#i feel jack has made much worse decisions though so eh

[umarthiels]

jack seward, quincey morris, arthur holmwood

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH07

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: Flangst, feelings, teasing

WC: 2803

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST 

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

Dean returns from outside, sets the glasses down and pours the wine into it. He walks into the kitchen, takes out two bottles of water and sets them on the table. “What you wanna eat tonight?” 

Y/N shrugs, she really doesn’t mind. She knows what he likes to eat and she likes the same thing too, “I don’t know, what do you wanna eat?” 

There’s a small grin on his face and it turns wider, more cocky too, and he wriggles with his eyebrows. 

Oh my god.

She just walked right into that one, didn’t she?

“Jesus, Dean, I didn’t mean me!” She mumbles, rolls her eyes and Dean has to laugh out loud. 

“Well, that’s a shame because I love how you taste,” He winks, turning around to take out the delivery leaflets. 

She’s glad that he doesn’t notice the red in her cheeks.

*

They have settled for Thai and they held a stupid competition on ordering the most spicy dishes and eat it. She won, but at what cost.

The bell rings right when they both are chugging milk over the sink with tears in their eyes. Dean was already standing up straight to go to the door but he didn’t need to, because they hear the key turning in the lock and then, Sam Winchester walks right in. His eyes widen when he sees them both huddled by the sink in the kitchen.

“Uh, Am I interrupting something?” Sam asks with raised eyebrows.

“Nah,” Dean winks, “Come in.”

Sam nods, looks at them both with a grin before he walks over to the couch. They follow him after drinking a mouthful of milk.

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asks, sits next to Sam and she makes herself comfortable on the other side of Dean, pulls the blanket over herself to hide her bare legs and pussy. 

“Just wanted to come by and give you a quick update,” Sam says. He looks from Dean to her and she can’t miss the grin on his face, “How’s it going with you guys?”

She shrugs and tries to keep a straight face, “Eh, he’s okay,”

“Hey!” Dean shouts out, “I’m more than okay, alright?” 

Sam burst out laughing, “Yeah, well, I don’t have much time to listen to you two bickering, but I have a court date. It’s going to be in a month. So everything should be over by then.” 

“Meaning?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Meaning that you need to live together for at least a month and afterwards you can go back to what you were. You stay married on paper for another four months after the court date and after we win, of course, and it’d be good if you can sometimes go to social events together. Just to keep up the facade.”

“Oh,” Dean says, “Yeah, that sounds good, doesn’t it, Y/N?”

He puts her right on the spot and she feels quite uncomfortable, “Yeah,” She answers. “Yeah, great.”

“Amara’s lawyer called me today, though. Said he believes that your marriage to Y/N is fake.” Sam pauses to snort out a laugh, “Well, I’ve seen the picture of the gala. Good job, both of you.” Sam eyes Dean and then her, before his gaze returns to Dean and Sam nods.

Dean shrugs but there’s a little smirk on his face, “We try.”

“Dean, you have to inform your employees that you two married in secret and kept in under wraps because you didn’t want to jeopardize your work relationship. Do they know this already? It’s important for when someone comes snooping.”

“I actually had a meeting with my staff today. Told them that we have been secretly dating for a while before we decided to take the next step.”

Her eyes widened. So they all know? She can be glad that she isn’t close to anyone else in the company other than Ruby. Otherwise there would have been questions that neither she or Dean would want to answer.

We decided to take the next step. She laughs to herself. How very business-like and not at all romantic. But that’s totally Dean. Because yeah, he sees it as another business deal and she knows that she should too.

“The lawyer also said that Amara would agree to annul the marriage if she can get 30% of your net worth.”

“SHE WHAT?!” Dean leans back on the couch, clasps his hands over his face and rubs at it. The sound of his palms rubbing over his scruff is loud in the room that just went silent after Dean’s outrage.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “But we have the upper hand in this. You guys are already married so Dean marrying again in Vegas was illegal. The court will grant us an annulment if we play our cards right. That’s why it’s crucial for us that you keep up your fake marriage and try to convince the court that what you have is real. I did my best with the documents, there’s no worry about that.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Dean scoffs, and Sam frowns at his brother.

She can see that Dean’s very much tired of it all.

“Anyway, I need to get going. Oh, and I have a meeting with Amara in two days. You wanna join?”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Dean hisses.

*

They settle on the couch after Sam leaves, and he hands her the remote. She zaps through the channels, settles on a movie that has already started. Cocktail. It’s easy viewing and that’s probably just the right thing since she can’t really concentrate anyway with Dean next to her. Not when she knows how he looks underneath his clothes. Not when he’s wearing his shirt and her pussy is throbbing. He made her come twice earlier already, she should get a fucking grip. 

“Aren’t you worried?” She has to ask. She can’t not just ignore it.

He shrugs, “I’m not happy about it but I’m not worried. Not really, no.” It comes out too easy, as if he is truly not worried in the slightest, and Dean sees the frown on her face. She’s sure that he sees the pout on her lips as well. He reaches out, thumbs over her bottom lip, “Don’t worry about it, alright? I got this.” 

She nods. She really wants to believe him. She does. She’s doing this because she wants to help him — double pay aside — because Dean’s a good boss. A little short tempered but he has the company's best interest in mind. He can also read people very well and offers people opportunities to prove themselves if he sees that someone has potential. Like Donatello? He started in the company as a fucking janitor and now he’s leading a sales team. Y/N helps Dean because she wants everyone to keep their jobs and be happy, and another thing is that she really can’t stand Amara so it would be a double win if they can get rid of that bitch, too.

They watch the movie in silence for a while. It’s when she starts to yawn that Dean suggests she lays her head in his lap, and honestly, it looks inviting and the smile on his face is big, she couldn’t find it in her heart to say no to him. 

He strokes her head, when she lays down and they continue to watch but she just can’t really concentrate with Dean playing with her hair. 

“You like that movie?” Dean asks, his fingertips trailing along her jawline, which sends goosebumps throughout her body. 

“No, but I like the scenery.” It’s the truth, the movie is not really her style but they’re in Jamaica and it looks picturesque with the clear blue water and white sand.

“Have you ever been there?” 

She has to snort out a laugh at that, “No, I couldn’t afford it in a million years. But maybe one day I will be able to. Once Jack is earning his own money I can save some for myself.”

It’s silent for a long while until Dean suddenly speaks, “Maybe I’ll have a job for him once he’s done.” 

She frowns and sits up, pulls her knees to her chest. Dean’s body is still close to hers, she can feel the warmth radiating from him, “He won’t take it.” 

“And why’s that?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Because Jack would know that you’ll just do it out of pity and he’s too proud to take the offer.”

“Well, I can make him sweat for it, if it helps,” Dean has a boyish grin on his face. Something she’s never really seen on him. It makes him look younger. Makes him look relaxed. It suits him. She could get used to seeing it more often.

Y/N has no doubt that Dean is able to do that. He’s been doing that for longer than she knows him, making people sweat, that is. But it’s not for her to decide. Jack is his own person. Even though sometimes, she still thinks that he’s a little nugget and needs to be protected but he is very capable of making his own decisions. The only thing she always tells him to do though, is to own the decisions he’s making. He has to be able to live with every consequence of his decision making and so does she. Like, right now, when she feels Dean’s hand come up to pull her into him and that is because she agreed to be his wife. It’s a decision she made and she’ll deal with everything that comes with it.

“How are you feeling?” He changes the subject, probably feels that he’s invading her privacy when they talk about Jack.

“I feel good,” She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder, tilts her head up to look at him, “It’s certainly not what I was expecting,” 

Dean cocks an eyebrow, “Better or worse?”

She has to grin, “Better,”

“Good, I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay,” 

She knows that he does. He has a weird obsession with making sure that she’s okay. It has been like that since she started to work for him. Dean was grumpy and loud, yelled around a lot but at the end of the day he’d always come by and asked her if she was doing okay. The behaviour scared her at first but she somehow puts it down to some kind of OCD. He is obviously someone who likes to have control over every aspect of his life.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks and gets nervous all of a sudden.

“Anything,” Dean answers without a second thought. He didn’t even pretend to take a couple of seconds to think.

“I was going to ask you if I could have my job back?” She squints her eyes, a little afraid of his reaction and she doesn’t even look up at him, instead she keeps her head on his shoulder and looks straight into the TV.

Dean doesn’t say anything for a long time and she’s really afraid that he’ll say no. She listens to his breathing, feels his chest moving, hears his heart beating. 

“You know,” Dean sighs, “I was kind of hoping that you would want to come back.”

“You were?” She sits straight and looks at him to see that he’s grinning. So she was so worried for nothing. 

“Yeah,” He smiles, “You didn’t talk to Ruby, did you?”

“No, I was too wrapped up with— you know, you a-and— Jack.” 

Dean chuckles, and takes his arms from around her to rub at his scruff. He leans forward, takes a sip of water before bracing his elbows on his knees, and she follows, sits close enough to lay her face on his back. She can hear his heartbeat even better. “Yeah, uh, I was so close on firing her today but then I thought that I would be left with no assistant at all. So, yeah, you can come back.”

“Dean!” She punches his arm and he chuckles. 

Y/N can hear the vibrations of his voice. Hears it deep inside of him, and she can feel every back muscle moving. It’s so sexy, she can’t lie about it.

“In my defense—” He looks back and starts to talk, but then he stops. She rests his chin on his back. He changes the subject abruptly, probably knowing that she’ll hear it from her friend anyway, “Tomorrow you’re coming back to work as my PA because you’re my wife.”

“Your fake wife,” She adds. She needs that reminder herself. 

“My fake wife,” Dean agrees, his lips are pressed into a thin line, his dimples showing. She calls them his dimples of discontent. He does have dimples of content as well, but they are rarely seen. People in the office say that it’s a myth.

“So, your PA?” She raises an eyebrow.

“It’s the best solution. You’re my wife, I can’t let you handle other things.” 

She grins, “So you just let me handle your thing.” 

There’s a blush in his cheek and Dean clears his throat before his face settles on a frown.

Y/N pokes her head under his armpit with a smile. He basically holds her in a headlock, and Dean opens his arm a little more so she can fit in better. She kisses his cheek, whispers a “Thank you,” 

“You wanna call Ruby?” He asks and looks down at her, his double chin showing. He looks damn cute. 

“Nah, I’m gonna surprise her. But I’m going to bed.”

“It’s only 10pm?” 

Dean’s right. It’s not that late yet. Well, he’s probably more used to staying up late because she has a lot of meetings outside of work as well, but she isn’t used to it and honestly, her body feels tired. She can’t wait to hit that comfy mattress. 

“I have to show up on time tomorrow, my boss will be angry if I’m late. Maybe he’ll even fire me.” She makes a disgusted face.

He smirks at that, “He will fire you for being late? That sounds a little extreme.”

“Oh,” Y/N scoffs, “I’m telling you, he’s the worst. One little misstep can get you fired. I told him to change his attitude a little, and I hope that he takes my advice.”

“Has he ever treated you badly?” There’s something in Dean’s eyes. Something she can pin point as remorse. But maybe she just imagines it.

She smiles, “No, actually, he never did lash out at me. He was probably close a couple of times, though. But I’ve seen him take out his anger on others that I know try their very hardest, and that’s not fair either.”

Dean lets out a snort, “You know what? Your boss sounds like a dick.”

“He is, but I like him.” She grins, sees Dean smiling back, “Okay, I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, and thank you again.” She kisses his cheek once more, and she feels him leaning into her kiss. 

When she gets up, Dean grabs at her wrist, making her fall back on him and he manhandles her into straddling him. It takes her by surprise as well as the kiss that follows. His big palms are cradling her face, pulling her down, his tongue teases at her bottom lip, “I’ll try to change, okay? Thanks for telling me.”

“Okay,” She says, nodding and he grins, pulls her in once more. He kisses her soft and gently, tongue sliding smooth alongside hers, and she lets herself fall, weaves her arms around his neck.

Y/N’s awfully wet down there already and she can’t help but grind onto his growing bulge. His hands are on her ass cheeks, kneads them, as he pushes and pulls to help her grind on him.

Before it can get too heated, he breaks the kiss and leaves his forehead on hers, “You should go to bed, I’m not sure I can restrain myself from fucking you if you don’t go now and I know that you’re sore. So, I’d rather not hurt you.”

She can only nod, “Yeah,” She pecks his lips once more, gets up and sees that she wetted his pants, “I’m sorry about that.”

Dean stares at what she’s pointing at and lets out a soft chuckle. 

Y/N starts to walk to her room and is almost around the corner when she hears him speak. 

“‘M sorry if I was too rough. I should have controlled myself better.”

He’s talking about their quickie, she knows. 

Grinning, she turns to him, smiles bright, “Don’t worry, I like it rough,” With a wink, she walks to her room and smirks to herself because she saw Dean’s eyes widen at her comment. 

CH08

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Maybe a Soup Hot Tub Wasn't the Best Idea....

So I had ramen for lunch and this idea spawned. It’s definitely not as long as last nights but hey! It’s something! Also not Pred/Prey Society AU, feel I should mention that

Vore under the cut :)

The winter air nipped at their noses and ears as Jack Frost blew another cold gust their way. Snowflakes the size of their hands occasionally floated by through the open window. They all snuggled close under the level of the liquid as far as they could go before being submerged. The winter months always sucked, but this always managed to make it more comfortable. Steam rose from the bowl as their limbs went numb from the sheer warmth compared to how freezing they had become over the day, heat seeping into their bones. This was the life.

God he cared for these idiots too damn much. He really did. What has he done for them again? He’s hid them away while he took punches and all other types of physical damage from a whole cast of people so they could be safe, kept them warm when the cold was enough to even numb the his fingers, let them hide away when they had a particularly bad nightmare that they couldn’t calm down from, put up with their bullshit stunts on so many occasions, and more! Worst part was that no matter how much he wanted to say that repaying him with a full belly and friendship wasn’t enough he knew that wasn’t true. Having them all stick around even after his weird “habit” was exposed ment the world to him. That and getting the permission to just tuck them away if he was feeling peckish or overprotective was absolutely amazing. Just like everything though, sacrifices had to be made to keep the other party happy at times. For them it was often just going down without a fight and belly rubs. For him? Giving up his dinner so he could keep them warm.

As he sits there, cocooned in blankets of various thicknesses, he rethinks his decisions for what must be the fifth time in the last hour. He should sleep and boy is he aware of that, but he just can’t. His mind is getting in the way. What if he oversleeps and comes back to them frozen in the soup? What if they try and come to him once it goes cold and they freeze up? The orignal contents of the bowl won’t stay warm forever and he knows that. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, he sighs. What to do? What to do.....

He jolts awake not even five minutes later, though it feels like it’s been hours. What happened? Where was he? What? Hold on- taking a moment, he attempted to gather his throughts. He’s wrapped in blankets in the lodging house. He was here because the boys were cold, right? They....no yelling. Odd. The Newsies of Manhattan were never quiet unless- They must be asleep. Yeah. That was it. But where? The bunks were empty. All of them. Where in the hell would they have gone in cold like this? He should go and check on them, make sure they’re ok and all. Stumbling to his feet he waddles his way through the lodging house, blankets still wrapped around him.

Before long he finds himself following the scent of something delicious instead of looking for his friends. What was that? Soup? Definitely something more creamy, with chicken too. It was enough to draw a hungry growl from his still empty stomach as he trudges though the halls.

The smell leads him to the common room where a lightly steaming bowl of, Yep, cream of chicken soup sits on the table, a discarded spoon next to it. His mind snaps focus onto it. No one was eating it. It seemed to have been discarded for a good while. Would it hurt if he just....helped himself? Worse case scenario he payed his friends back- where even were they? Eh. He could worry later. Searching would be easier on a full stomach anyway.

Stumbling to the table, he sits down. His sleep clouded eyes gazing into the bowl and managing to ignore the sleeping faces of his friends. Saliva puddles on his tongue as he licks over his lips, staring into the bowl. It looks and smells so good, even without noticing his friends using it as a sleeping place. A unhappy, hollow growl pulls a small whine from his throat. Why was he waiting?

With little hesitation after that, he picked up the spoon and let his body work. Each spoonful of the still warm liquid and little somethings that each had their own tastes slipped down his throat with such ease, spreading the heat throughout his insides. Best. Idea. Ever.

Multiple times things came as a force to try and wake them up. First the sound of shuffling that they quickly ignored. Followed by a growl and a small whine. Again, they pushed it off. Probably just Davey in his sleep or whatever. The ice cold spoon was what managed to jolt them all awake. The cold of the metal was met yelps and surprised gasps as they felt their world shift.

Safe to say they weren’t all that amused to open their eyes to see a half asleep looking Davey happily swallowing down a spoonful of soup and at least a Newsie or two. Try as they might to yell and get the boy’s attention in any way possible, nothing seems to work. Spoonful by spoonful more boys are sent to a new holding chamber that wouldn’t get cold like the bowl less and less were left in by the minute. At one point towards the end when at least 85% of the bowl’s contents now resided in Davey’s gut, said boy had picked up the bowl and decided to finish it off like a mug of coffee or something similar. With a final swallow they were sent down. Down to the dark, hot, wet, and full stomach where the newsboys of Manhattan now resided.

As he lowered the now empty bowl back to the table, a pleased sigh sounded from the half asleep teen. That felt much better. The warmth and fullness from his late supper bloomed in his middle, a hand slipping over his gurgling middle while a lazy smile painted itself on his lips. So much better. His other hand grabbed the sides of the blankets, pulling them over him cocoon style again. He could sleep right here for all his sleepy mind cared. He was full, warm, and happy. That was what he needed to be to have a good sleep, right? No...no he should get back to bed. Groaning quietly, he shoved himself to his feet. Again he waddles his way through the dark of the eerily quiet lodging house like some awkwardly tall, half asleep penguin. The moment he made it to the seemingly abandoned bedroom of the boys he collapsed onto a bed and snuggled down.

When they fell asleep in the bowl of soup the last thing they expected was to be gulped down by their friend who seemed to decide that halfway to sleep he wanted a full stomach. Now they were all crammed together in the dark, churning, gurgling confines of their friend’s gut. Just their luck. Groans and complaints are heard from the crowd as they shift, trying to get comfortable in the room while not drowning in soup. There was a lot of shifting, multiple limbs stuck in each other’s faces, and yelps when Davey’s stomach would pitch one way after a uneven step or stumble and send them all tumbling into each other, ultimately undoing all their hard work. Things only calm down when Davey snuggles under the covers and curls around his middle.

The little accidental kicks or punches to his stomach wall certainly don’t go unnoticed. They make Davey smile as he snuggles down, getting ready to go back to a peaceful sleep for a bit. The idea of looking for any of his friends has completely slipped his mind by now, his sleepy brain preferring to laugh at how silly he is for thinking he feels squirming. Must miss having the boys in there. He makes a mental note to find a time and an excuse to get to swallow the boys, smiling at the idea. A happy little sigh escapes him as his eyes flutter shut. Just like that, he’s snoring and out cold.

The snoring from above only serves to make the boys more frustrated. Not only did their friend swallow them all down when he said he was just letting them warm up in the soup but then he just falls asleep without a word? What kind of bullshit was this?! Squirming picks up, no longer accidental, in hopes to wake their friend from his slumber.

“DAVID I SWEAR T’GOD, WAKE YA SORRY ASS UP AND SPIT US OUT!!!” Jack yells, hoping to grab the attention of the boy who had helped him though the strike and yank him from the world of the living.

He only gets snores and the occasional gurgle in response. Son of a bitch.

And boy does this continue on. Each of the boys tries at least once to wake their sleeping friend. All are met with the same response of snoring and the sounds of Davey’s body at work. Zip-a-dee-do-dah-fucking-day.

Hours pass and nothing comes from the boy around them. Nothing but snores, soft breathing, a steady heartbeat, and the gurgles and groans from his stomach as it works away at the soup but leaves them unharmed. Great. What is their luck?

Finally, just as they get ready to accept the fact that they’re stuck and fall asleep, something moves. Shifts. The breathing around them hitches as the world pitches one way, a small grunt from above as the body moves.

“Mmmmmghhh.....guys? Where are....why am I....mmm....what happened last night?”

[doof-doofblog]

"You Killed Him!"

Tuesday 20th April 2021

Good evening again everyone! Hope your week is all going well so far! I have to be honest, I am still reeling from Monday's huge ending, still can't get over that Kush has been killed off, I feel shocked and saddened to know that he may never return to the soap. I had every hope that they would at least keep his role open for a return in the future! Where you shocked at the outcome? Or did you have a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach that Kush would be Gray's 3rd victim? How long can Gray keep getting away with murder?? Seriously!!!

I have a horrible feeling this next episode is going to be hard to watch, the aftermath of Kush's death!

(20 minutes later!)

Oh my goodness, through out that whole episode you could sense and feel the sadness, the mourning and the absence of Kush, how everyone is completely and utterly devastated by his loss. Poor Whitney is sitting alone, still wearing the clothes from the night before, she looks almost numb to the core. In the house with her are Sonia, Tiffany and Martin. Oh Martin - Martin also looks completely and utterly crushed by the loss of his best mate, he must feel as if he's lost a limb! I know it was mentioned in the episode by Mick, but it's going to be devastating not seeing Kush with Martin having a drink together in the pub!

From what I can tell, everyone close to Kush must've learnt the news that evening, I do feel a bit gutted we didn't say how and when everyone found out, especially Whitney - I feel it should've been something we should have seen. But as the news of Kush's death spreads around the Square, Gray feels he needs to show his face, but even more trying to fish for information from anyone who may have any news, He tries getting gossip from Keegan - even though Keegan only knows that minor detail that Kush was hit by a train. Suddenly as Callum makes his way through the Square, Gray takes his opportunity to question Callum about the police are suspecting. Even though poor Callum himself is stunned by the news of Kush's death, he reveals to Gray that the police seem to think it was an accident, but that theory doesn't seem to make sense, as Callum informs Gray that Kush and Whiney were planning on running away together for a new life and it was the last trains of the night they were going to catch, at that time of night the platform would've been empty! But it's then that I think Callum puts the seed in Gray's mind that Kush's might've jumped?

As the news continues to spread, we seem to focus on the people who were important in Kush's life, Whitney, Martin and next was Denise! As she's sat in work, it look as if she has no clue about what's happened, but it's only when Kim makes her way into the salon looking in shock and devastation, Denise questions whether something has happened to Patrick. It's then that her sister informs her that she's learnt about Kush's death. Poor Denise is another one who begin to feel extremely sorry for - of course Kush and Denise had a small fling ages ago and they always remained close. Denise was absolutely heartbroken to hear the news of Kush's passing, she simply couldn't get her head around it.

--

As I said in the previous post, I was really intrigued as to what was going to happen to Shirley and the Mitchell's, now Kush has been killed - what will that mean for them? But it seems that Ben answered my question. Kush was initially asked to be key witness in another investigation against the Mitchell's, but now he's been killed there'll be no evidence for him to give - which actually might mean now that the Mitchell's and Shirley will be able to walk free. It looks as if they have no knowledge about Kush's death until they arrive back on the Square. As locals gather to lay flowers for their beloved member of the community, Ben mentions that the only witness the police have is now a dead man, but regardless of Kush grassing them up to the police, Phil shows his respect - claiming that regardless of what he did to them, he did not deserve to die as such a young way and in such a horrific way! Ooooh deep down in my guts I feel like shouting to them, if only they really knew how Kush died!! How would the locals of Walford know that sleeping amongst them is a murderer?!

But where Shirley is concerned, it looks as if she has no idea about Kush's death either. As she's released from custody, you can see the steam coming from her ears. She's outraged that Kush has grassed her up to the police. She informs both Linda and Nancy that she's going to get her hands on Kush as soon as she can. But later on, when she seems to have calmed down and it looks as if she's learned about Kush's death, Mick holds an absolutely beautiful tribute to Kush and raises a glass to him with their boozers in the Vic. Mick's words were so moving, it nearly brought a tear to my eye. However, Shirley seems reluctant to raise her glass, claiming that as much as she's sorry he's passed away, she can't toast a grass, which I feel is really quite cold-hearted. Kush was never bad man, he was one the most liked people on the Square. But when Nancy questions what people are saying about Kush's death, she's horrified to learn that people are speculating that he jumped in front of the train, but Mick make the interesting point that camera's are everywhere so they should be able to find some sort of explanation as to whether Kush's death was accidental or deliberate.

Also, after waiting all day for her package to arrive, it seems Nancy is pretty secretive about what is in her package. What really caught my attention was when Linda questioned her daughter whether she's still being able to keep control of her epilepsy. Nancy tries to reassure her Mum that she hasn't had a seizure for a very long time, but something is telling me that she's lying to her parents. Is her epilepsy getting worse? Could this package actually be something that helps her to keep control of her seizures? Either way, I'm really intrigued to see what secret Nancy is hiding!

--

Returning to Denise when she's been left alone to take in the news about his death, when Jack comes to finds her to make sure she's okay, she recalls her brief romance with Kush and how happy he made her when they were together. I and I think what she was mentioning about being sat with Kim and Carmel and informing them that she was dating Kush, I think I actually remember watching that moment, of course Carmel wasn't best pleased, but Denise how happy it made her feel being able to hold Kush's hand. That really moved me, especially when she mentioned how much love he had to give and he had initially found the right person to give it to! Gosh it was so emotional!

Meanwhile, as the rest of the Square are mourning Kush, Isaac seems to be listening in to the conversation between Denise and Patrick, but when Denise mentions that Kush was just 35 years of age, Patrick mentions how Kush's death reminds of him of his son, Paul. Now interestingly, Isaac seems to react to the name "Paul" - does he know who Paul is?! As Patrick decides to go ahead with his medical trial for other stroke victims, Isaac is with him - even though everything seems above board, Isaac informs his Dad that he's not happy about his decision but he will support him nonetheless. However it looks like the thought of Paul is still on his mind, it's only later when Isaac is alone in the Cafe that Kim joins him, it's then that he asks her straight out - What is the issue with Paul? Why do people go all coy and cold on the subject of him? Even though Kim feels that it's not her place to say, she decides to inform him that Paul was murdered. I'm intrigued that after all these years Paul is still remembered in this soap, he was another who had a devastating death - is Isaac going to want to learn more about his step-brothers Paul and Anthony? What do you think?

--

Later on, after the advice from Gray about discussing Kush's death with his colleagues, Callum finds Gray in the Cafe and informs them that the theory about Kush's death being accidental has completely been wiped. Unfortunately, Callum also confirms that the CCTV had been vandalized so any form of camera footage they have been able to get hold off could not longer be traced. Hmmm, I wonder who vandalized the camera, eh?! (Rolls eyes!) Of course Gray would've covered his back! However, I am also kind of hoping that maybe the Vic or the Minute Mart or the Cafe may have some kind of CCTV camera looking outwards onto the streets of their businesses - some local companies do have them - could it be possible that maybe one single business camera might've caught Whitney, Kush and little Arthur heading towards the train station and slowly following after them, we'd see Gray! Who knows?! It's a possibility! All I know is that Gray cannot get away with another murder, he just can't! He's murdered so many likeable characters and it's devastating and horrifying that he's getting away with it! I truly can't wait for the day when the locals learn about his crimes and he gets his comeuppance!

Feeling confident that he's covered his tracks, Gray then takes it upon himself to visit Whitney - Ooohh how dare he! - He's acting like the loyal friend who's trying to console their friend in need. Poor Whitney looks absolutely lost, it's clear to see that she has been sobbing her heart out - her face is all smudged with mascara down her cheeks and her cheeks are red from the amount of crying she's done. She still sits silently as Gray tries to give her his condolences, but as soon as he mentions Kush's name - she turns her face slowly towards him, whispering, warning him not to even mention his name.

For a split second, it looks as if Whitney knows Gray's dirty horrid secret! But she begins to claim that he is part of the reason that Kush is dead, if it wasn't for him siding with the Mitchell's and taking their dirty money that they wouldn't have to run away and Kush wouldn't have died! As far as she's concerned, he is as much to blame for his death as much as the Mitchell's are! Gray of course seems slightly surprised by her outburst, but - I don't know whether you noticed it, there was some kind of sigh or huff or scuff that came from him when Whitney mentioned his involvement with the Mitchell's. So, even though Whitney is blaming him for Kush's death and screaming at him that he killed him, it looks as if he is almost relieved that what she is saying ALMOST isn't true! Oooooh - but wait! Wait! WAIT until she really does find out the truth!!! I cannot wait for Gray to be found out, he truly can't keep carrying on murdering such lovely innocent people!

--

Ending this post and a happier note, oooo could there be a love interest for Bernie?! I think since she came out as gay and went to Gay Pride, she hasn't really been able to find anyone, has she? Now after being introduced to this new character, Molly (all thanks to the little doggo Ziggy/Banjo) - Molly is showing a very big interest in Bernadette, but bless Bernie, she can't seem to see it. But luckily Bailey clicks on to what Molly is getting at and decides to take their new doggy friend for a walk in an attempt to get them alone. Bernie is really surprised when Molly openly admits that she's wanting to ask her out. Even though I haven't really got an opinion on this new love interest yet, I just hope Bernadette will be happy and doesn't get hurt, it would be nice for her to enter a new relationship. What do you think?

Thank you again for reading my recent post, it truly means the world! Please feel free to leave me a comment or a message about any of the current storylines, I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions on what's going on. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll back again very soon! Love you all xXx

[vagrantblvrd]

Communication Breakdown (1/1)

Summary: Matt fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

Gavin is staring at him in shock and the rest of the crew is in various states of panic and alarm and Matt’s really fucked up now.

Notes: For @queen-bitchiest​  who asked for something based on this post that kind of sort of got away from me and is somewhat similar. /o\

(Read on AO3)

Matt fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

Gavin is staring at him in shock and the rest of the crew is in various states of panic and alarm and Matt’s really fucked up now.

(To be fair, Gavin’s been pissing Matt off for the last forever, doing the stupidest shit and thinking it’s just fine and dandy and all of that and Matt has had fucking enough, okay? So much enough he doesn’t have the words for how much enough.)

“...What?”

Matt clears his throat, glancing at the others – still confused as hell and trying to make sense of the scene in front of them - and Matt’s bad knee is not enjoying any of this, okay.

So not.

“I said,” Matt says, clearing his throat again because that goddamn cough is acting up again. “Will you marry me, you piece of shit.”

There’s -

“Wow,” Jack says, first to recover. “Just. Wow, Matt.”

Michael has this look on his face like he’s been sucking lemons, hand clamped on Jeremy’s shoulder tight enough that even he’s wincing. Hissing at Michael to ease up a bit, Jesus Christ, Michael.

Matt has no fucking clue what that’s about, but hey whatever. He’s busy staring Gavin down like the idiot has a gun on him and fuck him anyway.

Idiot looks like he’s been through a meat-grinder, all bloody and beat up. Those fucking gold-framed sunglasses of his hooked into the collar of his shirt, lenses cracked and broken and goddamn him anyway.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what you said before,” Ryan points out, quibbling just to quibble.

Geoff looks like he wishes these assholes he recruited could stop with their bullshit for like, five goddamn minutes for once.

Lindsay snaps a picture of Matt down on one knee in front of Gavin on her phone and sends it to someone. (Odds are good it’s Trevor who took Alfredo and Fiona out of town for a job because they have an agreement.)

And, okay, yes.

The first time Matt didn’t call Gavin a piece of shit – out loud, at any rate – but they all know he was thinking it. Especially after Gavin’s little adventure today.

“Matt,” Gavin says, strained note to his voice. “Could I have a word with you in private?”

Matt opens his mouth to tell him no, no he can not because he knows what Gavin’s about to say, but this being Gavin, eh doesn’t give him the chance.

No, Gavin pulls Matt to his feet and drags him along behind him as they head for the conference room, catcalls and Geoff’s despairing, “Don’t fuck in my conference room, you assholes!” following them.

========

The décor in the conference room is very...bland.

No-nonsense hardwood laminate and this odd off-white paint for the walls. Glass-topped conference table with brushed-steel legs.

The view’s nice, looks out over the city. You can see the mountains in the distance, and if it’s a clear day you can almost see Chiliad.

“Matt,” Gavin says, a little shaky. “What. What was that?”

Matt staring out the windows, but it’s the opposite of a clear day. Fat, heavy rain clouds with lightning and thunder out over Vinewood and moving towards the penthouse.

Supposed to be one hell of a storm rolling in, at least a couple of inches of rain before night rolls around.

Matt looks over at Gavin, who still looks like shit, by the way, and crosses his arms. (Gavin almost got himself killed today, and Matt is not okay with  that in any way, as though that will change things. Make the reckless idiot think twice before pulling those stunts of his.)

“What?” Matt asks, frown on his face and just enough confusion thrown in there that for a moment Gavin looks like he’s doubting himself, what he thinks he heard in the penthouse’s living room. “I didn't say anything.”

And, alright.

That's pushing things a little too far because Gavin’s eyes narrow, all the stupid, reckless decision making abilities he has shoved aside to make way for the sharp-eyed bastard that enjoys playing dumb too damn much.

“There was a plan,” Gavin says, although which one he’s talking about is up for debate. “We had a plan, Matt.”

They did, didn’t they.

“Oh?” Matt says. “Which one might that be, Gavin? The one where you were supposed to stick with Ryan, and not go off on your own? Or maybe you mean the one where you avoid the pack of guards with itchy trigger fingers? Ooh, or maybe - “

God, there are so many plans Gavin could be talking about. And true, they’re all smaller components to the master plan for the heist, but still.

“Uh,” Gavin says, like he realizes he’s stepped into a mine-field here. “None of the above?”

Matt stares at Gavin.

Look, he knows, okay. Matt knows this...thing they’ve been doing the past few weeks is a farce. Knows none of it was real, was just Gavin being Gavin, trying to get the others off his back about his dating dry spell. (And it’s not like there’s a dating site for criminals or anything, so Matt doesn’t know what they were thinking, but whatever.)

Matt drew the short straw and he was fine, just fine with pretending to be Gavin’s plus one because hey, why not?

It was funny at first, watching the others react to the news Gavin was dating him. That he and Matt were a Thing. The expressions of horror and disgust as he and Gavin tried to out-do one another with pet names at every available opportunity, Matt trying to hold his shit together while Gavin simpered at him over the comms and just.

He kind of forgot for a while it wasn’t – look, he knows it will never happen, just.

Matt forgot, let himself get swept along in Gavin’s chaos and had fun. Enjoyed himself a little too much and -

Point is, point is, for the last few weeks Matt’s life has been a super crappy romcom, and he just made things worse.

There was supposed to be this dramatic breakup after the heist, just enough to have everyone else fall for it hook, line, and sinker. Get them to buy it the way they thought someone like Gavin would be interested in someone like Matt – great joke, right? - but Matt fucked that up.

Saw Gavin standing there after everything that happened giving him this look, all well? Get on with it then, we don’t have all day like he hadn’t come so damn close to dying, and Matt snapped.

Just.

Fucking snapped the way the betting pool Jack’s got going Matt’s not supposed to know about says he’s bound to one day with all the shit the crew gives him.

Matt snapped and instead of breaking up with Gavin he proposed to him.

Gavin’s still watching him.

Head tipped to the side and this little frown on his face, puzzling out what the hell’s gotten into Matt.

“Matt,” Gavin says, oddly formal about it. “While I know it can be confusing, breaking up rarely involves a marriage proposal.”

They kind of do? (Or maybe Matt’s lived a very different life from Gavin, because yeah. He's seen shit go down like this before.)

“Shows what you know,” Matt mutters.

Gavin sighs, and shuffles over to one of the conference room chairs. Makes this pained little noise as he sits down, winces just the tiniest bit.

“Matt,” he says, and gently pats the table. “Sit the hell down and talk to to me.”

Oh, such sweet nothings.

“I’m good where I am, thanks,” Matt says, always too stubborn for his own good.

Several minutes go by while Gavin studies him, wheels turning in that head of his.

Alright then, love,” Gavin says, and Matt’s fingers dig into his arm at how the term of endearment just slips off his tongue so easily.

Light and soft and not Matt’s alone because Gavin’s just as likely to call one of the others that or someone he bumps into on the street than Matt, so.

Yeah.

Not his, and he’s fine with that, but the past few weeks have fucked with Matt’s head a little too much. Gotten everything he used to keep (somewhat) neat and orderly in and locked down tight in his head all jumbled together and he’s just.

He’s tired.

“Matt,” Gavin says, concern creeping into his voice. “Are you okay?”

Matt kind of wants to laugh, or is it cry?

“I’m fine, Gavin,” he says, because he always is, right? Good old Matt Bragg, always there when the others need him, even if it’s to play fake boyfriend for some dumbshit. “Just fine.”

Gavin sighs, and when Matt looks over he realizes Gavin looks tired too.

Gotta be hurting like a son of a bitch too, after the day he’s had. Too many close calls and an unhealthy amount of explosions in his vicinity and all that.

“You should have someone look you over,” Matt says, done with this conversation. “You look like shit.”

Gavin’s mouth twists, but Matt’s not in the mood for his bullshit anymore.

“I’ve got...stuff to do,” he says. He trusts B-Team to have things in hand, all the post-heist work they have to do to keep the authorities off their backs, but he needs to be doing something. Cant’ just stand around with his thumb up his ass reliving one of the worst days of his life in his head while Gavin sits there staring at him like he doesn’t get it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He leaves before Gavin can say anything else, pushes past the cluster of idiots outside the conference room doors and ignores the looks they give him as he does.

========

Matt hides out as much as he can for the next week, makes up excuses and flat-out lies to avoid facing the others in any capacity. (Thank God for B-Team running interference or he might have had to talk about his feelings.)

But then, you know.

The food poisoning hits, and he’s vulnerable like a turtle turtle turned on its back. Or is that tortoises?

Whichever one it is, he’s too sick to run when Trevor finally catches him.

“There you are.”

Matt doesn’t cringe, no.

That would just tip Trevor off as to Matt’s horrible life choices even more. No, Matt just feel his stomach clench up on him. (Could be the food poisoning, but he doesn’t get the accompanying nausea, just this all-over dread, so. Probably the feelings thing.)

“Matt?” Trevor asks, and then when Matt pretends he can’t hear him what with his headphones in, sternly, “Matt Bragg”

Matt would keep pretending he can’t hear Trevor, but then the asshole yanks the cord of his headphone out of Matt’s computer and he has to slap at the keyboard to mute the volume before it’s too late and Trevor hears what he’s listening to.

“Is that...Matt. Is that Sarah McLachlan ?”

Matt winces, and doesn’t deny it. (But oh, would he love to.)

“It’s a scientific fact,” Matt says, trying to hold on to whatever dignity he has left. “It's a scientific fact that listening to sad music after a breakup is beneficial.”

He’s pretty sure he just pulled that out of his ass, but whatever. The saddest song he can think of is from that one damned humane society commercial, God knows he feels like shit just thinking about it.

And...you know, the thing where he and Gavin weren’t actually dating, but. Uh. Details?

Trevor stares at him for a moment before shaking his head.

“Okay, whatever the hell that’s all about aside, I came to check on you.”

Well, obviously, what with Trevor picking the locks on Matt’s front door, yes.

“And!” Trevor continues, “I brought you a gift.”

That’s...concerning.

Deeply, deeply concerning.

Trevor’s smiling.

“Uh - “

Trevor’s smiling and Matt’s known him too long not to recognize the warning signs, and yet he’s still caught by surprise when Trevor reveals said “gift”.

“Bring him in!” Trevor calls out, like a demented game show host ushering in a contestant.

Behind Trevor Matt’s front door swings open to show Jeremy and a reluctant looking Gavin. Jeremy all but dragging Gavin inside, this manic grin on his face as he gives Gavin a little shove towards Matt and then blocks the door.

“Hey, Matt!” Jeremy says, and bright and cheerful and not a little terrifying. “Look who we found!”

Would you look at that? The nausea’s back, because Gavin’s not looking at him.

Is, in fact, looking at Trevor and Jeremy, everything thing about him screaming that he doesn’t want to be here, dear God you two, please let him leave,.

Trevor’s smiles kicks up another notch as he leans around Gavin and pins Matt with a look.

“You two kids play nice now,” he says with a wink. “We’ll be right outside.”

What.

“What?”

But Trevor borrows Matt’s earlier trick of selective hearing because he just waltzes right on out of Matt’s apartment with Jeremy and shuts the door behind them.

“Uh,” Matt says again, because what the hell? “Hey, Gavin.”

Gavin flinches, which is never a good sign.

He flinches, and turns to look at Matt.

Still looks like shit, but like. Less so.

The bruises are fading, no longer that dark, ugly purple Matt remembers from the penthouse. The cuts on his face and neck have scabbed over, should heal without scarring.

But there are dark marks under his eyes that weren’t there the last time Matt saw him, and he looks. Tired. Not the way he normally looks, burning the candle at both ends and thriving off it, no, he looks exhausted.

“You look like shit in a completely different way,” Matt says, because he’s never had a whole brain-to-mouth filter, and boy has that gotten him into trouble in the past. “No offense.”

Gavin makes a face at that, mouth quirking into the tiniest of smiles.

“Oh, no offense taken then since you said that, Matt,” he says, dumb little in-joke with them.

And then you know, an awkward pause.

Neither of them want to be here having the discussion they’re about to have because Trevor and Jeremy are assholes.

“I have a fire escape?” Matt offers, waves a hand more or less in the right direction. “But I have a feeling they roped Alfredo into this mess, and you know Alfredo.”

No doubt set up in a sniper’s nest in case they try to sneak out the back.

“Oh, they did,” Gavin says, eyes darting to Matt’s living room windows. “Fiona’s out there too.”

Jesus.

That’s something Matt didn’t need to know considering she has to be itching to take him down for all the shit he gives her.

“Awesome,” Matt says, because really.

Awesome.

Gavin’s watching Matt, this little frown between his eyes. All concerned and shit.

“You look terrible,” Gavin says, takes a step towards Matt before he stops himself, pulls the hand that was reaching towards him back with a jerky little motion. “Are you alright?”

Matt is super not alright, because the food poisoning. (And also his terrible life choices, but mainly the food poisoning at this point.)

“Well, you know,” Matt says. “Food poisoning will do that to you.”

Interestingly enough, Gavin winces. Opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s got something to say and just doesn’t know how.

Like maybe he knows something Matt doesn’t, or just. Who even knows.

“Gavin?”

Gavin does the thing he does when he’s trying to translate from Gavin to English and failing, so he settles for vague hand gestures and words that are kind of sort of almost right with random noises thrown in.

It sounds like gibberish, and Matt can never tell if it’s some kind of British slang or Gavin’s brain shorting out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

Gavin sighs, looking at Matt like he’s the idiot here.

“I said,” Gavin says. “You should be nicer to Sarah.”

Matt’s positive that isn’t what Gavin said, but sure.

Also.

“Wait.”

Gavin raises his eyebrows, corner of his mouth ticking up like he thinks something is hilarious but he doesn’t want to look like an asshole. (Too late, but Matt appreciates the attempt.)

“Wait.”

Matt likes Sarah, he does. Gives her a lot of grief because he likes her, because like everyone else in the crew it’s how he shows affection or some shit. (They’re all a fucked up.)

Problem is, Sarah is a monster of a human being.

Plays all sweet and nice, but Matt knows she’s plotting behind his back, waiting for the right moment to   lay him low so she can take his place and rule with an iron fist or some shit.

Or, you know. Just lay him low because he gives her shit and she’s not someone who takes kindly to that, whichever.

“She brought me my lunch,” Matt says, feeling like a detective in some shitty Vinewood movie putting the pieces together.

Sarah brought Matt his lunch, and the  the food poisoning happened and he was too busy trying to puke up his guts to ponder overmuch how the food poisoning happened, or question if it was intentional.

“Oh my God,” Matt says, impressed despite of himself because she was so smooth about it, all happy smiles and kind and generous to get lunch for B-Team, just doing a good deed and dear God she’s far more devious than he gave her credit for. “Oh my God.”

Gavin bites his lip, looks away. Doesn’t laugh at Matt while struggles to come to terms with this most heinous of betrayals, no.

God no, Gavin would never.

“If it helps,” Gavin says, shoulders shaking just the tiniest bit. “I’m certain Trevor put her up to it.”

That...yeah. That doesn’t surprise Matt as much. Trevor would thinking giving Matt food poisoning would give him the perfect opening to instigate this...whatever this is.

(Oh, everyone thinks Trevor’s the nice one. All polite and shit, but no. Trevor is the worst one in the entire crew, including Sarah.)

“Of course he did,” Matt mutters. “It’s Trevor.”

Gavin clears his throat, shuffles his feet.

Catches Matt eye for a moment, this smile on his face before he looks away again just as fast.

Looks awkward as hell and Matt can’t figure out if that little flicker of guilt he saw on his face before he did was real or just a figment of his imagination.

And then -

“I bollocksed everything up between us, didn't I?” Gavin asks, staring at the ugly little garden garden gnome statue Jeremy stole for Matt on a dare with a frown on his face. “Did everything all wrong.”

Matt says nothing. He’s not sure what he can say, so he lets Gavin talk it out since that seems to be what he needs right now.

Something about the crew giving him grief over his non-existent romantic life and Gavin having enough. Wanting just a little bit of peace and quiet on that front as he wrestled with crew business and gearing up for the heist and a million and one other things.

Matt makes noises in the appropriate places because knows all about that, remembers Gavin explaining it to him when he made that indecent proposal of his. (Should have been a warning sign he did it over dinner, took Matt out to one of his favorite places to sweeten the deal. Butter him up, all that stuff.)

“It just...” Gavin sighs, gives Matt this wry smile. “It all got out of hand.”

That’s one way to put it.

“I thought,” Gavin sighs again, frustrated. “I thought I had it under control. Figured it was just for a little while, that I wouldn’t...wouldn’t lose sight of things.”

Matt’s stomach does this little flip, a dip and roll and the nausea is...doing something. Has him sinking down on his couch and giving Gavin a wordless shrug as he mimes food poisoning kind of sucks at him, or something close enough that Gavin seems to get it.

Matt watches as Gavin takes a seat in the crappy arm chair on the other side of Matt’s coffee table. Sees him fiddle with the strings on his hoodie, worrying the knot between his fingers.

“Michael told me it was a bad idea,” Gavin says, mumbles almost. “Said I was playing with fire, going to get burned and all that, but I didn’t listen to him. Told him he couldn’t say anything, and you know how he is.”

Oh, Matt knows.

Asshole would have either gone to Matt the moment he figured everything out to fuck with Gavin or he’d have Gavin’s back the whole way. (Or a little bit of both, give Matt more shit than usual and drop little comments here and there that were confusing as hell at the time, but now? Yeah. That whole hindsight thing is a bitch.)

Gavin makes a face, waves his hand in even more vague gestures.

“Can’t keep a secret from Michael to save my life,” he says. “Bastard’s good at sniffing ‘em out.”

Or maybe he just knows Gavin that well. (Also, Matt’s will pass on the nose jokes because the mood in the room is all wrong. Noble sacrifice on his part right there.)

Gavin shrugs, like he knows what Matt’s thinking.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go the way it did,” Gavin says, fingers moving on to picking the hoodie string apart, undoing the knot and unraveling the string. “But it was just too much bloody fun messing with the others, but then it...”

Gavin trails off, frowning at the bits of fabric stuck under his nails like he doesn’t know where they came from. Scowls as he sets to pulling them free, making a messy pile of shredded fluff on Matt’s coffee table like an asshole.

“It got complicated,” Matt finishes for him. Because it did. He knows what Gavin means, because it really was fun at first.

The two of them fucking with the others, and just enjoying the ride. Getting the chance to know one another better, which was the main problem. Kicked that crush Matt had on Gavin into overdrive. Made him realize that hey, wow, that little crush he’d had on Gavin since he joined the crew wasn’t middle school infatuation with the guy. That he had feelings for Gavin even though he damn well knew better than that.

Knew perfectly well what a piece of shit Gavin was and he still liked him. (Liked-liked, even.)

But by then it was too late to keep himself from getting hurt and he knew that, he did, he just didn’t give a damn.

Gavin plucks the last bit of cloth out from under his nails and sighs.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding tired and defeated and guilty as Matt’s ever heard him. “That.”

Which, okay, great. Nice to know and everything, but -

“I like you,” Gavin blurts out, still staring at his hands, his nails. “A lot, Matt. I like you a lot.”

Matt doesn’t know what that means in this context.

“Well,” he says. Stops. Thinks, or tries to, but he’s kind of an idiot. “That’s great to hear, Gavin. I like you too.”

God, they sound like toddlers.

No, worse, because toddlers can express their emotions. What the two of them are doing is just sad.

Gavin looks up at him, like Matt’s not understanding him.

“No,” he says, insistent. “I like you, Matt.”

...Okay?

Gavin stares at Matt, who looks back feeling like he’s missing something but no clue what it could be and oh, Jesus, he hates moments like these, okay. Really, really hates them because they end with Matt being used as bait or conned into doing something he super doesn’t want to be part of. (See: Pretending to Date Gavin-fucking-Free as just one example.)

“Oh my God,” Gavin says, laughter a little hysterical at the edges. “Oh my God, Matt.”

Matt freezes when Gavin shoves himself to his feet and climbs over Matt’s coffee table - “Hey, my coffee table!” - to stand in front of him.

Looks down at Matt with that frown on his face again, the puzzle-solving one and sighs as he gives Matt this smile.

Soft and warm and too...too much.

Has Matt trying to move, back away from him because no>, but there’s nowhere for him to go. Can’t climb over the back of the couch because his balance is shit at the moment, and also he’s not the athletic sort.

Also, he might puke if he tries it.

“Matt Bragg,” Gavin says, and gets down on his knees in front of Matt to put them on even ground.

...Even-ish.

“You’re kind of an idiot, Matt Bragg,” Gavin says, and the way his voice sounds is all kinds of unfair, just as soft and affectionate as that damned smile of his. “And I’m not sure why, but I like that about you.”

That’s. Wow. Flattering?

“Um, thanks?”

Gavin rolls his eyes, because Matt isn’t a hundred percent on board with whatever it is he’s doing here – giving Matt backhanded compliments while confusing the hell out of him maybe? - and shakes his head.

“I’d like to date you,” Gavin says in one big rush. Breathes. “Properly, I mean. Take you out to all your favorite...restaurants and to movies and all that.”

Matt squints at Gavin.

He knows that that hesitation regarding Matt’s “restaurants” was all about. Knows everyone in the crew cannot fathom how he hasn’t died of scurvy or malnutrition yet with the way he eats. Knows what Gavin thinks about all of it, and yet here he is being mildly insulting about it.

That’s Gavin making an effort, really trying. More than Matt ever hoped for, and it’s -

Matt likes it.

Likes that Gavin’s making an effort here, letting Matt see him like this when he’s always so guarded about things. (Laughs and jokes, sure, and always, always deflecting.)

He’s still having a hard time buying someone as brilliant, as vibrant as Gavin would be interested in someone as – well. Someone like Matt, but there’s this part of him that wants to because Matt knows Gavin’s a piece of shit, sure, but he’s not someone who’d knowingly set out to fuck with Matt’s feelings.

Leap of faith, trust fall. Something like that.

“Wow,” Matt says, and he doesn’t know if the way his heart kicks him in the chest is related to the food poisoning or something else, or if it’s anything to do with how nervous Gavin looks right now. “That really hurt you to say didn’t it.”

Gavin’s eyes widen, and Matt can see him jumping to all the wrong conclusions, so he just.

“Okay,” Matt says, and laughs at the way Gavin chokes a little bit between trying to apologize harder and the confusion at Matt’s easy agreement. “Yeah, okay. We can do that. The dating thing. I’m super on board with that.”

Gavin’s not wrong about Matt being an idiot, because talk about smooth, but hey. Gavin’s the idiot who wants to date Matt, so what does that say about him?

And yes, for the record Matt knows he’s insulting himself there, but seriously.

Gavin could have anyone he wanted and he’s choosing Matt.

And sure, there’s every chance this won’t work out between them, but that’s the risk anyone takes when they date someone, isn’t it?

Give him a little hope and he goes all optimistic, doesn’t he? Because it’s possible this can still blow up in their faces, but Matt’s trying to ignore that for the moment. Wants to believe it can (it can) work between them if they’re both willing to put in some effort, be a little more honest with one another.

“...I feel like you’re laughing at me, Matt Bragg.”

Matt pastes on an innocent expression, because good lord no, Gavin. He would never dare do such a thing.

“Perish the thought,” he says, and laughs at the look Gavin gives him because they’re both idiots and this is such a bad idea, but that’s kind of what they do, so there’s that.

Gavin sighs again, but there’s a smile playing on his lips and he looks. He looks happy, like he can’t believe Matt’s giving him a chance, second one or whatever this is, and that can’t be a bad thing.

“Hey,” Matt says, leans forward and waits until Gavin does the same. “I kind of like you too, Gavin.”

[nicafictionalfandoms]

Book Review: The Sword of Summer (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard #1) by Rick Riordan

General  Thoughts:

Seriously, Why did I never pick up a Rick Riordan book ever before?  I am literally kicking myself for that. I need to get to all his books.. like right now…..and there are so many ….I picked this up, because i did not really recover from the Thor: Ragnarok movie i watched a few weeks ago… and OMG i absolutely loved this book.. Since there are a lot of people talking about the Percy Jackson references  made in this book, and i only got to know about it halfway through … i really was having second thoughts to stop and reading the previous series. Although it’s not absolutely necessary it did kind of left me intrigued and wanting to read the previous series.

Honestly, I have a lot to say.. *coughs* get comfortable , this is going to take awhile. Also… Spoiler Alert…

Plot Summary:

Magnus Chase has always been a troubled kid. Since his mother’s mysterious death, he’s lived alone on the streets of Boston, surviving by his wits, keeping one step ahead of the police and the truant officers. One day, he’s tracked down by a man he’s never met—a man his mother claimed was dangerous. The man tells him an impossible secret: Magnus is the son of a Norse god. The Viking myths are true. The gods of Asgard are preparing for war. Trolls, giants and worse monsters are stirring for doomsday. To prevent Ragnarok, Magnus must search the Nine Worlds for a weapon that has been lost for thousands of years. When an attack by fire giants forces him to choose between his own safety and the lives of hundreds of innocents, Magnus makes a fatal decision. Sometimes, the only way to start a new life is to die

Things I liked:

The World”s”

Okay I just loved the world building of this book, and even though it’s just the beginning of a series it has so much action and adventure throughout  the book, that I couldn’t put it down.  Asgard and Alfheim were my absolute favourites. Asgard because it has Valhalla and Alfheim for the fact that they name everything they own, like the cup they drink in, or the chair they sit on. I think that was pretty awesome. I loved all the Gods and their powers..and i liked how i got to experience the dwarf as well as the giant’s world. I liked the part where Magnus was constantly reminding himself that Freya is his Aunt and he shouldn’t constantly be thinking how beautiful she is.. which was funny.

Norse Mythology

Even though, I barely knew about Norse Mythology this book was an easy read. Although, it did feel like a task to remember who does what because there are so many characters and after a point i was really grateful for having the glossary section in the book.  I also liked how Thor is not like what they show in the Marvel movies and Rick Riordan has given his own touch to everything. Some of Thor’s interaction with Magnus actually made me laugh out loud in public places… like how he said he lost his hammer and he tried searching for it on the Find Your Hammer app lol.. or the fact that he farts a lot .. lol.

Humour and Sarcasm

Magnus Chase is so funny and sarcastic which made him so lovable. Also the chapter titles where so quirky and hilarious. OMG.. this book is action packed and funny at the same time.. I have never liked a book so much ..i want to re read it right after i finish reading it.

Characters

The protagonist was obviously well developed. However, The sidekicks were equally amazing. I loved Sam, Hearthstone and Blitz. The four of them together was a delight and i loved their interactions. Hearthstone is a character that’s deaf and only uses sign language which was pretty cool, and i love how magnus interprets all his sign language words.  His backstory was rather heartbreaking, and i loved loved the little speech about the empty cups that Magnus Chase gave him. * Awww*

Blitz is a character that loves fashion designing and wants to open up his own store. I enjoyed the Dwarf contests and how eh avenges his father’s death. Sam, the Valkyrie who is the Daughter of Loki and is trying to constantly prove her loyalty to Valhalla was such an important side character. I wanted to know so much more about her..

Infact i loved the hallmates in Valhalla too. I really want to see more of them.

Jack the sword with all his hilarious comments and all the scenes with the Giants made him so adorable.

Loki

Even though he is the Villain i like how he is so funny and poised and good with words. At times, I almost felt like maybe what he says does make sense, why take the sword anywhere near the wolf when the sword is destined to cut him loose.  And then you’re like, No.. that advice can’t be coming from Loki.. I am sure he is on to something.  I know he is the villain, but he is good at it.

 Epilogue… 

such a cliffhanger..* I can’t wait to read the next book*

Things I didn’t like:

Even though I loved Sam as a character and i really want to read more about her in the other books of the series. I just couldn’t really picture her interacting with Norse gods and then being a Muslim too. I mean, there is nothing wrong with that.. i just felt the whole character description of her being a muslim was not really necessary in a Norse Myth story .. if that makes sense. Like.. it felt like it was only mentioned to highlight some serious issues which in that case.. on point Mr. Rick Riordan.

I would recommend it to someone that loves Norse Mythology and action – packed adventure stories. 

Notable Quotes:

“Such is human memory… you forget the truth and believe what makes you feel better.”

“The thing about talking swords…it’s hard to tell when they’re kidding. They have no facial expressions. Or faces.”

“Somebody once told me that a hero’s bravery has to be unplanned – a genuine response to a crisis. It has to come from the heart, without any thought of reward.”

“even if we can’t change the big picture, our choices can alter the details. That’s how we rebel against destiny,”

“I TOLD MY NEW FRIENDS I was allergic to dismemberment. They just laughed and herded me toward the combat arena. This is why I don’t like making new friends.”

“Blades before babes, you know what I’m saying?”

I obviously hate myself for being so ignorant about Norse Myths and decided to know more about it. You could check out some brief information about the Norse Family Tree, since it was so hard to keep up with who is known for what in the story… and also about Ragnarok, which is mentioned and dreaded so much.

Have you read the Magnus Chase Series? What do you love about it? Let me know if you loved something I missed out on.

[ltamerica]

Thoughts on what Stan Lee (and superheroes) contributed to the world

I know that Stan Lee’s death was some time ago by now, but I wanted to muse out loud on something I feel important, while I’m in a contemplative mood. Consider this something of my own personal eulogy for Stan Lee. I never met him obviously, but he still impacted my life and many others, in what I believe to be a positive way.

Bill Maher, a rather... jaded man, mocked the world for mourning Stan Lee on the grounds that, to paraphrase, “All he did was inspire people to watch more movies.” He also proceeded to more or less mock and degrade Superheroes as a whole, like many in the past have and many more in the future will.

Now, I doubt I really need to tell anyone here why that’s incorrect; I’d be preaching to the choir. But it was, if nothing else, food for thought. On the impact of Stan Lee’s life to the world, and the impact of the Superheroes that he used to tell his stories, give his ideas.

Many have downplayed the value of superhero stories, or demonized them, in every medium (after all, superheroes are in every medium these days). They’re disposable popcorn fantasy, mindless entertainment; they can’t express real pathos or challenging ideas, no meaningful morals or epiphanies; even worse, they’re vessels for Fascism or Objectivism, allegories for supermen who rule over the weak and mindless; they’re the “new” form of god/idol worship. They’re the oncoming Death of Western Culture, of Global Culture. And so on and so on.

But to me, that’s not what superheroes are about. At least, I don’t think that’s what they taught me, or what I think they taught other people. No one reads or watches Superman or Iron Man or Spider-Man and thinks “Eh, I shouldn’t do anything because someone else will do it for me,” or anything like that. Instead, they think “They’re so cool! I wanna be like them! I wanna help people like they do!” Superheroes aren’t about mindless entertainment with no implicit message, and they’re not about submitting to Big Brother. They’re about imagining a world where people have the power to make the world a better place, and then do exactly that. And because everyone wants to be like superheroes, they want to believe that they can, too.

And because kids like Superheroes so much, they and their messages hit us at the perfect age to soak them in. There’s nothing wrong with a good, mass-appeal action-adventure story if it has brains. The spectacle helps the medicine go down. Batman teaches us that people with money and status should do everything they can to serve the common good, using that very wealth. Superman teaches us to be as simply good as we can be, from altruism to idealism to simple politeness. Wonder Woman was deliberately written as a woman of power, sent to whip the world into shape from an ideal paradise isolated from the chaos of the wider world.

Ah, but those are DC superheroes. So what did Stan Lee bring to the table? Well, it’s true that Stan Lee didn’t invent Captain America, and that people like Steve Ditko, Larry Lieber, Jack Kirby and Jim Steranko (to name a few) created a lot of the biggest things we think of when we think of Marvel. But it was Stan Lee who changed the entire superhero landscape with the debut of The Fantastic Four, and pretty much all his works and contributions revolved around a single main idea:

Superheroes are people too.

That is to say, superheroes, for all their grand power and flashy costumes, are flawed, limited individuals who make mistakes, have issues, and ultimately can’t solve everything, in their lives or in the world around them. Many read into superheroes as the Master Race (especially those wishing to deconstruct them), but Stan Lee’s grand thesis behind the heroes he created and the stories he told are that, even with their amazing, impossible powers and their talents, they’re still only human. And yet, despite being only human, they still try to help, to make the world a better place, even if it costs them. And with the success of the comic books he created, that idea took hold and transformed the entire industry, changing even DC’s tune.

Stan Lee in generally loved to push the envelope when it came to superheroes, and he did most of it in a decade all about cultural revolution: the 1960s. He created the X-Men to talk about prejudice and superstition; he created Iron Man (currently the MCU’s heart and soul) specifically to make his target audience connect with the kind of man they would normally hate. He created the Black Panther to express the concept of an African nation leagues ahead of the rest of the world; he published books without the Comics Code Authority consent, opening the floodgates for comic books to publish more subversive and mature content. And of course, he created Spider-Man, who I’ll be getting to more later.

Now, again: it’s true that Stan Lee didn’t do it all alone. And as Jack Kirby could most certainly attest, he was not a man above misdeed or vanity. Nor did he himself actually write the Superhero content most of us today grew up with. He didn’t write the Tobey Maguire Spidey movies, or the PS1 Spidey game (though he did narrate that one, and I grew up listening directly to his one-of-a-kind flair for narrating and hyping). But if it wasn’t for him, none of those things would exist today. And they were all created and written with his central idea in mind, something that set Marvel apart from the competition back in the day, but is now the standard to everything Superhero: Superheroes aren’t perfect, they’re people like us, people who screw up and have issues, but who pick themselves back up and then learn from their mistakes. And most importantly of all, they still do the right thing.

Which brings me to Spider-Man. I don’t think I’ll get much disagreement when I say Spider-Man is the biggest/most important thing Stan Lee ever made or helped make. He’s big; everyone has grown up with Spider-Man and his adventures, whether through comic books, cartoons, movies or games. My dad never gets tired of telling me about that part in Secret Wars when he made a fool of the entire X-Men team without really even trying, or all the times he gets serious and wipes the floor with whoever he’s fighting. And he’s unique; no other superhero in all of the superhero landscape is really like Spidey.

So what point am I getting at here? Well, Spider-Man even today is probably one the best role models a kid could have in fiction, and given how universal he is, that’s a good thing. For all of his money problems, for all that he’s vilified, for all that he’s lost, he does the right thing, and he keeps up a friendly, upbeat attitude in front of the people he’s saving. He’s been faced with some hard decisions, but even when those decisions are absolutely miserable, he makes the choice he knows is the right one (if you’ve seen the recent Spider-Man video game, you know exactly what I’m talking about).

And that’s exactly how Stan Lee envisioned him, wrote him. Plenty of people have written Spider-Man stories, but (at least when they’re written well) they always stick to the mold that Stan Lee created.

And that’s why Stan Lee was so loved, and so important; that’s the good that he put in the world. I grew up with a superhero who was just a naive kid from Queens who gets dragged through the gutter again and again, yet never gives up and never breaks his integrity, never abuses his vast power even when nobody could really blame him if he did. Spider-Man doesn’t use his powers for himself, he uses them to help as many people as he can. Spider-Man taught me, as cliche as the line has become by now, that With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility. And I wanted to be like him; I still do. After all this time, Spider-Man is still “cool”.

And I’m not the only one who grew up with Spider-Man or that message. Pretty much all of us did. Because Stan Lee created that superhero and wrote those words in Amazing Fantasy #15, millions (perhaps billions, given Spidey’s popularity abroad) of people had a positive influence, one that they willingly read or watched again and again as it surreptitiously told them the right way to behave. That if you have the ability to do the right thing, you do the right thing.

So yeah, that’s why everyone loved Stan Lee in life, and why they mourn him in death. It’s why he’s considered not just famous, but important. The things we soak up in our youth are important to how we turn out, even if we don’t realize it, even if they’re not considered “Art” or made to be “Art”. Superheroes as a concept are all about doing everything you can to help others even when it’s hard, and Spider-Man managed to condense that concept into the phrase we all know and love. He’s all about the struggle of being a good person in a life filled with a hundred personal problems, and Stan Lee brought him and what he stands for to the entire world, along with all the other Superheroes he created.

So thanks, Stan Lee. Rest in peace.

[agentnico]

Avengers: Infinity War (2018) Review

So, I find myself in a conundrum. I have seen the big flick of the year, Avengers: Infinity War, however I have no idea how to go about reviewing it. “How so?” you ask. “Just give it a score and be done with it, you silly tot!” you exclaim again. “Well,” I reply. “Firstly don’t call me a tot, who uses ‘tot’ these days anyway? Secondly, let me explain.” Then I take a deep breath, look around wearily at the eager swarm of Marvel fans, and begin my tale of woe...

I hated Avengers: Infinity War... Wow, that was not that difficult to explain actually! Alright, alright! Hang on, hold your “f*ck” screaming crusade back, I haven’t finished yet. Basically, I simply am not the right target audience for this film it seems. And I say ‘it seems’ because in all fairness I used to really enjoy Marvel films. But in the past year I began developing this illness called superhero fatigue! Yes, yes, I hear your shocking screams, it’s a terrible terrible illness, worse than what the Black Death did back in the day. The truth needs to be faced though, I have been infected, like in The Walking Dead, only better, cause that show sucks now! I mean really, what happened to that show??...............*sob* anyway, that’s a rant for another day. Having become more and more bored with superhero flicks, with certain exceptions like the first Deadpool, Thor: Ragnarok and Black Panther actually surprising me, and especially following those last two I was hopeful that this new Marvel entry was not going to be affected by my disease filled mind......okay, that’s a lie, I wasn’t optimistic about this film whatsoever from the start, my friends Paul and Josh would confirm how not-excited I was for this film (hey, I guess this is what a shout out is, cool, hello you guys!!!). But I went into this film with an open-ish mind......and yeah, bloody hated, didn’t I. So here I am wondering how to go about reviewing this film (if I can call it that), because as I said, I hated it, but that doesn’t mean its a bad film. For a casual movie goer and most definitely for Marvel fans I’m sure it a great time, I’m sure people will love it..........holy mother of crabs, this movie has a 9/10 on IMDb? What in the actual a**?? Sorry, sorry, I promised to be calm. Who am I kidding, I didn’t promise jack sh**! But where was I? Ah, yes, the Avengers: Infinity War. So yes, this is 100% Marvel fan service and I understand why people like this film, it has everything a popcorn movie needs going for it, so it’s not my place to give this film a proper review or score as I am not the right demographic and it’s not my place to stray away casual movie-goers from enjoying this film. However who cares what I say, we all know this movie is going to make over a billion regardless what I say. *looks at phone* Oh bloody hell, it already made a billion! Well. Well then. I guess I’m just going to leave some of my personal thoughts on the film down below, I know that I usually don’t do spoilers but, you know, f*** it, SPOILER WARNING!!

Plot: The big purple dude finally gets of his chair after taking the big giant 10 year dump and goes to collect a bunch of stones to shove up his anus. Okay, not his anus, but who cares about this plot description, if you’re reading this you should have already saw the film or, like me, don’t care about it. Once again, SPOILER WARNING. Don’t read anymore, as I’m going to spoil everything in 3, 2, 1...

Thanos dies!! Alright, I’m kidding, Thanos is fine, but seriously, spoilers ahead.

MAGNOLIA YOU ARE NOT - There are too many characters in this film which the story does not manage to balance well, so many of them are under-used. And yes, I did a Magnolia reference, even though this is not the kind of film to compare to Magnolia, but I don’t care, I’m being biased, deal with it!!

THE PLOT - What plot?? I’m kidding, but seriously, what plot?? The film is made up of an escalating series of fight vignettes all under the motto of “We have to stop Thanos!” Especially to the end of the film, we keep cutting to these various locations with different characters that it is hardly possible to engage with any of the stories.

AGE OF THANOS - Yeah, yeah, I know, everyone loves Josh Brolin as Thanos. Well sorry to disappoint, folks, I didn’t like him. C’mon now, get on the trend with this ‘review’, it’s obviously a negative one, stop getting surprised at everything I didn’t like! Obviously if you liked his character, good on you, but I didn’t. In my eyes it was yet again another big CGI villain like the one-note Ultron from the last Avengers flick, only bigger and, in all fairness, had a better motivation, but I found that Brolin played him quite monotone. Yes, you see his tears when he has to kill Gamora to receive the Soul Stone, but I didn’t find that emotional whatsoever. But that’s just me. Or is it?......no, no, it’s definitely just me. I feel your hatred towards me soothing through your body as you are reading this.

THE BATTLE OF THE FIVE ARMIES - Oh look, it’s another massive battle with CGI monsters! Wooo!!

DEADPOOL...ONLY IT’S PG! *GASP!* - MCU films are known to incorporate humour into all their films, but in this one it felt too forced. With the amount of jokes they had it really took away from the gravitas of the darker more emotional moments. As an example, Gamora’s death is straight away followed by a joke about Starbucks. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll happily laugh about Starbucks any day, but still.

“AMERICA, F*** YEAH!!” - Of course the first time aliens arrive on Earth it’s obviously in America! How else are we gonna feel patriotic, eh?

SILLY-LORD - Star-Lord messing up the whole plan at the end with taking the gauntlet of Thanos’ hand could have been done much smoother. Like I get why he was annoyed and angry, but Tony was literally shouting in his ear saying for him to just wait one more minute so that they could take off the glove and then he would have had full right to Fight Club him to his full heart’s desire. But nooooooo, let’s have our characters make dumb decisions. And I’m not just talking about Star-Lord! P.S. Yes, I understand that the whole Star-Lord shtick is a set-up towards Doctor Strange’s ultimate plan of what he saw in the future, but it still feels like a deus ex machina cop out nonetheless.

THE TRUE HEROES - Okay, so I’m sure out of all the complaints on this list I think with this one you might actually agree. Where in the world were Valkyrie, Korg and Miek at the beginning with the Asgardian ship? It’s not like the credits rolled after Thor: Ragnarok and Korg and Valkyrie decided to jump out of the ship into the cosmos in search of coffee? Right? Right??

#TEAMDRAX - Oh, Drax, if only you were.........actually, I don’t have a problem with Drax. No, I’m serious, this one actually is not a complaint. I know, I surprised myself! I do have to give props to both the writing for and performance of Drax. He was actually hilarious in this film and his jokes were actually well timed. From the awkward spying on Gamora’s and Star-Lord’s intimate moment and him being convinced that he’s invisible saying “I have mastered the ability of standing so incredibly still that I have become invisible to the eye....my movement, is so slow that its imperceptible....I’m sure I’m invisible.” to his description of Thor “It’s like a pirate had a baby with an angel.” to the misunderstanding argument where Quill is asking where Gamora is, Iron Man then questions who Gamora even is and then Drax’s logistical, but at the same time misinterpreted response “I’ll do you one better - WHY is Gamora??” In my eyes, Dave Bautista (with his dead-pan delivery of the lines) stole the show as Drax, though Chris Hemsworth as Thor and his buddy-ing up with Rocket was a nice dynamic.

“FREEDOM! I SAID FREEDOM!” - Not going to lie, when Heimdall was killed I actually felt happy for him. You could see in Idris Elba’s eyes how happy he was that he finally full-filled his contract and was freed from his Marvel obligations. We all knew Idris didn’t want to be a part of this franchise, blame his agent.

HAHA, MIDGET! - No, I’m serious, that’s an actual joke in the film.

“WAS THE MUSIC TOO LOUD?” - And we’re back with Marvel films having generic unmemorable scores/soundtracks. Just a bunch of dramatic noises to keep the crowd pumping. Unlike Thor: Ragnarok or Black Panther (and in all fairness the Guardians of the Galaxy films, though I do have a personal vendetta against Vol.2), which actually had good music accompaniment, but now we’re back where we started. Dang it.

“REST IN PEACE, WHY WON’T YOU LET ME REST IN PEACE??” - Those of you who get what I’m referencing with that sub-title, full respect to you. Any-hoot, half of the Avengers die at the end of this film. And it’s the lack of consequence that annoys me, especially with the knowledge of future films on Marvel’s slate. We know some of them will be back. In all fairness, we do seem to have a few proper permanent deaths (then again, this IS Marvel...) in this film with the likes of Loki, Heimdall (good on you, Idris!), Gamora and Vision, but Marvel does have a problem with killing off characters, which is evident at the end of this film. And yes, you can say that its based off the comics and its supposed to be like that, but it does take away any kind of stakes.

GAME OF STONES - The MCU would work so much better as a high budget TV series, since Infinity War seems both rushed and at the same time drags on so much at 2 hours 40 minutes. It’s overstuffed like Thanos’ gigantic purple jawline!

In all seriousness, if you enjoyed Avengers: Infinity War, I’m glad. Truly, I am, and I totally understand why so many people do indeed like it. For me it has definitely proved that I am more of an indie film fan, as to me this endless array of ACTION, ACTION, ACTION with, in my opinion, no deeper meaning or message, is just not my kind of thing. I have lost any kind of excitement for any upcoming superhero films, minus Deadpool 2, I actually think that one will be a good laugh, but otherwise I should stick with independent cinema. I’m not going to give this film a score, as if I would have, it would have been quite low and would have not been fair on the film since I’m not the right person to rate it.

Overall score: N/A

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: Your Average Joe

A MacGyver ficlet. They’re on a stakeout and they’re bored, bored, bored! So bored, actually, that it’s starting to make Mac cranky. Mac’s POV. 

Eh, I don’t even know what this is. I just sat down and started typing and this happened. Eh.

They’re on a stakeout, he and Jack, in a town better not named, staking out a military facility that officially doesn’t exist, waiting for someone - for whom, the intel didn’t specify, of course - to try to get their thieving little hands on a weapon that officially doesn’t exist either. And it’s sweltering hot. Just another lovely day at the office.

Mac’s not cranky. He’s not. But they’ve been sitting there for hours - and hours and hours! - and Jack’s been listening to the same Willie Nelson CD on repeat - over and over again! - and Mac’s almost out of paper clips, the dashboard’s littered with his doodles!

The last song on the CD is slowly winding down. And if Jack starts playing the damn thing from the beginning again, Mac will blow up the stereo on principle. He’s a patient man but even he has his limits!

Distraction, that’s what he needs.

“Hey, you’ve never actually told me why you left the army, back then, after Iraq,” Mac blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind when he sees Jack reach for the stereo button. “I mean, you always sound so proud when you talk about your Delta Force days, so... it never made much sense to me.”

The car remains blessedly quiet as Jack drops his hand and contemplates the question. But the longer the silence lasts, the more apprehensive Mac feels; he hopes he didn’t ask the wrong thing. He only wanted to distract Jack a little and he would hate it if his question brought back bad memories, if it hurt Jack.

Finally, Jack replies, staring out through the windshield at the sun-baked street, “I guess-I guess I loved the army but I didn’t particularly like it.”

Mac frowns, looking at him. “I don’t follow,” he admits.

Jack shoots him a self-deprecating smile. “Look, we both know I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. I’m not dumb but I’ll never be as smart as you.”

Now Mac’s frown deepens. He hates it when Jack talks like that about himself because, yeah, sure, Jack might not know how to turn a cellphone into a bomb but he’s one of the wisest people Mac’s ever known, even though one needs to know Star Wars by heart to actually get his point most of the time. “That’s not true!” he protests.

But Jack shakes his head. “Hey, I’m not putting myself down, just stating the truth. Most people on this God given earth will never be as smart as you, kid, and I don’t mind joining the masses there. I’m your average Joe. I was a good football player but not good enough to make a career out of it. I got into college but I wasn’t smart enough to actually finish it.

“But I’m really good at this.” He pats his gun holster. “At fighting and shooting, kicking people’s asses… protecting them.” He gives Mac a meaningful look and Mac smiles. “So, you could say that I enlisted - that I chose this line of work - because of that. But... it was more than that.”

Mac turns in his seat a little to see Jack better. “Tell me,” he prompts.

Jack sighs and takes a moment before replying. “I love what the army stands for. And not just protecting my country, being a patriot and things like that. No. I love that it’s a home away from home. Your unit’s your family outside your family, you get me?” He glances at Mac.

But Mac… doesn’t, not really. Well, he does, in theory, but he’s always been more of a loner. Until he met Jack, that is, who chose Mac as his son slash little brother slash charge, basically his responsibility. And Mac loves him for it more than Jack will probably ever know, for giving Mac the sense of… security.

“So, yeah,” Jack continues. “I loved that about being in the army. But at the same time…” He shakes his head a little. “I hated being used as a-a hammer, sometimes without regard for collateral damage. I get it, it’s not easy to make decisions and give out orders, even from the safety of your office, but… to actually see the end result up front…

“So I left, after Iraq. And I joined the CIA, thinking that maybe it would suit me better, being able to make my own decisions in the field, as long as the mission was accomplished,” Jack says. “And, yeah, I got that. I was my own man, more or less. But at the same time, I couldn’t trust anyone, not even the people I was working with. Sure, there was Sarah. And Matty. But those were the exceptions. And I hate not being able to trust people, it eats me up on the inside.”

Mac nods. He knows that. Jack hates secrets and lies.

“And so I went back, thinking that maybe something changed, that it would be different, being in the army. Maybe my pa’s passing had something to do with it, too, I don’t know.” Jack pauses, then sighs. “But it wasn’t. Different, I mean.”

“Well, if the army disappointed you and the whole spy business, too, then why are you here? Working for the Foundation?” Mac asks.

Jack laughs quietly and thumps Mac on the thigh with his fist playfully. “Why? Because then you came along, you fool.”

“Me?” Mac says, a little surprised.

“Yeah, you,” Jack replies, still smiling. “Pale and skinny, with the nerdiest, most ridiculous name ever and I realized, I didn’t need the army. All I needed was to find the right people and stick with them.”

“So… I’m the ‘right people,’ then?” Mac asks with a small smile.

“You know you are, man,” Jack tells him, completely serious. “I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you. I would follow you anywhere. And you know why?”

Mac shakes his head a little.

Jack looks at him, hard. “Because I know you would never abuse it.”

Oh, Mac thinks, dropping his eyes. “Thanks,” he replies thickly because… what else could he say to that? Nothing would be adequate.

“Does that mean you won’t blow up the car stereo, after all?” Jack asks and when Mac looks up quickly, he sees Jack smirking mischievously.

“How--?” Mac stammers out in surprise.

Jack’s smile widens. “You do this-this thing with your face when you’re really annoyed, bordering on homicidal.”

“I do not!” Mac replies, affronted.

“Yes, you do. You always clench your jaw real tight and then this little vein you’ve got here” --Jack points-- “starts pulsing like crazy. Let me tell you, that’s not good for you, longterm. You’re lucky the Foundation has a good dental.” He nods sagely.

“That’s not-- I don’t do that!” Mac protests, huffing, and straightens up in his seat. Nonsense, this!

But Jack lifts his eyebrows and his head bobs. “Yes, you do, you so do! And you also--”

Luckily, their thief arrives soon after. But it doesn’t stop them from bickering all the way through the car chase and the apprehension of said criminal in a rather spectacular fashion at the local mall. It’s all quite flashy and unforgettable. Matty will be so pleased. Not.

And then, since they’re already there - though the mall’s looking rather worse for wear despite their best efforts - Mac gets Jack a new Willie Nelson CD because the old one got trashed together with their car. And Jack gets Mac a big box of paper clips.

Tomorrow, they’ll do it all over again. And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[rettungengel-blog]

“Vati, what’s that?” Bright blue eyes focused on the symbol embroidered on her father’s lab coat, pudgy fingers tracing the thread.

The child could feel her father laugh at her question, even as a five year old Angela was far more intelligent than anyone could have predicted. The man adjusted his glasses and shifted his daughter in his arms, “They stand for hope, mein kleine engel. It is with these wings that helps people such as me and Mütti help those that are need of saving, including you.” He explained, his free hand going to tickle the small girl in the stomach. The action caused a loud squeal from the child, laughing with her father.

“Help! I want wings to help, Vati!”

“You will fly the highest, Angela.”

---------------------------------------------

Eight Years Later

Angela sat by the fire with the two Lindholm siblings, as they listened to Uncle Reinhardt and their father recite old Nordic tales.Their mother, Adelina, had managed to pry Angela away from her studying to bring her to the family room for cocoa and stories. The girl, Katarina, waved her hands in the air wildly, “Pappa! Farbror Reinhardt! Tell the story about the Valkyries again!”

Her excitement caused Angela to let out a small laugh, pulling her legs closer to rest her chin on her knees. The boy, Wilhelm, let out a large, dramatic sigh and leaned against Angela with a bored expression on his face. “We heard that story last week, Rinny, I wanna hear another story ‘bout Loki!” He turned to look up at the older girl he was currently leaning against for some assistance, “Angie, isn’t Loki cooler than the Valkyries?” The boy’s pronunciation of the old female warrior title was a bit off, but he was only six. His question to Angela caused his sister to push him away and get closer to their god-sister.

“Nu-uh! Valkyries are so cooler! Right, Angie?” Her questioned caused her brother to push her in the same fashion she did to him. It ended with the two rolling around wrestling each other about which story was going to be more interesting. This left Angela to sit on the plush rug awkwardly, trying not to get bumped into from the rough housing.

Before Angela could answer, both of the men could be heard laughing at the children’s bickering. Adelina sighed, pulling the two apart and forcing them to sit on either side of the older girl, away from each other. “Do not worry my small friends, both stories are just as interesting!” The large man stated in his loud voice, “Torbjorn, my friend, should our Angie choose the story?”

Torbjorn acted like he was going to think about it, looking at his two pouting children before laughing once more, “She’s a more reasonable choice, eh?” He looked at his god-daughter with a large smile matching Reinhardt’s, “What do ye wanna hear, lass?”

Angela looked at both Wilhelm first before switching her gaze to Katarina, pressing her lips into a line in thought. Both were equally good stories, but her interest was always with the famous Valkyrie women. While she loved hearing about the gods, there was something about the female warriors that always fascinated her. It is possible that they reminded her of what her parents would always tell her, the values that they held and everything they taught her before they died. Torbjorn and Reinhardt told her of the stories of these amazing warriors that fought for the gods. She was more interested in what they did other than slaying heroes, which was carrying them to Valhalla, along with them being brave female warriors. It reminded her of the angels that her parents would always spoke to her about.

“Are there other stories about the Valkyries?” She asked shyly, earning a groan from Wilhelm. An apologetic smile was sent his way, he would end up forgiving her anyway after she made him some chocolate later.

Reinhardt laughed once more, reaching out to ruffle Angela’s hair. “I had a feeling you would pick that, meine Mädchen.”

Torbjorn opened the large book, “I got jus’ the story fer ya.” He laughed as Adelina nestled on the armrest her husband was sitting on. Meanwhile, Reinhardt had taken a seat on the floor with the children, bringing all three of them into his lap to lighten the mood before they all listened to the tale of Brynhild. Angela listened with rapt interest, hoping that she could someday become a Valkyrie-like woman when she became a doctor.

---------------------------------------------

Years Later

Overwatch has been her home for a couple of years now, spending the last of her teenage years with the organization. Through her time here, she has formed so many friendships, along with losing one or two along the way due to circumstance and unmatching views. It hurt, but it was through that experience that she was able to grow and create the Valkyrie suit. The armor had been a personal project for a few years, something for her to enjoy doing on the side when work was not overbearing. Now that it was finally finished, she could go out on missions as a field medic for the agents. Though she still had to go through all of the training that went with it.

“You sure ‘bout this, Ang? Field trainin’ aint easy.” The cowboy had been lounging in a chair while she tinkered with her Caduceus staff.

Angela laughed, lifting up the staff to inspect it before placing it back on the table to continue her tinkering, “I will be fine, Jesse. I’m not as delicate as people seem to think I am.”

Jesse let out a laugh, it was short, but sincere. “Never said you were, doc. ‘M just sayin’ that your skill on that pretty little pistol of yours should probably improve more if you wanna take that test.”

Her face scrunched into a scowl at his teasing. He wasn’t wrong, considering she was still having trouble controlling where she shot. While Gabriel and Jack got frustrated, Ana and Jesse found her lack of skill with her pistol hilarious. She knew that part of the test was to ensure that as a field medic, they were able to handle themselves in certain situations, handling a weapon being one of them. Jack and Gabriel stuck to teaching her how to defend herself physically, since they were both too frustrated with her lack of understanding with the weapons. She was getting her proper training to prepare for the test coming up within the next month or so. Angela could only hope that she would see improvement with her gun, despite really hating to have it on her in the first place.

“Well then, I will just have to practice harder.” She stated, her voice sounding as determined as she looked.

Jesse let out a snort, “Yeah, you’ll need a hell of a lot more than just practice with that aim of yours, sweetheart.”

Angela’s head snapped up, setting down her tools and walking over to the young man, tugging on his ear harshly. “Ow! Ain’t you suppose to be helpin’ people, not hurtin’ them?!” He yelled, rubbing where her hand had been previously.

“I tend to make an exception when they insult my skills.”

“Angela!”

------------------------------------------------

Zurich || Overwatch Headquarters

Everything was quiet, almost frightfully so. Gabriel and Jack have been at each other’s throats more than usual, and it was starting to become worse. Their arguments could be heard throughout the halls, and there was nobody who could stop them at this point. Overwatch was officially divided, there were many who sided with Jack, herself included, about the current situation, and then there were those who sided with Gabriel.

Angela wasn’t sure when Gabriel had begun to sink further and further into whatever was becoming of his thoughts. She still couldn’t believe that she was able to face him and say that she agreed with Jack, the look on his face and his reaction was one that she could not forget. Ties have been cut with a lot of people, and then there were those who had left already. Angela regrets not following her friends’ footsteps in getting away from this place, she could have easily left to go to a different research facility. With everything that was going on, she could hardly do much of her own research any more.

Things were becoming a mess as the days went on, with pressure from the UN to do something, along with the public’s horrible criticisms about their organization. Thankfully, her hospital that she was collaborating with to build with other doctors was finally finished. She has already begun to move her things to the new facility, and has been living in her own apartment in the city for the past year now. The transition to leave Overwatch will finally happen once she turns in her resignation papers to Jack and Ana today.

It took a lot of thought, since in the beginning when the hospital was approved for building, she had planned to spend half of her weeks there and the other half back at the Zurich headquarters to continue her research. However, now that Overwatch was undergoing rigorous scrutiny, it would be easier for her to cut all ties now so that she won’t be caught in the crossfire anymore. Angela has worked hard to get where she is today, and she was not going to let all of that be tarnished because of how the public views the organization she is currently associated with. She had talked it out with a few people, getting opinions on what she should do and how she should go about it. All of them were sad to see her want to leave, but all understood why. Reinhardt had told her that it was best she followed what her gut was telling her and not to regret her decision.

With that in mind and the file clutched in her arms, she walked the corridor that lead to Jack’s office. It felt long and excruciating, but she kept telling herself that this was for the best. She could still be in contact with all of her friends that remained in Overwatch, and she would be a lot happier to not be surrounded with constant conflict.

When she had reached Jack’s office door, all she could do was stand and stare at it for a moment, as if contemplating if she was really going to go through with her decision. However, she shook off the contemplation, knowing that this was the best choice for her and knocked on the door. After waiting for about a minute or so, she knocked again before trying the doorknob to see if it was unlocked. Oddly enough, it wasn’t. Angela opened the door, expecting to see Jack immersed in paperwork, but upon setting foot in the office, she realized that there was no one in sight. “Jack? Are you here?” She asked, looking around, as if maybe he had been hiding.

After there was no answer and it was very clear that he was not there, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Perhaps he was in another meeting with the board of directors, there had been a lot of those since the public began to verbally attack Overwatch. “I suppose...I will have to come another day.” She stated with a sigh. Honestly, she had worked herself up for this confrontation and there was no one in sight that she could speak to about this.

File still in hand, she walked out of Jack’s office, closing the door behind her. She still had a lot of things to rearrange back home and she had a few messages that she needed to reply to on her home computer. Perhaps she could do that to ease her mind off of things.

As she was walking towards the exit of the building, Angela saw Reinhardt waiting for her near the doors. She completely forgot that she had asked that he wait for her, just in case she needed some emotional support. The large man smiled and walked over to her, patting her shoulder as gently as he could, “Little engel! How did the meeting go with Jack?”

Angela could only sigh and shake her head, “He was not in his office. I will have to wait until tomorrow to give him my papers.”

Reinhardt gave the young woman an apologetic smile, “Jack is a busy man these days, but don’t worry too much, my friend. He’ll be here tomorrow, I am sure of it!” He began to lead her towards the exit, going through the clear, glass doors. “Now, what’s say we go eat at our favorite restaurant! Swiss beer is not as good as German, but the food is delicious!”

A laugh came out of the doctor, shaking her head, “Well I’m sure we can find you a good drink somewhere in the city.”

They continued down the walkway, doing small talk and reminiscing as they headed towards the gates. They waved to people who were either on their way in or leaving just like they were as they continued walking. Not even halfway from headquarters, the ground had begun to rumble below their feet. Both Angela and Reinhardt stopped, neither wanting to say what they thought could be the source of the sound before looking behind them to see smoke. “What was-”

“Get down!”

Before she knew what was happening, Reinhardt’s large arm brought her to the ground and there were sounds of large explosions coming from headquarters. The aftershocks brought them flat on the ground, debris and dirt flying everywhere. Angela’s ears had begun to ring from the explosions, only able to faintly hear the sound of people screaming around her. Began to cough from the dust she was breathing in, pulling up her turtleneck to cover her nose and mouth. She looked at Reinhardt to make sure he was okay and saw that he was doing the same thing with a handkerchief.

Angela turned her head around to look at the building that held all of their friends, only to see smoke and fire coming from the wreckage of what they once called home. Only one thing ran through her mind as her muffled hearing picked up the sounds of what she could only guess were Swiss emergency sirens: she had go save her friends.

---------------------------------

Three weeks later

After all of the investigations and interrogations, the former members of Overwatch were finally able to lay the three founders to rest. It was a long and tedious process, Angela had demanded to be the one to do the autopsy on all of them. She had to have closure to know that they were all gone. She had to help everyone have closure that the people that they once considered family were all dead, but the UN denied every request that she put in.

The days began to blur between all of the questions that she was asked by either the UN or investigation services. They had taken a majority of her research that she had done with Overwatch, only allowing her to keep everything that was publicly known in the medical community, which thankfully included her Valkyrie suit and instruments. Angela was sure that the only reason she was able to keep some of her research was from her connections in the UN and having diplomatic immunity. The UN still wanted all of her personal files that she kept on all of the agents and hospitals that she ran for the organization. It was an issue that was still being refuted by some of the prime ministers, but her colleges all told her to just hand them over willingly so that there would be less legal work. It was still too much to handle at the moment for her to make a cognitive decision on the matter.

The numbness had yet to go away and she has barely spoken a word to anyone since the explosion at headquarters. Everyone was dealing with the loss differently, Angela had tried to go on like normal, but she couldn’t bring herself to go about her life as if nothing happened. So many people she was used to seeing were no long here, they would never have lunch in the cafeteria together, or have briefings on their next missions, or go to holiday parties together…

(She failed.)

It was as if her parents had been taken from her all over again. Except now she was an adult, and she felt as if she could have done more to save the people that were lost. The bodies that were pulled from the wreckage still haunted her, black tarps covering them as they were lined up for identification. She was only able to do so much before officials dragged her off the site to get checked for wounds and later to be interrogated.

Angela had managed to keep a level head during all of her interviews following the interrogation. She told the truth and what she knew of what had been going on before the events that lead to the explosion. It was a fight to keep her thoughts together when they had started asking about Gabriel and Jack, more specifically if she thought Gabriel was capable of bringing down Overwatch. It was hard to keep him in a good light when they kept bringing up his questionable means of leading Blackwatch. She was able to get out of most of the questions concerning that, thankfully, since she was not a trained Blackwatch operative.

(There was nothing that I could have done to stop them. To stop him.)

It was after all of the legal matters when the main members had come together to talk about what should be done in terms of funeral services for the founders. Angela could hardly recall what they spoke about, only remembering that they had all come to a quick agreement to keep the funeral private for the sake of avoiding the crowds and press. The UN would not allow them to have an open casket, saying that their bodies were beyond being able to even remotely touch up for a wake. Everything surrounding the founders didn’t seem right, but nobody was able to argue much considering the positions they were all in.

Despite the funeral being held yesterday, Angela was still her her black clothes, unable to sleep. Many condolences were given to everyone and there were many tears shed by their friends. For some reason, Angela couldn’t find it in herself to actually cry during the service. She had given a few sad smiles, but her face remained sullen. Everyone just figured that she was mourning in her own way, but in reality, Angela’s mind was elsewhere. It was almost too surreal for her, she kept getting flashbacks to when she was young and standing in the front at her parents funeral. It was as if she were both in the past and present at the same time. Nobody could really seem to snap her out of this mental state of being she was in.

(I couldn’t save my parents, and I couldn’t save my friends.)

Her eyes stared out the window, the weather changing to a gloomy rain after the sun shining yesterday. She had moved from staring at her ceiling in bed to sitting on the cushions of her bay window, not bothering to make herself anything to eat since she hasn’t felt hungry since before the funeral. Angela could only guess that she had been staring out at the city for a few hours now, thinking that maybe she should finally clean up all of the files that were scattered and the pictures that she had dug out for the sake of the memorial services.

Slowly, she got up from the seat and began to numbly walk over towards the table where everything was laid out. The moment that she reached her destination, something dropped in her stomach as she stared at the pictures that were taken outside of the albums. Photo by photo, she picked them up, staring at them as nostalgia took over and a sad smile had appeared on her face once more. However, after only one stack, her smile turned bitter as her eyes kept going back to the files and reports from the explosion that were next to the scattered pictures. It was as if they were taunting her, reminding her that some of the people in these pictures no longer were able to be photographed again. She wanted it to stop, wanted the faces in the pictures to stop haunting her, wanted the reports to never be read again, wanted to stop being reminded of the people that she failed.

(Just make it all stop.)

Her eyes wandered to the fireplace that came with her apartment, one of the few in the building since she was on the top floor. She walked over to the kitchen area, rummaging through a drawer before finding a candlestick and grabbed the files off of the table. Sitting in front of the empty fireplace, she took out a match and struck it, holding it up to the candle to light it before snuffing the match out. Angela then grabbed the first file, holding it up to the flame, and watched as it began to burn. She threw the burning file into her fireplace and began to repeat the process with each file that she had on the case.

(This was a mistake.)

Somewhere in between lighting the files, she had been fighting off tears that had finally decided to appear. Sniffling after the final file was in the fireplace burning, she grabbed a few small logs and put them in, trying to get a bigger fire started. Surprisingly, there was enough kindling from the burning files to get one going. The tears had finally begun to fall not long after listening to the crackling of the fire. The hurt was still there, burning the files solved nothing. She had to find a way to get rid of it permanently. There had to be a means to make it go away, make her forget everything, forget Overwatch.

Angela sat there watching the files burn, a new emotion bubbling in her gut. She quickly stood up and took every stray file she had from Overwatch, everything that she took from her office before the explosion in order to move to her new facility. She put everything that she had from Overwatch, regardless of how important it was to her, into the fire. All of the unpublished findings that she had made, all of the work she had accomplished. She had to erase herself from Overwatch. Nobody could know what she had done.

(It all had to burn.)

It was all a mistake. Joining was a mistake. Creating those friendships hurt her more than it should have been worth. She was young and naive to think anything could last in an institution such as Overwatch. Being with Overwatch made her feel invincible, when she was clearly getting too close to the sun, and it burned everything she loved, herself included.

After the files were thrown into the fire, she erased anything and everything related to Overwatch on her computer, including everything on her Valkyrie suit. Making sure that none of it could be found by anyone unless they went to great lengths to find it. UN be damned, she didn’t care.

(They don’t get to know what I’ve done.)

Without hesitation, she got up and went over to the table where the loose pictures from the albums were still scattered. A sob ripped from her throat as she looked at all of the memories that she made. All of the people she had met and gotten close to. It was as if ghosts were staring back at her in a great deal of them. They varied from occasion to occasion, some were taken at random moments, others were taken during special events. Regardless of who was alive or not who were in those pictures, the pain had doubled when she looked at them. Whether it be one of her and Jesse after her first mission in the Valkyrie suit, or of Jack and Gabriel in horribly ugly sweaters with Winston and Lena laughing in the background, it was too much.

Her eyes began to blur from the steady stream of tears that had begun to fall, her sobs becoming more and more frequent as she tried to regulate her breathing. It was no use at this point, her emotions finally running its course after all of the events that happened in the past three weeks. She couldn’t take the pictures mocking her anymore.

(I failed, I’m a failure. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me!)

Angela gathered the pictures sloppily and haphazardly threw them into the fire, not really caring if some of them just fluttered elsewhere that wasn’t in front of her. She didn’t want any of those now painful memories anymore. She couldn’t stand any of them.

It wasn’t until she ended up in front of the case that held her Valkyrie suit in it did she actually get a look at herself. The reflection showed a woman with disheveled hair, dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks wet from the tears that were still streaming on her face. She looked beyond pathetic. Her eyes began to focus more on the suit that was inside the case, one that she was supposed to have used to help people. It was meant to be something that could help her save more lives with more immediate medical response. It was supposed to make her feel like one of those Nordic legends when she flew in with her wings to attend to the people that needed her. In the end, she failed to do any of that when it mattered the most.

(It was a mistake.)

Angela closed her eyes, the sobs wracking her body more frequently, “I-I’m sorry…” She whispered, her voice hoarse. “I’m s-s-so sor-ry…”

Her legs finally gave out from under her, using the case to guide her to the ground where she continued to lean against it and sob. She kept repeating “I’m sorry” over and over, as if there were people there to listen to her apologies.

(Overwatch was a mistake.)

-----------------------------------------

Two years after the events at Zurich, Dr. Angela Ziegler decided that she was going to be traveling to war torn cities who needed volunteer doctors, only to be in contact with her close friends.

[gsmatthews95]

Oz: a recap

The time has come. It has been ten months in waiting but it had to come. It is with a slight twinge of sadness but an overpowering sense of excitement and happiness that I am leaving Australia on my way to Singapore. Which  is actually pretty ideal because I have a nice long 9 hour layover. There are very few occasions I would describe a 9 hour layover as "ideal" but this is one of them. Such a cool city. So much to do and see. And, apparently, it isn't even too big. So I'm hoping I should be able to DO/COMPLETE Singapore in a nice six hour stint, tick it off my list, add another pin to the map and tell everyone about how I've now basically completed Asia. Sick eh?. A wee bit more background before I delve into the meat of this potentially juicy post which I think I will compare to a fat fillet steak by comparison to the rest of my posts that I would say are more like coles BBQ sausages, 24 for $8... good value but not much substance. A good reference I reckon. So I'm currently on my flight. It is maybe 9am Aussie time and I am awake, not that tired, with very little to do in this flight as I went for the lost budget option (still pretty expenny). You have to pay 11 bucks for films, Ye right. Go do one scoot airlines. Urgh, absolute scandal for a 7 hour flight. No worries however. Gives me ample time to write an absolute Goliath of a blog post. Okay seriously guys stop cheering. It's distracting me and my brain flow you have to pay for food and entertainment. Not good. However, the there are two upsides to this flight with nothing to do, firstly it allows me to blog blog blog and the other upside of this prehistoric flight comfort is that it gives me a chance to register to Stephen Hawkins "a  brief history of time", what a bangin audiobook. Well bloody confusing but I feel cleverer listening to it. Although in the last nine months I have forgotten the vast, vast majority of it. All the better it's like a new book. I'm now not that excited however about my connecting flight to Berlin. 14 hours. 13 hours of no films, just sleep, urgh lame. I may find some more wee audiobooks. I'll tell you what, I may get the game Of thrones ones. They'd be immense, especially as I'm now a proper game of thrones loser (read loser as legend/fanatic).

This is what I mean, I have so much time to ramble this piece is gonna drag. Oo I have an idea. As I didn't have this blog for the majority of the trip should I go back and wrote posts for them? Hmmmm, that does kinda defeat the point of the blog though. I don't think I'll do that. the other nagging question is whether I carry on the blog for the next 3 months as I galavant around Europe. I think I should. You're welcome guys. I love you all too. Also sick that I'm using my British passport to its full extent before we F off out of Europe as part of brexit. Wooo freedom of movement. Cosmopolitan ideals, something we should probs all strive for as much as possible. However, I do think we probs made the right decision leaving the EU as most people who have spoken to me about it will know. This post is not about my political views however. Otherwise it would not be called holidaying. Maybe something like #Jezza4PM would be a better name for it if I were to become a political blogger slash activist. But I digress.

So as many of you may have gauged from speaking to me, reading this blog or merely by observing my Facebook presence. I have had an immense time. Even though my article about the ups and downs of travelling may have seemed a bit depressing, I can safely say the last ten months, yes that ten months, a long time, have been smashing. I am currently conflicted, in poor stylistic technique I have embarked upon this post without a plan. And now I am at a crossroads. Do I continue chronologically or thematically? I think I will stay true to convincing writing styles and go thematically. Let's push the boat out he he. Ok ok ok so I'll start with my hostels. I believe I do want to talk about them a little bit first.  To start, I have been in lots. Off the top of my head in Sydney alone I was in 7 separate hostels. Many for a week as I was forced to move because of the price increase, my bed being sold, being chucked out etc. But 3 main ones. Firstly, hump. What to say about this place. A mad house, a good outside smoking area, a room that stays open all night and a lot of sound people who I've seen since leaving Sydney too. One jack gawthorpe, I've seen in four separate places (who's stalking who...). My month or so there was heavy. There was always something going on, I have very fond memories. Secondly, dury house. As described by James, my friend who I took there one night: "that was literally a crack den". Yes James, but it was our crack den. With the roof that never closed and the never ending session, there was always something going on, whether it be 11am on a Sunday morning or 4am on a Friday night. And again some belter people, who again I've seen down the east coast. Thirdly, finally, and ultimately we had the palms. What a place. What a time. November-December 2017. The palms glory days. Clean hostel, nice kitchen, comfy beds, sound people, like a giant sharehouse it had the intimate feel that you knew everyone but was big enough to still be lots of fun. The palms massive made my first xmas away from home so fun and so comforting. Never forget. Loved everyone there, except dan obvs, I hate dan. Everyone else though, I love you. And the hostel. I'll give a quick shout out to bev and micks in Melbourne. Small, intimate, cosy and friendly. Not that exciting or fun but enjoyable for my three weeks. Plus it was the cheapest place around. However, barossa backpackers. Dirty, smelly, small, tiny kitchen, leaky fridges, small room, had to pay for wifi and in the middle of nowhere. Pretty crap hostel tbh. But as I was there for some time, working with and living with everyone. I had an unreal time. Even working in a potato factory. So much fun cause you're constantly with you're mates and chilling, I won't forget those few months in barossa. The hostels down the east coast were nice. Big and nice but with my motivation waiting and the fact that I was staying at each place for a few days I didn't really form much of a bond with many of them. The hostel is key to your experience. Regardless how long you are in a place for but especially if it's for the long term. And overall I think I did well with a only a few mistakes.

Work. Ok so work never went quite as I'd hoped before I came out to Australia. Maybe I was naive, maybe I just wasn't made for call centres. My one regret actually was not going in to construction in Sydney, making lots of money, doing easy work and finishing at 3:30 each day. I then could have done it all over oz as I'd have had experience and wouldn't have had to do some of my crap jobs. We live and learn, one of my bigger regrets I'd say. No hassle though, all has worked out well and I haven't been too low on money. But yes call centres and cold calling, not the job for me. Neither as it turns out is face to face fundraising. What I have learnt though is that there is no worse job than those and I now have sympathy for those doing it, I have the knowledge that I will never work in a job like that again and it has now given me a great  appreciation of any job that isn't that. Which was one reason I think I enjoyed the potatoes so much. Mainly because it was so easy and so much less depressing than my other jobs. Everyone constantly complained, I just smiled and said it could be worse. People said the job would break me. It never did. Smashing job, smashing people, smashing time. The worst of all these jobs though was the charity fundraising, I knew it would be but I just wanted 2-3 weeks work and it paid well. I lasted 1 week. Never again. The best job. Easy. Grape picking and wine making. It was so sick. I got a lot of hours, lots of free wine and food and learnt to make wine in the sun. Dream job. I even have a wine named after me, I'm gonna get a case delivered home of the 2018 vintage GSM lol. But that's enough about work after all it is a work holiday visa.

This part will be harder to split up do I discuss  specific experiences? Or parts of the journey. Oo I have an idea. Animals. I have devoted a few pieces to various animals but I haven't spoken about all of them. There are two that I will leave out though as they deserve their own piece. Australia, famous for its diverse and unique wildlife and I think I've done well in seeing a lot of it. And I got selfies with lots of them. Firstly I have fed and patted wild kangaroos and wallabies. So cute, they love carrots btw, not apples so much. One of the wallabies even had a tiny Joey in its pouch. Too much for my heart. They're great I loved em both. Then came the quokka. As many of you may have seen by my  Valentine's Day post devoted to this one. They are like giant rodents. Although they're not giant, and they're actually cute. I dunno how to describe them actually just look at my photo, well adorable. I will now move on to the dangerous segment of the list of animals, cause, as we all know, that's what oz is most famous for. Firstly, the red back spider, v venomous. Hannah (friend not sister) almost died as she entered his layer/graveyard and only just escaped with her life. I have also seen three wild snakes, woohoo. That was a real target. The python in the kitchen and the two cuties slithering across the path in Lichfield national park and the twelve (4) apostles. Now. The personal favourite. The crocs. There have been lots of crocs, none completely in the wild without a tour guide sadly, but the jumping crocs were wild and were damn sick. I even have a croc tooth necklace (sorry axel, Brutus and dominator). The one animal conspicuous by its absence I haven't seen though, sadly, a shark. Waaaaa I should have gone shark cage diving, ah it was too expensive anyway. I think I'll carry on with my sea critters vibe now for a few more. Next was the manta. MANTA MANTA MANTA. I saw lots in Indonesia but another at whitsundays. So big, graceful and noble. I love them, as everyone does, they're god personified in an animal I reckon.  I would like to be a manta ray. Next up dolphins. Not many and both times I saw them from a cliff. Not overly exciting mainly because I have been spoilt in the past both in cornwall And in the SAN blas when they swam with our boat, so very nice. My final sea dweller. Whales. Lots of humpbacks as I said in my Fraser Island piece. They are awesome, so big and majestic and loving. I would also like to be a whale. Sue me. I saw lots of camels too, they're funny I like camels teehee and dingos, they're so cute, not scary. I would like to chat to a dingo and befriend him. I love dingos. I think however, my proudest find and subsequent selfie was with the koalas. We found 8 on magnetic island. One barely 8 foot away. Perfect for a selfie. And I snapped it yay. They're such chillers too, I love koalas. I love animals actually. I also miss Rolland, I love you too Rolland!!!

So as to stop myself writing another dissertation I may make this the final para. And I'm going to try and be concise. My favourite moments. I won't describe them much but merely mention them. There's a variety of reasons why a moment could have been so great. Maybe where I was, what I was doing, who I was with. Who knows? Maybe I just felt at peace and the world felt right for a moment. Deep. And I'm not talking about every moment I sat down with a full box of goon. Ok ok seriously. The hump boat party. Both 1 and 2. Unreal, a boat party in the Sydney harbour, beers, mates, opera house, swimming, tunes, I won't ever forget those two days. My first moment seeing the extent of the blue mountains at the end of the garden of the nbb Jill and Richard had so kindly rented for us. A little ten minute walk and you were on the edge of the crator with the blue trees stretching out, I reckon I spent a couple of hours just sat there over the three days, peaceful. Sash, pretty much every sash, but one in particular when I'm pretty sure everyone I knew in Sydney was there. It was sunny and we boogied. I was having so much fun several separate people came and asked me if I sold drugs cause I was so deliriously happy. Oo also the sash it rained that was unreal, dancing in the rain with the boys, never forget. Two more from Sydney. The beach party, amazing. One of the best, if not the best day of my life. Music and goon on the beach, swimming as the sun set over the harbour bridge, so wicked. And finally xmas day. Singing for the Aussie prime minister with a broken voice having lost it the night before was something I will NEVER ever forget especially as I have the video of it all ahahahaha. We move on to mine and Hannis road trip. My first thought. The pinnacles. The pinnacles were sick, so random just a load of pointy rocks in the ground. I doubt two people have ever been so excited in one place. So funny. Also actually hannah, all of our carpool karaokes. They made your company bearable. Completing the 8km hike in kalbari was also a good moment as it was 30+ degrees and we had about two litres of water between us, stupid English. But we did it, I'm proud. Finally hanni, 100% when we chilled with Roos in morriset park for hours after Jill and richard basically laughed us down for going, v funny. A good afternoon. Days of our lives festival. Awesome, what a send off from Sydney. Dury house you did yourselves and me proud, cheers for convincing me to go xoxoxo. The whole outback trip was awesome, if I picked a few moments though... I reckon the first proper big fire was a great moment, and sorting out the car light that we couldn't turn off meaning we didn't have to take the fuse out every time we stopped the car, sheer happiness. Also getting in to alice springs. This may seem weird but I cannot explain how touchy everyone was, we needed food, civilisation, electricity, a shower and some goon. We got all of the above and spirits were restored. Also the natural springs were amazing. So beautiful, completely free and refreshing. Darwin, croc diving, easy, it was unreal. Spotting the koalas on magnetic island obvs was memorable. I want to pick some moments from Fraser but it was all so fun. If I had to pick a few though, I'd say the horse racing on the second night united everyone, we were all so into it and the crumbed sausage obvs haha. I have missed things out but when I look back on oz these are the things I feel stand out as specific moments but like I've said before travelling isn't just about the moments (sorry Alina) but the whole experience, what you feel and who you meet.

What a holiday. I am content with my time in oz. if I came back I'd change things but I'm happy just the way they went. It's been sick. Stay posted I have one more oz piece before we move to EUROPE yahoooooooo. This piece has literally killed at least two hours of my flight maybe even three. I have been very engrossed aha. But back to mr hawking for me. G.

[ulyssesredux]

Aeolous

VIRGILIAN, GREEN GEM OF A COLLISION ENSUES.

A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words had reference to himself, and feeling obliged to look so, and I'll take it round to hear, their white papers fluttering. I never said I had been disputed, and though Fred had risen as she rose; if you will alter.

―—I see … Right.

―—You're looking extra.

Not at all, and that look of hers was very dear to him, repeating, I suppose.

―A bit nervy.

THE WEARER OF HIGH MORALE.

Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. Notions and scruples were like spilt needles, making one afraid of treading, or sitting down, peeping at the young scamps after him.

ANNE WIMBLES, BELIEF.

The inner door. -The divine afflatus, Mr Dedalus cried, running to the youth of Ireland a moment, professor MacHugh said.

―-Help! —The Rose of Castile.

―A sofa in a curt tone. I don't mean for a fresh of breath air!

We haven't got the chance of a Hereafter. —They were nature's gentlemen, had spoken at any period but for this very paper, the opal hush poets: A.E. the mastermystic?

Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Mr Bloom said, elderly and pious, have lived fifty and fiftythree years in Fumbally's lane.

―Who the deuce scrawled all over those walls with matches?

―Magennis thinks you must have Thought; else we shall always want talent in the fire.

―—Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said. He began to turn round on the cadge beyond.

K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE SILVER SEA.

Farebrother, said Mr. Featherstone was in his trade.

―

Eh? Now if he were bitterer against others or against himself. Fly, I know. —'Twas rank and income. There is somebody I am ashamed of entertaining it. Though she is just going to roll them up on the others and never to have to ride a broken-winded hunter, and she spoke with Mr Keyes just now. Kyrie!

―—If Bloom were here, the foreman said. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

Twentyeight double four. He began to paw the tissues on to the Telegraph office. Who the deuce scrawled all over those walls with matches? I could not love a man to do?

Same as Citron's house. Doing its level best to speak of making me a good pattern of a peeled pear under a cemetery wall. Yes, yes.

―Professor MacHugh asked, looking towards the Freeman's Journal.

―And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Dedalus said, waving his arm. The yoke of life, had the foot and mouth.

Where's Monks? Bullockbefriending bard. You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy: One of the inner office.

But Rosamond was expecting to have fallen in love with him.

RHYMES AND REASONS.

―Red Murray's long shears sliced out the soap I put there.

Where it took place. I will bid you good morning.

I'm just running round to hear any more of the land of promise.

―

Arm in arm.

―The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said, the soap I put there.

I am reading the Agricultural Chemistry. I am reading that of a magistrate's mind fell too noticeably. He was not even one shorthandwriter in the parlour. How do you find a pressman like that.

Mr Dedalus said, going out. Not of the sheet and made a last attempt to fetter you, Ladislaw; we shall make no difficulty about your marrying any Lowick bachelor—Mr. Solomon Featherstone, who had started up and back.

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON THE GREAT GALLAHER.

-Like that, Simon Dedalus says. You take money like a heavy friend whom we have also Roman law. I told councillor Nannetti from the case. His manners, she had ever promised? This ad, Mr Bloom said, going. Nature notes. Cuprani too, Stephen, the dayfather. If Mary said she would have preferred being free to turn back the galleypage suddenly, saying: A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said. Yes, I know. Well, he threw down the typescript. Practice makes perfect.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP.

Has Mr. Casaubon would have been asked to do with him, they say.

Thumping. LINKS WITH BYGONE DAYS OF YORE—What's that? -He wants two keys at the young scamps after him. Davy Stephens, minute in a low voice. O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. -The-Goat. That'll do, said Mary; you have got more ideas into its head. That depends on how you fix your standard of public spirit. Said uncontradicted. Dominus! Fred, I'm Adam. Sceptre with O. Wife a good cure for flatulence? -They went under. His unglazed linen collar appeared behind his ear, we only get farther and farther into the world. Practice makes perfect. A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the subject as you wish. -Look at here, said Lydgate, inclined to follow his father's wishes and enter the Church. Quite right, Ladislaw: they only want a man who supports their claims; not the less so, and doing as other men do, professor MacHugh said. They tell me to marry me. Cabled right away. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. He led the way those newspaper men veer about when they do no worse. Our Saviour? Motives are points of honor, I think it if any one ever pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of pre-matrimonial acquaintanceship? When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor at the turnstile and begin to get some wind off my chest first.

Mr Bloom said. He's pretty well on, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park! Ned Lambert's quizzing face, asked of it: that stony effigy in frozen music, his brow. It's worth no money! It is amusing to cherubs.

―Mr Dedalus said, flinging his cigarette aside, chuckling with delight.

They buy one and seven in coppers. Akasic records.

Lenehan. And she has set her mind of any importance to Mr. Casaubon is so difficult that he had made, saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown.

―He wrote a book open on the whose.

I may say, down there at Butt bridge.

―The example, as if her nerves were quivering with the rustling tissues.

―M.A.P. Can you?

―It has the prophetic vision. Vestal virgins.

―-Freeman! Putting back his handkerchief to dab his nose.

I think she is, Red Murray whispered.

It was usual with him. Lord Jesus? -Mortification.

HOUSE OF OAKLANDS, GREEN GEM OF THE POINT.

Very much so, Camden, is it?

―… Right. I'll tell you, you remember? Why not?

Briefly, as the authority which told you what he wants.

―This morning the remains of the matinée.

RETURN OF BLOOM—from—It was in that light.

―I want you to write something for me no more. Let there be life. Law, the Saturday pink. I see it published.

Fitzharris. -Begone! A man's mind—what I. —Paris, past and present, he said. A or Z.

She was now in cold print but it was his fondness for another person also that made you begin to study for law or physic now, eh?

―—Throw him out and shut the door and, with contemptuous decision.

See his phiz then.

Silly, isn't it? So I could understand a little fellow-feeling there, you can do it. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be. J.J. O'Molloy resumed, moulding his words deftly into the office behind, parting the vent of his discourse. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. North Cork militia!

Our old ancient ancestors, as at some dangerous countenancing of new doctrine.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―Bladderbags. Nature notes. He has no room for your uncle. The machines clanked in threefour time. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Poor Rosy!

—They want to be shut.

―There! A sudden—That's it, let me just touch a point. 'Tis the hour against institutions which had the better motives or even eating. —The moot point is did he say?

But you won't get much by his withering hair.

―Ned Lambert pleaded. Remember that time? —Well, he said. —I see them. What about that leader this evening! I have little leisure for such literature just now.

Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see, the foreman said. Cartoons. Mouth, south.

―Myles Crawford. Farebrother paused a moment, professor MacHugh said.

―Right. I'm ready to endure a great favor of you, sir. We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will you jews not accept him. Don't you forget that! And that made you begin to waddle slowly up the gage. J.J. O'Molloy said, waving the cigarettecase aside. Hynes said. -What was their civilisation? That'll be all right.

They want to quarrel with me.

―—And settle down on the sheet silently over the crossblind at the top. Sllt.

Three bob I lent him in the language of the spirit, not exactly. Reaping the whirlwind. Will you tell him, they say, down there too, Mr Bloom said.

Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. Want to be sure, for a moment of trouble. Damp night reeking of hungry dough. —History! Something for you. -I'll answer it, one after the burning of the last zigzagging white on the brewery float. The moon, professor MacHugh cried from the lips of Seymour Bushe.

Daughter engaged to that chap in the porches of mine ear did pour. Lenehan said. And poor Gumley is down there too. What did he say about me. They see the Joe Miller. Let it alone! Psha!

The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of the people is growing. To where? The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton. I do, though you had some heart-prickings on that plan? Miles of it unreeled. Inspiration of genius. I like you better than anything to do so, perhaps, because I want to cut a figure in the Star.

RHYMES AND REASONS.

—Would come to look serious.

―Next year in Jerusalem. I mean that you came up-stairs. Nile. -He can kiss my arse?

All his brains are in the Star.

―—Madam, I'm Adam. —Mm, Mr Bloom asked.

―Citronlemon? —Drink!

―

Will. -Yes, I don't mean for a drink.

―Daughter engaged to that chap in the porches of mine ear did pour.

―

―He said.

Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. —He is sitting with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford said. Fuit Ilium! K is Knockmaroon gate. He kills the cat. Weathercocks.

VIRGILIAN, CENTRAL!

La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace. He declaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh said in quiet mockery. I will tell you. Evening Telegraph here … Hello? That's saint Augustine. Pyrrhus! -That's new, Myles Crawford said, only for gentility's sake, Ned Lambert tossed the tissues on to a typesetter. He longed to get in. If Bloom were here, Mr Bloom phoned from the stable.

-Madam, I'm Adam. Waverley was new to Flora MacIvor; but then he seems to me. -And-Judy drama with some, I am not fit for that, the professor said, going. Where's Monks? I mean about my going into electrifying your land and that may relieve you on that plan? Miles of ears of porches. Innuendo of home rule. Myles Crawford appeared on the shoulder. -Pocus. Better phone him up, whenever you have got over one bridge now: when I think I do not believe for there was not born to very splendid chances. He raised his head and bowed his head, soiled by his withering hair. Lenehan added. Well, you see. Mr Bloom said, rumour has it, Stephen said. -Waiting for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy. -He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, No. Let Gumley mind the stones, see. -Drink! That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the Pioneer was tending to confirm the notions of his discourse. Stephen asked. He's good enough to deliver him from a peg, Fred went up to the running stream.

Pop in a master of forensic eloquence like Whiteside? By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man. -Is he taking anything for it. -Who? The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. —Why will you? Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the-Goat, Mr Dedalus said. Something for you, J.J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked abreast.

A STREET CORTEGE.

—Throw him out perhaps. Sober serious man with a little theory: we have to imagine that you will not. Ah, listen to Mr. Farebrother paused a moment, Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk. I saw it would have wise opinions about everything. He wants two keys at the same breath.

He began: Who? O, my dear, said Fred, with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of the old ones too, the press. Two and three in silver and one and fourpenceworth of brawn and the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the youth of Ireland a moment to correct your judgment. No. I ever saw.

Kyrios! Professor MacHugh said. That very day Mr. Farebrother paused a moment. J.J. O'Molloy said gently. You look like communards. … —Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, of the rug was Lydgate's.

Whose mother is beastly dead. I think. Vestal virgins. Saving princes is a good while ago to collect documents. It was Pat Farrell shoved me, said Dorothea.

I have money.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP.

―You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have also Roman law.

A woman brought sin into the Church under the shadow of a pain in Mr. Farebrother's, however, after all.

―Well, he was given to poetic metres or mediaevalism.

A people sheltered within his voice above it boldly: Help!

―Lenehan gave a sudden loud young laugh as a reason for being grateful to you for the principle of Reform. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. Taking off his flat spaugs and the Freeman's Journal. The bell, and that considering the nature of such a friend to both of us.

―Where are the fat.

Demesne situate in the draught, floated softly in the Telegraph office.

―C is where murder took place. You know Gerald Fitzgibbon. -Ay.

―It passed statelily up the winding staircase, steered by an oracle, made her feel suddenly miserable, as Wilberforce did, and Celia thought so.

―—That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the symmetry with a bite in it. Go on.

He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret: Then I'll get the plums out of Prince's stores.

I can, said good Sir James. It seemed to look a gift-horse in the 'Pioneer. He ceased and looked at them, saying: In Ohio! Professor MacHugh turned on him. The butcher and he studied the political situation with as ardent an interest as he ran: But my riddle! —Good day, sir. True, he added, To speak quite plainly, Fred, you know. Are you ready? In the beginning of dinner, the lex talionis. So on. The world and with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford said more calmly. We won every time. That is nonsense, Fred! Sceptre with O. A.E. the mastermystic?

―Shapely bathers on golden strand.

―Myles? And let our crooked smokes.

―Hynes said moving off. We are liege subjects of the cloud by day.

A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

―-The-Goat drove the car. -The Rose of Castile.

―I'd like that part. He's in his sanctum with Lenehan.

―You can do that?

―And here comes the sham squire himself! -If you want to phone.

Careless chap.

―To which particular boosing shed?

It was Ladislaw who was a nice old bag of plums between them and eat the plums?

―—Wait a minute to phone.

The same breath.

―I feel a strong weakness.

―A perfect cretic!

―-Ha. What's up?

―The name.

―Who have you the brawn.

―Let me see. -Player.

Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month.

A broken-winded hunter, and was not to expect it. It is too hard. -I saw you on Saturday cantering over the crossblind. -We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr Bloom said. Merely that I go with him. Where's the archbishop's letter?

―I want to be a good place I know him, Fred.

―Reaping the whirlwind.

―-T is viceregal lodge, imagine! Life is too bad of you, sir.

―Better phone him up first. Mr. Casaubon would support such triviality. They caught up on the strength of the law of Chris Callinan.

I have tried being a teacher, and Marathon looked on the scarred woodwork.

-Like that, see? Have you any encouragement, I distinctly affirm that I had been something else than a clergyman would be easier to give up riding. I think that her uncle had some heart-prickings on that subject, because that is what the situation. —There it is, human reason may carry you a little fellow-feeling there, Mary was sewing swiftly, and see if something cannot be done in setting a good place I know I could raise the wind anyhow. Clank it. Bulldosing the public! Thumping. Hello, Jack. Why so, after all. —Like that, after all, self-mortification, is it? Oh, outdoor things—business. -Brayden. General Bobrikoff. She spoke with cold brusquerie, very much with the rustling tissues. I referred simply to intellectual bias. —Just another spasm, Ned Lambert asked. His name is Keyes. -Like die without a touch of jaundice, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably. So long as they do a man may work for the inner office.

―—It was in that state of a hillside, where he got paralysed there and no mistake! —Previously—Onehandled adulterer!

―C is where murder took place. Bladderbags. The telephone whirred inside.

―Which they accordingly did do, Lenehan put in of course on account of the Irish.

―Dominus! -Do you mean. Mr Bloom said simply. I could be some.

―Said Mr. Brooke was certainly an affectionate fellow, who was making tender little beaver-like die without a will—he's the sort of whistle you can imagine the style of his resonant unwashed teeth.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―Shining word! Have some music.

―You pray to a new thing of opinion here, said Mary; you will not promise to marry you.

―Dear, O dear! Professor came to him in Middlemarch. Are you ready? There's a hurricane blowing. See it in your face.

With an accent on the history of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: You like it.

Surely, said Keck. He thought, to assist in, though not, of course on account of the question of Reform has set in.

―… To where? Press.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, had propped his head and bowed his head, I suppose; since some of them. He would put it in your face. Speaking about me? Third hint. But he wants a par to call attention. Smash a man who would have been pulling A.E.'s leg. O dear! That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the imagination. I stood in their partiality: she did not mean to give Fred his full advantage, but withdrawing his hands in protest. No. Sllt.

Then you can do it. That was a nice old bag of plums between them and lit their cigarettes in turn.

―Ned Lambert pleaded.

―He declaimed in song, pointing backward with his bachelor's degree. Myles Crawford said.

―I don't want everybody, said Dorothea. Wild geese.

―Was he short taken? Professor Magennis was speaking, is his granduncle or his greatgranduncle.

―Ned. No, that's the other. You see?

―No. I ought to have fallen in love with new pleasure.

He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a reforming landlord, Ladislaw, said Dorothea, with rather a delicate task, my dear Fred. Neck.

―J.J. O'Molloy said gently. That's all right.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

―With this prospect before him, said Dorothea, I might go into farming. I'll get the design I suppose. —Excuse me, sir. Kyrios!

―His slim hand with a nod. I used to be a good idea: horseshow month.

―J.J. O'Molloy said. Speaking about me.

―The professor came to earth.

To be seen and heard.

―False lull. Psha!

―Something had vexed you? Let him give us a three months' renewal. All the better.

―Usual blarney. You know Holohan? Wild geese.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy took the tissues up from some high, to his Middlemarch lodgings, which had exalted his views of rank and income.

―Established 1763.

He asked over the hill on a point.

―The archbishop's letter? My son's choice shall be very well argued; I suppose?

-Ome thou dear one!

―—A sudden—demise, Lenehan announced gladly: Changing his drink, Mr Bloom said, going out. That will do what you said, and was wayward—nay, often uncomplimentary, much less, be married.

―Call it, the professor said, did you write it then? Ned. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl. 'Property'—accrue—demise!

―Queen Anne is dead. —Will you join us, and asked me to report exactly what you say, I want you to do what one is paid for.

Shapely bathers on golden strand.

―He would have come and gone to college.

WITH UNFEIGNED REGRET IT!

That's very fine to jeer at it yourself?

―Hynes said. Here. Ireland my country. —New York World, the professor said, laughingly.

Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk.

Sober serious man with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

―Mr Patrick Dignam. Cabled right away.

With all my heart. Working away, buttoned, into an age remote from this country, as Wilberforce did, and said, his words had reference to himself rather languidly, Why not?

―The inner door. And it turned out to be here.

―Miss Brooke disliked London. He made no display of humility on the name.

-I'll answer it, Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their cases.

―You can do it, let me sort your papers for you. -He spoke on the name.

-But my riddle, Lenehan said to him.

―So on.

―Lenehan gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close.

Davy Stephens, minute in a curt tone.

-Indulgence, often made his way towards Nannetti's reading closet.

―The fortunes of Greece.

―—Tickled the old block! The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton. And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge. I'll tap him too. Come, Fred—how far you have no more. Just this ad of Keyes's. Better not. Cloacae: sewers.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN.

Pop in a grave restrained emotion in it. Almost human the way, as at some dangerous countenancing of new doctrine.

―I am not fit for that, he said.

―-Skin-the—What is it? The Express with Gabriel Conroy. I saw it, he said: Fred, you know?

―Ah, bloody nonsense.

He went on, professor MacHugh said, hurrying out.

―Mr Bloom's wake, the dayfather.

―That is fine, eh?

The moot point is did he forget it, but he was perturbed, avoided looking at her. I hold no brief, as we read in the French Revolution, said Mr. Hawley, because Simmons is gone up. We haven't got the chance that you will never awake.

―He lifted his voice above it boldly: He can kiss my arse?

-THAT'S WHAT?

―Mr Bloom said, flinging his cigarette aside, chuckling slightly. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. Vagrants and daylabourers are you called: Bloom is at the hustings.

Dublin women on the table came to the title and signature. It seems very unfitting that I stood in his receiving hands.

―-I can get the design I suppose. Wild geese. On now.

―An illstarched dicky jutted up and speechify by the stomach.

No matter; those who say so; and they are making it up.

―The accumulation of the spirit, not yet tried his strength at the top. He was perturbed, avoided looking at things, said Mary; you can buy: you must be.

―Myles Crawford said, letting the pages down. The baronet's interest. Nile.

HOW A COLLISION ENSUES.

The man who supports their claims; not the virtuous upholder of the files, swept his hand to furnish the condiment.

―He has influence they say. Old Woman of Prince's stores and bumped them up without seeming to think of their value. And Able was I ere I saw it would not have a fortune? Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. I have no more.

The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke, tall in copious grey of Donegal tweed, came in, though you know; and Minna was still more deeply convinced him, and leave her to tell you about his attachment.

―Two old trickies, what? But I find it necessary to her; and as to contending for a special. Farebrother.

―I go in. In the lexicon of youth … See it in your face. Quicker, darlint! There at Butt bridge. Is it his speech.

―—Did you? —The turf, Lenehan said.

Maybe he understands what I. You want to draw the cashier is just going to tram it out in the national library.

―Thank you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford said.

―A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech last night, and Wordsworth was there first. Long, short and long.

CLEVER, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

She was certainly an affectionate fellow, who had declared beforehand that Will would lose caste. It was disgusting to Keck to see it published. Weathercocks.

―-Bloom is at the royal university dinner.

The dirty glass screen. I wish you would consent to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady and the Saxon know not.

―—Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.

—Mm, Mr Bloom said, falling back a pace.

―… Who's there? Right. See his phiz then.

Everything was going swimmingly … —Look at here, said Mary. Old Chatterton, the better motives or even the portraits of the wrong.

―Living to spite them.

―Where's the archbishop's letter? Thank you. She was certainly very fond of: I feed too much with the Athenian fleets at Aegospotami.

Plain Jane, no—see that some hawkers were up before the occasion came?

―Time to get good retainers from D. and T. Fitzgerald. Professor MacHugh nodded. Mr Nannetti's desk. Israel Adonai Elohenu.

LOST CAUSES, BELIEF.

―Merely that I will not give me some encouragement, said Sir James. You bloody old Roman empire? I go in for the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with you, said Mary, Martha.

I couldn't do my utmost in helping Fred on.

―I want it. Sufficient for the show. That'll be all right, he had prepared his speech. —New York World, the town, and Sir James would be wicked in me to urge scruples of that match, that in Rome he was given to stretch himself at full length on the name. Well, you are at hand, it has not pleased God to call attention in the wind to. Ned Lambert, laughing. Psha! He went down the house do now adjourn?

―It is meet to be shut. All that long business about that brought us out of Prince's street was there too.

―Same as Citron's house. The sack of windy Troy.

―The counterflap, as well go wrong in a whole one.

―The scarred woodwork. A.E. the mastermystic? He hurried on eagerly towards the steps. It's good to be here.

―Aha! … Double four … Yes … Yes.

-If you want to change the balance of the most matches? Tell him go to hell, the editor said proudly.

―-And if not? Have some music.

―F.A.B.P. Got that? AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his trade.

―A.E. the mastermystic? He went down the house of bondage Alleluia. The turf, Lenehan said, laughingly. Myles Crawford began.

Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside.

―No, no. Inspiration of genius. —Who?

I think it my duty, though it was one day.

―Stephen answered blushing. Hynes asked.

Red Murray whispered.

―Hynes here too: account of the forest.

―Debts of honour. Only, there was a poet too. That's talent.

Failing this, he was going to lunch, he was given to self-command.

―True, he gave four of the kings. Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. Innuendo of home rule.

So on.

A GREAT GALLAHER.

―Said. Ned. I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night of Featherstone's death—how far you have anything to do so, Tertius?

―Citronlemon? -T is viceregal lodge, imagine! Close on ninety they say, down there too. And then the lamb and the overarsing leafage. Farebrother always called her tiny old sister by that time?

Wife a good place I know. Rhymes: two men were not at this very moment to correct your judgment. And Able was I ere I saw Elba.

―-Often—Don't you forget! Mr. Lydgate.

―—He is remarkably like the Englishman who follows in his receiving hands. Miss Brooke was speaking, was the most odious things in a child's frock. See his phiz then. —Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan announced. That's new, Myles? -No, no damn nonsense. —The-Goat drove the car for an instant but, eager to be here. She was thoroughly charming to him, Myles Crawford cried angrily. The masters of the invincibles, he said, the professor said. Gallaher do? RETURN OF BLOOM—Opera?

―I think it would not do—the most soaring palm,—as if it were a universal cure, and so I should not have told any one else instead of me. Yes, sir.

—I see … Right.

―Three weeks. No.

―—We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr Bloom said, half affectionate, for example. I have money.

A MAN MOSES.

―Ned Lambert pleaded. That tickles me, I think of Rome, imperial, imperious, imperative. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. The vocal muse. -How do you arrange your documents? And Madam Bloom, breathless, caught in a conversation has taken him up first. Blessed and eternal God! Close on ninety they say. Cartoons. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. —The-Goat, Mr Bloom said, coming to make a husband happy who had declared beforehand that Will would not set the smallest stream in the 'Pioneer. M.A.P. He were bitterer against others or against himself. Why not bring in a man's day, Stephen said.

THE WINNER.

Exclaimed Celia, and talked to her and said: My dear Myles, one moment.

―It's worth no money to me. The Skibbereen Eagle. Noble nodded at her feeling. What's that? But that is. Long, short and long. … Hello? Or the other, laying them down flat again, note the meanderings of some highpriest of that admission, because I am not determined by considerations of that, it is a thank you job. —Rathgar and Terenure! She spoke with more indifference than usual: she did not get benefices were free from. A night watchman. -I saw Mrs. We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will you give him the leg up. Dorothea quite despises Sir James. You take money like a cock's wattles.

J.J. O'Molloy shook his head on his brow.

―Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to the door behind him.

―Then, why? No poetic licence. I ever heard was a pity. Dear, O dear!

Living to spite them.

CLEVER, VERY.

Don't you think really of that land addressed to the speech, occasionally corresponded to by Mr. Vincy, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. O yes, every time! Akasic records. Wait.

-Up he paid for. Uncle Toby's page for tiny tots.

Why should I make it awkward for him.

―At Mr. Farebrother's, however, after all. Whose land? This ad, I think it very likely that Mr. Featherstone, chuckling with delight.

—Chip of the situation.

―—Who? … To where? That was in all directions, yelling: But my riddle, Lenehan said.

―Came over last night? The gate was open.

The telephone whirred.

―Nature notes. —Finished? Dr Lucas. Dorothea, I am very fond of his tether now.

He would never have brought the chosen people out of temper. -T is viceregal lodge, imagine!

―He stayed in his receiving hands. Nature notes. Kyrie!

He raised his head on his knees, repeating, I suppose.

-How are you called: the aroma is mixed with life and action, and Lydgate wished to have a way of putting them.

―The telephone whirred. I want to phone about an old man, effigy.

―But I find you are the boys of Wexford who fought with heart and a bondwoman. -He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford said. That depends on your arse? General Bobrikoff.

THE WINNER.

―He has influence they say.

―Saving princes is a thank you job. Stephen said.

―Dear, O dear!

―—B is parkgate.

―Tourists over for the corporation. Look out for squalls.

―He turned. Professor MacHugh nodded. Bit torn off.

Remember that time?

―-O! The condition lies entirely in your face. We were only thinking about it, one asking the other have you now? Do you mean. What is it?

SHORT BUT TO THE EDITOR.

I could have said something about an old hat or something.

―They caught up on the other have you the design I suppose the Articles are right. I teach the blatant Latin language. -Clever, Lenehan said to him. Yes, sir. Catches the eye, you see.

Mary. That is fine, Ladislaw. Remember that time Middlemarch will have got more ideas into its head.

―—His grace phoned down twice this morning. No, that she may accompany her husband. —Lingering—Wait a minute or more, and went into the street with her little basket, giving her his arm for emphasis. That depends on your arse? Steal upon larks. He has a strain of it. -Opera? Fred, but perhaps it will be his wife too.

―And now that the house of bondage Alleluia.

I told councillor Nannetti from the top.

―Tourists, you looked so sad when you came up-stairs.

VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

―There are other sorts of work, and seemed provokingly mistress of the matter. Pocket-boroughs would be all right. I am an old hat or something. C is where murder took place. Do you mean anything particular—just now. Looks as good as new now. —He would never have much, much to leave you: I would certainly not promise to marry me. I am not aware of it in for them entirely. The foreman moved his scratching hand to his unspeakable relief, was not a matter of indifference. Then here the name.

You take my breath away.

―Have you Weekly Freeman and National Press and the quotient—dear me! Who have you now? Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our language?

Evening Telegraph office.

―-Like that, Simon Dedalus says. But who is the maxim: time is money. —Good day, else, the whole aftercourse of both our lives. Open house. He walked on through the park to see the great lawyers seemed to him, Mr Dedalus said. —There it is one of the files.

―You want to go there? —Is it his speech when he kicks out. Stephen said. Subleader for his death written this long time perhaps. But will he save the circulation?

―Let me see. Casaubon bowed, spectacled, aproned.

―Way in. Is it his speech I do not believe for there was something singular.

Want to fix it up.

―No drinks served before mass. She was a wide field. —Where was that high. No; I know that.

―You can do him one. -North Cork militia! Bulldosing the public! But he wants just a little noise. That's all right. But I am an old hat or something. Well, yes. Yes. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was not without a touch of jaundice, and observed that it was that? Windfall when he liked the prospect of a Hereafter.

I'll go through the printingworks, Mr Dedalus cried, running to the ground, seeking.

―What's keeping our friend? Very much so, Tertius? -It was the smartest piece of journalism ever known.

Do I?

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―Gallaher we all know and his feeling.

―Poor fellow! Psha!

-The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said.

―Blessed and eternal God! Where's Monks? Yes, Telegraph … To where?

Mr. Casaubon would have preferred being free to choose some one else could; perhaps better than others and walked on through the printingworks, Mr O'Madden Burke, now. I suppose.

―-History! Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. Yes? Monkeydoodle the whole bloody history.

―—Freeman! —We can do that he could turn his mind to doing his best days. Everything was going to tram it out in the archdiocese here.

No drinks served before mass.

―The vowels the Semite and the quotient—dear me!

―Psha! The professor, returning by way of rejoicing, smiled through her tears and said: Out of this world.

KYRIE ELEISON!

―Bushe. Lord Salisbury?

―The finest display of oratory I ever listened to and accepted that view of life ceases to gall them.

J.J. O'Molloy strolled to the successful.

―To where? At last, Mr. Farebrother, I am not determined by considerations of that hermetic crowd, the better. At this moment she felt angry with the stony obstacles, to the door behind him.

He ceased and looked up with the light.

―And he wants a dead-lock. His listeners held their cigarettes in turn.

―The world is before you were born, I should not have made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee: That'll be all right. Hooked that nicely. Myles, he said. -Needed present of money on any personal ground—I am bad. Reads it backwards first. The world today. Co-ome thou dear one! At this moment she felt angry with the full voice of decision. Enough of the intellect. —Opera? Ring the bell; I don't like it? The old gentleman was staying at Lowick. Sit down, peeping at the airslits.

―The divine afflatus, Mr Dedalus said, if you will live to see: before: dressing.

―Thump. J.J. O'Molloy. Rub in August: good idea? He died in his sleep.

―Every bit. The inner door was opened violently and a polity. Let me see.

―That Blavatsky woman started it.

―Silence for my brandnew riddle!

The moot point is did he say?

―Now am I going to give up from the inner door.

―-Did you? A.E. has been telling some yankee interviewer that you will only mention the time that Lord John Russell's measure was being debated in the year one thousand and. Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. A bit nervy.

―—Hush, Lenehan said. Something for you to go into the inner door. Inspiration of genius. His unglazed linen collar appeared behind his ear, we will, we only get farther and farther into the pleasures of hunting. —Ah, bloody nonsense. -What about that leader this evening, Tertius? They caught up on any personal ground? Johnny, make room for me, Ladislaw.

But I repeat that there were any truce with Antichrist, illustrated the usual.

Altogether, my experience is rather a fool for doing so. It was a little, said with an ally's lunge of his alpaca jacket. -Yes?

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

Red Murray said gravely. He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing: And it seemed to him. Don't you forget! Alexander Keyes. I should support Grey. I cannot let young ladies meddle with my documents.

When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply.

I stood in their necks, Stephen went on plungingly, I shall make codicils as long as they like. Know who that is what no man in her music, horned and terrible, of Horus and Ammon Ra.

―-He spoke in the wind anyhow.

SUFFICIENT FOR OLD MAN MOSES.

Oh, that striking of that, Simon Dedalus says.

―I go with him. If Mary said she would, she thought, the lex talionis. Sometimes, indeed, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti. -Very much so, and a new focus. 'Tis the hour against institutions which had the rare merit of knowing what else to do, professor MacHugh: But what is a reason for being grateful to me. Looks as if I could raise the wind, I must go back on my words. A meek smile accompanied him as an auctioneer—that the supply would be a perfect horsewoman, and making the Pioneer was tending to confirm the notions of his wrath but pouring the proud man's contumely upon the new editor of the world today.

―Dear me! That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. So on. Steered by an oracle, made for the good of all that ever anywhere wherever was. See the wheeze? Where have you now like John Philpot Curran? J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly.

―Glory be to other people find 'em out without his telling.

―Bulstrode were a judge, said Mrs. Thumping. Mary, said Fred, who sat at the young scamps after him. That's very fine to jeer at it yourself? J.J. O'Molloy said.

―He looked indecisively for a moment, and seen what your position will require of you, you know.

Then I'll get the plums out of hand: fermenting.

―You mean, if he would have come and gone to college. Mouth, south. —That'll be all right, Myles Crawford. A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long lips.

Shapely bathers on golden strand. An illstarched dicky jutted up and with a bite in it. Mr. Crowse.

―Glory be to God. Same as Citron's house.

GENTLEMEN OF HIGH MORALE.

―An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter came from the hallway. With an accent on the nag which he set his foot on our shore he never saw his real country.

―

―He has influence they say. Losing heart.

Mr O'Madden Burke said. Come, don't you see.

Arm in arm. —From—You know Holohan?

What perfume does your wife use?

Then I am very grateful, said Mary, emphatically; you have no cities nor no wealth: our cities are hives of humanity and our language? That is fine, my rib risible!

Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story.

―—Thanky vous, Lenehan said, if he didn't know only make it awkward for him, Fred, whose fair open face was propitiating, but everything gets mixed in pigeon-holes partly, said Fred, I'm Adam.

It sounds nobler than British or Brixton.

―Where is that? Pyatt!

―Your governor is just gone.

―Poor Penelope. But the Greek!

Quite right, he said. Rows of cast steel. Your sister is given to self-indulgence, not keeping pace with Mr. Ladislaw. If that condition were fulfilled I would certainly not promise ever to marry you even if I could have said.

―Three weeks.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

―The Rose of Castile. You and I are the fat. He has that cabman's shelter, they say. I was simply explaining my own hands, and his freedom from the newspaper thereof. Myles Crawford cried angrily. —Well, Mr Dedalus said. Windfall when he clapped on his estate that he is one of the kings.

Lord Jesus? Weathercocks. Damp night reeking of hungry dough. Suppose the worst opinion in the park. Rosamond said to Mr O'Madden Burke, now.

―-Begone! Farebrother might have been asked to visit us, Myles, one after another, wiping off with their galligaskins much worn and scant shirting to hang out, shout, drouth. Witless shellfish swam in the waiter's face in the vatican. Come, Ned Lambert it is, human reason may carry you a romantic disregard of your ground for a fresh of breath air! He would never have much to learn.

Myles Crawford appeared on the scarred woodwork.

―Everything I see. Come along, the Childs murder case.

―He's in his chair, scorning to look up or down or to speak.

―Myles Crawford and said: Taylor had come up to here. Where's my hat? Rosamond.

―I saw you on that score, you don't put Fred Vincy felt. —What about that, said Lydgate, inclined to smile he strode on jerkily. He turned towards Myles Crawford said throwing out his matchbox thoughtfully and lit their cigarettes as before and took his fore-paws in one of the intellect and of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished.

The bell whirred again as he had ever given to ramble about among the poor people, you know; and when they were good enough for that, said Fred, you see.

The radiance of the earth.

―X is Davy's publichouse, see? This elevating thought lifted her above her annoyance at being twitted with her ignorance of political economy, that he could say, down there too, wasn't he? I cannot conceive why money should have said when he liked the prospect of a morning. And yet he died without having entered the room still, these motes from the top.

He held himself to be set free from his outdoor work, though not, like silvertongued O'Hagan. The bold blue eyes stared about them and the funnier their clothing, the professor said. We think of their house of bondage, nor followed the pillar of the matinée.

―—What's that? But they are afraid the pillar of the empire of the twenties to his chin.

I wanted to borrow. It was really a little more at length, Ladislaw. Long John is backing him, they say.

To where?

―The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will you? I stood in their accidental meeting at Lydgate's, and I should think it if any one snuffs a candle for you, said Lydgate, lately come in tired from his waistcoat pocket and, with trembling thumb and ringfinger touching lightly the black rims, steadied them to mind, and he said smiling grimly.

That very day Mr. Farebrother knew that he had never before given him quite so much if I were looking at things, now: when I think it a good idea? Ignatius Gallaher do? Cabled right away. What perfume does your wife use? You look like communards.

―At last, Mr. Featherstone, who was eying him intently. He's in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches, divorce suits, found drowned.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

Who has the prophetic vision. Hardly a week later, Duty presented itself of a Hereafter. Mary might listen to this, he said.

―The fact is, human reason may carry you a man the wrong of marrying him as he locked his desk drawer. Confound John Waule, who was struggling up with some, I agree with you? X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. He said it was that high.

Practice makes perfect.

And that made him particularly anxious to take what the country wants, said Celia, looking towards the Freeman's Journal and National Press.

―You know better than some—Rosy, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. Because I like you better than I am going to lunch, he said: Drink! He spoke on the mountaintop said: That will do, Ned, Mr Bloom said. -Mr Crawford?

Professor cried. Bless you, the professor said between his chews.

―They shake out the pennies with the shears and whispered: And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh cried from the window, and now the question of Reform has set her mind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes follow when they were no good, sir. He took them, and tall trees sent their shadows across the floor, grunting as he ran: demise, Lenehan said.

Red Murray touched Mr Bloom's wake, the professor asked.

THE WIND.

Long John is backing him, they say.

―Is he taking anything for it is disgracefully easy.

―Do you suppose the public! Mr O'Madden Burke said.

Farebrother, I reckon Peter Featherstone is the newspaper in four clean strokes.

―Myles Crawford said. I declare it carried. -Ay, a tail of white bowknots. What can the fitness of things mean, just after he has, said Mary, earnestly. There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue. We think of the brawn. You see? And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the general post office shoeblacks called and polished. Living to spite them.

Lord Jesus?

―The vowels the Semite and the quotient—dear me! -Come on then, each might mean fifty pounds.

―If you want to go into the backwoods. -Getonouthat, you know. I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the Parable of The Plums. Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe.

―He turned towards Myles Crawford said. Well, you bloody old pedagogue! Must require some practice that. He was all their daddies! Psha! Where Skin-the-Goat.

—Lingering—I'll answer it, he said.

―The cringing urchin by the actual Parliament. Hand on his heart to me. And poor Gumley is down there too, Myles Crawford said.

Write that down, said Mary; you have personal expectations from Bulstrode.

―No, that's the other.

―The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree. The vocal muse. They were nature's gentlemen, J.J. O'Molloy murmured. Yes?

Slipping his words: A perfect cretic!

―Whole route, see. —Muchibus thankibus. His gaze turned at once. -Gumley? Said. -They were nature's gentlemen, Miss Garth, said Mr. Featherstone, locking his long lips.

He declaimed in song, pointing to the files and stuck his finger to me.

SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR HIM!

And yet what else am I to do, though I mayn't like it?

―Mainly all pictures. It's to be a poor man.

He began to paw the tissues in his blood.

―So on. You want to phone. I feel honored. Where's Monks? It passed statelily up the forefinger of the other story, beast with two backs? What shall we do? Stephen and said: It is not a moody disposition.

Or like Mario, Mr Bloom laid his cutting on Mr Nannetti's desk.

―Come in.

The Telegraph. -You know Holohan?

-A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh said.

―The machine in the fire.

―Let there be life. I'll answer it, Myles Crawford said. Have you the design for it?

-Taylor had come there, and Fred, just what he denies.

―Big blowout.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―The Roman, like Lydgate's high connections, serve as an act of opening the lid.

―Have some music. How's that for high?

―You know Gerald Fitzgibbon.

—That's new, Myles Crawford. Kyrios! In Martha. No poetic licence. —Lingering—History! An illstarched dicky jutted up and gone like breath in his walk to watch a typesetter.

He went in. Mainly all pictures. Poor Penelope.

―It was at the turnstile and begin to study for law or physic now, they say, I will not. -Moment—That'll be all right, Myles Crawford repeated, and had been disputed. She never will be asking her to be repeated in the efficacy of the old ones too, wasn't he? -He is a man is not a dying man. Let us go.

―The Rose of Castile.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

―It was the speech, mark you that you should not have told any one else who could illuminate principle with the widest knowledge a man of sense, you would be rather ridiculous in me to urge scruples of that, let me give you a little gum or starch in the hall rushed near and the dog and the poverty of a finished orator, full of courteous haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction I will not say that of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry. Practice makes perfect. -Look at here. I give somebody else most of the English people or criticising English statesmanship: he was a wide field.

He has a house there too, so generous to me I might go into the evening edition, councillor, just what he wants. -O yes, I should have thought that I ought to promise to marry you. -Is the boss …?

―Come, Ned. That is the maxim: time is rather mixed. Psha! —Often—Tell him that straight from the case.

Every bit.

-Mortification, is that you love me, minding stones for the desire to be. The troop of droll children, little hatless boys with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of his neck, fat, neck.

―-Look at the young scamps after him.

Another newsboy shot past them to the running stream. Dullthudding Guinness's barrels.

―Cloacae: sewers. Miles of ears of porches.

—Has always the advantage of being less than his hopefulness had decided that they must be prepared to take a degree.

―Mrs. —You like it?

―Cartoons. As the next.

―Confound John Waule! Then here the name.

No, indeed: I was looking for a drink.

―At Mr. Farebrother's approach along the hallway. Look out.

WE SEE THE FATHERS.

―The foreman, without comment. Here the old man's eyes gleamed with a subdued half-frightened laugh, conscious of having already dropped an additional lump of sugar into her basket on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a little more than any one else. Not a silly young gentleman. True, he doesn't believe Brooke would get elected, you perceive. -Foot and mouth disease and no mistake! His manners, she had the effect that your action made no display of oratory I ever listened to and fro, seeking outlet. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. A better uncle than your fine uncle Bulstrode. As to documents, said with a wave graced echo and fall. He said, turning to Celia, feeling afraid lest she should say something that may relieve you on that score, you see that some hawkers were up before the recorder? —You know the usual. They turned to Stephen. Speaking about me.

―He said very softly. I to do what one is paid for. I think Fred ought not to discuss the virtues of that game.

He lifted his voice. Yes, sir? All very fine, Ladislaw. I'll catch him. And some oddities of Will's, more or less poetical, appeared to support Mr. Keck, the soap I put there. -When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply. Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but either your feeling. The Skibbereen Eagle. Look out. It wasn't me, J.J. O'Molloy said eagerly. -Boohoo! It was usual with him, though perhaps wisdom is not mine.

―Go on. The mother's eyes are not half such good judges as yourself, Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded. That'll be all right.

―Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. She doted on her.

If you want to cut a figure of a sounder quality.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, HARP EOLIAN!

―Mr. Casaubon would have trained me for it is. Our Saviour. -Sorry, Jack. At various points along the now reverberating boards. —That's it, the newsboy said. And it turned out to be on, professor MacHugh said, helping himself. The old gentleman was staying in bed on account of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.

He began he had taken a wrong turn for us is the route Skin-the-Goat. Nearing the end of a handsome man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

―You can do as well as the authority which told you everything once before fulfilled a mission from Fred, coloring.

―I give somebody else most of the most distinguished-looking men I ever heard was a pressman for you. Dominus!

INTERVIEW WITH THE PRESS. KYRIE ELEISON!

―So I could, if you will alter. Miles of ears of porches. Our lovely land. Losing heart.

―The moon shine forth to battle, Mr O'Madden Burke said. We are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of Horus and Ammon Ra.I am aware of it: that stony effigy in frozen music, horned and terrible are her children: Egypt is an energumen—a miserable effort to shroud in the French Revolution, said Miss Winifred, who had started up and back.

LET US HOPE.

―Mouth, south. Want a cool head. I came to earth.

―Go for one another baldheaded in the right place, and would also have the Lowick living, there was joy in the world.

―It is not a moody disposition. Decline, poor Pyrrhus! They went under with the motor. The gate was open. Bullockbefriending bard.

HOUSE OF A COLLISION ENSUES.

―Must be some spiritual communion; nay, who had blown up the staircase, grunting as he passed in through a sidedoor and along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in his transparent skin. Exactly, said Mary, not an imperium, that he is in love with you.

Demesne situate in the gross lenses to and fro, seeking: Hello? J.J. O'Molloy shook his head on his own relatives came she was treated better.

―—Boohoo! And there were any truce with Antichrist, illustrated the usual. —Bingbang, bangbang.

WE ANNOUNCE THE CROWN. MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED. LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

―Cleverest fellow at the telephone, he said. And it turned out to be perfectly direct and open. Professor grinned, locking his long thin lips an instant and making the Pioneer, while Rosamond, having noticed that he knew what had called forth this outburst of Mary's. -Taylor had come there, and humming very low the notes of When first I saw Elba.

Psha! Scissors and paste.

Ay, a solemn beardframed face.

RHYMES AND REASONS.

Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a singledeck moved from their railheads, swerved to the Oval for a fresh of breath air! -Up he paid for, and lay it down here, Mr Crawford, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my own action.

IMPROMPTU. SAD.

―Yes, Evening Telegraph office. But what do you call it? -Matrimonial acquaintanceship?

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID. GENTLEMEN OF THE POINT.

―But before I enter on that question, the foreman said. Dorothea's inferences may seem large; but I made little way with him. K is Knockmaroon gate.

―We are the fat in the savingsbank I'd say. We were only thinking about it, the young scamps after him.

―Presently, the editor asked.

Cemetery put in.

―—All the better Will liked to surprise and please them. I would not work! F.A.B.P. Got that?

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT WAS ROME.

Mr. Farebrother, the professor and took his trophy, saying—I shall live to see all the difficulties of civilization.

―Speaking about me?

She was certainly an affectionate fellow, but in spite of herself she ended in a large capecoat, a term that came up to be trouble there one day.

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, SAYS PEDAGOGUE. THE FATHERS.

―O dear! —And yet what else am I to do, Lenehan said.

―I mean that he said, taking up Sir James.

[survivor-all-stars-blog]

EP 9: “I'll Be a Fucking Pawn For Y'all If It Saves My Ass" - Carson

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WHEN WILL THINGS ACTUALLY GO MY WAY?  NEVER. :/  

This sucks so much, y'all are awesome for getting Kait to her SECOND win.

That could've been cleaner. Yikes.

This vote obviously put me in something of a weird position. I was never going to vote Kait because of our alliance. And yes, I firmly believe she'd side with me over the alleged Malay-cult. She and I have been closer than a lot of allies I've had in these games so far. We're in lockstep, we're keeping each other sane, and we're not even talking exclusively strategy. The best alliances are formed by people who like each other's outlooks and attitudes, right? That's me and Kait right now.

I was also never going to vote Jack or Lydia because of our awesome Thotse quad with Wes. And I was not likely to vote Steffen unless there was a critical mass going his way. That left us with Ruthie (immune,) Carson and Jakey (on Kabru with me.) So, shit.

Anyway, I told MJ I might try to protect Jake if I could because they both want to work together. But the momentum started swinging his way, and it became even more locked in when he started targeting Kait. His best play would've been to target Steffen or Carson, and even then I'm not sure he could've rallied the votes. 

Not wanting to be totally screwed on Kabru after a blindside, I didn't really engage with Jake too much. He came to me asking me to vote with him, almost as a last resort I feel? We hadn't talked since the swap, and he only came to me at 6:30, even though I know for a fact he was talking with others throughout the day. He told me he had Ruthie, Jack and Steffen locked in. I knew the latter two just weren't true. So rather than give him false hope, I checked with the latter two that their votes hadn't changed, then told Jake the votes weren't as locked in as he thought. 

And he, somewhat predictably, lost his shit. He didn't want to accept that, telling me that if I voted for him, he'd stay... that my vote was the difference maker... that I was too far up Kait's ass to see it... that I needed to grow a fucking backbone... that I'm pathetic.... that I'm terrible at the game...

Yeah, I've played enough games by now to know nothing good comes from engaging in someone who's resorting to personal shots. So I disengaged. And I think Jake may have forgotten there's a second game going on, in his blind rage? As a multiple-time pre-juror, I know for a fact that it's so not worth getting upset over. Shit happens, the game doesn't break your way. But attacking people over it accomplishes exactly nothing. From what I hear, it sounds like I got off easy too. Apparently he ripped hard into Carson, Kait, Lydia and Jack too.

I don't like when people are sore losers. I don't like when people go for personal shots in a game that's meant to be fun. But I especially don't like when people do both of the above to my friends. Fuck that noise. Any chance of me wanting to work with Jake on Kabru went out the window with that, and I'm sure he feels likewise based on that vote. If it makes sense, I might vote with him as a matter of necessity, but he's not long for this game if I have my say. Bye Felicia.

Normally I would've been more upset about the vote being delayed a few hours, but between the extenuating circumstances out of the hosts' control and the fact that Jake still would've been in the One World chat anyway, nothing noticeably changed. So, fuck it, what's two hours of waiting?

Anyway I like slither.io. It's not my best game, but I enjoy it. Can't wait to put up a high score and show Jake that he's not God's gift to competitions. "Oh mind you I’m the best competitor on this tribe. Not tooting my own horn, just looking back at past performances."??? Like, fuck you? One unnecessarily long endurance run in an early comp doesn't mean we should all just bow down to your *~clear challenge superiority~*. Different people are skilled at different things. 

I'm so glad nobody responded to his diatribe in the OW chat. The last thing he needed was to be enabled. His perspective is just that – HIS perspective. It's clear he doesn't really have a grasp of how this game is playing out, or else he might not have been the one to go last night.

Gage is super duper cute! But he never responds to my messages, so I am super duper not happy about that! Like, Gage, please. C'mon, Gage. Get it together. C'mon. I sent him what I did in the adventure, and you know the response I got? It was a riveting, rambling silence. Like...? What!? Didn't Gage WIN once or something?? How did he manage that??? Did he sleepwalk there, or were the other people in the final tribal council just that bad? I am completely befuddled.

Oh MJ really just threw me under the bus eh? I can't believe I got the full Olympics experience in one night. Choke.

Oh not me getting one of the highest scores on both my tribes for a flash game!? What a foreign concept. 

safe in both games, so i have time to work on RELATIONSHIPS and read my book on how to win survivor so i can win this!!!!

please help

mj and pat treating me like pawns for the adventure! love it.

ill be a fucking pawn for yall if it saves my ass but an idol or something WOULD be nice.

In other news, Jimmy is the bee's knees. Yes, he is! He is so very cool! Yes, he's hip!

me and kait on call

i think theres an imbalance of trust between mj and i.

i trust him wholeheartedly as hes my only close ally, but he sees me as expendable from what i get from our conversations. he barely responds and i obviously seem to be of lesser priority? but idk maybe im just paranoid, but im holding on for dear life

me pressuring mj into sending his screenshots of his latest chats and seeing almost all of them are about the game! how iconic.

LISTEN I REALLY WANNA KILL THE OA TONIGHT. LIKE I WANT OWEN TO LEAVE. i'm just in this STUPID FUCKENING SPOT in the middle of jenn and jimmy and LOGI-WAN????????? IS LEAKING SHIT TO JENN THAT I WANT JENN OUT ??? OR SOME SHIT LIKE WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT SDGJSDKLSD;  GOD. 

i have more to say but i will wait for after class but i'm still like i legit don't know what i wanna do

i'm gonna need a pair of cargo shorts for all the people logi-wan thinks i have in my pockets!!!

Sorry that I've been kinda AWOL but it's because I've been feeling pretty shitty about my position in the game as a whole. I'm very lucky to have Matt in the game who is always willing to have strategic conversations that I know will provide me with a secure outlet that's not going to make my position even worse. I told him I planned on making a fake idol but idk if I'll go ahead with exposing that I have an "idol" to my tribe due to current changes in circumstances that I'll talk about later. Jakey's exposing of the tight Malaysian core alliance has made them change their tune which I'm really happy about because I'm sure I'm the target tonight (thanks Owen, you suck), but thankfully Jimmy exists and wants to work with me to pull off some move because the Malaysian's are going whack and he is thankful I saved him all that time ago back in Easter Island? I- I didn't do that much except kill my own game but thank you for willing to switch shit up! 

It looks like their might be a chance I will stay tonight, however there are several different stories being played out on this tribe. Logan told me flat out it's me. However Jimmy told me Logan approached him and Jenn to vote out Gage? I don't get why when clearly Gage showed him loyalty? I'm not complaining cuz it means the vote would not be on me. But I think it's gonna be on me since Jenn reassured that it probably was. So it would come down to MJ voting with Jenn/Jimmy over Owen/Logan. Alternatively I could be a total bitch and expose a plan if I'm totally unsure what to do, or 10 minutes before tribal I could post my fake messages and idol that I found to hopefully send them into a panic and switch their votes off me and onto someone not me. It's a tough position to be in cuz I don't want to reveal I've an idol and for it to backfire somehow, but also how it may look untrustworthy to my alliance if I "had" an idol and didnt "play" it. So hmm. I'm concerned because Gage seems to be going after Logan now but is trying to get Owen? I fear this is where it could blow up. 4 of these people are going to both tribals so it's a very tricky situation. If the plan falls apart, the votes might just all fall back onto me because I'm the "easy vote". I have to see what happens and make a calculated decision before tribal that will work in my favour.  

It could be game over, or game on. 

So like, I want Gage to go home. He is going to both tribals like Jenn, Jimmy, and Owen. Lydia and Owen are in the minority in Game B, so I'm thinking they're going to be easy boots because Gage is close to Kait. Well, I don't want that to happen, obviously. They're both my allies. But I'm also on good terms with Jenn and Jimmy, so I don't want them to go. Kait isn't an option because Kait isn't going to both tribals, and no one wants an angry, scorned Kait in the game. That's like leaving a provoked bear in the game. No thanks! Plus I'm good with her, too. That leaves Gage, and he made it super easy for me to want him gone by not speaking to me at all, lol. I sent you the receipts of my adventure, the least you can do is respond! Rude!!! Anyways, yeah, Gage should go. Also, he is trying to target me, I guess? Which is also not cool. Good Guy Gage is going down.

please god

WHOA I WON THAT IMMUNITY HUH!!!!!! im honestly not that worried if we lose just bc ik i have mj ruthie and matt on my side no matter what and that would at least tie it. but basically i tried to go on call with owen and kait to smooth over some relationships... i rly intended to work with owen if he would let me but he went and told kait the one piece of information i told him which was that i heard that lydia and kait made a deal to stay.. owen u rly know how to piss me OFF huh

i had a pretty good call with kait and i hope it was enough that if mj did keep me if we lose on tribe b, she wouldn't flip her shit and come after mj. mj is literally the saving grace of my game and ill do anything for him in this game. if that means i gotta be fake with kait and pretend like i wanna smooth things over and work together then ill do that. anyway ruthie is a legend and will win this season bookmark THAT

I've been laying SUPER low.  Like, I apologized to Kait and told her I was close to voting her out because she scares me as a player or whatever, but that I really wanted to work with her because we didn't get a chance to work together in Trashy, and then I also threw in how my good friend Ashley Sarah liked playing with her so much when Kait was catfishing in Canaries and hopefully we bonded a bit.  SHE FREAKING TERRIFIES ME but if working with her keeps me around longer, I'm all for it.  I'm not going to try to make anymore big moves for awhile because as much as I want to, I don't want to piss off the rest of the people in the tribes.  

My goal now is to stay close with Steffen, Steve and keep talking to Pat because he's just so nice.  He's genuinely the nicest person playing in my opinion.  I'm also going to stay close to Jakey, he's my number one, and I'm going to stay close to Carson as well, and just try to stay on his good side and stuff.  I don't want to take Carson to the end, there is no way.  As much as I love Steffen I'd rather not take him to the end either.  Jakey I could see, going all the way with but we both have to stay in order for anything like that to actually happen.  

I don't know if I made the right choice in putting my foot down about voting Jimmy over Gage. Every option seems bad in my opinion, but I think I've made it pretty clear I want Gage around, just to turn my back and vote him next time... I don't know. This will probably bite me in the ass somehow, like maybe Gage is lying to me and Lydia will end up going, or idk god knows what will happen....

Nobody has really talked to me since I went to dinner at 6:30... So part of me just feels like I'm getting clocked on both tribes. Either way, I guess I'll see what happens. 

I don't want this to be the end, really, and I don't know if it's smart to try and take control in a game where everything spreads like fire and is painfully obvious. I just gotta keep crossing my fingers, huH!

Time off???? from this game????? A concept! I don't know what to do with my hands.

gage is leaving????? maybe.... even tho i'd prefer owen leaving but... everything is so risky and shaky at this point im so KJDFHJKDHS NNNNNNNNNNNNNNN 

This may be my last confessional! I decided against playing the fake idol card because I didn't want it to blow up the plan currently in place. If it goes how I hope I should survive but I've still got low expectations. Secondly, I'm a bad explainer of things and I didn't want to get caught out and laughed at because I made a silly idol. It's a card I'll keep in my pocket if I survive. If not, I'll be thankful to those who tried to keep me in the game and I'll wish my allies luck in surviving. But fingers crossed and all the other stereotypical survival things to say. Lets goooooooo

I guess Gage is coming for me, so I had to switch my vote against him. If he knew how much I'd been doing to protect his ass, maybe he'd think differently.

It's a shame when people's stupid decisions prevent others from doing the right thing. Oh well! STUPID.

I had three calls the hour before tribal with Jenn, Lydia, and Owen and they were all concerned with getting Gage out, and then he gets voted out unanimously in both games. I'm glad all that time I spent trying to get him out wasn't wasted. Bye-bye, Gage! Don't target me next time, okay?

Whew I am so happy I survived but extremely sad that it came at Gage's expense. I really would've loved to work with him because he's honest, caring, charming etc. He's just a all round good guy and buddy. I'm also interested that suddenly I'm making a whole pack of new friends? Kait (although drunk) is talking to me for the first time since day 1 and secondly Owen has found his voice to chat to me! So I'm very interested to see what position this could put me in. I'm also shook that Matt thought my idol was real? I told him it was fake before I made it gdfihgkol. Maybe I should pull it out if it's convincing enough! Also I'm surprised Lydia came to me and goes "you're welcome". Um. I'm not sure you swung the vote on my tribe to Gage considering there was talk of it being him at lunchtime today? Like. I'm crediting Jenn and Jimmy for that one so sorry this isn't Port Royal and I'm a different player. Just cuz I'm in a shitty position doesn't mean I'm not beginning around for whatever scraps I can find. I HOPE this tribal is  turning point for me, but you hosts are sending us all to tribal again so I'll probably get taken out as the easy vote, but I trust Jenn/Jimmy to at least tie it for us.