jo,” she says. “My Queen,” says the Starling. “I will go, and change, and dance for you, to take your mind,” but “No,” says Ysabel, leaning forward, her hands on the Starling’s shoulders, “do not change, do not dress, do not perform,” lifting a hand, right to the very hem of that hood, but then pulled back, withdrawn. “I would see you just as you are,” she says, her hands once more in her lap. “But, my lady,” says the Starling, and she reaches up to draw back that hood. “I am always as I am.” Black hair uncurled, slicked back, clipped down to stubble along her temples, about those ears. Her cheeks, the line of that jaw. The nose. Those eyes, only a hazeled hint of green. Thin lips unpainted, upturned, parting as Ysabel leans close to say, “And you are with me,” and then a feathery kiss, tugging at the Starling’s hands, lifting, the Starling who stands up before her, and her hands fall to the Starling’s hips, rough black denim, the belt loops, her thumb, the wide leather belt, looking up, those green eyes. She yanks at the bulky black sweatshirt, “Get this off,” she says, and the Starling lifts it up and off and tosses it aside. Bare now from the waist up, and the torso of her lean and long, and her long arms sinewy lowering, curling, Ysabel’s darkly hands caught up against the smooth pale chest of her by those wide white hands, and the backs of them snarled with thick blue veins. “Now would you have me go and change?” murmurs the Starling. “But you are beautiful,” says Ysabel, slipping her hands free, reaching for the tongue of the belt. The buckle jangles. “Majesty,” says the Starling, “I am many things, but,” and a gasp, at the kiss pressed there below her shadowed navel, as those black jeans loosen, lop, as Ysabel’s fingers dip within to uncurl a palely slender cock, and a stroke for the lengthening lift of it, “oh,” says the Starling, “my Queen, you needn’t,” as her hand cups Ysabel’s face. “But do you want me to,” says Ysabel, and the Starling, shivering, nods. “The principles, I should think,” says Ysabel, “are essentially the same?” And a lick of a kiss for the tip of it, there on her palm. • Pinned to the pole a mulching bark of posters, flyers, handbills, postcards, lapped and shingled one over another, rain-dimpled, sun-faded, twisted, torn, defaced, Thrash or Die, April Showers Burlesque, Snap! at the Holocene, Anodyne Presents, Missing Dog, Laughing Horse, Drum Circle Saturday Rain or Shine, Cinco de Mayo on the Waterfront, big black letters on an enormous sheet, Grupo Samurjay, Grupo Maravilla, Los Supremos de Los Hermanos Flores, Woodburn Rocks. As the bus pulls away she’s pushing back her black hair looking up toward the top of that slithery bristling treeline, there where handfuls of old notices have been ripped away leaving crowded dozens of denuded staples, glinting, by a metal sign that says No Parking This Block, a relatively fresh sheet of goldenrod paper, mad black scribbles limning a dancer, a single eye of bright green ink. She reaches up, to the pull-tabs fluttering the bottom of it, each printed with only an elaborately arabesqued question mark. Her other hand holds fast a black leather knapsack slung from the shoulder of her slick black jacket. Her glasses with thick black frames. With a sudden yank she rips the handbill down. A broad porch with four front doors set one right next to another, and she unlocks, slips through the third of them, and up an immediate steep staircase, narrow between dark walls, unlit, that yellow page bright in her hand. Around the wall at the top of the stairs through an open room a couch the floor before it piled with cardboard boxes into a long hall once painted white, some time ago, lit by daylight seeping in from somewhere else. At the end of it a dark room, curtains drawn, and she closes the door behind her, a shadow in the shadows. Flump of the knapsack, dropped to the floor, creaking footstep, the thick click of a switch. Light blares from naked bulbs in the fixture in the middle of the ceiling, pink springs from the walls all whorled curlicues and faded bouquets, the bed there, skewed bedclothes striped dull brown and beige, and on the floor at the foot of it a great conical pile knee-high or more of gleaming golden dust. She steps around it, jacket half-unzipped. A ridge of the pile has settled, slumped, dust trailed over the floor away from it, and the goldenrod poster drops, crumpled, from the hand she’s lifting to her throat, to the bit of black lace tied there. Steps back, around the bed. She grabs a little hand broom from the nightstand. Kneels down by the pile. Begins to sweep up the goldstuff, careful with each thread and grain. • Eyelids a-twitch, lips parting just to say not even a whisper, maybe a number, counting, nine or ten, eleven, those lids blink open over mud-colored eyes that swivel, narrow, try to focus, a gleaming edge there, mirror-bright, shifting as she blinks the length of it flat and smooth and slender, somehow deep within it coiling whorls of light and dark chased up and down a shallow groove that cleanly stretches up and up to a glittering net there on the pillow, wiry strands that knot a cage about a simple hilt she jerks away, kicks back sitting up, “Shit,” she says, as the sword’s tangled in the sheets, teetering at the edge of the futon. She’s bent over, thin white T-shirt, wine-red hair, rubbing her shin, a thin dark line of blood beading down by her ankle, “Shit,” she says, again. Snatching the hilt she whips the blade free from the sheets, “this fucking,” but it turns in her hand, a wrench and away it flies across the room to crack and a wibble it’s stabbed the white wall there by the plain black scabbard, hung from a nail, and the painted skull-mask also, the mane of it stirred by that thrust. Jo blinks. “Okay,” she says, to herself. Without, the hallway’s dark, the little lights strung along the ceiling unlit. The kitchen beyond is empty, only glancing daylight and shadows. Jo leans over to knock at the door across the hall, “Ysabel?” she says, turning the knob. The room within all yellow and white, gauzy curtains, big bed neatly made, the armoire shut, and nothing draped over the dressing screen in the corner. “Ysabel?” says Jo again, but something, she looks down. Something lightly, barely there, faintly wisps, like down, like ash, falling from, brushing her foot, past her knee, caught there in the hem of her T-shirt, falling from, she lifts it, peering down at her belly beneath, and the line that climbs it packed with an ashen crust and a last few spangles of gold and, she touches it crumbling, flaking away, the pink skin taut beneath. Back against the jamb. Dropping the hem of the shirt her hand to her breast, and quick wincing shallow breaths. Lurching up across and over to the dresser, a bouquet of heavy-headed peonies pink and yellow, she grabs a small brass box and pries it open, frees a cigarette, and a ragged book of matches. The hall, the back room, dark, the back door and out, outside, out in the grass, under the sky, sunlight and blue sky, and glowering clouds behind, white and blue and grey and blue and greenly black, swollen with the coming rain. Fitting the cigarette to her lips but even as she opens the matchbook she’s falling to her knees in the lushly green, soft grass out to the parapets to either side, and she coughs up a sob, another, doubled over on her shaking shuddering self, her hand a fist to her chest. The cigarette falls white to the grass before her. Feathers of grey-white ash caught about it, and sparks of gold. A call behind her, muffled by walls and doors. Sitting up she catches, holds her breath. Swallows. A slam back there, distant, bump of a footfall, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and leans forward getting her feet under herself but the back door bangs open boot-thump someone shouting and she springs up turns her arm flung out the sword The sword in her hand – Her hand, her arm extended shoulder dropped her torso sidelong and her front foot planted, off leg leaned back straight and true, off hand slung back to balance the thrust that’s ended sword-tip snagged in a corner of his unzipped shortwaisted jacket yanked up one side he’s twisted, turned away from it, both arms flung up and alarm gently folding his face. “Oh God,” says Jo, dropping the blade, the ring of it soft on the grass. “You’re awake,” says Luys, lowering his arms. Brushing the front of his soft brown jacket, his finger finding the hole punched there. “Your coat,” says Jo, “I’m so, sorry,” but “No sin espinas,” he’s saying, almost to himself, holding out a hand, “You are awake,” he says, but she rushes past that hand to crash into him tumbling her arms about him there on the rooftop under the clouds, she’s kissing his throat and then as he lowers his head she looks up to kiss his mouth, his mouth. https://preview.redd.it/31cs43s4pz4b1.png?width=35&format=png&auto=webp&s=5c5c990a3790e89b4ddcf70973bc9b387bf57179 previous Table of Contents Patreon |
2023.06.09 14:55 autotldr Mount Everest: Deadly season puts focus on record climbing permits
This year's victims succumbed to the perennial risks of climbing Everest - three Sherpas died in a serac or ice fall, and the others fell ill like Mr Kennison.
The high number has renewed scrutiny on overcrowding after a record number of climbing permits were issued in Nepal, and deepened concerns about the impacts of climate change on the mountain.
Having so many people puts pressure on "Traffic jams" on the climbing route, Garrett Madison of US-based Madison Mountaineering company told Reuters news agency.
Adrian Ballinger of US-based Alpenglow Expeditions, which leads climbers from the China side, said some companies from the Nepal side have been taking climbers to Everest even if they do not have enough experience to navigate the death zone.
Everest expeditions are a major source of income for Nepal, whose government is often criticised by some Western climbers for allowing anyone who can pay the $11,000 fee for a permit to go up.
Speaking last month, he said a team of doctors and government officials would be stationed at the Everest base camp for the first time to manage climbing activities throughout the season.
2023.06.09 14:36 IAmPowerless95 New CPU Cooler for Ryzen 5600x?
2023.06.09 14:33 CaspianX2 Blood Will Be Spilled for Nintendo Switch - Review
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2023.06.09 14:10 Pandithnadish Best Psychic Astrologer In South Africa -pandithnadish
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2023.06.09 13:39 biggitydonut Western culture needs to stop judging other cultures parenting based on their idea of what is “toxic”
2023.06.09 13:32 memeteamster Welp…. There’s a Best Western next door.
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2023.06.09 13:32 wardXn 35 day solo itinerary check across western Honshu, Shikoku, Osaka/Kyoto, Kanazawa and Tokyo
2023.06.09 13:30 Known-Investment-254 Welp…. There’s a Best Western next door.
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