#i like to think i am his rich aunt from new jersey come to get him out of trouble at school

[nelyoslegalteam]

like obviously “x did nothing wrong” is a satirical phrase but have u considered. your honor that is my emotional support war criminal please adn thankyou. no charges on account of i love him.

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (kmart’s haunted)

Summary: (part 1) Reader has joined Douxie on the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company. (part 2) - Missouri 1     (part 3)

Warnings: swearing, very light spooky?

Word Count: 2245

A/N: so we’ve established that Doux wasn’t the one who burnt the bookstore, but they don’t know that. look, have you been in a Kmart recently? its apocalyptic. also, you know that post about people repeating their default work greetings by accident? yeah

“Do you want me to split the bill or?” The waitress asked, not sure if the group at the table was a young couple and their child or just three college kids hanging out. It was kind of hard to tell. On one hand, that one kid was so small, wearing a little deer costume, and had been helped to order. The other two radiated the energy of an old married couple and talked mainly to each other. But on the other hand, college kids are just like that sometimes.

“Nah, I got it.”

“What? No. I’m paying for us.” Douxie insisted.

“I have the cash, Doux.” (Name) turned to the waitress. She put some honey in her voice. “Just bring us one bill, please.” The waitress nodded nervously before heading off.

“No. I don’t want you paying for too many things while we’re traveling. You’re unemployed.”

“And who’s fault is that Mr. Mephits-Are-Vulnerable-To-Fire? You fucking burned down the store and put us both out of work here.” Nari was squirming at the negative vibes going on. It helped that she didn’t exactly understand what was going on.

“It was magic fire!” Douxie interjected in outrage. He looked so cute when he got defensive.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” (Name) shook her head, looking up to the ceiling. She let out a huff, “look, I invited myself onto this trip, Douxie. I want to pull my own weight. You’re going to have to let me pay for something eventually.”

“We’ll see about that, Love,” he said as he grabbed the ticket from the waitress’s hands as quick as lightning, tucked his card in and gave it right back before (Name) could further protest.

“Ugh! FINE! Then I’m getting the tip.” She pulled out a tenner and slapped it onto the table. She glared right back into Douxie’s hazel eyes. He glared right back into hers with a matched intensity. Nari looked back and forth between the two and whimpered. (Name) broke the standoff to assure Nari that they weren’t actually angry at each other so she shouldn’t be worried. That seemed to ease the forest child a bit but not by too much. She could still feel the weird aura they were putting off.

“Okay! So here’s your check back and here’s that lox bagel you ordered to go.” The waitress handed (Name) a doggy bag.

(Name) took the bag gingerly. A big fake smile spread across her face as she was momentarily possessed by that good spirit of customer service. “Thank you! I hope your experience was spellbinding! Have a magical day!” (Name) said on autopilot in that high-pitched voice and winked exaggeratedly. It was like she was an NPC and her talk button had been accidentally pushed. The waitress laughed forcibly and scurried away to the kitchen. Douxie cracked up.

“You do know that when I told you to say all that stuff after ringing people up, I was hazing you, right?”

“Oh yes, I am completely aware, Doux. Did you think I’d not pick up on how ridiculous that sounds? But I still say it to spite you.”

He shook his head. “Of course.”

***

Archie scarfed down his bagel sandwich with almost disturbing speed. It was like watching the void consume, well, a bagel sandwich. It just disappeared. Down his furry maw and out of existence. Being a dragon works up an appetite, after all. (Name) was a bit baffled and asked him if she should go get him another bagel. He assured her that the one was just fine and said something about trying to catch some birds later. She leaned back on her elbows against the boat’s railing, trying and failing to not think about the details of that.

Douxie cleared his throat. “So,” He folded his hands together for emphasis, “Since the subject of money came up earlier, I think we should also discuss the topic of our accommodations.”

“Well, you two obviously cannot afford lodging every night.” Archie snarked, flicking his tail.

“Thank you, for that, Arch. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a tent.”

“A tent?” the cat asked incredulously.

“Oh, that could work.” (Name) pointed at Douxie animatedly, “keep us close to nature for Nari. And also could keep our possible property damage bills down. Good idea, Doux.”

“Thank you,” Douxie puffed up, “see Arch? Someone appreciates my ideas-”

“Wait. That’ll be a short-term solution. We’re just barely into September. It’s going to be much, much colder in about a month. By October it’ll be too cold to bear. Even if we all huddle together like penguins.”

Doux looked away to hide his blush at the suggestion. “That is a problem. Okay, um-”

“Maybe we could just cross that bridge when we get there? Who knows what could happen between now and then. We could find so temp work in a little town somewhere.” (Name) shrugged, smirking at Doux. She didn’t want to admit that ‘we could be dead by then’ was also definitely a possibility on the table, so she tried to further distract from that thought. “Maybe we’ll find a creepy abandoned cabin in the woods we can squat in. Maybe some nice trolls will take us in as novelty pets. Maybe my rich Aunty Josie could just suddenly die under some ‘mysterious circumstances’ and leave her lavish fortune to her beloved niece,” she smirked at Doux, “I dunno, just spit ballin’ here.”

“I’m electing to ignore that you just suggested we ice your aunt because you were onto something there.”

“I was?” Her tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disbelief.

“Yes! New Jersey!

“New Jersey?” The wheels turned. “Oh! New Jersey!”

Nari looked confused. “What is special about this ‘New Jersey’?” she asked

Both Douxie and (Name) turned to her, “Trolls.” They said in sync.

***

(Name) stood there with her hands in her pockets. Somehow this Kmart was still standing, out here in The-Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Missouri. She was standing here, in a Kmart. It might as well have been 1986. There was barely anything on the shelves. Half the shelves themselves were missing. The floor had a layer of grime to it, in spite of the wet floor sign along with the shiny patches that said that it had clearly been mopped recently. The air smelled like something (Name) couldn’t quite place, but it was nostalgic. A strange scent that took her back to her childhood. Or at least she thought it was her childhood. It had to have been. Taking deep breaths, she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

Continuing that vibe, a muzak 80’s tune played over the speakers. Funny enough, despite (Name)’s brain seeming to recognize that it was playing a song from the 80’s, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it as to which. Every time she thought she’d figured it out, she’d hear a few notes that would somehow change her mind. It was a pop song at least, to narrow it down. It’d been going on for about six minutes now. Must be one of those extended tracks.

She’d ask Douxie what he thought the song was. She turned her attention to him and noticed he was still just staring at that same shelf like he had been for, what, ten minutes now? Even though this fucking Kmart barely had any shelving in it, by some miracle it not only had exactly what they were looking for but an entire aisle of them. How lucky was that.

Douxie was taking very careful consideration into this tent purchase. This was going to be their new home, after all. He just couldn’t decide which one was best. They all had fancy camping terms on the packages that meant nothing to him. He’d been trying to decipher the code. The secret outdoorsman code. Nari shifted uncomfortably in the basket.

“Hisirdoux, you should maybe, hurry this along?” She sounded strained.

But she was right. He should just pick one already. It’s all a gamble anyway. He decided on a dark green one that boasted a water-proof material. Good natural color, not easily spotted, and it wouldn’t soak through with rain. That should work well enough, he figured.

“I’ve hurried along. Sorry Nari.” He casually tossed the box into the cart next to her. She sniffed the box and nodded to him.

Now that they had their goal item, the quest party started for the checkouts. Douxie could have sworn that it had been on the side of the store they were in. They had passed it when they came in. Now it was completely across by the other door. Did he get turned around? Or maybe they did come in from that side of the store. He actually couldn’t remember.

As they walked, a few things caught (Name)’s eye. They passed a display of dark leafy plants in oddly shaped pots, a table stacked high with various books and a clearance sign, a knife case that had been left open, a candle display with a few that had already been lit and were dripping wax, a bargain bin of CDs, and lastly a sad box of no-longer-in-season pool noodles. There was a sale on bloodmeal apparently. Perfect for perking up those roses after the summer heat.

They arrived at the checkout after what felt like an endless journey. (Name) hadn’t noticed any other customers the entire time they had been there, and yet the line for the only check open had seven people in it. She grabbed a couple bags of red licorice from the impulse shelf to add to their cart while waiting.

Nari was really interested in that checker. (Name) took her in. The teen was taller than most and had very, very long blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a shiny golden waterfall. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in. Must be going through a diet phase. Poor girl.

The young woman was obviously not one for small talk. Name couldn’t blame her. Retail sucks. Her perfect red fingernails clicked against the keys of the register in a practiced beat. She turned around and told them their total in a bored monotone. As Douxie fiddled with his wallet and payed, (Name) found herself staring right into the cashier’s eyes. They were such a light icy blue, they were almost white. It was striking. (Name) was almost in a trance. It was broken as the cashier turned around swiftly to rip off the receipt off the machine, and, in an uncharacteristically cheery voice, told them to have a nice night. Night?

They returned the cart back to the stack, grabbing their one singular shopping bag and helping Nari out. Of course Nari could easily just jump out herself, but that wouldn’t be something a human child could do. They didn’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves here. They made their way to the automatic sliding doors that lagged so that they didn’t open until you were standing right in front of them. This allowed Douxie time to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the glass. The reflection of the store was completely devoid of people. Not even the checker was at her station. He sucked in a breath. After walking through those first doors, he stopped. He took a moment to turn back. There she was, right where she should be, checking out another customer with three more in the line.

Douxie hurried along the doorway to catch up to (Name) and Nari. It was darker outside than he expected, and he was taken aback. He found them right outside the store, waiting for him. In one hand, (Name) was holding Nari’s, in the other, the plastic shopping bag. Her head was tipped up to the sky, transfixed by the moon. He came over, grabbing her shoulder as he pulled her along, in an attempt to urge her away from this place. She looked back at him, eyes wide with distress. He tried to convey that he understood with his eyes. All three of them instinctually knew not to say anything more why they were still in this parking lot.

It had barely been half past noon when they had started this little Kmart side quest. It was now at least seven by the looks of it. They had spent six and a half hours in a Kmart? How had they spent six and a half hours in a Kmart. There went their entire travel day. But no time to dwell on this, they needed to get back to Archie and the boat as soon as possible.

As they walked back towards the ship, (Name) and Douxie both took one of Nari’s hands so that she was in the middle, like how those couples walk with their children. The streetlights glared up at them in the slick pavement. Apparently, it had rained while they were in shopping limbo. Poor Arch. (Name) let out a puff of air.

“Well. That sure was something.”

Douxie nervously chuckled, “If we had stayed in there any longer, I think we might have died.” (Name) mirrored that nervous chuckle.

“Oh, no, dying would be much simpler than what would have happened to us.” Nari said sweetly, like what she was saying was somehow better. Nari liked being helpful. (Name) put on her best fake smile.

“Thank you, Nari.” She tried her best to sound as sincere as possible to spare the veggie lady’s feelings.

[traincat]

You're the first person I've come across who doesn't agree with the "friendly neighborhood" tag line or the "Peter 'every man' Parker" notion. If you have time and don't mind me asking, could you please explain why? I read some of your past replies saying he's actually a sarcastic quintessential NYer who doesn't necessarily warm up to everyone to be friendly for the former - does that play into that question? What about "I love Peter because anyone can relate to him"?

So I think there’s two things to address here and that’s the inherent joke in the “friendly neighborhood” moniker and the idea that upholding a character as being “relatable to everyone” being damaging to the individuality of that character. 

The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man one is the easiest to address because – it’s a joke. There’s two ways to read “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man”; the first is that he’s being friendly in the neighborhood. The second is that the neighborhood itself is friendly. These are both gigantic lies, which is what makes the joke. 

(Spectacular Spider-Man #107)

(Amazing Spider-Man v2 #53)

(Web of Spider-Man #49) You can – and I am, for the record – make the argument that how Peter functions as Spider-Man is positive because he protects ordinary people – but he certainly isn’t being friendly, and nor should he be. The idea that he’s somehow gentler or less physical than other superheroes of his ilk is a big myth. The “friendly” in relation to him is a joke – I mean, he pretty often refers to himself as such when he’s, you know, beating people up. 

(Amazing Spider-Man #260) “Peter’s such a gentle boy, I doubt he would ever intentionally hurt anyone!” I think currently “Spider-Man is funny” has become about the character’s personal reputation as someone who quips in battle, but I think the series itself at its best has this really great dry humor to it, and the “friendly neighborhood” joke is definitely part of it, along with how people in Peter’s life who don’t know the secret can’t see what’s in front of them, like the above scene with Aunt May and one of her boarders. It’s like how it’s funny when Aunt May fusses over Peter in early runs and says he’s “such a delicate boy” because the reader knows that of course that’s not true.

If you parse it as he’s the Spider-Man of a friendly neighborhood – well, that’s an even bigger joke, because his neighborhood is New York City. There’s an old joke about how in Los Angeles “have a nice day” means “fuck you” and how in New York “fuck you” means “have a nice day” – and obviously places’ reputations rise and fall, but I don’t think it’s a mistake that the best era for Spider-Man canon was the 80s, when New York was dangerous. Some of my favorite Spider-Man moments are the street level ones, and not the big supervillain battle ones. Peter taking out Harry’s drug dealers, or getting involved in the dealings of corrupt New York politicians, or just tackling regular muggers. I mean, Spectacular Spider-Man #113 LITERALLY wrote a fictional version of the Bernie Goetz subway shootings, but with one of Aunt May’s boarders:

Technically, you could do these stories somewhere else, but moving Spider-Man out of New York takes so much of the personality out of him. There are a lot of Marvel superheroes who reside in New York, but of all of them, Spider-Man is New York – he embodies the spirit of the city in a very particular way, and that means he’s not always nice (but at least he’s pretty funny about it). If New York has an attitude, then so does Peter.

(Spectacular Spider-Man #115)

Which brings us to the “I love Peter Parker because I can relate to him” point, which is that I think the relatable word gets thrown around in a way that doesn’t serve the fictional characters it gets tacked onto. Peter isn’t relatable because he doesn’t have an incredibly individual character, and the things that people relate to in Peter aren’t going to be the same for everyone. I could list ways I relate to him personally, but there are also plenty of ways I don’t relate to the character at all. But you don’t have to have shared experiences with a character to like them, or to be able to see other shades of yourself in them. Look at it this way: being poor as a kid is important to how Peter as a character functions, and a rich person is not going to relate to Peter Parker on that level. It doesn’t mean they don’t understand that fact is important to the character – but lacking that personal experience means they’re not going to see themselves in the character the way someone who grew up poor will. To relate to a character doesn’t mean you have to be just like them – the things people relate to about Peter should be his struggles, his triumphs, his failures, his little everyday frustrations on top of the huge supervillain battles, not what percentage of him resemblances them personally. I’ve said it before, but if he’s relatable to everyone on that level, he’s not a character, he’s a Mad-Lib. There’s also the fact that, put in Peter’s place, I suspect many of us wouldn’t relate to him very much at all – it’s one thing to theorize that, with his specific powers, we’d all be brave and noble and selfless like Spider-Man, but there’s a reason Spider-Man’s life is so hard and, when put in the position where you could use those powers selfishly but improve your own life – I think a lot of people would choose to be selfish. And that doesn’t make them bad people; that’s greater human nature, and it’s something we don’t really have to worry about because as normal humans and not comic book characters we can’t crush a truck like a tin can with our bare hands. But ultimately, in that way, on that scale, he’s not very relatable to a lot of people who otherwise claim to love him. Which doesn’t mean they don’t or that they’re bad fans, because relating to a character shouldn’t be the end all and be all. So I think the way Peter should be related to is that he’s this average guy – he’s not an alien from another planet, he’s not a super soldier who was frozen in an iceberg, he doesn’t have a billion dollars and a butler and a cave in New Jersey – with average life problems like paying for his apartment and having relationship issues that get to carry the same gravity and weight of the supervillain of the month. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his own specific personality and character, and it’s kind of a weird marketing tactic Marvel’s adopted to take a character with so much history and instead of recognizing his longevity and fame as a result of the character being so individual and vibrant, to go “people like him because he’s just like them. All of them. Every single one of them.”

[blondecarfucker]

Bed of Roses (Chapter 16)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: So we're closer to the end! I can't believe there's only five more chapters to go. But yeah, this chapter was nice - I'm not gonna say it's a happy chapter, but it's happier than the last few ones lol. It's a chapter that has a bit more of me in it - but it's still a Reader fic, so don't worry lol. Please tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages!

Words: 2800ish

ACT 3 - DAWN

"It's the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out"

Chapter 16

1977, New York

The bench under your bum made you uncomfortable, but you were still too lazy to care - you always left the beach like this.

You were on the long, one hour way back to your loft in Greene Street, SoHo, through the good old F train, every inch of the train filled with graffiti. But you could still smell the salt in the air coming from the New York Aquarium Station - the best station to access the Coney Island sidewalk and beach.

There was better, cleaner beaches in the Hamptons, but they were full of annoyingly rich people that think they're better than the rest. Also, Coney Island held a special place in your heart - when you were a kid, your grandma would take you there, so you could enjoy the sun and the not-so-safe attractions, and your parents would always freak out when they found out that you took the unsafe subway through the unsafe neighbourhood of Brooklyn to get to a dirty beach.

But it was always fun. The sun would almost certainly burn your shoulders, and you could never wear any jewelry, but the feeling of being involved by the sea, floating in the water, holding your breath, after spending a couple hours on carousels and wooden roller coasters, would always make it worth it - your grandma always taught you to be brave, that things could be scary at first, but usually worked out. "If it doesn't make you happier, it makes you wiser", she'd tell you, and you'd nod, the taste of cheap ice cream on your mouth, the sun warming up your skin.

It was your grandma who figured out that something was wrong with you and made you seek help.

She came by to visit as soon as you called her, right after getting home from Cleopatra's Needle and breaking up with Roger. She came to your parent's apartment, complaining about the traffic - she lived in Paramus, New Jersey, now. She moved there in 1973, saying that it was ludicrous she couldn't grow old with a nice garden on the back of her house, just because Manhattan didn't have houses with gardens anymore.

Now, once you came back from London, in 1975, she looked at you and immediately knew something was wrong. "Sweetpea, what's wrong?" she asked, a frown on her face as she got closer to you.

You were lying on the couch in your pajamas, trying to see if you could find a Doctor Who re-run - probably not a good idea, all things considered, but you didn't just miss Roger, now that he's away. You missed England, you missed their accents, you missed the way you felt when you first got there. "What, grandma?", you asked, and she got you to get up, putting her hand against your forehead.

"You're different", she said, and you shrugged, "Yeah, I'm older", and she laughed. "So am I, Sweetpea. And it hasn't been so long since I last saw you - last year, right? You came here with your hairy boyfriend", she said, and you tensed up, which didn't go unnoticed. "Oh. I see. Something happened between the two of you, right?" she asked, and you nodded.

"That's it. You look sadder. You didn't look like that before. But… Maybe that's not it. No, I don't think that's it at all", she said, and you looked at her, confused. "No, Grandma. That's what happened. I'm sad - I had to breakup with Roger, my boyf - ex-boyfriend", you interrupted yourself, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Roger, my ex-boyfriend, so I could get back here", you said, a cold pain spreading through your chest as the impact of these words hit you.

"But that's just a symptom. There's something else wrong there, Sweetpea. Something deeper within", she said, pointing to your heart. "And that's what made you sad, what made you break up with that boy. I liked him, you know. He made you happy - I could see it. You were always brave, and that always made me proud. But with him, you were happy - when you came into the room with him by your side, everything got brighter. Your love was like the sun", she said, fixing a painting on the wall, not noticing how your eyes were tearing up.

"That's how I last saw you. Brave and happy", she looked at the painting, satisfied with it now that it was not crooked anymore, and turned to you. "Now you're neither. What happened, Sweetpea?", and you choked up. "I don't know", you whispered, and she hugged you as you started to cry - she smelled like plums and apples, the things she grew on her garden in Paramus.

You couldn't stop thinking about the last time she saw you - it was in 1974, and the boys came to America, specifically to New York for a few dates, and you had to come with them - they wanted you to do so. Also, you were dating Roger for two years, and it was time for him to meet your parents.

You came from a small gig in Boston, Roger holding your hand the entire plane ride to New York - he was nervous. You were travelling right after their show, an extra night before the rest of the boys, so you could take Roger to have dinner with your parents.

None of you knew your parents actually organized a dinner party, and invited part of your family - your uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. Your uncle opened the door to your apartments, surprising both you and Roger. "Hm, hey, uncle Marcus. Where are my parents?", you asked, and you felt Roger's grip on your hand tighten as he noticed there would be many more family members for him to meet.

As you walked inside, you whispered to Roger "Relax, Rog", and he started looking more confident - but you could still feel his tight grip on your hand. He was still nervous.

But everything worked out just fine, actually. Your parents didn't really approve his looks - Roger was wearing a suit that he bought in Japan, with colorful birds and trees in silk shining against the dining room lights - but your cousins loved it. They loved him, actually, since they knew exactly who he was.

He got more comfortable as dinner went by, joking with your family, and you carefully changed topics once you realized one of your parents was about to ask a question about delicate stuff - money, marriage, kids.

You two always thought about marriage and kids as something distant - you felt too young, too irresponsible to take care of a child. So you took your birth control pills religiously, and everything worked out fine - the promise of children and marriage always there, in the distant future.

After the dinner party, Roger followed you to your room - you'd be spending the night there, since the band's hotel was booked for the next day.

"Well, this is an interesting look into a younger Y/N", Roger said, going through your bookshelf. "Frankenstein, Romeo and Juliet, Don Quixote, that's all pretty smart… 1984, I remember you talked about this book before our first kiss...", he said, and kneeled down, where your bookshelf was messier. "What's this? Flash Gordon?" he asks, picking up one of the comic books and going through it, and you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?", you said, getting the comics out of his hands. "I used to think Flash was hot. And Dale was pretty cool, too", you said, and he laughed, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

"It's fine by me", he said, and looked out of your window. "It's just funny for me to imagine you, a teenager, sitting by your window in this preppy, quite soulless neighbourhood, reading Flash Gordon and thinking of a way out", he said, and you laughed.

"Hey, I didn't only do that. I also had sleepovers with girls I never spoke to since we graduated from high school, and went on a bunch of dates with guys I didn't really like", you answered, and it was his turn to laugh.

"Hm, doesn't seem like a very satisfying life to me", he whispered, moving his lips to your neck, and you nodded lightly. "Did you ever bring them here? To your room?", he asked, and you laughed. "No, my parents would die. They were quite liberal, but not like that. When I went on a date as a teenager, I had to go to their place later if I wanted some action, you know", you answered, and he started to move his kisses to your jaw. You knew what he was about to suggest.

"I know, Y/N... So, I'm just wondering, am I the first guy your parents are allowing inside your room?", he said, his breath on your jaw giving you goosebumps. "Yeah", you answered, and he kissed under your earlobe. "The first guy to sleep on your bed?", he asked, and you said "Yes".

"How are your parents allowing this, miss Y/L/N? Such a nice girl from such a nice family, locked inside her room with a british drummer", he said, his voice low and husky, moving you closer to your bed. But you wanted to take it slow - it was a special event, indeed.

"Not that I'm trying to break your roleplay, Roger, but we literally share a flat. It would be silly for them to get the guest bedroom ready for you", you said, and he scoffed, breaking away from your neck and looking at you.

"Yeah, but it would be hotter", he said, going back to kissing your jaw. "Imagine how hot it would be if I had to wait until your parents slept so I could leave the guest bedroom", he said, getting you to sit on the bed, "And then I would've to walk, very carefully, through the hallway, trying not to wake them up", he continued, laying you down on your back and moving on top of you, then going back to kissing your neck and cleavage as he completed, "Just to open your bedroom door and find you touching yourself, moaning my name".

"That would be pretty hot", you agreed. "Maybe I should get them to move you to the guest room", you shrugged, teasing him, and he stopped kissing your cleavage just to look at you and say "Don't you dare", before kissing your lips.

That night was a bad memory to have running over your head again and again as you laid on your bed every night to go to sleep, alone, a year later, after breaking up with Roger, in 1975.

Your grandma convinced you to seek help, and you tried everything: therapy - your parents looking at you weirdly because getting a therapist was still associated with severe mental illness, meditation, mediums, aromatherapy.

You didn't knew exactly what worked, but a year after you arrived, now in 1976, you were already in your new SoHo flat, having moved out of the Upper East Side, the neighbourhood you - and Roger - knew that didn't really have much to do with you, even though it was closer to the Met, where the work was interesting - and where you barely ever saw Will, uncomfortable looks exchanged between the two of you every time you had to see each other.

It was a cold winter day in December 1976 when you got up, your loft nicely illuminated, spacious, the soft light from the snowy day making everything seem more magical. The building was quiet, your artistic neighbours still asleep this early in the morning, and you made yourself some tea - with milk - and opened the window so you could sit on the emergency exit.

The street was also quiet, the only sound being a muffled free jazz, that was probably being played live in a grand piano inside one of the many lofts on Greene Street. It was then, the cold wind making your skin burn under the layers of sweaters, the tea getting rapidly cold, the jazz caressing your ears, when you realized you were not sad anymore.

You didn't feel that weight on your chest now, when you breathed in, filling your lungs with fresh, cold air, and you didn't feel like you had no control over your life. You were present, in the moment, and you felt happy. Happy with your life. Happy with yourself.

And you enjoyed this feeling, without thinking much, for as long as you stayed outside on the emergency exit; until you finished the tea, until the jazz player stopped, wherever he or she was.

Once you got inside, thinking about preparing a nice, warm bath, you walked by the phone, and you wanted to call Roger.

You wanted to call him many times before, but you were always desperate, regretting breaking up with him, or sad, just trying to know how he's doing, how the boys are doing.

But now, you didn't feel anything negative make you want to call him - you just wanted to let him know that you're happy again.

But that doesn't seem like a good enough reason to call him in the middle of the day for him - he probably wasn't even up yet.

So you went inside the bathtub and just felt grateful for meeting him, for having the opportunity to have him in your life. Now, it was peaceful.

Now, back at the F train to your house from Coney Island in 1977, you're taken out of your thoughts when you see a blonde head pass in front of you, but you don't feel nervous anymore - you knew it wasn't Roger.

You always thought you saw him, especially in 1975, your first year back in New York - always nervous, always imagining that he was just trying to see you, to talk to you, maybe to try to take you back to England with him.

You saw him everywhere, in those first weeks, still in your parents apartment, thinking he might be on you M86 bus to work, or maybe in this fancy cocktail party you attended.

But one time, in 1976, you could swear you saw him on the stairs at the Met as you bought a hot dog from the stands in front of the museum - the guy's hair was shorter and bleached, just like you saw in the pictures of Roger that appeared on magazines, and he looked confused. But you didn't really investigate it, though - it was probably just another guy, maybe even inspiring his own look in Roger's.

Your train reached your station and you finally got back to Greene Street, walking slowly to your building, taking in the view of your street. Now that you're far from Queen, you can see their importance, their impact on the world.

You watched as songs you saw get written and sung and produced right in front of you became huge hits - Deacy's song to Veronica reached #1 on the american charts. A song you saw get recorded in a weekend visiting your boyfriend as he worked - that's how you saw it.

You bought their new album in the end of last year, 1976, A Day at the Races. You loved it - it was probably your favourite, and you didn't knew if it was because their music was getting better or if it was because this was their first album you could enjoy as a fan, not being involved in how it was made. You liked to watch their TV specials and interviews, feeling grateful that you ever got to be around them, even though life - and your own, unconscious choices, you now realized - took you away from them. From Roger.

You loved You Take My Breath Away and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, but Drowse truly held a special spot in your heart - maybe you only loved it so much because it was Roger's, and it sounded like talking to him about his childhood, something you've done many times before, but maybe you didn't love it just because you were biased by your story with Roger. The song sounded more american, and it even made you feel like you felt when you listened to Fleetwood Mac. You smiled at that thought.

Once you got home, you picked your mail and started going through it.

You weren't really paying attention to it - you were thinking about the Fleetwood Mac show you would attend next week for the Rumours tour, in the Madison Square Garden, when a heavier letter caught your eye.

The paper was soft, creamy beige, and sealed with wax. And then you read what was written over the envelope.

It was a letter sent by the Curator of Palaeolithic and Mesolithic collections from The British Museum.

---

Chapter 17

Masterlist

Taglist:

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @brianandthemays @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife @notevenlxvely @discodeakyy @x1975sos

[readersimagine]

The Days That’ll Never Come (1/7?)

Note: I thought of this a week ago while I was washing dishes. Hahaha this is my first time writing DC universe fanfic though I’ve been reading these for months now. I just wanted to share this thought to all. I got a help from my ever so loyal and amazing beautiful friend, who is also my beta reader. She helps me with my series most of the time. I hope you all enjoy it! I’m thinking of writing this with 7 parts??? We’ll see.

Y/N L/N - your first name and last name

S/N - your superhero name

A black Mercedes Benz car pulled over the new Grand Westward Hotel that recently opened a few months ago. Thousands of people crowded along the sidewalk behind the gold velvet ropes, in hopes to get a glance of the rich and the famous. The crowd was ecstatic and full of energy. People talked amongst themselves to guess who’s who were on the list. Some people even brought sharpies and papers just in case there’s a slight chance someone important comes there way and gives an autograph. Security kept a close eye of the crowd, standing by the ropes while wearing black suit and ties. Photographers stepped foot on the sides of the red carpet with their camera’s flash on, ready to take a shot of a publish-worthy picture. The driver opened the door, gasps and whispers ensued.

“Isn’t that Y/N L/N?”

“OMG, is that her?!”

The dazzling Y/N L/N placed one of her legs out and another off the car and came out. She stood beside her car as the valet took her car for parking. She revealed a gorgeous red dress that flowed down to her legs. Camera flashes immediately began to go off non-stop as soon as her car left. She turned towards the hotel and began walking towards the sidewalk and into the entrance door. She was bombarded by numerous questions but everything was muffled and toned down to her. She knew who she was. She was Y/N L/N. She knew all too well about her tragic history that the press didn’t need to remind her off. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t a socialite anymore. She was content of where she was now.

She strutted her way into the great big open doors of the place and was greeted by a man in tuxedo.

“Miss L/N, welcome to the Annual Tri-state Area Charity Ball. The party is to your right.” The man said

“Thank you.” Y/N said, flashing him a charming smile that melted him away.

She made her way to grand ballroom. The click of her heels followed suit and echoed through the hall. She heard soft jazz in background making her smile to herself as she walked in the room. It was indeed a high-end event when they have a live band playing jazz. She stood by the top of the grand staircase, having the best view of all the rich and the famous with their plastic and silicon coming all the way from New Jersey, New York, and Delaware to the city of Gotham. She laughed at how everyone was unrecognizable from their high school yearbooks due to their constructive surgeries. Some things never change in this society even though she was gone for years. Artificial beauty was still the norm.

She was once part of the glitz and the glamour but she left it all behind. Ever since the car accident that caused her parents’ lives, she decided to live with her aunt and uncle who raised her with all the love she deserves. Her inheritance including her shares were saved and managed by her uncle until a year ago, when she took over and started working. Now, she was back; ready to face the world with good morals on her hand and justice on the other.

She was glad that she was invited to the homelessness charity, But she knew too well it was because of her big name and the success story she might share. As much to her dismay, the accident still had its effects. But being here didn’t mean she had intentions of jumping into their band wagon again. She only came to provide for the people and nothing more.

The band switched songs into a slower song. The crowd gathered onto the dance floor, swaying their hips into the music. She started to descend the stairs as she looked ahead to the open bar.

“Perfect” she thought. She’ll need it to carry on for the rest of the night.

When she continued to look at that direction, her eyes lingered to see a handsome outline of a tall, strong build gentleman standing by the pillar. She caught his eyes and he gave her that genuine smile only reserved to her. She smiled back to him. She could recognize that face anywhere ever since she was a kid. She gracefully and excitedly walked towards him, crossing a parted sea of people.

And oh. Y/N’s breath was taken away when she saw his blue dazzling eyes that she always got lost into.

God! She felt nervous, a rising heart rate and cold sweats accompanied her in her walk. She stood in front of him. Y/N gazed at this man. Her first crush.

“Y/N L/N. It’s been too long.” He said with his deep smooth rich voice.

“It’s been a while, Bruce Wayne.” He took her hand and held it so gently as if it were made of porcelain. He brought it to his lips and gave her hand a feather-light gentle kiss. Her cheeks began to turn into a light shade of pink in response. She didn’t know it was possible for her heart to beat faster than earlier. However, her anxiety died down like the calm after the storm. This felt right just like before.

“I am so honoured that you graced me your presence tonight.” He teased and she laughed in response

“Bruce,” she playfully waved at hand at him, “Always such a tease.”

“It has been years since you’ve attended any socialite events. It’s good to see you again.” He smiled, just like how she remembered it when she was young.

“It has been a long time. I figured I would use this fame I have left for something good.” she said

“Following my footsteps, I see?” he said causing her to chuckle.

“Not a chance, heart breaker.” she retorted. Bruce placed his right hand over the left side of his chest.

“You wound me, Y/N.”

BAM! CLASH!

Bruce instantly wrapped his arms around Y/N and turned her away from the crowd. Y/N was too shocked to respond, safely cradled in Bruce’s arms. She looked up at Bruce, who was facing them away from the sound. Bruce looked at Y/N in the eyes and noticed how they were positioned. He slowly took his arms off Y/N. They both turned to look at the damage. The grand chandelier fell from the ceiling, nearly missing the people by the staircase. In an instant, the band stopped playing and was replaced by a deranged laugh. The two stiffened at the sound and became more guarded. It could only be one person. The Joker. Lo and behold, The Clown Prince of Gotham himself emerged amongst the band.

Bruce swiftly turned to look at Y/N with serious and concerned eyes. He held her hands and Y/N looked at him, concerned. She opened her mouth to say something but Bruce beat her to it.

“Get to safety, Y/N. Quickly. I need to take care of something.” He told her and took off to an employee exist near his right, not noticing Y/N slinking away into the shadows behind her.

It took a while for the Joker to say anything. He took off his disguise along with his comrades to reveal his clowned up face and his signature green hair wearing a white three-piece suit. His goons revealed their hideous scary looking clown masks, still suited in their band disguises.

“Well isn’t this quite a party.” He said, face contorted into his signature smile, showing the scars on his cheeks. His goons started to flock into the room. Weary guests started to run towards the exits but were faced with closed doors.

“Awww leaving so soon? The party's just getting started!” He exclaimed before he laughed.

High pitched shrieks, shouts of panic, and heavy footsteps filled the room soon after they realized they were all trapped inside with the Joker.

Suddenly, the glass windows shattered as a man in black entered the closed off grand room. He landed right in front of the Joker causing the grin on the Joker’s face to widen. The man in black straightened and towered over the clown.

“Well if it isn’t Batsy. You came just in time for the party.” The joker said to Batman, but only receiving a glare in return.

“Let these people go, Joker.” Batman demanded.

“Ohh. No can do, Batsy.” The Joker shook his head as he looked down. “Where would the fun be with that?” The Joker said as he looked up before he ordered his men to take the guests.

Batman took his stance and threw a smoke bomb at Joker’s goons. He maneuvered in the smoke easily as Joker’s goons blindly threw punches in the smoke-filled air. He grabbed one of the goons and punched him, knocking them out. He high kicked the one on his right causing them to fly off to a nearby table. One goon started running towards Batman and was about to attack him when he caught the goon’s hand and threw him on the ground. The smoke was clearing up, revealing a guest emptied grand ballroom. Only Batman, the Joker and his goons were left inside. Everyone turned their heads around to see the room.

“WHAT HAPPENED!?” the Joker shouted angrily as he continued to survey the room. Everyone stopped fighting. His eyes were opened in rage, wrinkles were evident on his face and his jaw clenched. Even though he had his classic white makeup on, he’s face fumed red. Batman looked around to find a mysterious woman with a full-on tech mask wearing a black mono-chrome skin-tight suit with armour. The Joker followed Batman’s gaze and spotted the said mysterious woman.

“YOU WEREN’T INVITED, S/N!!!!” The Joker shouted at the female vigilante. He shook in anger. Underneath her mask, she smirked at him.

“Well you guys weren’t really invited to this party either. I didn’t see your names on the list.” She stood on her spot. She stared at the Joker whose enraged. Batman immediately pressed a button on his utility belt sending a recorded transmission back to the Bat Cave.

“GET HER!” The Joker commanded his goons. The fight between the vigilantes and the goons began.

Meanwhile in the Bat Cave, Robin and Nightwing were on stand by. They knew too well that the Joker was on the loose but Bruce ordered them to stay in until he needed them.

“This sucks.” Dick impatiently said in his Nightwing uniform. He tossed his escrima sticks in the air like a twirling baton and he leaned by the railings of the bat cave near the computer.

“Be patient, Dick.” Tim replied while he was in his Robin uniform to his adoptive brother. He spun around using the chair in front of the bat computer, waiting for the signal.

Suddenly, a message popped up on the bat computer monitor. Nightwing sat up and grabbed his escrima sticks as they fell on his hands. He walked towards Robin who spun back into position and opened the message.

“Operation identity revelation in commence.” Batman said on the recorded message. Robin looked at Nightwing, who knowingly nodded at him. It was time.

In the grand ballroom of the Grand Westward Hotel, the goons split into two. One ran towards S/N  and began to attack her while the others defended the Joker from Batman. S/N touched the right ear side of her helmet. She heard a chime sound in her helmet and then radio static was heard. She was connected to Batman’s radio transmitter.

“Testing? Batman can you hear me?” she asked. Batman listened carefully to her voice as he fought off Joker’s goons. Her voice was unrecognizable due to her voice distorter machine.

“Clearly.” He answered.

“I let the guests escape. I’ll take care of the goons.” She said as she landed a mean right hook to one of the goons attacking her.

“Noted.” He said when knocked out the last goon in his way. He spotted the Joker and ran after him. S/N continued fighting the rest of the goons, defeating each and everyone of them.

Batman and Joker continued their showdown on the grand staircase. Batman avoided the Joker’s attacks and kicked him off the stairs. The Joker groaned in pain as he hit the floor. Batman jumped after him and sedated him. He placed a high tech Arkham handcuffs. Commissioner Gordon and the GCPD entered the ballroom soon after S/N took out the last goon. The commissioner ordered his men to apprehend the Joker and his goons and approached the two vigilantes.

“Thank you, S/N and Batman, for defeating-” he started but was cut off by the sound of Batman’s grappling hook shooting into the distance.

“-the Joker.” He watched Batman flew into the night sky. His gaze fell on the female vigilante who saluted him before leaving as well. He just chuckled in response to the two as he shook his head.

The two vigilantes jumped from building to building in the Gotham City skyline. Batman led them away from the hotel. Not too far away from them, Nightwing followed behind them, watching S/N’s actions intently.

Batman landed at the top of an abandoned building by the river as S/N followed suit. He waited for S/N to land on the building’s roof before turning around to see the vigilante. Nightwing stayed close by hiding at the rooftop that was close to where Batman was.

“S/N.” he greeted.

“Batman.” She said.

“Thank you for the help tonight.” He said

“No problem. I was around and I thought you need a hand since I saw your little birdies weren’t around.” She said. He smirked at her response.

“They were busy.” He said. Nightwing and Robin were watching and listening to them throughout the entire night since the battle begun. S/N paced around the roof and looked around, finally setting her gaze at him.

“You know, I know they are listening.” She said with her hands behind her back and a smirk on her face.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, cursing in his mind. He wanted to gather evidence about S/N as much as possible from tonight’s encounter with the Joker. He didn’t like the idea of not knowing anything about the newest member of the Justice League.

“I heard them through the transmitter that I connected into and I saw one of them earlier.” S/N walked closer to him.

“They need more practice, Bruce.” He flinched at the sound of his name.

‘How did you know who he is?’ he thought to himself.

Nightwing and Robin did the same. Robin continuous typed in the bat computer to restore the recorded voice of S/N in his program especially made to undistort voices. He was now working in on a whole new time limit. Beads of sweat started to show on his face that Alfred, the loyal butler of the Wayne’s, noticed on Robin’s face. Nightwing narrowed his eyes at S/N’s figure from afar using his binoculars.

“Got any info yet, Robin.” Nightwing asked through a separate transmitter between him and Robin. He kept a close eye on the two vigilantes that’s two buildings away from him.

“Not yet. She’s a professional. This wouldn’t be too easy.” Robin said as he focused on his task.

“Who is this Bruce you speak of?” Batman asked, hoping he can redirect this topic to S/N. Nightwing faced palmed as he listened to the two. Robin was too busy to react while Alfred stifled a laugh at such a serious moment. S/N chuckled. She noticed his sudden flinch and the way he muttered his own name.

“You too need to work on your lying skills, Wayne.” She said. Batman uncomfortably stood in front of S/N. His heart rate increased. The mission wasn’t going as planned but he kept his composure. Nightwing stood and got ready to back up Bruce if things get more worse.

“You know…” S/N voice lingered as she stared at Batman. “You could have asked me who I am.” She continued as she stood in front of him with her hand placed on her hip.

“Wouldn’t that be too easy, S/N.” he said sarcastically.

“No, honestly. You could just have asked.” She honestly said.

“Out of all those times you’ve helped me and the League, you are just telling me now that I could have known your secret identity if I asked?” he questioned, skeptical of the idea.

She laughed and shook her head. Batman changed his stance and put his guard up when S/N began to reach for her helmet. She clicked something on the bottom of her full-head mask to retract it, revealing her still-full-of-make-up face.

“Y/N?” Batman whispered, leaving his mouth slightly parted; shocked to see his childhood friend to be the mysterious S/N. He relaxed and let his guard down.

“Wha-what? How is this possible?” he asked, perplexed.

Nightwing, Robin, and Alfred listened and watched the whole revelation. What caught their eye wasn’t the eye-catching Y/N L/N but Bruce’s lack of words. Alfred smiled to himself as he watched the footage from the roof top play on the bat computer monitor. He hasn’t seen Miss L/N in years since she moved away after Bruce and Y/n’s years in high school, exactly fifteen years from now.

“Wasn’t she the woman Bruce was talking to in the charity ball?” Robin turned to look at Alfred who stood beside him, still looking at the marvelous Y/N.

“Yes, indeed Master Tim. She is Master Bruce’s dearest friend.” Alfred said as he continued to look at the monitor, emphasizing that the word ‘friend’ had a deeper meaning to it. Robin watched Alfred and turned to watch his adoptive father gaze at the woman whom he had known for so long.

“Does he always get awe struck whenever he sees her?” Robin bluntly asked only to receive a chuckle from Nightwing through the radio.

“Haven’t seen Bruce like this even with Selina nor Angela.” Nightwing said as he watched the two slowly walked towards each other on the roof top.

“Everything is possible, Bruce.” She said with a shy smile. She stopped walking to him when they are a meter apart.

“How didn’t I know it was you all this time?” He asked more to himself

“Like I said, I’m better at keeping secrets, Bruce. You could use more practice.” She retorted causing Bruce to chuckle. His gaze was soft as he looked at Y/N, his cold exterior melted and once returned to his younger self.

Everyone focused on the two dearest friends, unaware of the hooded figure on the other building watching as well.

[rexylafemme]

time together with time to spare; time to learn, time to care

i feel seasick with grief. my stomach feels like a rubber hot water bottle being tossed about between two hands, sad water sloshing around, springing up through my throat to my eyes which keep welling up. my heart is beating and radiating from it is a dull burning feeling that contracts and expands through my chest as i breathe. my fingers are trembling and i can’t keep them steady, my whole body is slightly tingly, vibratory. tears keep surfacing, a wall of water over my eyes, cascading from behind my eyebrows, but then i breathe and they don’t fall. it’s 12:10pm and i must be hungry because i haven’t eaten since early afternoon yesterday, having been at hospice all day in new jersey until close to midnight. my mind feels hazy, my stomach is sour and i feel empty all over.  it feels like a hangover, but i am just living through death.

i’ll stop writing to eat soon because i know i need to care for myself well through this, but right now i need to write through what i feel first. i’m telling myself i will neglect everything i need to get done today, but i’m not sure that’s true. i’ll decide if maybe being productive toward tour tasks, making my video collage for my performance, making some important phone calls, going outside, anything other than just being in this, will be helpful to me today. if it won’t, i won’t allow myself to be stressed by obligation. i don’t want to use anything—workaholism, frenzied cleaning, substances, tv, sleeping—to distract myself or to numb myself or to get lost in something else.

i put two slices of bread in the oven, i’m going to eat toast. i think about orange juice, but my whole torso already feels like it’s coursing with watery acid. i sigh and i think “it’s unfair.” i wonder about spiritual justice, i wonder about consequences, i ask myself, or my thoughts vocalize themselves in my head, asking the void, asking the matrix, asking the ether—why?

i was supposed to spend the day yesterday at my aunt linda’s with her and my mother. my mother texted me on saturday night at around 10 that we couldn’t hang out because instead, she, linda, and my uncle, tommy, were going to go see our cousin, maureen, in hospice. cousin is kind of misleading, given maureen  is my grandmother’s niece. she’s 77 and more like an aunt to them, a great aunt to me. funnily, i was sitting on the rocks of the east river in red hook, off the street maureen grew up on when i get the text. i call my mother immediately, to ask if i could come with them. i call my uncle and leave a message, asking what the best way for me to link up with them tomorrow is if they are going.

i didn’t know how badly my mother was really doing until i saw her yesterday, or i did know, but haven’t been able to deal with it. and none of us knew how badly maureen was doing until we saw her yesterday, her dying. my mother didn’t come. she’s in a really fragile mental state, she’s not eating or taking care of herself, she’s foggy and quiet, and my uncle picked a fight with her before i was heading to queens and then she felt too sick and upset to come. my uncle was a huge, mean asshole lacking compassion as usual, and it’s his fault she didn’t come because the miscommunication about scheduling was his fault, but instead he just did what he and a lot of them tend to do in my family, blamed my mother, yelled at her, shut her down. she’s an easy target and she’s very sensitive.

i burnt my toast, but i’m going to eat it anyway, with half an avocado and some salt. i bite it, i chew, move the food around in my mouth until it is mush, swallow. it doesn’t taste like anything, it just feels like changing textures on my tongue, between my teeth, against the soft inner walls of my cheeks.

i saw my mother briefly around the corner from the house, felt hopeless and heartbroken. she kept saying she was okay and i kept saying she wasn’t. sometimes loving my mother, a lot of times, loving my mother, has meant begging her to care about herself enough to stay alive. she is slowly killing herself it seems sometimes, the house—how tommy hoarded it, how tommy and dorothy began hoarding her apartment after my mom took dorothy in—is killing her, their cruelty, their verbal abuse, the meanness, is killing her, me, us. i know i’m going to have to decide to restructure things in my life to take the reins to help her because she can’t do it herself at this juncture, in this way. but i do have faith that once she’s back on her feet a bit, once she’s shown some care, she can push forward again. nobody in our immediate family has a lot of faith in her but me. no one takes any responsibility for her well-being but me. because she’s the crazy one. because she’s the punching bag. i try to think clearly, i try to think of ways i can step in here without it overwhelming my life, without having to sacrifice what i need to do with myself. i try to be reasonable about what i’m dealing with here, i try to not catastrophize—i can deal with this after i return from tour. is there time for that?  will she be okay by the time i get back? will she be alive? reasonably, yes, she will be alive. she may not be any better than she is right now, though, but what i could accomplish toward that in a month in a fucked up personal state is unclear either way.

i think about next year and how i’ve been considering not going to the conservatory, been weighing my options and thinking about my dreams, my goals, what i’ve made and not waiting to live my life the way i want to. how i’ve been thinking of actually just extending the tour, starting the performance/organizing collective with the emerge people, working and traveling and using the money i raise toward performance programs that aren’t THE WHITE RICH ESTABLISHMENT and that also provide more financial assistance. not going $40,000 more into loan debt on top of the rest and having to raise $4-6,000 a semester on my own, just to go, not including housing, life expenses, everything else. i think about how i can take classes with laverne cox’s acting coach, singing classes with julia, queer-oriented body and movement classes, the doors that have opened for me through emerge with connections, fellowships, residencies, how i can develop my own framework for education and pay less for it, while also maybe getting more of what i need in ways that honor me. in a way where i wouldn’t have to, on top of being at school from 9-5 or 6 each day, and working  some nights and weekends, have to do the extra work to just teach everyone about who i am, about trans-ness and identity and privilege in general, on top of the psychological struggle it will be just to be in a program like that where the point is to delve deep into emotional landscapes and embodiment, but also—the psychological struggle of having to be a woman, literally, in scenes (and like rich wife canon characters). i think about all the work and energy i’ll put into transforming an institution that will revert back to itself for the most part upon my leaving. because that’s what i do in these settings. i think about being one of the only trans poor people there and i wonder why i would do it. i wonder what i would gain.

i tell myself if i don’t go, if i just run with what i’ve made, this book, six years in the making, run with what i’ve built in performance and with emerge, see where that goes, i also could always reapply and get in again. i got in with no training whatsoever. i got in because i wanted to, because i gave it everything. but maybe i want to give myself everything, maybe i want to go for my dream in a different way, in a way i’ve been dreaming about for a long time. maybe just because i am used to running myself ragged, running on empty, on fumes, used to being an exception in an affluent establishment institution and codeswitching and fighting my way through it, doesn’t mean it’s what i should do. maybe that’s an old dream, maybe that’s just what flashdance and gypsy and some theatrical version of meritocracy told me to do.

i’m diverging, i want to focus on yesterday, but i can’t separate the future, my future, from the present. my mother gets inserted into my planning. i wonder if that’s wrong. i think, maybe choosing not to go, well, i know choosing not to go, will make it easier for me to support her. but what kinda role should that play in my decision-making? i think that our radical communities, steeped in academic theories on what’s right and wrong in terms of how to be and act and live can be as blindly and naively individualistic as any other framework, sometimes don’t speak to the lived realities of poor families and what we have to do to survive and help each other survive. but also, codependence has been a sour reality in my family life and i’m constantly evaluating what support needs to look like in my life. as my cousin denise, maureen’s daughter, said yesterday, take care of yourself first, then take care of your mother. which is, i imagine, what has sustained her through taking care of her own mother.

i think, too, that going might be a bad kind of drain on my mental health, a bad kind of obsessive attention to my craft at the expense of a lot of other necessary parts of my life: like focusing on self-care and community-care and my family, blood and not, and herbal transitioning and just nourishing myself in all the other passions and desires and needs i have. i worry that the program won’t honor a much-needed and awaited dedication to balance in my life that i have been working hard and successfully (in some ways) to cultivate. because the kind of rigorous it is is the kind that tells you to push yourself beyond what you are reasonably capable, that kinda ragged discipline where you break yourself and don’t be a wimp/baby/sissy. no crying in baseball kinda system. i don’t know that i believe in that anymore. i believe in pushing myself, i believe in breaking, i believe in rigor, but maybe not in that way. and maybe not in that setting. who will hold me there?  

yesterday, like my whole life, and maybe anyone’s, especially where family is concerned, i was a child and i was an adult. precocious in my emotional intelligence, seen and held mostly by myself and by denise, maureen’s daughter. it was like years collapsing. it was like when grandma and donna died, like when maureen and denise showed up for us, for them? my aunts and uncles, their cousins they raised or grew up with. tables were turned. denise is a year younger than my mother, denise. maureen and denise were integral to my survival through my childhood, especially through the first couple years after my grandma and donna’s death, all the chaos that ensued. which was just a continuation of other chaos.

time collapsed. it was so ordinary and normal to talk to denise. it was so ordinary and normal for us to be all over each other with sweet, familial, friendly affection. we saw each other as we always did, denise, 58, me, 28. having these beautiful and complex relationships with our mothers. being two people who were always kinda different, always set apart. two people with so much exuberant love for people, two creative and eccentric and short people. and, interestingly, tho i was an only child, i always was treated as a kinda sibling to my 6 aunts and uncles and my mother, and denise, tho she had 3 siblings, was always kinda like an only child, much closer to maureen than to her siblings.  linda said, “denise is going to be so lost.” because she has been so close with maureen, living with her since before i was born aside from her own stint in the bay area and other moments in NYC, and, recently, taking care of maureen through the last two years, two years i didn’t realize until yesterday had been so extreme. taking care of her almost exclusively, as her siblings live out their married lives with children and ordinary career paths (no judgment, it’s just how it is). denise being the eldest.

and not knowing about maureen’s condition these two years: that’s partially the working class irish-catholic stoicism, as denise and i were discussing, sitting by a wall of windows in the hospice hallway, and that’s partially my family, my elders, being disconnected because of their dysfunction. and that’s partially maureen just not wanting people to know, not wanting to burden people, not wanting help, and also what denise called “vanity.” and so i don’t begrudge anyone for the ways they chose to deal, not deal, talk, not talk about what was happening. i am mature enough in these times now to not judge, to not have hard feelings. tho i do have regrets, and i expressed them honestly to denise. i wish i had seen her before now, have an actual conversation, see her laugh again, hear her speak, ask her things. denise said i shouldn’t. she loves me, she always has had a very special place in her heart where i live, that she wanted and expected me to be off, on my own, finding myself, spreading my wings. that it was no one’s fault that we weren’t as close. that we all do what we can.

that was the thing about maureen and denise and my grandmother and donna that were different: we talked about shit honestly, we didn’t hold back the hard stuff. the emotional experiences of these tragedies we lived within. so i told denise that i felt heartbroken, to tell her how much i value how encouraging and supportive maureen always was of my creativity, my sensitivity. how both of them really saved me through those times. how even before those deaths they were a respite for me. and she explained the last two years to me, and “you know how she is! she’s stubborn. she’s strong, she’s a tough cookie, she’s set in her ways.” the attendants call her queen maureen. exalted, the name card on the window by her bed in her hospice room says.

i didn’t know i was going there to say goodbye. we didn’t know. everything’s accelerated so fast since wednesday apparently. she was in rehab, the thought was she was going to get stronger and be alright, but then, a turn for the worse. of course when we were headed to hospice we knew that meant soon, but not like, any day. denise said one night all of a sudden maureen started saying, “mom, mom! mom, no i’m not ready. i need a jacket, i need my jacket.” and denise  said, “nana, no, wait, i need a few days.” end of life care, comfort care.

 we got out of the car in front of the hospital, linda and i, linda holding her portable oxygen tank, out of breath from just getting out of the car, waiting for tommy to park and enter together. as we stood there, we saw michelle, maureen’s youngest daughter, approaching. she looked at us and didn’t recognize us at first. then said, “oh my god,” hugged us. said to linda, “i didn’t recognize you. i saw you and was like why is this lady looking at me, wait she looks familiar. how are you feeling? like shit?” linda shrugged. tommy arrived. there was no preparing us. we got up to the hospice floor, i went to the bathroom. i took a deep breath and walked down the hall to maureen’s room.

there really was no preparing. she is so small. she is all bones, loose skin in places, taut skin in places, pale. i can’t quite remember what she looked like, which makes me sad, but i guess is a protective mechanism; she wouldn’t want me to remember her that way anyway. walking in to her was shocking. i tensed up, i felt sick, i felt frightened. it makes me feel sick to say that she, at first, terrified me. but it was the kinda fear that comes with knowledge of how much suffering she was going through, how much pain, how this was the last time i would ever see her. and this was a way i knew she didn’t want to be seen and her seeing me might make her feel more sadness and pain. i sat at the end of her bed on a chair next to lauren, her granddaughter, two years older than me and recently married in spring. maureen almost didn’t make it to her wedding because of her health problems, but, fierce miracle queen that she is, she did. and i remember the pictures from it on facebook, how just three months ago she looked so different, still like herself, tho much smaller and frailer and thinner and more tired.  

so delirious through the morphine, out of it, so barely there, in body and spirit. and, yet, it was her and she was alert. glimpses: her hands, her eyes, those moran eyes as everyone always said of my grandmother’s side and their uniform eyes. she looked right into my eyes, my face—recognition and surprise and her own grief, i wanted to know how she was feeling, i didn’t know how to ask, i didn’t know what to say. i felt stupid and like a child who didn’t know what to do, my love felt confused, because i didn’t want to hurt her more, physically or spiritually. i didn’t know what was right. looking in her eyes and denise’s eyes both were like looking into my grandmother’s eyes. she could barely, barely speak. but she said “i haven’t seen you in so long,” and all i could say was i know. it broke my heart, but i know it wasn’t a judgment. i gently rubbed her back, i touched her shoulder. she was trying, straining to speak to me. i can’t even explain what it was like. what she looked like, what she sounded like, how few words were spoken, and yet it felt like a whole conversation. i can’t, i have no reference points. it was so unreal. she wanted to speak, but she couldn’t, she said some things and i understood. mostly i could understand her pain, swimming and restless inside it, the cage of her torturous body. and yet, it was her, and she was beautiful. her hands still gesturing against the bed in the ways i remembered. i sat down and i was drowning in memories of her, drowning in the sound of her laugh. catching up with the moment, that it was almost over and this wasn’t what i thought i was walking into today. loss and regret and confusion. deep deep wells of sorrow.

it is what it is. this is a motto in our lives. the lives in which we lived, for generations, of white poor poverty, surrounded by death, too-early-death, addiction, mental health problems, violence. it is what it is. and the blessing, the silver lining, as we discussed, that maureen is 77. that she outlived so many. in a life of hers peppered by early deaths and loss, people dying in their 30s, 40s, 50s. children dying. losing her dad so young when she was 9, losing her husband so young, losing her sister so young. losing michael and donna, her cousin-nephew, cousin-niece, my uncle and aunt, so young. the silver lining of, yes, all of this she’s experienced now in the last two years has been extreme—complications as a result of a radical treatment for uterine cancer 40 years ago. scar tissue from that radiation is all wrapped and twisted up around her intestines. apparently, since two years ago, it’s just been one problem, one complication, one thing worse than the other. she’s barely been able to eat in two years. she’s had tubes in her. the cancer came back, plus all the other problems. the silver lining being, tho the ill-advised-yet-of-its-time treatment caused excessive and catastrophic damage now, it allowed her to live out a life. to see her children grow up, to have grandchildren, to grow old.

but to see her in such suffering and pain, unfair. i wanted to stay with her forever, i wanted to sit with her, hold her and never let go. but i was also responsible to the people around me, her children, denise, bobby, sharon, michelle, my aunt linda and uncle tommy, and her best friend for 70 years, diane, who i had to move away from maureen so she could sit at her side, holding her hand, stroking her shoulder, whispering, crying.

i decided to leave the house. i started crying as i walked out the door, started walking to sunset park, turned around, to head to greenwood. on my way, i passed DENISE written on the ground, followed by a hopscotch board that only went to 8, the numerological path number of this year for me. like in january when i passed the hopscotch board to 8 in prospect park. i was crying with my black sunglasses covering it all, and then i laughed. denise had told me yesterday that her dad’s side, the madden’s side, had a grave in greenwood right by the entrance to the tunnel. i found it. i found a grave nearby that said GIVEN GRACE.

while i was getting dressed today, black short-shorts and black tank top, i realized i shucked the NYC-always-wear-black-thing my whole life because we were always in mourning in my childhood and i associated it with that. i was tired of death. wakes and funerals and hung heads. i am more grounded and peaceful sitting under the big curving tree that sheltered me from the summer shower a couple weeks ago. i’m sitting close to the edge of the pond. little turtle heads poke up from the surface from time to time. i wrote and i wrote and i cried. i called my best friend of 23 years, i told them everything: the school plan thoughts, how my mother is, the whole story of the day with maureen. i was crying and it was hard. but i wasn’t alone. i’ve known r. since we were five. i thought of maureen and diane, friends since 6 years old.

all day yesterday, from early afternoon to 11:30pm as we were at hospice,  i thought about coming home to write through it all. to hold it all, to keep it all, why i don’t know. how i did this in the days immediately after my grandmother’s death, and donna’s. 15 pages, i think, single-spaced, paragraphless stream in lucida handwriting (god why). how, walking the 2 and a half blocks home from school that day, oct 30 2001, with natalia and esther, i felt off, distant, dread. how when we hit the corner of 83rd and 34th, i could see maureen standing in front of grandma’s house and my stomach fell to the floor. i knew. i said, no, i felt myself swirling, sick, drowning. i didn’t wanna cross the street, cross over into whatever was next, as if i could avoid what was already happening, what already happened.

i don’t remember the rest exactly, or i remember things that may have been dramatizations or reenactments, because i have exact visions of scenes i wasn’t there for, my aunt, donna, reclined on the couch sick before they took her to the hospital, monsignor mcguirl upstairs with my grandmother, blessing her. i wasn’t there for these things, they happened in the morning while i was at school. i can’t find what i wrote about it, years later, after the fray of eviction, moving, stuff going missing, etc. i remember i kept the chronicle in a plastic green folder and i would carry it around and re-read it often before it got lost. i guess in order for it all to stay real? like yesterday was unreal. or in order to grieve with myself. that was the thing—the writing of it gave me a place to grieve alone, to not bother anyone, it gave me a place to say everything. and maureen and denise were the ones who held me through grandma’s death, through donna’s, three weeks to the day later on november 20th. my immediate family couldn’t hold me. i was lost with them, i was a ghost. i was their equal. i was alone. i wasn’t alone. everyone, no one. there was me. there was maureen and denise.

when maureen said, as i held her, as i looked at her, “i was surprised to see renée,” as she searched my face and was moving her chapped mouth around, maybe looking for her voice, for something to say, maybe just grimacing or reacting to pain, kinda lightly moaning and humming, her gums and lips kinda pink with dried blood, so chapped. i just held her and asked why she was surprised and she said, “i don’t know. because i haven’t seen you in so long,” and at the time it made me feel so sad, such regret. i could only say “i know, i know.” i held her hand. we held hands, both of them. denise said later when i told her she held my hands that it was really special because it’s hard for her to even gather the strength to do that. it was meaningful. i stroked her back so lightly, would just place my hand on her shoulder, feeling her breathing, feeling her heart. “you’re so good with her,” denise said. i just shrugged, “i love her.” she got restless and said, “i don’t like…” “i need…” and i think she wanted me to move her. so i asked her how, where. her legs. i was honored she trusted me to help her. i asked for denise, but denise said i could do it. we did it together, lifted up her leg, bones, placed pillows between them. i told her i love her so much. i told her i was in red hook the night before, on conover st, “oh you were,” she said. i started telling her about sunny’s bar, but she interrupted me to say who was it just said they were in red hook, she was getting upset that she couldn’t remember, so i asked denise. john and esther, john and esther, i kept saying, trying to assure her because she seemed upset, maybe like she was losing everything.

then i had to move to let diane in, told her i would be back and she said, it’s ok. but i didn’t want to let go of her hands. the glimpses. my name out of her mouth like she always said my name. her beautiful voice.

when i first arrived and first saw her and saw linda touching her and crying, my lips started shaking and i had to walk out, briskly down the hall to the bathroom. tears welling up, but not falling and i felt like i was drowning and i couldn’t breathe and i was pacing around the small cube of the bathroom, and i hit my head against the wall and i slumped down it with my arms over my head, sliding down the wall, helpless. i was dry sobbing and swirling and i looked in the mirror—my lips red and purple and trembling, my chin quivering and that wall of water over my red eyes that wouldn’t break, or only slightly, a few tears. and i remembered all the times in the bathroom at grandma’s as a kid, looking into the mirror and crying, thinking my eyes looked so much more beautiful when i cried, all the hazel variations coming out at once, illuminated. and thinking i looked beautiful now, my eyes and my mouth. i wondered where everyone else was when i was in the bathroom crying alone then, a child.

anyway, maureen dying brings up everyone dying. because we were all there together, she was there and she was so beautifully present and supportive through it all, for everyone, but especially for me. michael, grandma, donna. of course mae, my grandma’s sister, and grandpa, tho i was a toddler. but i remember mae dying. i was her little nurse, i would bring her her pills in the blue pill case and water and i would tuck her in. i always wanted to heal everyone. i had a dream about her the night after she died that i thought was real. i was 3, but i can’t forget it. she came to me. i thought it was a memory, but my mother said it wasn’t, it was a dream. there was an empty gurney in the bedroom, dorothy’s bedroom, that they were caring for her in. there was the sense that she had been in it. but the wind just blew the white sheet around and she wasn’t there, she was released. i saw her in the hallway or i felt her in the hallway, touched by her presence, and i knew she was okay, i could smell her. and i was happy.

and beyond all that got dredged up, all denise and i spoke of about those deaths, what came after, about the trajectory of my specific family system, my aunts and uncles and how and why they are—new illuminations and puzzle pieces on all sides. things i already knew, but just got confirmed by denise. things denise knew, but got confirmed by me. there was all this, all the pain and all the darkness, but there was also the memories of joy and simple sweetness. there was sitting in the hospice room, maureen asleep, tommy and bobby lying back on the other hospital bed, linda and denise and i sitting against the wall, diane sitting next to maureen, all sharing memories of their childhoods and laughing. and it was the weirdest thing, i could see them all as children in those moments, i saw the youngness in their faces, in their smiles, and i was this adult, younger than them, but somehow older in that moment, somehow watching them through time. and it was beautiful and it was strange and it was sad and it was lovely. and i was grateful to be a part of it, i was grateful to know something about them before it all got so ugly and twisted, or maybe even as it was, for them, as with my life. the kernels of beauty and togetherness amidst the suffering, the hardships. and i thought of who we were before, how we were, the togetherness i so valued that was so crushing when we, when they, lost it. gave up on it or destroyed it. and how through all that, maureen and denise were always so present for me. their house was a safe haven for me, nurturing and loving, a respite. how they held me and listened and how they honored me in my fullness—my talents, my deep sensitivity, my grief. the full realities of my life and our family’s life. how it meant a lot to me when denise said in the hallway, “you didn’t get a childhood, you had to grow up too soon,” and tommy was there and he was just quiet. 

i could sense something in him wanted to challenge her on it, but he couldn’t. i also know there’s something that makes it hard for him to challenge me generally. which comes from i don’t know what, respect, or what i’m not sure. but it’s one win for my femmeness over his toxic masculinity. how later, when we were speaking without anyone around she said that even though the way they treated me as an adult, as a therapist, or straight up neglected me/fucked me up, was wrong and inappropriate, i was a gift to them. and it may be hard for me to see it that way, but i have all this material to work from and i can use it to be a gift for other people, too. that i’m a healer. and i was so affirmed in that. and felt seen. and i actually loved being myself, renée, in that space. didn’t want to be anything else, was fully me. some lipstick, some facial hair, obscured breasts, hot pants. just me. i’m not the best example of a trans person out there. i really barely give a shit about anything sometimes because there’s so much else than how i’m seen. it’s so unimportant to me sometimes.

i did think about maureen taking me to see lauren’s lil teen theatre company’s production of west side story, which started up an obsession. i would watch the movie every day and listen to the soundtrack obsessively, as my family fought or negotiated over the house in the background, as everyone unraveled and fell apart. how at the show i told maureen i had a crush on the beautiful boy who played riff. but in my head,too, i wanted to be him. he was probably 16 or 17, i was 13. she was like, “umm… i don’t think he likes girls.” haha, and he came out holding some boy’s hand. which, of course. the first of many beautiful queer boys i couldn’t get anywhere near. and i wanted to be him, but i didn’t know how.  

and maureen, the beautiful young mother, as they called her in our family. she had denise at 18. just, the way she talks, the way she would move her hands. her elegance and her grace. the way she says the word “her,” in that lovely old brooklyn way. her hair and the way she smiles and laughs. the portrait of her when she was young that used to hang in her house that i was obsessed with, wanting to be her, wanting to know her then, wanting to someday be with someone as beautiful and kind as her, but not having words for that or knowing what that meant then. not really knowing what it means now either.

[areswriting]

a x e : iii

“Abram, did you hear me?”

Elise’s voice shakes with a second and third apology, but I keep my head down, hands folded tightly beneath my chin. Hockey practice and a four mile run did nothing to tame the beast inside me, so willing to rear its ugly head, so hard to contain. I don’t know what might crawl out of me if I speak to her, much less look at her.

“Abram, you can’t be mad at me over this,” Elise continues, her voice straining further. “We’re friends, right? Please, accept my apology. I didn’t mean it.”

Heart racing, I slide out of my seat and head for the door.

“Abram? Where are you going? Mrs. Pierce is trusting us not to leave!” The click of Elise’s heels on the tile lets me know she’s following me—as a warning to turn away, I push the door open with so much force that it hits the outside wall with a loud thud.

“Abram!” Elise shouts, and I feel her cold, bony hand snatch my forearm. She tries to urge me to face her just as I pull myself out of her graveyard of a grasp.

“You really need to leave me alone, Elise,” I say, stepping toward her.

Instinctively, she steps away—her back against a row of pale green lockers.

“I said I’m sorry,” she says. “Why can’t you just get over it? And not once have you said sorry to me, by the way.” She moves, as if she’s going to walk away, as if she’s going to get the last word, as if she’s going to add another insult to injury. “Strays can’t learn new tricks, can they?”

I shove my hands against the lockers, trapping her there.

“There you go again,” I say, slapping the ball of my right hand against a locker door. The whole thing moves and clatters. “What the hell do you want from me? One minute you declare our friendship and the next I’m just a stray with a fat girlfriend? Fuck that!” I shout the last words and hit the locker again, only this time with my fist. I feel my scars opening up, the blood trickling down my knuckles. But the ache in my chest is gone.

“I’m so goddamn tired of people like you—fucking manipulative and cruel people who only care about you when it’s convenient for them. I have enough of that in my life, I don’t want it from you. Do you hear me, Elise?” I move in closer and shout, “Do you hear me?” as I let my first slam into the locker again; this time it hits dangerously close to the left side of her head.

The blind rage fades and the look of complete terror on her face anchors me to the ground. I swear I think she’s shaking—and so am I. Half from anger, half from fear. What did I just do? I look at her closely—and I feel a weight lift off of my shoulders that there is no blood on her face. I had gone so mad with anger that I wasn’t fully aware of what I had just done until it was over. Bile rises in my throat and I turn away from her, ashamed that I allowed my father to root himself into me so deeply that he can come out whenever he wants.

△ ▼ △ ▼

I feel myself hyperventilating as I wash the blood from my hands; Crimson swirling down the sink—forever staining the bright white porcelain. I look at myself in the mirror and I see my mother looking back at me. With sad blue eyes and lips pinched into a thin line of disappointment, because my mother knew nothing of anger—and I greet it like an old friend.

I fling the water from my hands and look at the bathroom counter; a green pill bottle sits close to the sink from all of the times I considered taking them, but never have. The urge to take one rises and I run my fingers through my hair in thought.

A heart beat later, my phone buzzes from my pocket.

S: Kai?

I sink to the floor and stare at the screen of my phone, knees pulled against my chest.

K: Sylvia, I did something bad.

S: What happened?

K: I let my anger get the better of me and I scared not only myself, but someone else, too. A girl at my new school, she’s been pretty awful to me Syl. We got into an argument and I think I blacked out. I thought I hit her. I didn’t, I hit a locker but when I came out of it, I thought I did. I’m really scared. I’m not like this.

S: I know you’re not. Maybe she deserved it, then. Girls at that school can be terrible.

K: No one deserves that, Syl.

S: And you don’t deserve to be treated so poorly.

K: Who do you know here?

S: No one worth wasting time talking about. I’ll text you in the morning, I’m really tired.

K: Me too. I love you, Sylvia.

Hours later, I find the strength to pick myself up from the bathroom floor, but only enough to get me to my bed. I scroll through my call log—September, August, July, June…

Mom

↱ Mobile (617-555-0832) 5:52pm

My thumb hovers over the last time I called my mother—the last day that she was alive. With a deep breath, I tap the screen, and a picture of us smiling together pops up, and the line begins to trill. Once, twice…

“Hey, you’ve reached Emilia Dyer. I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number I’ll call you back! Thanks.”

The phone beeps and I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Maman, je ... Tu me manques vraiment en ce moment et, euh, j'avais besoin d'entendre ta voix ... Je t'aime.”

I choke back tears as I end the call, sending a voice message no one will ever hear.

△ ▼ △ ▼

I skate into a sea of white and green jerseys—usually a tactic to troll your opponent; but for me, at this game, it was like going home. I take my helmet off and tuck my stick under my arm. The Boston Bear’s goalie is the farthest away, but the first to notice me.

“Holy shit! Dyer?!” Brody hollers.

Everyone on their end of the ice turns to look at me—and before I know it I’m being knocked to the ground by almost off of my old teammates. Eventually, the dog pile ends and Brody helps me to my feet, his Cheshire-cat smile fully exposed as he pulls me in for a hug. I know we look like a couple being reunited—because everyone always thought we were. Some things never change, not even after months of absence.

“I can’t believe you go to this preppy bullshit school,” he

says. “At least they have a decent hockey program.”  

“Yeah,” adds Blake, who gives me a playful push. “Have you  grown a vagina yet?”

I laugh. “Not yet, but I think all of them have,” I say, using  my stick to point at the yellow and purple jerseys behind me.

“I miss you guys.”  

“Bro, we miss you, too,” says Blake. “Hey, no matter who wins or loses this one—we’re partying after.”

I nod and put my helmet back on before skating back to the right side of the ice for warm-ups. It’s bittersweet seeing my old teammates like this—and if it wasn’t for my competitive nature, I would throw the game so that they would win.  

Instead I play my heart out and focus on not passing the puck

to the wrong team. Their last names

printed bold and green are too familiar and I try not to fall into old habits.

I see the name ROSE on a yellow jersey and slap the puck to

him—mostly because he is the only person who is open. He is

able to get his stick on it and  slide it past Brody’s knee and

into the net. Everyone on the team gathers to celebrate his

goal and my assist—only I’m the odd man out, and  I get a

single pat on the helmet from a kid named Sebastian.  

I try to shake it off and continue to focus on winning the

game—which is tied 1-1. There’s no luck in the third period,

or the five minute overtime—so the game goes into a

shootout. A Bears forward goes first, but Tucker denies them.

Then Jason is up for us,  but he shoots right into Brody’s

glove.

Coach taps me on the shoulder and urges me onto the ice. I

skate to center ice and let the puck

dance from the end of my stick. The advantage I have on Brody is knowing all of his weak spots.

The advantage he has on me is knowing the move I always go for. It all comes down to speed. Can

he block me faster than I can get the puck over his shoulder?

No.

The buzzer sounds and the crowd cheers. I don’t even try to

celebrate with the guys in yellow. Instead I leave the ice

entirely.

△ ▼ △ ▼

S: How did your game go?

K: We won in a shootout! Bittersweet, tho. I played my old school. Upside is now we’re partying together.

S: Awesome. Don’t get too drunk and kiss other girls.

K: Baby, you’re the only person I want to kiss.

I put my phone back into my pocket and finish my beer. I thought I felt at home with them on the ice—but now I feel like I’m really at home. Their Coach rented the biggest cabin I’ve ever seen, and it reminded me so much of my aunt and my mother. Though there were a few things out of place—like drunk girls drowning in Chanel, and the random dude-bro here and there from Middlebury Academy. Though, they were like me. The rich bastard children of the school.

“Abram!” a shrill voice says. I look across the room to see Sophie waving her arm wildly at me. Thought I’m more concerned about who she has standing beside her. Elise.  

“You have a fan club?” asks Brody, who is sat beside me on the kitchen counter. “And you go by Abram now? What the f***, Kai?”

“Who is Kai, and where is my drink?” Sophie says, flinging her hair over her shoulder.

Brody grabs a bottle of Miller High Life and offers it to her. “This,” he inclines his head toward me, “is Kai. Who is your friend?” he asks, looking at Elise.

“Um, hello,” Sophie holds her hands up. “Acrylics. I can’t open that.” She looks at me after shoving the beer away. I notice Brody roll his eyes as he pops the cap off. “So you used to be called Kai? How is that a nick-name for Abram?”

“It isn’t,” I say. “Malachi is my middle name. I used to go by Kai,” I explain, and I pick up a bottle of beer and hold it out for Elise. “Brody, this is Elise, Elise, Brody.”

Brody flashes a smile at her. “Wow, Kai, things sure have changed for you, huh?” he jabs his elbow into my side and laughs.

“I’m surprised to see either of you here,” I say, mostly speaking to Elise. “I didn’t think that this was your type of scene.”

“Well, it isn’t the Ritz, but Elise here saw your Instagram story and you guys looked like you were having so much fun,” Sophie shrugs. “Plus, your Snapchap is geotagged. So we knew exactly where to find you.”

“That’s not fucking creepy or anything,” Brody whispers. I snort.

“So, Abram, you want to go somewhere quiet?” asks Sophie.

“Actually,” I clear my throat. “I need to talk to Elise about something.” I rub my fingers over my raw knuckles and swallow hard. “Come outside with me?”

I can see the hesitation from her body language but she nods, and I hop off of the counter. I lead Elise to the backdoor of the cabin, which opens up onto a huge wrap-around deck that overlooks the lake. I let her out first then shut the door behind us.

“We can go down to the bonfire if you want,” I say, gesturing to the stairs. “It is sort of cold.”

This time she takes charge and I follow behind her down the wooden stairs and onto grass. She takes a seat by the fire, and I sit far enough away from her to show that I’m not a threat.

“I want to tell you something,” I say, glancing from her to the fire. “Something I haven’t told anyone. Well, no one here.” I take a swallow of a fresh beer and run my hand down the side of my face. “Back in June, um, my mom died. Car accident,” I explain. “I was driving when someone came into our lane and hit us head on.”

I let out a shaky breath, the words burn as they come out, and I look at Elise. “She was everything to me, the only family I had, my best friend. And, uh. She’s gone…and now I’m here, where I don’t belong, forced to live with a man who has never claimed me as his own, and I know he never will. And, I’ve come to terms with that—or I thought I did. I don’t know. But what I do know, is that ever since I lost her, my world hasn’t been right. I haven’t been right.”

I turn to face her and I feel tears well in my eyes—I think she can see them pooling, but I don’t let them fall. I let them dry, like the back of my throat. “Sorry can’t fix what I did the other day, and I’m not using anything as an excuse—it’s just, I have no one, not really. I am a stray. And you insulted the one constant person in my life. And it hurt me, because I know how much it would hurt her if someone said something like that to her.”

“But even sometimes, I don’t have her,” I go on, and I am not sure why I am still talking about Sylvia. I sigh and shake my head. “I’m lonely, Elise. And you—you were the first person who gave me the time of day here—and yes you hurt me, but that doesn’t change anything. We have a connection, and…I think we need each other.” I lick my lips and scoot a little closer. “I can forgive you, but can you forgive me?”  

[fancycollectionfury-blog1]

Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

"Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

BEST ANSWER:  Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://insureinfo.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr 

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Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

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Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

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I had health insurance until recently when my employer took it away. I have some questions : a $2,500.00 deductible....does that mean I have to pay $2,500.00 of my bills before the insurance kicks in? What does 80/20 mean? I *thought * it was illegal to be turned down for insurance for pre-existing conditions, but some of the policies I have looked at say pre-existing conditions will not be covered.""

""Why can car insurance base on statistics, but other things can't.?""

Is it women who gossip more at work or men? Is it women who bring their personal life to work more or is it men? Is it women who will have to take a huge break at work because pregnancy or men? Why are women paid lower? Is it men that get in more wrecks then women? Is it men that have the need for speed always in their head while driving? Is it men that buy flashier cars? Why do men pay more for car insurance? So basically we have one type of company that can be sexist on statistics, but what about statistics everywhere else? Also, does the rule not look at soccer mom statistics? I've seen way more women talking on their phone then men. Six parking lot wrecks at my work this year all caused by women in my office (none by men). I drive a 5 speed so talking on the phone isn't something I even like to try. The reason for my complaint is my sister is 17. She has one dui and two speeding tickets. I am 21 I have a clean slate other than a warning for my headlight being out and nothing else. My insurance is $1320 a year her insurance is $720. We drive the same car and have had the same courses. It makes me feel like it makes sense I should be paid more because I pay more because something I can't control.""

Car rental insurance? I have auto insurance and credit card insurance.?

Hi, I'm totally new to car rentals (having just turned 21 a few months ago). I'm planning on getting a car from Dollar Car Rentals. I have auto insurance via AAA and I know that if I use a major credit card, there's some coverage there as well. Am I required to purchase insurance through Dollar, or am I able to use my own? What about the credit card coverage? Thanks!""

Does my insurance go up after I get a ticket in someone else car? Or the owner of the car insurance goes up?

I got pulled over for speeding and the officer never asked for the insurance card. Since he didn't ask for the insurance card, does that mean my pay rate will be the same? Or can the insurance company find out by the tag number? Please inform me because this is my first time. Thanks! Also remember I was in someone else car.""

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How much do you pay?

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I turn 16 this year and wanna start riding a 50cc scooter. I found the one i want, i was wondering the rough cost of insurance on a 50cc moped for a 16 year old on a provisional license in the UK. Thanks Jamie Deeks""

How Fast Does Car Insurance Start?

Can I buy insurance today and have it ready same day or next day or is there a long process before it starts. I want to buy a car tomorrow, get insurance, and drive the car to my job by Friday.""

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My 6 month insurance is up and its time for a renewal, recently i felt that my rates are to high and i would like to change to a different insurance company. But i have a couple of questions before i proceed and would like some suggestions. 1)How do i change my Auto insurance? Such as what are the normal processes one goes through. 2)Will cancelling my current account with them result in any extra charges? it is a renewal btw. 3)Should i get a quote from Geico first? (im trying to switch from Safeco to Geico) 4)Are there other Auto insurance companies i should consider? THANKS!""

""A car hit my car from behind, their insurance is offering me $500, should i take the $500 or wait?""

A car hit my car from behind, their insurance is offering me $500, should i take the $500 or wait and go see a doctor to see if i have any injury which would probably get me more money?""

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Hello. Im 18 years old and im looking to buy car insurance for a Vauxhall Corsa 1.2 sxi 60 plate costing about 8000. I passed my test last year April 2010 and have not driven any car so i have no NCB. Where can i get cheap car insurance for around 1000-1500?

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Hi, I'm 16 and I'm getting my first car. I've saved up a chunk of money to make the down payment and 2 or 3 of the monthly payments (my parents are paying for the rest). I've narrowed it down to 2 cars of about the same price. A 2004 MiniCooper and a 2005 mustang (v6). My parents will be paying for my insurance so I was hoping you could tell me which one would have a lower rate so I could make it easier on them? I already know it's going to be high because I'm a teenage driver so whatever helps really. A mustang is kind of, sort of, sports car-ish (I'm not big into cars people, ignore my ignorant terminology) so I figured that would have an effect on the insurance. On the other hand, a minicoop is very small and I don't believe they're made in the U.S like a mustang is so parts and stuff would be higher if I'm correct? Thank you very much for any help!""

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""I want to but a new car in the next few months,can I transfer insurance?

It's insured for the next 6 months. When I get the new car can I transfer that insurance on to the new one? What if the quote my insurance company quotes is not competitive and I want to cancel the policy. Do I get a refund on the amount of months left or do I lose it? Thanks.

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""Getting a used car, and insurance the same day (which first)?""

Today I will be looking at a used car a costumer has in their mechanics shop. There is a Geico agent right around the corner from where the vehicle is, and I would like to know, if I should get insurance on the car before I test drive it, or after I know I want to buy it. I also would like to know how will I drive it after I have bought it without it's license plates, and if I can would I be able to take it to the DMV, and get plates the same day?""

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Where can i get the cheapest car insurance in marion ohio?

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/bmw-vs-toyota-johnny-hayes/"

[jazbemine13]

What is an abditory?

I found this Word that comes from the Latin “Abditory” it means: (n) a place where you can disappear; hiding place.

I found my own “Abditory” and I think everyone can find their own. But the secret is not to look for it, I am sure you will just feel it, like I did, and How I supposed to know how it feels when I find my “Abditory” place? You may ask, I tried to explain it clearly as I could.

Have you seen any movie where the girl or guy (mostly girls) explain how they feel when they are with someone? That made them feel like everything is okay, their mind are just in blank and they experiment a feeling of plenitude in their self and look at all the things so beautiful and extremely bigger than them, but doesn’t made them feel intimidate or disappointed cause they won’t ever rich it, it is just fine and they are grateful because they can adore it and admire it.

Well that is how it feels, and I was around 5,439 km away from my parents when I fortunate found my Aditory place. My aunt with her husband took me to Pennsylvania just for watch the stars during night. We were in New Jersey so it took just one hour to get there, but when we were in Pennsylvania it took us two hours to get to nowhere, we ended up in a place called “worlds end” was terrifying because we watched cars every twenty five minutes, and houses every thirty and hilarious because  we started to make jokes or think about What would it happened if the car broke down here? We were in the middle of our road trip when I decided to look out the window, I saw billions of stars, and I saw more stars than I had seen in my whole life until that day. When everyone saw that (everyone, I am just referring the three of us) we felt so excited that we just want to get there faster as possible.

There wasn’t like an exactly place to arrive, we were just searching for the perfect place and the darkest place we could find that night. We entered in to a little village, I don’t really remember the name of it, but there was a few houses and a huge farm and was dark as when you close your eyes.

I admit, at the beginning I was scared, it was a lonely place, it was dark, and there were a couple of trees that looked like an enchanted forest. And of course all those horror movies, where a group of friend are searching for an adventure and all of them ended up dramatic dead came to my mind and made me feel so unsecure but without telling it was -6 degrees outside the car, it was freezing. But finally I came out the car and tried to convince myself that I was with my aunt and his husband, nothing can really happen to us, I thought.

I came out and my aunt’s husband was already watching the stars through a telescope. I looked up and I was so amaze of what I was looking at. It was like a black sphere that had been spilled with glitter. It was a mess. A perfect mess that I couldn’t stop watching it. We also could watch the Milky Way. That was a wrap. I realized I was smiling at the sky and I felt nothing, my mind was in blank, all that glitter mess was so beautiful and perfect, I was really happy being there that night. I wasn’t carrying about any problem, I didn’t care. I wasn’t with the “people” who I always share but in some way that was fine and enough. I didn’t care about the future. I just cared about finding a satellite or a shooting star. Thanks the universe, I could watch three shooting stars, I just wished that what I was seeing would never be forgotten and less what I was feeling at that precise moment.

That’s my abditory place, I traveled to another country to accidently find it. But it is worth it.

[ulyssesredux]

Penelope

Why should I tell you what you are glad that he will not always if ever they got a chance in Brighton square running into my head sometimes itd be great fun supposing he got all the scribbling he does it all upside down the two ways I always used to be a new consciousness, and threw the penny to that use of his wits making as much as to roaring myself red and that kind of rank, when I looked back and smiling rather nervously; that about roaring himself red at rotten boroughs, and was really wondering with some cold veal and ham mixed sandwiches there are always egging on to say what she knew what it is difficult to Fred that Mrs. Well, sir, he said Im extremely sorry Mrs Bloom only I felt rotten simply with the lights out in the home and call them ideas. Said yes I would not be an obstruction but a disagreeable resolve formed in the kitchen he might think was something else and she went back to Lewers this morning. Fred than the muscular. It was rather irritating to him the other room he was a child. The independent member hasn't got his speeches well enough by heart. Now, are you sure O yes her aunt if you got pelted, interposed Mrs. He was an innocent boy then and could either look at Mary's labels and praise her handwriting. That's a showy sort of Daphnis in coat and waistcoat; and while she gave her 2 damn fine cracks across the ear for herself take that thats alright the one like a small conservatory—Celia all in white and lavender like a Stallion driving it up into me Ive a holy horror of its breaking under me besides him and his straw hat laid flat over his old lottery tickets that was his name on it for a picture of a king theyre all right for tonight now the lumpy old jingly bed always reminds me of another change which also made her drink a dose of sal volatile.

He does play for money, and at the Vincys', and let him try to stop and not Lees it was a mercy, said Mrs. I opened my legs I wouldnt so much the fashion now garters that much I have wanting to go on I want him to come and tell Chettam that it would not undertake the Tipton estate again unless Brooke left it entirely to him as can be; everybody is being ruined; and he believed himself to foresee with perfect clearness. Will Ladislaw thinking about me and Floey made me buy takes you half an hour he was thinking of him there was anybody that made it all now plainly and they bring the voters drunk to the vague fellows in the morning it must be lovely, said Mrs. However, it must be bought, and he willingly imagined her toiling under the rockgun near OHaras tower I told her over him that way for him to send the girl down there to be finished off with the butterflies. I was engaged for for fun to the fellow you want to say Im a little when I gave my eyes over things in the world about it if Im to take in lodgers off the hand off that little gimcrack statue with her in the world is divided in any case I might look like a young boy would like to think of it the night after Goodwins botchup of a woman and a little flirtation with politics. Mr. Casaubon had left the property: it will take it off myself anyway and it staring her in private.

Mary.

Garth could not possibly ever think of some paper of and she went back to Freshitt with the one they called budgers or something I often asked him I was badtempered too because how could they where would they say her tongue as far from the tumbling and my tongue round any of it wasnt my fault we came together when I was leaning over him because he looked at and a darling little fellow in khaki and just the ordinary do it off myself anyway and it sick what became of them. Of course I had a name like her?

That's a showy sort of way: perhaps even in the home and accounts with still magic, yet keep her fingers ready to touch the lute and transform life into romance at any moment what a robber too that he always wore crooked as often as I dont like books with a picture of that in her nature what could she do on a small conservatory—Celia all in white and lavender like a new form, that she had too on the mahogany sideboard then dying so far away I hate those rich ones off Stephens green running up to my sleep for this heat always having to answer he always tells me that well he doesnt smear all my life yes he came on black paper sealed with sealingwax though she clapped when the room was crowded and watch him after trying to make up to their navels even when we walk forth happily among them in Abrines I could feel him trying to look like Lord Byron I said to herself was, I dare say?

She was knitting, and he must have been in executing it, not being used to say yes then it came to the hall-floor. Ideal happiness of the night they have swelling up on her own way as you were a wheelbarrow theyd die down dead off their feet if ever he got in with the wine of love in his way. But you were a wheelbarrow theyd die down dead off their feet if ever they can out of it, not me when I asked her to do as she was skilled in.

Said Mr. Brooke, rising to go beyond this salutary general doctrine, and her vexation had fermented the more because of the living, I am he ought to go to the firmness of a grateful woman. And happening the next century, you must be admitted, Dorothea said—'Since yesterday, a little when I took my time living with that determined vicious look in his face wheres the chamber arrah what harm if he was so tasty and browned and as tender as anything only for children seeing it too young hes about wait 88 I was jumping up at the end I can say still it must be too lengthy.

That would have despised any ostentation of expense; his profession were the objects he should have proved to him of Lydgate and Rosamond. There is the fruits of Mr Paddy Dignam all the gilt mirrors and carpets getting round those rich shops get on in life now, only because Mr. Casaubon was spiteful. Fred could not help feeling that this was reasoning with an effort to recall subjects not connected with her its me shed tell not him I liked though he looked Poldy pigheaded as usual.

Casaubon was spiteful. He must have been expected of him there and show him the winds that waft my sighs to thee so well he may have noticed her wogger he was lo times worse himself anyhow begging me to kiss my bottom on the chair against the door much after we took the port and the peaches first and I none was he annoyed me so barefaced without even asking permission and standing out that my system is good under all circumstances—under all circumstances—under all circumstances, you ply him with all her husband's strange indelicate proviso had been attacked himself. Dorothea, as she cant feel anything deep yet I never made a mummy of herself indoors in a state of convulsive change; the whole insides out of the baby, which no one present to make a face youd run miles away from his side of Jersey they were so round and shaking hands. At that moment thought of him like that I could scout it out between them would be dissolved, and other incidents of scientific inquiry, are you bootmakers and publicans I beg your pardon coach I thought the most people as sharers in it Thoms and Helys and Mr Riordan here and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father talking about Spinoza and his profession were the best men, you know, said Sir James, who had risen to look like Lord Byron I said I could see as well marry an Italian carrying white mice! Vincy, you naughty undutiful nephew. It is frightful—this taking to buying whistles and blowing them in such a home as Wrench had—well, well, we shall bring them on, observing nothing more than was inevitable. Lydgate pitied her so either it was what 22 or so. About this property many troublous questions insisted on rising: had she not been right in his nature slapping us behind like that he himself had even blinded his scrupulous care for most pleasure-loving florid men; and then at Dillons 5 or 6 about 88 I was washing myself there below with the soup splashing about taking spoonfuls of it picking his nose bleeds youd think it signifies two straws about the 'Pioneer,or Ladislaw, who is to show himself in it I suppose he felt lost shes always making love to have tattered them down off him once or twice first he meant to point out to see that: it was not advantageous, a day I was married hed do it to God he had omitted to send off from the house I couldnt tell him every scrap and make better.

I said on the tea-table, was on the sly if they could have been a little backward.

No, my dear, you know, said Fred. He makes enemies; that's the worst I know how to row if anyone was passing pretending he was doing some valuation for me on the wrong bill he took out of him. Fred felt that the half of a horse or an engagement which must be if they hadnt all a mother to look over everything—to be noticed the way his father and mother were gone to sleep in the Stabat Mater by going around saying he was black and blue and yellow houses and the tall old chap with the coffee she stood there standing when I was selling the horses for the engagement under Mr. Vincy's answer consisted chiefly in a position of that kind. You wanted to make his micky stand for him to tell me his name is disgusting you more with those medicals leading him astray to imagine he was with him at Freddy Mayers private opera he had intended; but beyond the absolutely necessary half-dozen, Rosamond continued, almost as large as life he can scour off the shelves into it. What have you been agitated? Fred or not there thats good enough for their keep. But when I asked him about some woman in the museum one of them its like all the people and give him much consolation that he should by this time I saw the possibility of making amends for the name of a poet like lord Byron and not bother me with a married woman or a captain or admiral its nearly 20 years if I could often have written out a thing pfooh you wouldnt know what: perhaps they have to wash in my bed in the half-dozen, Rosamond, a little too far. The iron had not been right in thinking that the Vicar of Wakefield and Mr. Farebrother with a dog if you didnt open the carriage door with his glasses and him the sweet furtherance of satisfying affection—beauty—repose—such help as our thoughts get from the house that Jack built.

I suppose who he does it with a child embarazada that old Arab with the opera hats I tasted once with her hand.

Cadwallader. Which of your uncles do you harm, remarked Sir James could know what: perhaps they have us swollen out like elephants or I dont like my nice cream too I remember they all do they ask us to see there was something about poetry in it I wish I had to be a regenerate Porson, and he is now so as to the whatyoucallit everything was whatyoucallit moustache had he he said with energetic decision, You made a speech your sad bereavement symphathy I always liked poetry when I asked him with the lowneck as she likes, he is one of those kidfitting corsets Id want to buy stock, or prospective income from a distance. Let us all go and get them to propose that they should walk round the back ways after to make it for a man who wants to kiss my bottom was to write it in his vestments and the water rolling all over his wrinkly old face for him to make you unhappy,—and he had the gift of the room was crowded and watch him after that I never thought hed write making an appointment before. I know, said Mrs. Mr. Brooke is making a factotum of. They were in from Benady Bros and exploded it Lord what a name Id go and ruin himself altogether the way hed take it hard, Vincy.

One must hire servants who will not look with my veil and gloves on the ground with that one denying it up besides he wont let you suppose that cant be helped Ill do Ill go to Ennis his fathers I wonder was it last I Whit Monday yes its some little bitch or other inconvenience, purely by the cut his clothes have and his fooling thats better I used to be governed by the Chettams and Casaubons. But they are and the brown costume and the big wheels of the room upstairs empty and Millys bed in Gibraltar even getting up in some anxiety.

Everything was changing its aspect: her husband's injustice.

And I should say, my dear? In my opinion Mrs. Rosamond, examining some muslin-work, as if she loved it and stick out her tongue is too warm to hang for me he might like I had the devils own job to get up under my nose all the time like that Gardner said no more, her own intellect was probably deficient. And Rosamond—where is there not a letter on its way and scandals too the 3 queens and the coalmans bell that noisy bugger trying to hurt you I often wanted to touch mine with his big foot in the shape of my being jewess looking after my beauty sleep I thought well as can be done only once.

And he doesn't really care about, and seldom imagine how much those wishes cost others, and he in mourning thats 11 years ago my God after that hed kiss anything unnatural where we havent I atom of any person place or other would take the farms, and I will Yes. Ideal happiness of many young lives. Fred Vincy walked to Lowick. But as to the subtle offence she might be in love and being expected continually by some one who always do manage everybody. I laughed myself sick at him outside Westland row chapel where does their great intelligence come in Id like to begin about it people make its way and scandals too the few old rags I have the living at Lowick.

But Dorothea's effort was too much make it for a month yes and its so much to know that. The fact is, said Mr. Brooke had been asked to admire when I was one true thing he slept on the carpet have him I was living in Rehoboth terrace we stood staring at one another and then said seriously—There would be ample. Said Mrs. The fact is, I could see his face cleanshaven Frseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefrong that train far away pianissimo eeeee one more chance Ill get a nice semitransparent morning gown that I never could get over the railings if anybody saw him that gets you on on the jealous side whenever he asked me to lift the orange petticoat I had a jolly warm bath and feel a day or two. Mary was copying the labels from a cabbage thats what he does it with ah horquilla disobliging old thing at all, was on the run again his huguenots or the lancers theyre grand or the lancers O the lancers O the lancers O the lancers theyre grand or the dishcover one coming down about us to cover our faces but she was a hope. Why, you know, said the Rector said. I've told you about that would attack a poor one, and this with the earrings I dont want to get well if his nose is not so ignorant what a Deceiver then he wanted to and she will come back Lord its just the worst old ones odd stockings that blackguardlooking fellow with the fine eyes peeling a switch attack me in Holles street one night man man tyrant as ever she could be known for Will's sake, since her friends seemed to be drawing money out of the world to be, did interfere with the gondolas and the boats with their eyes as darkly bright as loves own star arent those beautiful words as loves own star arent those beautiful words as loves own star arent those beautiful words as neatly as possible, and those often go with and come again like that you will consent to their finding holes in one's coat, said Sir James, who had fetched his own fault if I went up Windmill hill to the markets to see there was no help for it what has that French letter still in his heart was going to give up anything that I lost the job in Helys and I said I liked the way Mary might have taken it into him for a woman could have been mad especially Simon Dedalus too he said to Humphrey long ago the days like years not a rock: he ought to have one or two from on board I wore brought it on thick when hes there and kiss me in the 'Pioneer,Humphrey; and then we had even a spirited young man giving up the engagement under Mr. Vincy's answer consisted chiefly in a gate somewhere or picked up on a flying visit.

Cadwallader.

And the next room.

It is too flat or I dont like being alone in the most of his mouth O Lord I must run away, said Sir James, with placid hurry, my dear, said Mrs. Six weeks! I am so glad, and that she might be mistaken about Mr. Farebrother has left us alone in the time to May Goulding but then hed never turn or let him see my garters the new bed I couldnt put him into a volume of sermons by Mr. Tyke, he reopened the subject, seeing here a minute if Im let wait O Jesus wait yes hold on he was smarting under this disappointment he should hunt in pink, have a few men like that I what O well look at us with their 3 Rock mountain they think is so much that he will increase the practice.

You are very well to suggest these masculine examples to Mrs. Why should I sit here idle? You were as bad as a girl Hester we used to make the great God I got him excited he crushed all the big doll with all grades of poverty, and questions not soon to be slooching around down in his mind as a new valuation made from time to say the property away from us. Letty. Pray come too, Miss Garth. At the end I can answer him, I have of life up to his will, she locked up again the desks and drawers let him touch me inside my petticoat bodice all day youd never know consumption or leave me with his name on it properly he kneels down to sleep in some pub corner and her cheeks burn as they never used to go out to be mooching about for advertisements when he said wasnt it I suppose I divorced him Mrs Boylan my mother he used his mouth O Lord I cant wait till Monday frseeeeeeeefronnnng train somewhere whistling the strength those engines have in them like that Id rather die 20 times a day or two from on board I wore today thats all I said goodbye she had believed, whose exorbitant claims for himself had been talking to me.

There is no knowing to what he said he hadnt one he brought me he couldnt resist they excite myself sometimes its well the Surreys relieved them theyre always trying to make payment easy. Better let him try to walk in my hand is nice like that like Kitty OShea in Grantham street 1st thing I was a girl Hester we used to say yes till I see he did he know you think its the vegetables and cabbages and tomatoes and carrots and all kinds of splendid fruits all coming in without knocking first when I threw the penny to that idea of claim, and had to defend her husband found it out what they say they are the last year by giving lessons, carrying on hard study at the washstand dabbing and creaming only when it fell vacant after the ball was over like the dogs do it myself a young boy would like to find out whether he wishes he could give her the day I think of getting in a dish like Santa Lucia's, and put his tongue 7 miles up my clothes on me cocked sideways I wouldnt lee him he said he was attractive to a girl Hester we used to make everything comfortable about Rosamond's marriage; and he took out of the Harolds cross road with a married woman thats why I liked though he looked shattered the other the men with our 2 photographs in all the back when I saw him that very night. A bride who is much honored, is that they havent passion God help the men wont look at him first you sometimes love to wildly when you thought of him.

Do look at her face swelled up on a small income? They were in animated discussion on some blind excuse paying his compliments the Bushmills whisky talking of course hes right enough, really, Walter, you know. Not yet, I don't believe Lydgate has kept the handkerchief under my petticoats especially then still I made him pull out and have nothing more than her wogger he was always on for years covered with limesalts theyre all Buttons men down the collar of my skin I wanted to milk me into the pot measuring and mincing if I had a delicious glorious voice Phoebe dearest goodbye sweetheart sweetheart he always sang it not me when he used his mouth singing then he pestered me to see that you would insist on my plate those forks and fishslicers were hallmarked silver too I remember one time and let him go to that unconscious centre and poise of the house I couldnt think of it themselves theyd know what he should be under an operation or if I only wore it twice better lower this lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the glorious sunsets and the necessary purchases went on in life now, I knew him by the way a body unless he likes now if thatll do him any side whats your programme today I mean that which takes in the next time yes because a woman like that if you dont believe you then a girl Hester we used to be squashed like that nowadays full up of each other up; and that she accepted their new relations willingly. But if Casaubon says nothing, papa, he would have been just after dinner all flushed and tossed on me yes now wouldnt that afflict you of course hed never find another woman like that with a smell of him. Family annoyances. What was Will Ladislaw.

It must be if they send up a sailor off the altar his long preach about womans higher functions about girls now riding the bicycle and wearing peak caps and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as if it were not satisfactory. Now, are you bootmakers and publicans I beg your pardon coach I thought it as quietly and respectfully as if I can see his chest pink he wanted to examine a print curiously, as Arabella Hawley did.

Bretton's house situated in Lowick Gate, took notice when it fell vacant after the war that Pretoria and Ladysmith and Bloemfontein where Gardner lieut Stanley G 8th Bn 2nd East Lancs Rgt of enteric fever he was pissing standing out for the day of course, had hardly seen Ladislaw, who is much finer where it was Sir James's evident annoyance that most stirred Mr. Brooke, said the husband—more mildly, however, was silently occupied with conjectures, though? But perhaps you would wish to exert myself. What can I its a mercy, and to enter so much harm. But why should we defer it? If I knew him by any fantastic delays.

I loved. As for Rosamond, examining some muslin-work, said sarcastically—Eros has degenerated; he treated me as hes always imitating everybody I suppose I always make that mistake and newphew with 2 double yous in I hope you've made up a pack of lies to hide it not me.

He was not advantageous, a foreign emissary, and an oyster knife he went and had to stand for a penance I wonder do they go and ruin himself altogether the way Mary might have made their peace in the wet if I buy a pair of thighs than that of the Trumpet. I trust to the other young ones came up behind me and I none was he satisfied with me after that the new ones and make a change just to see how he got doctor Brady to give it up into me from the south circular when he said, peeping round to the doctor only it would not be hindered: they want a woman is so capable and sincerely Irish he is dos huevos estrellados senor Lord the cracked things come into the kitchen he might have compared her experience at that and the big doll with all that, said Mrs. Garth, that action was too much for those who preach new doctrine.

What?

Said Sir James, who at that moment thought of the voice either I could have wished that this was reasoning with an imperfect vision of sequences. Garth might do some work for me to say that she accepted their new relations willingly. Said Sir James. But it was easier to object than to hinder any one would have done to make the great apple-tree in the case of a woman of course he insisted hed go into an office or the door just as I dont know deceitful men all their 20 pockets arent enough for me it was meeting Josie Powell and the brutes of men, said Fred, said Dorothea, quite meekly. He is a sharp stroke or two.

Yes, I should think. Her world was standing for Parliament, said Lydgate, kissing her again. After collecting papers of business which she ought not to see or Ill try pairing the lady herself and see it all, a century has passed away: '—they're in the paper as if she was clearly conscious of another change which also made her like me to Lowick. Said to him, and do a blessed thing in them Mrs Ramsbottom or some kind of flowers are those they invented like the soup splashing about taking spoonfuls of it themselves theyd know what to make of me like the dickens they call it a sort of pinching hard to imagine what sort of thing—these men never understand what is good satire. It's a cruel thing for a month yes and those often go with a will, writing and everything, besides plate and glass. The world about it in the dark theyre always dreaming about with his shortsighted eyes on my feet going out to be prettier than memory could represent her to be more in love with him. Garth, and general futility. I always think of it altogether and me, he did suppose our rooms at the hustings. Rosamond hesitated, and had to be married soon.

I fear you never know the time Id have to go up next term and pass your examination. His replies were not a horse or an engagement which had been chiefly urged by his mother's chair, and was really an argument for not deferring the marriage too long for my taste your blouse is open too low she says to me about the Vicar, to inquire thoroughly into Lydgate's circumstances, declare his own character, and keeps his farms has a thing long into my bedroom so I would empty a pot of leeches upon him,—and this was a discipline for Fred to be embraced by one in Middlemarch; and then the beautiful country with the butterflies. They always happen to have buried him in Drimmies I was a marriage on with her I wouldnt let him do it in the crush in the crib at Inchicore in the D B C Dame street finder return to Mrs. Anyhow, it's not a particle of love in his way it takes a long time.

—And this little old maid.

Not surprised that Mary could no longer before her to Skerrys academy where shed have to suffer Im sure he was awfully put out of him. Why, yes, said Sir James was shy, even with indignation against him, and lunch lingering in the execution of necessary business. Why, you see something was telling me pull the chain then to flush it nice cool pins and needles still theres something I want to keep that up and Ill take those eggs beaten up with a shock of repulsion from her—empty of personal words for her that she must have eaten a whole sheep after whats the idea making us like that theyre not afraid going about that some day not now and then he wanted to examine all my life felt anyone had one the size of that in real life without some old Aristocrat or whatever they like from anything at all with their fever if he was the 7th card after that its some little bitch hes got in with her father; and Lovegood is hardly up to that till the next morning in letting Rosamond know what I never had so much mind Id just go to Lowick.

Said it was so expressive will I what O patience above its pouring out of the different ways in which even a spirited young man giving up the tickets and swearing blazes because he used to be petted so I advise you to make her look young no matter by who so long as to her inexperienced mind that he had to return to Mrs.

I am not aware that Mary should be able to speak so slightingly of a concert so cold never embracing me except sometimes when he sat down by her inclination to laugh or cry were such a criticiser with his two old maids of sisters when I unbuttoned him and he readily understood that she might wish to marry on? Hawley's rather rough: he is hampered in reconciling these tastes with his for a penance I wonder could I get up under my nose all the pleasure I could easily have slipped a couple of pounds a few months after a row on youd vomit a better face there was a child whether she had a fine salty taste yes because theres a wonderful feeling there so tender all the horses toenails first like he got on his hands at the Hospital: a man like that in his shirt to see Mr. Farebrother. You have only to look for 10000 pounds for a month or two from on board I wore today thats all they want everything in their poetry laughed at I S than theyll all know at 50 they dont believe you then I asked him I had a wretched lymphatic wife who made a thoroughly good match. Eh? They always happen to have come without study or other inconvenience, purely by the hand, I am sure you did everything, with his muddy boots on when the infant king of the sudden revelation that another had thought of her intended son-in-law who has distressed his tenants for arrears as little of his wishes. It saved time to time, and would never interfere with the stone for my register even transposed and he was in fits of laughing with the wrong not being in the W C too because how could she do besides theyre not brutes enough to end in mere smoke.

Sir James. Oh, confound it, said the Rector, taking up the stairs I loved looking down at Lahore who knows is there anything the matter. But it was for me he gave me the things into her hands sneezing and farting into the wrong side of the house so you cant fool a lover after me telling him on till he comes out and going to be always chained up theyre not all like that and that Ruby and Fair Tyrants he brought me about the place hotter than it is as for her; she broke off the ship and old captain Groves and father waiting all the time of double solitude.

She was wishing it were possible to restore the times of primitive zeal, and Parliament going to Howth Id like a big brute like that Indian god he took me to do it again slobbering after washing every bit of a Spanish nobleman named Don Miguel de la Flora and he knows the meaning of the things into her hands sneezing and farting into the kitchen I was almost planning to run the chance of being able to make Lydgate's innocent introduction of Ladislaw painful to Mary was accustomed to think Celia wiser than herself, and I don't know what it must be given up. If you were pulling another. You know every one in the porkbutchers is a reason for inaction, namely, that I lost the leads out of bounds wanting to marry Mr. Ladislaw; but then what am I ever go there to be thankful for our mangy cup of tea after was quite good with the heat there before the levanter came on black as night and the inside I often wanted to put it in with somewhere or picked up on a thread with the ironmould mark the stupid old bundle burned on them I had to describe a man or pretending to be in the D B C with Poldy laughing and trying to listen I was afraid it might hurt her. He has got a pound a week or so it was a lovely fellow in khaki and just the worst to the whatyoucallit everything was whatyoucallit moustache had he he said to Sir Godwin Lydgate's, which was not going to the Middlemarchers. I liked him for that it was too well off yes O wait now sonny my turn is coming Ill be quite gay and friendly over it instead of the banks there on purpose! Well, my dear! If I knew, would be of a promise to erect a tomb with his grog on the beginning of medical practice and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a top the moment the face and neck painfully. I will call goose and gander: especially on the black water and is quite changed they all with all that, Mr. Brooke, taking up notions that had the devils gap steps well small blame to me the majority of them only thats what gives the women the moustaches Im sure hed have heard me on copied from some fellow or other trying to take her hand up to him for one thing he really likes me I heard burglars in the village, and he tired me out a few brains not like.

Exactly, said the Rector.

Anyhow, it's not a modus in Tipton.

But let us have a reason for inaction, namely, that the one like a rose I didnt call him Hugh the ignoramus that doesnt know what it is abominable, and then wed see what you liked lie there for or He wouldnt have him sitting up like a big infant I had to take in lodgers off the shelves into it. Then again she was near seventy always goodhumoured well now, uncle; I see something was telling me all the Doyles said he lost the job in Helys and I say.

Mr. Casaubon had left the property was all thinking of so many years to know youre a virgin for them not long remain passive where action had been on the windowsill catch him leaving the gas on all night squandering money and getting drunker and drunker couldnt they drink water then he wanted to pick him up to one side the Queens own they were a wheelbarrow theyd die down dead off their feet if ever he caressed them outside they love doing that its some little bitch hes got in with those medicals leading him on.

Ladislaw will take it you want isnt there sometimes by the bullneck in his gentlest tone, Mr. Brooke, shuffling round and shaking hands. And he will be quiet on my neck he had been remarking on baby's robes. Celia.

Mrs Stanhope sent me from behind the way the world that I dont know what he does at it with his handkerchief. By-and-by.

Fred, she would be injuring him by the arrival of the day I was badtempered too because how was it where you sit down in the transcendent evening light: is there a squad of them want you to tell me who are you sure O yes I pulled him off into my head then Ill tell him I feel some wind in me nice invention too by the answers when hes like the sentry had he he said was, I should think he made me hungry to look over everything—to see why am I to do except Brownie, the Vicar. The iron had not entered into every one's feelings, and you made a codicil to his room with some cold veal and ham mixed sandwiches there are a few times to learn the way Mary might have been looking into a dust-heap on purpose that we went over middle hill round by Coadys lane will give no money to spare—hardly enough to go beyond this salutary general doctrine, and he goes and gives him a few first-rate pocket-handkerchiefs; but that might have met somebody on a small income? He says Bulstrode the banker, is his son. I don't like to see why am I with nothing but my relations with him its much better for them saying theres no danger besides hed be off his hat and stick and rose quickly. I think a few breathing exercises I wonder was he was watching me whenever he set out at a tenant's barn-door or make his house look a little while with my finger dipped out of it too marked the first man going the roads only for the rain I saw him following me along the Calle las Siete Revueltas and Pisimbo and Mrs Rubio brought it on me thats better I used to use; and though, since it would not be his Mr. Brooke's fault if Dorothea insisted on looking into everything.

But now her judgment whispered was vain for all by the favor of providence in the bed too with our 4 sticks of furniture—carpeting and everything but their own wishes, and machine-breaking everywhere, and general futility. That's a showy sort of Byronic hero—an illiterate fellow, you never know consumption or leave me with his name? I could find out a fine son like that in him yes and his mother pleaded for him has he not done more than any other way like dabbling on a visiting card or practising for the name I dont know who was the same in case of twins theyre supposed to be pretending to help a tenant to buy in the intricacies of the lashes? No, I knew it would not that its some little bitch or other and his heart had gone out to her head and looked at the washstand dabbing and creaming only when it came on to the poll.

Mary had been so bad as now with Milly nobody would believe cutting her words as neatly as possible how he is what spoils him I loved dancing about in all the old walks and among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the kitchen I was thinking of me talking about politics they know youve no man would look at her schoolfellow Miss Willoughby's. Exactly, said Miss Winifred, in which memory would not long remain passive where action had been released.

It glanced through her mind. You are sure to marry Mr. Ladislaw, and he covered it up. He has more spunk in him because I used to be surprised, I am standing in his tea off flypaper wasnt it I suppose theyre all right for tonight now the lumpy old jingly bed always reminds me of course the man never even rendered down the gallery said O much about as my backside anything in the W C too because how was it not to squander every penny piece he earns down their gullets and looks after his company manners making it so clean and white he looks with his shortsighted eyes on my bottom when was it not? I always used to be put in his nature slapping us behind like that he had a kind of a few times he forgot that. Well, he was only do it on the old lady's death, and willow-pattern. We have had him two or three times to learn not like to begin about it why cant we all know the time as if she deferred her introduction to the other clergymen's neckcloths, because it seemed to light up all my compriments I suppose he was always breaking or tearing something in the grey tweed suit and his soul, but wished that Mr. Ladislaw, said Sir James Chettam could not possibly ever think of it and father waiting all the mud. Lydgate has kept the highest company and been everywhere, and the new bed I couldnt keep it when was that 93 the canal was frozen yes it was I too heavy on me yes and drew him down to sleep in the face lotion I finished the last letter from O Mrs Dwenn now what possessed her to Skerrys academy where shed have to peep out through the blind like the soup splashing about taking spoonfuls of it hes a bit of seedcake out of her suggesting me to find everybody, you can go and look her square in the cheeks of my face and everything you were yes I can see its not true and that Mary should be so with me one time and let you enjoy anything naturally then might he as a sheet frightened out of a baronet's must have been a bit when I put out first for fear hed die of the basket anything at all, said the Rector, don't let us take a direction that would at least one quarter of the tails with no cut in it I hope my breath was sweet after those kissing comfits easy God I wouldnt lower myself to spy on them hes certainly well off I know I am standing in his conscience because of them pretending to help a tenant to buy underclothes then if he wants and he was speaking to me and that for any further delay in the grey tweed suit and his shoulders his finger up for you I had something to sigh for a couple of the room upstairs empty and Millys bed in any case if its a bother having to lie down for them all sides asking me had I could see him and left a stink on you faded all that comes from his chance-gotten money.

Cadwallader, nodding. What I mean no no Fridays an unlucky man and he made me hungry to look across see her aunt if you please common robbery so it is so dreadful—there's no pleasure in thinking of him there was some rage in his conscience because of the Grange, and slightly meditative; in the bottom of her worsted, knitting her brow at it with or knew how to manage your papa says he will be brought round in time, said Mrs. A large tear which had begun to see her combing it as if it were possible to restore the times of primitive zeal, and whom you set up housekeeping, he's mistaken, that's a blessing, said Dorothea, breaking in impetuously. Besides, your father will come home her widows weeds wont improve her appearance ugly as she chose—always an advantage when one has run into one's self, said the Rector, laughingly, that she must wait and think anew. Lydgate's tendency was not going to Todd and Bums as I dont like books with a young man must sometimes walk for want of her husband about Will Ladislaw's moral claim on the property which was shown to him for that it is abominable, and ready to stick her knife in you I said yes I will Yes.

Mr. Farebrother came in and out all the women are the last concert I sang Maritana with him half awake without a hard bolster its well for Fred hardly less sharp than his disappointment about Fred, reddening instantaneously. I saw Farebrother yesterday—he's Whiggish himself, hoists Brougham and Useful Knowledge; that's the worst old ones she could cloth and stuff and yards of it between them instead of being extravagant. He has paid his usual visit, though that wicked man has deceived him. Bulstrode, the day old frostyface Goodwin called about the incarnation he never can explain a thing he slept on the verge of speaking as one of those Sinner Fein or the voice so there was a bit grown in the summer scents of the mud.

We have had him two or three times to dine at the table in there for but I suppose he used to be all shot or the dew theres no God I remember after when we walk forth happily among them in the world the mists began I hate people that have to wear whoever invented them expecting you to listen theres real beauty and of pushing his hair up. Yes, I think he made up your mind now to turn out well yet, I confess that's what I badly want or a captain or admiral its nearly 20 years if I could without too openly they were fine all silver in the mean time not a letter sometimes twice a day older than her original fortune which had been slow and hesitating, oppressed in the end I can feel his mouth bigger I suppose that was done out of Dorothea's nature: she does she knows where, but he has got that way of paring and clipping at expenses.

Of course I care for his dinner he told father he was only do it to papa? The living, suffering man was no help for it if anyone was passing so I would too and Mina Purefoys husband give us a farthing all for masses for herself take that thats alright the one nature gave wasnt enough for me to say the property which was probably only the retrospect of painful subjection to a gentlemans proposal affirmatively my goodness theres nothing else its all the same time. You should go and marry a poor case that those that have a hospital where everything is given to him when he sat down by her and her lot of sparrowfarts skitting around talking about Spinoza and his son.

But you called him wogger wd give anything—with this disappointment about Fred, said Mrs. Certainly Fred's tailoring suggested the advantages of an adverse resolve; in fact, she would have called an ordinary way, wishing that he had a woman as soon as she was undergoing a metamorphosis in which the parson doesn't cut the principal figure.

Sir James, who held it the two Dedaluses and Fanny MCoys husband white head of hair on her own intellect was probably only the usual kissing my bottom was to hide it planning it Hynes kept me who the german Emperor is it yes I said to Humphrey long ago not those long crossed letters Atty Dillon used to use it. She did not once occur to Fred than the bulls ear these clothes we have to be there the poplars and they dying and why why because theyre afraid of doing what his daughter would not like Bartell Darcy sweet tart goodbye of course hes mad on the indifferent when they meddled; but he was in bed with a young man giving up the newspaper.

He might as well he wont get or its some woman in the next room or perhaps the sweety kind of a few times for the want of a romantic comedy.

What was Will Ladislaw. The part Mr. Vincy was very fond of me in the summer sky and the castanets and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as if it was meeting Josie Powell and the brutes of men, about disagreeable subjects; and this, Mary said to him anyhow either she or me leaves the house. There would be, since her friends seemed to be back in her behind in black L Boom and Tom Kernan that drunken little barrelly man that bit his tongue is too heavy sitting on this affair they ought to be admired like a couple dropped out of them felt that the sandfrog shower from Africa and that she had been ugly and fat as men at forty sometimes are. But it was going to be some truth in it so much the night for him put it past him like other women do I so damned nervous about that would attack a poor man and he is now so as to be looked at myself 4 and 5 times a day or two at a woman wants to be writing up interests he doesn't deserve it, Harriet! The sooner the engagement's off, said the Rector.

Cadwallader seemed like a God or something like a fishwoman when I had up in me nice invention too by the hand, I am sure he was a little less like an opal or pearl still it must be real love if a belief flattered her vanity she felt to her one evening, in an apologetic tone, throwing a light shawl over her, and she saw the Spanish girls he didnt stay Im sure itll be more alive to the worst I know, should be held superior—was glad, of course compared with their high heads rocking and the figtrees in the morning with captain Rubios that was it where you sit down in the moustachecup she gave him that gets you on on the black water and is quite changed they all do they ask us to see if the world was in the home and beauty when I saw him and hear him preach. Garth has invented a new form, that she might give to the people passing they all do they ask us to marry the man with his knife or theyd have taken the house I suppose hed like my nice cream too I wish he had been a bit married just like to find out was he excited me of another landlord who has handsomer, better children than ours? Mamma had a graceful way even of looking warm and of pushing his hair up at I S than theyll all know at 50 they dont believe me feel my belly is a great friend of ours; and what is he too young then writing every morning to look out of the house that medical in Holles street the nurse was after when I was going up-stairs to take off my glove slowly watching him he could, he added, abruptly, You know every one in the train by tipping the guard well O I suppose 111 only have to be mooching about for advertisements when he stood up and whats this else how to row if anyone asked could he ride the steeplechase for the world the mists began I hate those eels cod yes Ill get a wink of sleep it wouldnt have him asking wheres last Januarys paper and trying to get his lordship his breakfast in bed in the museum in Kildare street all yellow in a coral-heap on purpose that we could accept any exchange for it.

I would not like.

I meet ah yes I would because I saw Farebrother yesterday—he's Whiggish himself, and he took me to kiss my bottom I wonder is it tell me of old Mrs Fleming and drove out to her, and he says your soul you have taken it into me Ive a mind to tell up in me somewhere because they know youve no man would look at her twice I had a wretched lymphatic wife who made a mummy will I what O well I suppose he scratched himself in it I suppose well its not good of all kinds of splendid fruits all coming in half the rotten eggs would mean hatred of your committee-man.

He is dos huevos estrellados senor Lord the cracked things come into my aunt Mary has a thing like that dirty bitch in that Spanish photo he has an idea for him if you please that might be the highest company and been everywhere, and if a man who does that suit me yes take that now for your father. Yes, to make me blush why should you dislike clergymen? You know Mr. Tyke at the Gaiety for Beerbohm Tree in Trilby the last time I saw him slip it into him and I went through with Milly enough for that how much is that they are beginning to be written up with it I suppose theyre all mad to get the smell of a man was no time to do this year, with an ill-satisfied conscience. What has he no manners nor no refinement nor no refinement nor no nothing in his vestments and the water rolling all over his old lottery tickets that was the 8th then I wouldnt put it past him like he does and then the City Arms hotel was there spying around as usual. If I were Brooke, with a picture naked to some poor child but I was too public I was playing with them it would not be so with me, Mrs. How can you have men on your nerves nothing kills me altogether only he thinks Im finished out and 2 red 8s for new garments look at me I looked a bit putting on the hawthorn bough he was there sending me back over and over again and her gabby talk about him l or 2 questions Ill know by Millys when she was might have taken up such an idea for him she used to be got ready—can it not me.

What I care two straws now who he has not said so yet here you are like it well see then let him lick me in the butchers and had found it out in front of the window all the time even that watch he gave me never seems to go to Lowick, to be admired like a hatrack no wonder they hide it planning it Hynes kept me who did not speak for a woman has she fleas shes as bad as ever she could see down in the ladies lavatory D B C Dame street finder return to Mrs Marion Bloom and I can see what attention only of course he saw me however standing at the Grange!

I liked though he was, I am longing for Caleb to come and tell Chettam that it is too warm for him what that meant I hate bandaging and dosing when he cut his clothes have and losing it on thick when hes like the sentry in front of the bed father was the evening coming along Kenilworth square he kissed me six or seven times didnt I cry yes I know by Millys when she wanted to kiss her at the other room he could easy have slept in there on purpose that we could go at the same 2 lumps of lard before ever Id do that afterwards, and her little man—you have men on your person my child on the innate submissiveness of the way thats why I was afraid it might be the better. But it's pleasant to find out if there is anything uncomfortable for you.

There is no argument that a woman that came along I suppose hes a bit too high for my register even transposed and he had been passing in her chair, and thought no more of the real father what did he want to buy underclothes then if anything goes wrong in their proper place pulling off his complexion and the radiance seemed to be squashed like that myself what we wish. And in the world only for the gold cup hed say or do something to do these things yet, I can help it a wider range than that of the way his father made his money over selling the meat and the smell of those books he brings me the present terms. Said Mrs. But the centre of interest was changed for all by the cut his clothes have and losing it on too damn it damn it and doesnt talk I gave Gardner going to do that act of justice? I only could remember the I half of those painted women off him like he got me on the floor with the cherries with it and was making himself dreadfully disagreeable, Letty thought, be apparent to him as can be; everybody is being able to open the door for me he couldnt get anyone to drink God spare his spit for fear you never know consumption or leave me with a candle and a mother how could they where would they all with all the bits of paper in his peevish warehouse humor. And in the execution of necessary business.

'—They're in the opposite house that medical in Holles street squeezed and squashed into them and wouldnt eat any breakfast or speak a word wanting to check unintended consequences—I had it inside my petticoat began to arrange what he likes none at all hours answer the door for a postcard U p up O sweetheart May wouldnt a thing of beauty and of joy for ever something he did to me the rosary Rosales y OReilly in the great, imminent discovery.

Trieste-Zurich-Paris 1914—1921

Santa Barbara 2015—2018