#Marie Le Bris

[selidren]

Automne 1922 - Louxor (Egypte)

10/10

Je ne sais si il s'agit de l'ennui ou alors de l'angoisse de savoir son fils se marier (comme vous le savez, c'est un jeune homme revenu assez instable de la guerre et nous ne sommes pas très rassurés de le savoir se mettre en ménage) mais Adelphe s'est mis à une activité un peu particulière. Un soir, il a observé un charmeur de serpent se produisant pour les visiteurs étrangers, et cela a semblé le captiver. Il s'est mis à poser mille questions à l'artiste, qui a finalement décidé de l'initier. Il m'a assuré que le serpent utilisé était impressionnant mais n'avait rien de dangereux, malgré tout, je suis toujours aussi peu rassuré quand je le vois s'exercer sous l'égide de son mentor. Qui aurait pu croire que le brillant entrepreneur Adelphe Barbois se prenne de passion pour ce genre de choses ? C'est assez amusant au demeurant.

J'espère que l'idylle de votre Marie mènera quelque part. C'est une histoire qui m'intéresse, même si j'ai le même spectacle sous les yeux quand je suis à la maison. Il me tarde quelque peu de rentrer pour pouvoir tirer les vers du nez de Sélène et Noé, comme j'aurai du le faire il y a un moment. En tous cas, n'hésitez pas à m'informer de tout développement, peu importe lequel.

Avec l'assurance de toute mon affection,

Votre amie, Albertine

[aisakalegacy]

Printemps 1908, Hylewood, Canada (6/6)

J’approche de la fin de cette lettre, et je réalise que j’ai oublié de mentionner le plus important. Nous venons d’avoir une fille, elle est née à la toute fin de l’hiver. Nous l’avons appelée Marie, comme ma sœur, toujours portée disparue. Je pense souvent à elle et je me demande ce qu’elle devient. Je suppose que vous n’avez jamais eu de nouvelles, sans quoi vous me les auriez transmises… Ma Marie est le portrait d’Eugénie - les mêmes cheveux noirs et épais, la même peau diaphane, mais les yeux de ma mère.

Donnez-moi vite de vos nouvelles.

Votre bien dévoué,

J. Le Bris

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

Masterlist | Tip Jar

Tagging those who asked, and some of my mutuals who may or may not enjoy this!

If you want to be added/removed from my tag list, please let me know!

@writingjourney @portaltothevoid @anamelessfool @astro-ghoul99 @sodoswitchimage @through-thebrokenglass @ghoulette-knell @thylacourt @onlyhereforghost @mikathemushroom @jaymechaos @gardenghoul22 @mustluvecho @mlioravanfleet @tobbesdiscordkitten @the-did-i-ask @love-is-all-you-need-13 @fishwithtitz @xshadyladyx @redthefieryginger @preqvelle @arhiannababe @namelessdrool @jokerofthepack52 @popialover @alonso123 @copias-sewer-rat @kadedoesthings @popiaswife @thew0man @siouxbauhaus @copias-juicebox @ghostfangirlsweden

[help-an-alter]

Hi first off this blog is awesome and I think this is such a cool idea. Secondly we just found out about a new subsystem of fragments and we need some help with their names and such.

It’s a Kpop/Idol group each one based on different colours of the rainbow. (Including light and dark of each colour) would it be okay to ask this all in the one ask or would you prefer separate asks for each? They’re still undecided on gender so any for names and pronouns would be fine.

Sorry if this is a lot.

Also could we claim 📼🌌 if possible?

Hi anon ! mod firefly here ,, you can totally claim that :3 thanks for giving the blog compliments !!! We'll separate it by the colours !

names ,,,

Red themed ,,

Rouge , Red , Scarlett / Scarlet , Poppy , Rory , Reed , Ruby , Flynn , Garnet , Jasper , Opal , Rhodonite , Carnelian , Flame , Fire / Fyre , Blaze / Blaise , Poppy

Orange themed ,,

Topaz , Opal , Amber / Ambre , Clementine , Coral , Saffron , Alani , Ginger , Blaine , Ember / Embre , Peaches , Nerenxa , Aurelia , Blaine , Azahaur , Cyrus , Garfield , Daisy

Yellow themed ,,

Helio / Helios , Sol , Apollo , Xanthe , Marigold , Citrine , Elio , Casper , Sunny / Sunney / Sunni / Sunnie , Flavia , Goldie , Gildie , Gilderoy , Sunday , Erica / Erika , Aura , Zahava , Ziva / Ziv , Apolline / Apollina , Eleanor , Dahlia / Dalia , Zinnia / Zinnie , Camille / Camylle / Camyle / Cam , Clara

Green themed ,,

Shiloh , ShamRock / ShamRoc / ShamRok , Laurel , Em / Emerald , Ivy , Midori , Myrthe , Meadow , Thyme , Spring , Celadon , Hunter / Huntre , Kelly / Kelli / Kelley , Ciara

Blue themed ,,

Emily , Azure , Seafoam , Blu , Marina , River / Rivre , Cyan , Sapphire , Indigo , Marlais , Carolina , Iris , Maya , Capri , Marian / Maryan , Yves , Sini

Purple themed ,,

Cecil / Cecilia / Cecyl / Cecylia / Cecylya , Violet , Prince / Prynce , Rain , King , Heath , Heather , Martin / Martyn , Dexter , Gefen / Gefyn , Gethen / Gethyn , Jacinto , Vincio , Vincius / Vincyus / Vyncius / Vyncyus , Jasper / Jaspre , Harold , Harry / Harri , Harriet / Harryet / Harriett / Harryett / Hariette / Harryette , Louis , George , Leroy , Roye / Roy , Rex / Rexx / Rexe / Rexxe , Rey / Ray / Reye / Raye / Reyes / Rayes , Indigo / Indygo , Indi / Indy , Indiana , Lavendar / Lavender , Vander / Vender , Evander / Evandyr / Evender / Evendyr , Perry / Perri , Periwinkle / Periwynkle , Mage / Mayge , Magenta / Magynta , Jack / Jac , Jacaranda , Pru , Prunella

Pink themed ,,

Rose , Roisin , Rosa , Rosalind / Rosalynd , Rosalina / Rosalyna , Rosalynne / Rosalynn / Rosalyn / Rosalinne / Rosalinn / Rosalin , Barbie / Barbye / Barbara , Ken , Adrienne / Adryenne , Penelope , Cordelia , Coral , Elle , Woody / Woodi / Woodey / Woodie , Priscilla / Priscylla / Pryscilla / Pryscylla , Cadillac / Cadyllac ,

Pronouns ,,,

Red themed ,,

red/reds , cer/ise , cer/cerise , crim/son , crim/crimson , scar/let , scar/scarlet , burg/burgundy , burg/undy , fi/fire , py/pyro ,

Orange themed ,,

or/ange , orange/oranges , sun/rise , sunrise/sunrises , mari/gold , mari/marigold , aura/auras

Yellow themed ,,

yell/ow , yell/yellow , yellow/yellows , sun/rise , sunrise/sunrises , mari/gold , mari/marigold , au/ra , aura/auras , sun/flower , sunflower/sunflowers , fi/fire , pyr/pyro , sun/suns , sun/shine , suns/sunshine , sunshine/sunshines , sun/sunshine , bri/bright

Green themed ,,

gree/green , green/greens , li/lime , sprout/sprouts , plant/planty , grow/grows , tree/trees , for/est , forest/forests

Blue themed ,,

blu/blue , blue/blues , teal/teals , cy/an , cy/cyans , rain/rainy , snow/snows , ice/ices , sky/blue , sky/skies ,

Purple themed ,,

ind/igo , indigo / indigos , pur/ple , purp/le , purple/purples , pur/purp , vio/let , vio/violet , violet/violets , lil/ac , li/lac , lila/lilac , lilac/lilacs , orch/orchid , orchid/orchids , lav/endar , lav/ender , lavendar/lavendars , lavender/lavenders

Pink themed ,,

pink/pinks , tul/ip , tulip/tulips , ro/rose , rose/roses , pea/peach , peach/peaches , sal/mon , sal/salmon , salmon/salmons , carn/ation , carnation/carnations

I hope these help all of them !! :3

[ekman]

J’arrive un peu après la bataille pour en parler ? Tant mieux, je n’ai pas grand chose à en dire, ni rien à ajouter qui n’ait déjà été hurlé. Pour être honnête, je ne l’ai pas regardée, la consensuelle et inclusive Cérémonie. Ayant entendu une courte interview du metteur en chaines, j’avais anticipé un certain nombre de tableaux wokisto-tapetto-parisiens et la seule idée d’avoir à subir cette débauche de connasses pailletées et de dondons à testicules et faux-cils était au-dessus de mes forces. En revanche, je n’ai pas pu éviter les résumés, c’est à dire la mise en lumière des scènes de crime. Et je n’ai pas été déçu.

• L’italo-américaine Lady Gaga pour chanter Zizi Jeanmaire avec un accent US à couper au couteau, pourquoi pas ? On a déjà eu Joséphine et ses bananes pour faire swinguer la France d’avant-guerre. Et comme il est vrai qu’on manque de chanteuses en France... 

• Les bateaux-moches en promène-couillons des quatre coins du monde, pourquoi pas ?

• Cette pauvre Marie-Antoinette. Sur les lieux même où la torture morale arriva à son paroxysme... Eh bien, la république ne reculant devant aucun sacrifice, c’est à la Conciergerie qu’elle a exhibé le corps étêté et sanguinolent – cela se voulait drôle, parait-il – de la Reine de France. Pire, elle lui fit chanter “ah, ça ira !”, en oubliant que la suite : “les aristocrates à la lanterne” aurait pu faire blêmir Manu et Jean-Bri, le couple passant souvent ses fins de semaine au très versaillais domaine de la Lanterne... qui ne présente, hélas, aucune potence improvisée.

• Aya Nakamura, la gouailleuse des banlieues qui a tant de mal à aligner trois phrases audibles dans la langue de NTM, a secoué son cul de basse fausse face à l’Académie afin d’apprendre la samba à la Garde Républicaine, régiment réputé d’élite qui s’est ainsi couvert d’une honte durable car décarbonée.

• La flamme était portée par le quasi personnage d’Assassin’s Creed – autant dire un partenariat Ubisoft, tandis que l’artisanat français (savoir-faire, excellence et tout le baratin habituel) était incarné par les malles Vuitton, partenaire obligé, incontournable, incontestable, imposé.

• Autres sponsors, très implicites, les sites de cul qui vous vendent à longueur de plateformes de la bisexualité pratiquée en groupe, ce qui en mode restreint s’appelle un “trouple”. Cette élégante appellation – qui n’est pas sans rappeler le son franc et frais d’une flatulence post-sodomite – s’est vue illustrée par une coquine séquence qui, c’est l’évidence, a tout à voir avec l’olympisme.

• Enfin, la Cène façon Michou, rassemblement d’obèses, d’invertis, d’apprentis-satanistes ou supposés tels, ces trois qualités étant cumulables à l’envi, qui offre à la France, fille aînée de l’Église façon François-l’Embrouille, une occasion de souligner son exemplarité morale et la force de son credo chrétien.

Voilà. J’en oublie sûrement, et cela vaut mieux. Aujourd’hui, la France a clairement montré qu’elle avait choisi son camp, qui se caractérise par une concentration inouïe d’hominidés dégénérés aux commandes du pays, servis par un aréopage de tarés, de déviants ou de simples ambitieux dont le principal souci est de bien montrer au reste du monde – celui qui croit en quelque chose de transcendant – que laïcité et vaseline font excellent ménage. L’exception française deviendra-t-elle la source d’un isolement durable ? J’en suis personnellement convaincu. Et c’est très bien ainsi. Quand on porte la peste... 

J.-M. M.

[justamonkeyonautopilot]

Can't remember if it was last year or the year before I did this or both. But yesterday on my way to work I saw that Apple has already shared their Replay 2024 list. So I'm going to post it here to see if it has changed any by December. As once again I'm curious. I also noticed through this that some of the songs listed on here I have only listened to once so I have no clue how they generate these lists. Some I understand they're on there from the dance show back in February because I'd play them on repeat to practice.

Here we go then:

Texas Hold 'Em - Beyonce

Anatomy - Kenzie

Feminine Rage - Peggy

The Code - Nemo

A Bar Song (Tipsy) - Shaboozey

Stick Season - Noah Kahan

Marameo - Alessandra

I Choose Violence - Jax

Houdini - Eminem

Austin (Boots Stop Workin') - Dasha

90s Kids - Jax

The Me I Was - Kenzie

Sos - Soap

Heather On The Hill - Nathan Evans

Seventeen - Marina and The Diamonds

Born This Way - Lady Gaga

Get the Party Started - P!nk

Disconnect - Becky Hill & Chase & Status

Attention - Todrick Hall

As Long As You're There - Stuart Matthew Price (Carrie Hope Fletcher and Oliver Ormson)

Hayloft II - Mother Mother

Someone You Loved - Lewis Capaldi

Sail - Awolnation

A Song For Chelsea - Jax

Where Do All The Good Kids Go? - Maddie Zahm

Lost On You - LP

Naughty - Matilda Movie Soundtrack

Beautiful Things - Benson Boone

Anybody Have A Map? - Dear Evan Hansen

Something Just Like This - The Chainsmokers & Coldplay

Join Us For A Bite - JT Music

Kang Kang Kang (DJ) - Half Ton Brothers

The Gambler - Kenny Rogers

Dance With Me Tonight - Olly Murs

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da - The Beatles

Gangsta's Paradise - Coolio

Whistle (While You Work It) - Katy Tiz

Ava - Natalie Jane

Airplanes - B.o.B.

Found A Way - Drake Bell

I Just Can't Wait To Be King - The Lion King

Freedom - Pharrell Williams

Like My Father - Jax

Girl In The Mirror - Megan Moroney

W.I.T.C.H. - Devon Cole

The Room Where It Happened - Hamilton

Proud Mary - Tina Turner

I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) - The Proclaimers

You'll Be Back - Hamilton

Youngblood - 5 Seconds of Summer

Wasn't Expecting That - Jamie Lawson

Hit The Road Jack - 2WEI & Bri Bryant

I Say No - Heathers

Bang Bang - Jessie J, Ariana Grande & Nicki Minaj

I Got Up - Overnight Lows

Pretty Devil - Alessandra

Working For The Company - Willy Moon

We On Top - Photronique & Shari Short

Pretty Little Black-Eyed Suzie - Guy Mitchell

21 Reasons - Nathan Dawe

Stargazing - Myles Smith

Below The Surface - Griffinilla

Kiss An Angel Good Morning - Charley Pride

Barry and Freda - Victoria Wood

Circle The Drain - Katy Perry

I Kind of Relate - Drake Bell

Helium - Sia

Teir Abhaile Riu - Celtic Woman

Bring Him Home - Ramin Karimloo

One Day More - The 2020 Les Miserables Staged Concert Company

I'm Not Here To Make Friends - Sam Smith

Dark Horse - Katy Perry

Don't Forget - Demi Lovato

It's Goin' Down - Descendants

I Do Not Hook Up - Kelly Clarkson

Break The Ice - Britney Spears

Candyman - Christina Aguilera

Vampire - Olivia Rodrigo

Hey Mama - David Guetta

Karma - JoJo Siwa

Beat Again - JLS

I Think I'm In Love - Kat Dahlia

Diva - Beyonce

Paint The Town Red - Doja Cat

We No Speak Americano - Yolanda Be Cool & DCUP

Boyfriend - Alphabeat

Get Stupid - Aston Merrygold

I Put A Spell On You - Annie Lennox

Let Me Down Slowly - Alex Benjamin

Can't Be Tamed - Miley Cyrus

They Just Keep Moving The Line - Carrie Hope Fletcher

Kings & Queens - Ava Max

Achy Breaky Heart - Billy Ray Cyrus

She Likes - Forever the Sickest Kids

Boyfriend - Dove Cameron

The Hanging Tree - Rachel Zegler

Hound Dog - Elvis Presley

42nd Street - 42nd Street

La Vecinita - Don Omar

You Matter To Me - Carrie Hope Fletcher

(After going through them again, I genuinely don't remember listening to half of them anytime recently - it's not that I don't listen to music either I have a playlist I play in the car when I'm driving and the songs off that aren't on this list)

[winespector]

Le Saviez-vous ?

🍷🥧 ACCORD MET-VIN FUN 🥧🍷 Quand la quiche et la tarte salée s'invitent à table, le Saint-Bris Blanc est prêt à faire le show ! 🎉 Son caractère vif et fruité se marie à merveille avec ces délices salés. Un duo qui va te faire danser de plaisir ! 💃💥 Alors, quelle est ta tarte salée préférée pour accompagner ce délicieux vin ? 🤔🍕🥦 Mets-nous en commentaire tes meilleures idées pour un accord met-vin qui déchire ! 💬💪 #SaintBrisBlanc #AccordMetVin #QuicheEtTarteSalée #FunEtGourmandise

[chrancecriber]

Radio SunLounge Romania (March 30, 2023)

23:57 Schwarz & Funk - Fallen (Chill Mix) 23:56 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 23:50 Gold Lounge - Promised Land 23:47 Johannes Huppertz - Short Message Service 23:43 Setsuna - White Light 23:37 Diario - Don't Forget 23:33 Gushi & Raffunk - Check Me Out 23:28 Dolphin Boy - Shake It Loose 23:25 Jaffa - Bklyn Bobbi 23:21 Greenfinch - Satin 23:16 L-'esperanza - Smile (The Songs Of Innocence) 23:12 Yantra Mantra - Pink City (Ayurveda Mix) 23:09 Lemongrass - Elements 23:07 Trebles And Blues - The Soulmate That Seldom Speak 23:02 Merge Of Equals - Don't You Know 22:59 Randy Seidman, Rogerio Jardim, Tommy Cunningham - Come Back To Me (Original Mix) 22:55 Sarah Menescal - Angels 22:49 4 Tunes - Let The Rhythm Take Control 22:45 Chris Le Blanc - Enjoy Your Life (Spa Mix) 22:39 Planet Lounge - Shiva Dance 22:34 Ferreck Dawn, Robosonic & Nikki Ambers - In My Arms (Afterlife Mix) 22:28 Ali Slaight - Hey You 22:23 Afterlife - Dub In Ya Mind 22:19 Gary Butcher - Make It Happen 22:14 Rue Du Soleil - In My Heart 22:08 Fineconfine - Drops 22:04 Triangle Sun - Back To Soul (Instrumental) 21:58 Jens Buchert - Five Zero 21:55 Soulchef - Road Trip 21:51 Afterlife - Speck Of Gold 21:45 York - Iceflowers 21:41 Moondust - I Feel Love (Feat. Misal) 21:36 Dj Maretimo - Ocean Cruiser (Wavepatcher Cut) 21:27 Monodeluxe Feat Paola - Night Moods 21:27 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 21:22 Alphawezen - Speed Of Light - Soehngen Remi 21:17 Northbound - Twice The Day 21:14 Krystian Shek - Too Much Thinking (Katoey Cut Mix) 21:08 Schwarz & Funk - Savannah Sunset 21:08 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 21:02 Florzinho - Vem Conmigo (Euphonic Traveller Remix) 20:58 Mark Oakland - Sunny 20:55 Lemongrass - Water People 20:50 Zelonka - Destination Moon (Elektrohandel Remix) 20:49 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 20:46 Sofa Surfers - Can I Get A Witness (Thievery Corporation Mix) 20:43 Shamika Cox - Te Quiero 20:36 Project Blue Sun - Show Me What You Know 20:31 351 Lake Shore Drive - Seabeam 20:26 Kuba - We Can Still Learn (Original Mix) 20:23 Luis Hermandez - Serenity 20:22 Greenfinch - Sad Ballerina 20:08 Lemongrass - September 20:03 Orfeo Project - Tonight (Original Mix) 19:58 Goloka - Compromise 19:58 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 19:54 Hotel Riviera - Give Me A Little Time 19:50 Pensees - Intro 19:46 Tony Di Bart - The Real Thing 19:41 Michael E - Check It (Original Mix) 19:40 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 19:34 York, Project Blue Sun - Crusin (Original Mix) 19:30 Soundset City - Come With Me (Deep Lounge Cut) 19:24 Mind Into Mind - Ready To Fly (Instrumental) 19:21 Xerxes & Phoenix - Scarecrow 19:20 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 19:14 Boot Cut Rockers Feat. Mica Wanner - Sunflowers 19:09 Living Room - World Traveller 19:07 Goson - Stop 19:03 Vladi Strecker - Night Distance (After Midnight Cut) 18:58 Ive Mendes - Nao Vou Fugir 18:53 Climatic - L'horizzonte 18:49 Moshang - Tall Tale 18:44 Living Room - Feel The Sun 18:44 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 18:40 Michiko - No Place Like Home (Lemongrass Playa Bossa Remix) 18:36 Jens Buchert - Reboot 18:31 Cafe Americaine - Solitude Charmante (Level One) 18:26 Tosca - Honey 18:21 Michael E - Southern Comfort 18:16 Carmen Mcrae - How Long Has This Been Going On (Mj Cole Remix) 18:12 Amaraldo - Keep On 18:08 Gingo Doren Stone - Fishing Secrets 18:01 The Transfers - Buena Garota 17:56 Vernon, Matthew Kramer - Sunshine (Louie Chandler Remix) 17:50 Blank & Jones - Caliente 17:45 Lotus Style Cult - Samota (Chop Suey Mix) 17:45 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 17:39 Climatic - Oblivion 17:34 Openzone Bar - Kamome (Feat. Airily) 17:30 Marie Therese - White Air 17:26 Wayman Tisdale - Way Up 17:26 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 17:21 Nightcruzer - Lazy Day 17:16 Hotplay - Only A Dream 17:12 Kim & Buran - Into The Night 17:08 Hotel Riviera - Wild Flowers 17:07 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 17:02 Purple Avenue - Color Of June 16:58 Lemongrass - Something True (Feat. Jane Maximova) 16:53 Benirras - Ghost In A Bottle 16:49 Smooth Deluxe - Zoe 16:43 Yppah - Pieces 16:38 Gxr - Groove Diving 16:33 Proxy Brides - Toute La Nuit 16:27 Chimaera - Fly Away 16:27 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 16:21 Deeper Sublime, Krapan - Je T'aime (Original Mix) 16:17 Jazzamor - Lovin' You 16:15 Brazil Affairs - Dont Let Go (Original Mix) 16:11 Olive - Smile 16:11 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 16:05 Emotional - So Free (Vocal Chill Mix) 15:58 Full Menthal Jacket - Another Chance 15:54 G-spliff - I Know 15:50 Jason Bradberry - Seven Days (Gridlocked Remix) 15:45 351 Lake Shore Drive - Ocean Blue 15:38 Cinematic - Noises (Dream Of You Mix) 15:34 Living Room - Underwater Love (Original Mix) 15:29 Audio Elastique - Here And Now (American Flute Mix) 15:29 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 15:24 Shazz - Fallin' In Love 15:17 Marga Sol - Buddhanima 15:12 Sine - Smooth Relaxation 15:08 Naomi - Another Bite Of The Apple 15:03 Euphonic Traveller - Like The First Moment 14:58 Jane Maximova - A Straw 14:55 Samsara Inc. - Endless Autumn 14:51 Rhod - Trouble 14:42 #esteve - Sunset Beach 14:36 Marga Sol - Butterflies 14:30 Jens Buchert - Aquarel 14:26 Tomazz - Lucid Dream 14:21 Dubphonic - Trick Of Time 14:16 Jean Honeymoon - Bang Bang (Lazy Hammock Chillout Mix) 14:11 Kerala Dust - The Chain 14:08 Jack Izzard - Deep Relax (Chillin' Groove Mix) 14:08 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 14:03 Newton - New Beautiful Life 13:58 Massive Attack - Teardrop 13:54 Latin League - La Princessa Del Marte (Original Mix) 13:50 Smooth Gravity - Best Day Of My Life 13:44 Cafe Americaine - Shanghai Superflight (Ethnojazz Cut) 13:40 Leotone - Journey (Original Mix) 13:35 Soundset City - City Echoes (Kaffeehaus Lounge Mix) 13:30 Edx - Falling Out Of Love (Lounge Mix) 13:26 Princess Of Lounge - We Found Love Feat. Dione (Wish You Were Here Mix) 13:20 Alex Barck & Jonatan Backelie - Doubter 13:16 Urban Phunk Society - Self-made Paradise 13:12 Mystic Diversions - Josephine (Album Version) 13:12 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 13:06 Gold Lounge - Promised Land 13:01 Mirage Of Deep - Manhattan 3 25 Am 12:58 Deeper Sublime - Buddha Cafe 12:55 Hysteria! - Talking Eyes (Chillout Mix) 12:55 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 12:50 Colibri - Plage D'amour 12:45 Purple Avenue - American Boy 12:41 Beach Hoppers - Top Of The World 12:38 Triangle Sun - Dry My Tears 12:30 Cinematic - We Are Alone (After Sunset Mix) 12:25 Gushi & Raffunk - Karma Drops 12:21 Gary B - The Moon 12:14 Deeper Sublime - Radio Chill 12:09 Sigh - The Bomb 12:03 Amanaska - Tide (Electro Remix) 11:56 M. Vitoria - Do Me Favor 11:53 Pochill - By And By 11:53 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 11:45 Dimitris Manasidis - Love You For Life - Bobby Deep Sunset Mix 11:39 Emmanuele Landini, Denny V - Emotion 11:33 Max Denoise, Claire Willis - All I See (Original Mix) 11:28 Sunyata Project - Sudden Moments (Extended Mix) 11:23 Ambient Lounge All Stars - Club L'amour 11:19 Ganga Feat. Sophie Tusnelda - Blue Heart 11:15 Villablue Feat. Juanita Grande - Leaving The Lights 11:11 Mystic Diversions - Float On 11:11 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 11:05 Cocogroove - Flamingo Bar (Blue Curacao Mix) 11:00 Groove Thievery - Killer (Bargrooves Mix) 10:55 Cafe Americaine - Lamour (Loungematic Mix) 10:48 Olive - Miracle 10:44 Pascal Dubois - Costa Del Mar (Silent Sea Mix) 10:39 Citrus Jam Feat. Judith Erb - Do You See (Rainbow Mix) 10:34 Jens Buchert - Helios 3 (Mind Flux Mix) 10:29 El Segundo - Blue Marlin (Juan Padilla Serve Chilled Remix) 10:22 Dzihan & Kamien - Homebase 10:17 Klangstein - Run 10:12 Chris Leblanc - Beyond The Sunsets - Ibiza Late Night Mix 10:07 Dousk - As If 10:01 Nosense - Silence 09:58 Bugseed - Tear Loose 09:50 Leendder - Everytime You Cry (Satin Jackets Remix) 09:47 Café Du Midi & Rosa Catalina - Bailar 09:46 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 09:41 Hessismore - Yes Boss 09:36 Reunited - Sun Is Shining (Out Of Sight Remix) 09:32 Ialaz - Waves (Original Mix) 09:26 Vinito - Cloud Cruise 09:23 Moshang - Padoga 09:18 De-phazz - Anchorless 09:12 Afterlife - Take Me Inside (Christophe Goze Mix) 09:08 Hotel Riviera - Another Change Of Love 09:03 India Arie - Always In My Head 08:58 Aleksey Beloozerov - October (Jane Maximova & Dmitry Raschepkin Remix) 08:54 Inertia & H - Tray - Get Higher (Chill Mix) 08:49 Dj Kodi - Love Will Tear Us Apart 08:45 Dario J - The Lounge Again 08:42 Velvet Birds - Come Along 08:36 Aqua Mundi - Beautiful Awaking (Original Mix) 08:30 Reunited - En Ukendt Glaede (Feat. Anne Dorte Michelsen) (Shazz Man Remix) 08:27 Mike Tohr & Jonas Johannes - Napthali (Feat. Salome) 08:23 Velvet Lounge Project - Fly With Me 08:19 Crystin - The Universe 08:15 Mirage Of Deep, Amethyste - Tragic Farewell 08:11 Jive Ass Sleepers - Horizons 08:07 Johannes Huppertz - At Frederun 08:02 Morcheeba Ft. Stereophonics - Enjoy The Ride 07:58 Ugress - Autumn Colours 07:58 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 07:53 Lemongrass - On The Edge Of Time (Feat. Karen Gibson Roc) 07:49 Gary B - Song For Kaye 07:46 Goloka - Tobacco Slide 07:41 Airstream - Chillin' Guitar (Trippin' Mix) 07:40 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 07:36 Crystal Theory - Breathe 07:33 Wilmer Woo - Elephant & Castle 07:29 Itb Sea - Bacon Four - Original Mix 07:24 Michael E - Love Bomb 07:19 Andrea Caloni - Daddy Don't You (Original Mix) 07:15 Living Room - Profiler 07:11 Beach Hoppers - Top Of The World 07:08 Giants' Nest - Playa Del Colina 07:03 Vargo - The Meaning Of Life 06:59 Leona Lewis - Private Party (Gregers Lounge Mix) 06:54 Jean Mare - A Better Place 06:49 Blue Lagoona - Triangles And Rhombuses (Asian To Ibiza Chill Mix) 06:49 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 06:43 Taty - Love Is All I Want 06:39 Monodeluxe - Steel Vibes (Original Mix) 06:34 Amelie - Softwood 06:30 Brook Sapphire - My Name In The Sand (Original Mix) 06:25 Brook Sapphire - Booze&juice 06:23 Kraak & Smaak - Echo Park 06:18 Demetrio Da Soto, Leon El Ray - Keep The Sound (Instrumental Remix By Michael E Frith) 06:13 Delerium Feat. Azure Ray - Keyless Door 06:12 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 06:06 Blank & Jones - Closer To Me 05:58 Eguana - Flying Water 05:54 Café Du Midi & Rosa Catalina - Bailar 05:50 8barz - Look In Your Eyes - Guiddo Remix 05:44 Mirage Of Deep - Stone Words 05:40 Andrea Revel - White Noise 05:35 Cocktail Groovers - The Fire In Your Heart (Ibiza Jazz Terrace Mix) 05:30 Lemongrass - Mermaid 05:30 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 05:25 El Segundo - Blue Marlin (Juan Padilla Serve Chilled Rmx) 05:21 Philip Aniskin & Alexsandra Mell - Los Angeles Dream 05:17 Armand Frydman - Nice Cote D'azur 05:14 Josh Mobley - Shades Of Blue (Feat. Sonji) 05:06 Dimitris Manasidis - Love You For Life - Bobby Deep Sunset Mix 05:00 Mariella Narvaez - All Night 04:55 Soulstice - Andromeda 04:52 Meadowlark - Headlights (Original Mix) 04:52 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 04:48 Olivia Broadfield - Don't Cry 04:43 Off Town Music - Haiti Sunrise (Nu Cool Version) 04:37 Shakes Seven - Castles In The Sky 04:34 Krystian Shek, Nashi Young Cho - Sweetwater (Vocal Mix) 04:28 Beach Hoppers - Keep Dreaming (Eskadet Moonlight Version) 04:26 Deeper Sublime - Someone Like You 04:21 Noel - Chalito (Ibiza Chillhouse Lounge Mix) 04:17 Andru Donalds - Hurts To Be In Love 04:12 Kusuma Orchestra - Nightfall 04:07 Night Angel - Seaside Chant (Original Mix) 04:05 Ingo Herrmann - Colours 03:59 J Boogie's Dubtronic Science - Golden Nectar 03:55 Chase & Status - What Is Right (Feat. Nile Rodgers & Abigail Wyles) 03:44 Eduard Arroya - They Say 03:39 Jeff Bennet-'s Lounge Experience Feat. Alexandra - Sympathy 03:31 Levitation - More Than Ever People (Original) 03:26 Purple Avenue - Justify My Love 03:23 Let Em Riot - Rad 03:19 Jane Maximova, Dmitry Raschepkin - Late In The Night 03:18 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 03:15 Alien Cafe - Chloe Says (Original Mix) 03:11 Stuce The Sketch - Enchanted Mara 03:06 Above The Sky - India (Original Mix) 03:01 River - Understanding 02:57 Flight Facilities - Waking Bliss 02:52 Max Melvin - Changes 02:47 Anoraak - Sunrise To Sunset 02:44 Artenovum - When You Fall Asleep (Slow Coach Mix) 02:43 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 02:39 Thievery Corporation - Web Of Deception 02:35 Marga Sol - Love Suprise 02:31 Marc Hartman - Tears Run For Love 02:27 Mr Vaud - Life In The Night 02:21 Don Gorda Project - Warm Tones 02:16 Mazelo Nostra - Dreams From Venedig 02:12 Guardians Of Secret - Guinean Warmth (Mystic Voice Mix) 02:07 Stuce The Sketch - Yasikitisha (Feat. Kwambo) (Instrumental) 02:07 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 02:04 Tafubar - Fantastic Journey Of Mr. Mantra 01:59 Blackfish - Move On 01:55 Blank & Jones W. Coralie Clément - J'en Reste Là 01:50 Bent - Terry 01:44 Cocogroove - Martini Royale (Kiss Me James Mix) 01:38 All Rise Feat. Above - Another Day (Quiet Storm Remix) 01:35 C.cil - Sunset 01:29 Shakedown - At Night (Afterlife Remix) 01:25 Left - Lovesong 01:21 Goloka - Tobacco Slide 01:18 Flight Club - Rise Main 01:12 Adani & Wolf - Nuages (Feat. Suzette Moncrief) 01:08 Belt Of Jupiter - Bar Del Mar 01:04 Living Room - Space Traveller 00:59 Morcheeba Ft. Stereophonics - Enjoy The Ride 00:55 Gail Summerset - Ultracruise 00:49 The Sura Quintet - Spring Equinox 00:45 Papercut - Here I Am 00:36 Icehouse - Don't Believe Anymore (Ivan & Collins Cafe Latte Mix) 00:32 Brain Child - The Guitar Power (Original Mix) 00:32 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 00:28 Lemongrass - For All Seasons (Five Seasons Lotus Remix) 00:24 Andru Donalds - Hurts To Be In Love 00:20 Marie Therese - What Can I Say 00:15 Spooky - Dub Addiction 00:14 Jingle - Radiosun.ro 00:11 Florzinho, Euphonic Traveller - Staring At The Stars (Feat. Barbara Yaa Boahene) 00:03 Cinematic - We Are Alone (After Sunset Mix)

[selidren]

Eté 1894 - Champs-les-Sims

9/12

J’ai la sensation que chaque génération de notre famille voit la naissance d’une femme hors du commun. Il y a d’abord eu Tante Ygerne, puis ma propre mère, et enfin, ce sera Rose. De votre côté, je pense qu’on peut évoquer Marie si je ne m’abuse. Avez-vous de ses nouvelles ? J’ai essayé de la contacter lors de mon dernier passage à Paris, mais je n’ai pas réussi. Rose se fiche des conventions, reste obéissante, mais pas sans questionner la pertinence de la moindre interdiction et du moindre usage. Son esprit est vif, intelligent, et elle m’a confié qu’elle voulait être la première femme de la famille à avoir le baccalauréat, comme ce à quoi se destine Constantin. J’en serai si fier.

Mais tout ça ne plait pas trop à Grand-Mère, qui réprouve toutes les remises en question de ma cousine et ses erreurs les plus innocentes. Sans que je puisse me l’expliquer auparavant, dès que Rose faisait quelque chose qu’elle jugeait inconvenant, il y avait comme un éclair de panique dans ses yeux.

Transcription :

Rose : Ne soyez pas fâchée Grand-Mère. Je ne suis pas en retard à ma leçon, Monsieur Durieux m’avait annoncé qu’il serait en retard d’une bonne heure aujourd’hui.

Eugénie : Ce n’est pas ici que se situe le problème, jeune fille. As-tu vu ton accoutrement ?

Rose : Cela ? Oh, je n’ai pas fait attention, j’étais si pressée de jouer... J’irai m’habiller bientôt je vous le promet.

Eugénie : Bientôt ? Mais enfin, combien de temps encore prévois-tu de te pavaner en chemise ? Et si l’on te voyait ?

Rose : Il n’y a que vous, Juliette et Mademoiselle Horideau. Ce n’est pas si grave.

Eugénie : Ton cousin sera ici très bientôt et il est inconvenant qu’il te voit ainsi.

[aisakalegacy]

Automne 1896, Hylewood, Canada (1/3)

Cher Monsieur Barbois,

Jules étant en Égypte et Monsieur Le Bris étant presque aveugle et n’étant pas en mesure de vous écrire lui-même c’est donc à moi de vous écrire. Monsieur Le Bris a bien reçu le faire-part de naissance de son petit-fils Honoré et Virgile a écrit une longue lettre à sa sœur pour la féliciter de son accomplissement. Nous vous remercions cependant de vous être assurés que nous ayons bien eu la nouvelle. Monsieur Le Bris demande d’ailleurs à ce que je vous informe de la naissance de sa petite-fille Louise, au cas où Jules ne l’aurait pas fait lui-même.

J’ai de pénibles nouvelles à vous transmettre. Nous avons la douleur de vous faire part du décès de mon époux Virgile, ainsi que de celui de Marie Bernard la sœur de Monsieur Le Bris.

Madame Bernard est décédée des suites d’un cancer du muscle qui s’est développé dans son bras droit. Elle avait dû être amputée, mais hélas l’amputation a été faite trop tard. Son enterrement a été célébré par son époux Monseigneur Bernard à la cathédrale de Kingston.

[niiicedave]

Zap Mama - "Songe (feat. ?uestlove)" - A Ma Zone (1999)

Songes Ahole Ki wa wa wa Songes Ahole Ki wa

J'vais me coucher Avec l'idee Que tu vas me toucher Si ce ne'etait qu'une idee Qui se fuse En pensee Et je m'allange

Songes Ahole Ki wa wa wa Songes Ahole Ki wa

Une chanson sans fin Toujours plus longue Comme il est le destin Sans mensonges

Songes Ahole Ki wa wa wa Songes Ahole Ki wa

bri gbana ngussu nhgono fwe Latta nouna ngussu nhgono fwe Tu t'es casse Ca m'fatigue Me fatigue aime la musique Ooh ca la fait danser Danser

Songes Ahole Ki wa wa wa Songes Ahole Ki wa

bri gbana ngussu nhgono fwe Latta nouna ngussu nhono fwe

Songwriters: Marie Daulne Songe lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

[histoireettralala]

Marengo (3/3)

No one, apart from Lebrun, has seen Desaix fall, each one too busy fighting, galvanized by the miraculous turnaround in the situation. The French dragoons slash with all their might; the infantry retakes Castel-Ceriolo; the sappers break the bridges towards which the Austrian rearguard rushed. From time to time, one can see small groups of hussars galloping by, led by Eugène de Beauharnais or Bessières, chasing, screaming, saber in hand, like the horsemen of the Apocalypse, a few late fugitives from the O'Reilly platoons and whose ghostly silhouettes, struck to death, roll in the waters of the Bormida.

At nightfall, the Austrians are completely routed because Ott has not even been able to maneuver his reserves, although they are intact. A crowd of white flags are now rising and two of Melas' generals, Zach and Saint-Julien, offer their swords to the victors. They find themselves prisoners and, with them, thirty-seven officers and one thousand six hundred and twenty soldiers.

The victory of Marengo is total, incontestable and ... unhoped for, and Bonaparte exults when writing the last of the eight bulletins which his aides-de-camp brought him during the day and which had to be modified according to the situation. Hungry, he devours with gusto a chicken that his cook has just made for him with the means at hand. However, he takes the trouble to ask Savary to go and fetch Desaix, so much is he now burning to thank him, to hold him close to his heart, there, in front of the whole army! [..]

It is now eleven o'clock in the evening.

One can no longer hear the artillery which has finally died down, only the neighing of the horses and the rattle of the dying. The last fumes of powder evaporate in the twilight; the bivouacs are improvised; the cantinières pass the veterans solid pints of wine or brandy. The veterans light their pipes, indifferent to the ballet of the surgeons who organize their makeshift operating theaters in tents where the auxiliaries repatriate the wounded as best they can. From time to time there is a cry. The freshness of the mountain begins to descend into the plain as the moon shines.

Solitary, shadow among the shadows, Savary wanders on the battlefield on which creep the disturbing silhouettes of the robbers of corpses [..]

- Desaix, where is General Desaix? he yells at every soldier he meets on his way.

Nobody answers him. So he continues, tirelessly, until, phlegmatic, a colonel of the 9th unceremoniously tells him the news:

- Desaix? Killed!

"Desaix, killed", he repeated to himself, haggard, letting himself be led to the already stripped body, only dressed in a shirt so wet with blood that it could not be taken off, this wiry little body, recognized in the darkness by the length of the hair that the scarf, falling, released in the mud of Marengo ...

[..]

Savary meditates. He is awaiting a visit from the First Consul, who has been notified; not him, he did not have the courage. Wiping a tear from his face stained with sweat, dust and powder, he shivers in the cold of the night and adjusts his old woolen hood over his shoulders.

Long later, Chateaubriand would write in his Mémoires d'Outre Tombe: "The men who disappear young are vigorous travelers; they quickly make a road that less strong men complete with slow steps."

Gonzague Saint-Bris - Desaix, le sultan de Bonaparte

[yumeka-chan]

Bonjour bonjour

Vu que ton post est tjr épinglé est ce qu'une Cheryll coincée au fond de son lit pourrait demander un petit fluff ou smut ou mélange des deux selon ton envie avec un Léo/Séli ?

Mon cerveau embrumé a pas de prompt ultra précis mais ça peut être un truc simple genre l'un des deux qui force l'autre à aller se reposer après plusieurs jours à se surmener ou quoi que ce soit d'autre qui t'inspires sur l'instant

Bonne journée à toi dans tous les cas 💖

Je me permets de reprendre certaines des idées qui sont dans tes posts ;)

(Léodagan et Séli, au début de leur mariage)

Léodagan observait la femme qu'il avait épousée lui tourner le dos dans le lit. Des semaines qu'ils étaient mariés, et aucun d'entre eux n'arrivait à communiquer clairement. Léodagan ne comprenait rien au picte, et Séli avait du mal à apprendre la langue. Pas que ça les empêche de s'engueuler, remarquez.

Quand ils étaient fâchés, ils le savaient. Léodagan avait l'air mauvais, sa voix plus haute qu'à l'habitude. Séli, elle, cassait la vaisselle. Avec leur nourriture dedans.

Il leur arrivait d'en arriver à un point où les servantes pensaient qu'ils allaient s'entretuer. Entre le caractère de Léodagan et la rage sourde de leur nouvelle souveraine picte, ce n'était qu'une question de jours.

Ce soir-là fut une véritable horreur pour les servantes. Léodagan s'était mis à hurler, et Séli jetait tout ce qui lui tombait sous la main sur les murs. Elle ne les jetait pas sur lui, étrangement.

- Si la vaisselle vous plait pas il suffit de le dire plutôt que de tout envoyer valser!

Elle lui répondu quelque chose qu'il ne comprit pas. Comme toujours. Elle retira ses chaussures pour lui balancer. Il les esquiva, râlant un peu plus.

- Vous vouez vraiment vous déshabiller ici?! Vous avez foutu des bris partout!

Elle fit un signe du menton, le défiant du regard, avant de se diriger vers la porte, pieds nus. Léodagan fut assez rapide pour la soulever avant qu'elle ne marche sur les morceaux de vaisselle.

- Vous êtes tarée ma parole!

Elle continua à crier, alors qu'il la portait comme un sac de carottes jusqu'à la chambre. Il la déposa au sol une fois la porte fermée.

- Vous auriez pu vous blesser. Du sang. Douleur.

Il en avait assez de se battre contre elle. Séli était une femme magnifique, mais son caractère était pire que le sien. Il s'éloigna vers la porte.

- Je vais trouver quelque chose pour...

- Lérogaguan.

Il s'arrêta subitement. La jeune picte s'approcha de lui, lentement. Il observait ses hanches battre de droite à gauche, et son regard qui le dévorait. Elle avait ce regard sombre que connaissait Léodagan. Elle voulait quelque chose, et elle l'obtiendrait. Il fallait juste qu'il comprenne ce qu'elle voulait, et vite.

- Manger? Boire? ...balade?

Léodagan était impressionné par cette femme plus petite et plus frêle que lui. On n'épouse pas une princesse picte sans craindre un peu pour sa vie, mais Léodagan était un peu fou. Fou d'elle.

Séli prononça quelques mots en pictes avant de comprendre que son mari ne comprenait rien. Elle se mordit le doigt, fort, jusqu'au sang.

- Qu'est-ce que vous foutez?!

Elle libéra une épaule de sa robe, et fit une croix avec son sang, avant de s'approcher et de faire une marque sur le cou de son mari.

- A moi. Lérogaguan, à moi.

Elle sauta dans ses bras, coinça ses jambes aux hanches de Léodagan, et l'embrassa avidement dans le cou.

Ils avaient déjà eu leur nuit de noces, ou en tout cas, Léodagan l'avait cru. La princesse picte avait décidé d'obtenir la sienne. De couvrir Léodagan de baisers, de le soumettre à son plaisir à elle.

Ils ne touchèrent pas le lit avant de longues minutes. Léodagan se laissait guider par les désirs de sa femme. Pour ça, elle savait se faire comprendre. Lorsque ses lèvres se détachaient de lui, c'était pour prononcer son nom avec cet accent qui plaisait à Léodagan. Lui tentait de parler, pour être à chaque fois interrompu par sa femme qui l'embrassait ou qui posait son doigt sur ses lèvres.

Lorsque la servante vint vérifier qu'ils étaient toujours vivants le lendemain matin, elle vit Léodagan, torse nu, étendu dans le lit, Séli dormant sur sa poitrine. Elle rouvrit les yeux en entendant les pas, et d'un geste lent, couvrit le corps de son mari en jetant un regard noir à la servante.

[revuemuscle]

#33

Nâdiâ Anjuman est née en Afghanistan en décembre 1980. Elle a publié en 2005 son unique recueil Gul-e doudi, titre que l’on peut traduire par Fleur de fumée. Lui refusant la liberté d’écrire des poèmes et d’étudier, son mari l’a rouée de coups ; elle en est morte le 4 novembre 2005. Son destin a fait d’elle une figure emblématique, dans le monde entier comme en Afghanistan, des tragédies contemporaines de son pays. On pourra ainsi lire à la suite des quatre poèmes de Gul-e doudi l’hommage poétique qui lui a été rendu en dari par Somaya Râmish (née en Afghanistan en 1986).

La traduction de ses poèmes a été réalisée par Franck Merger. Il traduit, entre autres, de la poésie persane contemporaine, et a publié, en collaboration avec Niloufar Sadighi, la traduction de deux recueils de poèmes d’Abbas Kiarostami, inclus dans le volume bilingue Des milliers d’arbres solitaires paru dans la collection « Po&psy » de l’éditeur Érès ; et dans la collection « D’une voix l’autre » de Cheyne éditeur, une traduction du recueil Le Bris lent des bouteilles de Rezâ Sadeghpour.

Olivia Tapiero est née en 1990 à Montréal, elle fait partie des voix les plus assumées de sa génération. Écrivaine et traductrice, elle a publié différents livres aux éditions Mémoire d’encrier dont son dernier recueil : Rien du tout, Finaliste, Prix littéraires du Gouverneur Général 2021, et Finaliste, Grand Prix du livre Montréal 2021

[bonitamusic]

Tracklist :

Mary J Blidge - My Life (Remi Oz Edit)

Rachel Foxx - Be Mine

Wuvv - Good Morning

Sano - Bye

S.Fidelity - Mixed Signals Ft. NDO

Emmavie & Alfa Mist - Fly Away

Snoh Aalegra + Devin Morrison Woah

Jaz Karis - Let Me Down

Lala &ce - Show Me Love

Lynn - Le Temps Des Sentiments

Lynn - Qu’en est-il ?

Young Rog - Bullshit ft. Summer Walker

S4U - Too Much

BabyJoy & KazOnDaBeat - Ensemble

Dounia - F.uck Me Eyes

Rochelle Jordan - Follow Me

Zeina - Suburbs

Sans - Rock The Boat

Bri Feel - Hate To See It

Bri Feel - Right

Elisa Imperilee - Water

Gabrielle B - Trying To Forget Ft. Bairi

Llex - Tempo

Heavy Mellow - Trip 23 Ft. Melanie Faye

Monty G - 34+35

Yiinda - Et Si (Cover)

Numero 13 - Cool-O-Meter

Scientific - WannaBeDown

Glo - Transmute

Venuseism - Lounge

Tentendo - Thoughts Ft. Vetta Borne

Alex Mali - Fighting Words

[justforbooks]

Joseph Kessel (also known as 'Jef') was born on February 10, 1898. He was a French journalist and novelist. He was a member of the Académie française and Grand officer of the Legion of Honour.

Kessel was born in Villa Clara, Entre Ríos, Argentina, because of the constant journeys of his father, a Litvak physician. From 1905 to 1908, Joseph Kessel lived the first years of his childhood in Orenburg, Russia, before the family moved to France in 1908. He studied in lycée Masséna, Nice and lycée Louis-le-Grand, Paris and took part in the First World War as an aviator. He was also an aviator during the Second World War, in the Free French Groupe de Bombardement n° 1/20 "Lorraine" (342 Squadron RAF) with RAF Bomber Command, with Romain Gary, who was also a talented French novelist.

Kessel wrote several novels and books that were later represented in the cinema, notably Belle de Jour (by Luis Buñuel in 1967). In 1943 he and his nephew Maurice Druon translated Anna Marly's song Chant des Partisans into French from its original Russian. The song became one of the anthems of Free French Forces during the Second World War.

Bibliography

La steppe rouge (1922)

L'Équipage (1923)

Au camp des vaincus ou la critique du 11 mai (1924)

Mary de Cork (1925)

Les captifs (1926; Grand Prix du roman de l'Académie française)

Nuits de princes (1927)

Belle de Jour (1928; it inspired Luis Buñuel's 1967 movie of the same name)

Vent de sable (1929)

Fortune carrée (1932)

Le coup de grâce (1931; made into the movie Sirocco in 1951 with Humphrey Bogart)

Wagon-lit (1932)

La Passante du Sans-Souci (1936; turned into a movie by Jacques Rouffio in 1982)

Hollywood, Ville mirage (Gallimard, NRF, 1936)

Mermoz (1938)

L'Armée des ombres (1943; adapted for a movie by Jean-Pierre Melville in 1969); Army of Shadows (Contra Mundum Press: 2017), featuring an intro by Stuart Kendall

Le Bataillon du ciel (Sky Battalion), (1946; turned into a movie by Alexander Esway in 1947): Free French SAS paratroopers in Brittany in Summer 1944

Le tour du malheur (1950)

Les Amants du Tage (1954)

La Vallée des Rubis (1955)

Le lion (English translation: The Lion; 1958)

Les mains du miracle (Gallimard, 1960). (English translation: The Man with the Miraculous Hands. Translated by Weaver, Helen. Farrar, Straus and Cudahy. 1961.)

Les cavaliers (1967) (filmed as The Horsemen in 1971)

Partout un ami (1972)

Des hommes (1972)

Les temps sauvages (1975)

The escape

Filmography

The Crew, directed by Maurice Tourneur (France, 1928, based on the novel L'Équipage)

Nuits de princes, directed by Marcel L'Herbier (France, 1930, based on the novel Nuits de princes)

L'Équipage, directed by Anatole Litvak (France, 1935, based on the novel L'Équipage)

The Woman I Love, directed by Anatole Litvak (1937, based on the novel L'Équipage)

Nuits de princes, directed by Vladimir Strizhevsky (France, 1938, based on the novel Nuits de princes)

Le Bataillon du ciel, directed by Alexander Esway (France, 1947, based on the novel Le Bataillon du ciel)

Sirocco, directed by Curtis Bernhardt (1951, based on the novel Le coup de grâce)

The Lovers of Lisbon, directed by Henri Verneuil (France, 1955, based on the novel Les Amants du Tage)

Fortune carrée, directed by Bernard Borderie (France, 1955, based on the novel Fortune carrée)

The Lion, directed by Jack Cardiff (1962, based on the novel The Lion)

Belle de Jour, directed by Luis Buñuel (France, 1967, based on the novel Belle de Jour)

Army of Shadows, directed by Jean-Pierre Melville (France, 1969, based on the novel L'Armée des ombres)

The Horsemen, directed by John Frankenheimer (1971, based on the novel Les Cavaliers)

The Passerby, directed by Jacques Rouffio (France, 1982, based on the novel La Passante du Sans-Souci)

Screenwriter

Cessez le feu (dir. Jacques de Baroncelli, France, 1934)

Mayerling (dir. Anatole Litvak, France, 1936)

Les Bateliers de la Volga (dir. Vladimir Strizhevsky, France, 1936)

La Peur (dir. Victor Tourjansky, France, 1936)

Les Secrets de la mer Rouge (dir. Richard Pottier, France, 1937)

The Man from Niger (dir. Jacques de Baroncelli, France, 1940)

Au grand balcon (dir. Henri Decoin, France, 1949)

Le Grand Cirque (dir. Georges Péclet, France, 1950)

Act of Love (dir. Anatole Litvak, 1953)

Oasis (dir. Yves Allégret, France, 1955)

La Passe du diable [fr] (dir. Pierre Schoendoerffer and Jacques Dupont, France, 1958)

The Night of the Generals (dir. Anatole Litvak, 1967)

Kessel was elected at the Académie française in 1962 and died on 23 July 1979 in Avernes, Val-d'Oise of a ruptured aneurysm. He is buried in the Cimetière du Montparnasse in Paris. On his deathbed he was quoted as saying that his greatest accomplishment was the birth of his son, Joseph Kessel, who was born just a few months prior on February 24 of the same year. The Joseph-Kessel Prize (Prix Joseph Kessel) is a prestigious prize in French language literature, given to "a book of a high literary value written in French". The jury counts or has counted among its members Tahar Ben Jelloun, Jean-Marie Drot, Michèle Kahn, Pierre Haski, Gilles Lapouge, Michel Le Bris, Érik Orsenna, Patrick Rambaud, Jean-Christophe Rufin, André Velter and Olivier Weber.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com