#putting off writing my paper due tonight by simply posting the points i am making in my paper on tumblr

[drfaustus]

the way that titus andronicus is full of pleas for pity that always go unanswered. tamora pleas for titus to "rue the tears [she sheds]—/ a mother's tears in passion for her son" in act one, only to have him killed anyway in a perverse sort of religious piety. then in a moment of complete reversal titus begs for saturninus to "be pitiful to [his] condemned sons" in act three, only to be deceived into cutting off his hand for their safe return and then still being brought their heads. the play even closes with the comment on tamora that "her life was beastly and devoid of pity, / and, being dead, let the birds on her take pity." like those are literally the final lines of the play. everyone is begging for pity and no one ever gets it.

[chudleycanonficfest]

The Switch

Day 10, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: The Switch

Author: adenei

Pairing: George Weasley/Angelina Johnson

Prompt: First Date

Rating: T

TW: Mentions of character death

***********

The shop is quiet as George locks the door to his office. It’s been a month since the grand re-opening of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and the steady thrum of customers has put the business back on track to where it was before the untimely closure due to the war. Things are different, of course, with Fred not being there, but George’s family and friends have stepped up and offered more support than George knows what to do with—not that he wanted it in the first place.

  In retrospect, he is thankful for his family and friends, Ron and Angelina in particular. They helped him put down the bottle and get his life back on track. 

  “Fred wouldn’t want this.” Angelina had told him late one night while she and Lee were staying over in his flat that smelled of days-old Firewhisky and hadn’t been cleaned since before they’d gone into hiding at Aunt Muriel’s.

  “How would Fred feel if you let everything the two of you worked for go to shit? How would you feel if the tables were turned and if it was—” Ron had yelled as he snatched the half-full bottle away from his brother and dumped it down the drain. The emotion was raw as the words caught in his throat, the end of the phrase hanging between them like the weight of a bludger pulling them down and grounding them.

  At first, he’d been pissed, but they were right. Fred wouldn’t have wanted George to resort to any of that. And even though he’d been begrudging in accepting help to begin with, George knew he wouldn’t have gotten the shop up and running as swiftly as he did without everyone’s help. The hole in his heart still ached, and not a moment went by where he didn’t miss his brother, but finding a new stride in this post-war life is exactly the push George needed to not only move on but also honor and make Fred proud.

  As George makes his way onto the main floor of the shop, a figure standing behind the counter makes him pause. He’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, the unrequited crush from his Hogwarts days now thrust back in his life, as if to taunt him of just another thing he’ll never have.

  “You’re still here?” The exhaustion is apparent in George’s voice after a ten-hour day.

  “Yeah, I wanted to make sure you didn’t stay on and try to do all the inventory yourself again like last week.” Angelina runs her fingers over the various displays of fireworks that are locked away behind the checkout area as she lightly teases George.

  “Nah, I learned from that mistake. Besides, don’t you have your regular job that you need to get back to? Now that things are running smoothly again, we’ll be able to manage without the extra help. Especially once things die down after the first.”

  “I don’t mind spending a few hours here after work, you know that. Things’ll start to pick up again soon once the Quidditch season gets underway, I’m sure, but right now, my corresponding duties are light. Call me crazy, but I’ve enjoyed spending more time with you lately. Almost makes me feel like we’re back in Hogwarts, you know? When real life and responsibilities seemed so far away.”

  A chuckle escapes George’s lips. It was true, all this time they’d been spending together, especially with Lee and sometimes Alicia, almost made everything feel right again.

  “Well, we can hang out in other places, too. I swear I don’t live at Wheeze’s.”

  “George, you live upstairs.”

“Ah, bugger off.”

  “I’m only teasing.”

  “And all I’m saying is if you want to do something outside these walls, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Are you hungry, then?”

  A genuine laugh bubbles up into George’s throat at Angelina’s brazenness. “Bloody hell, woman! Impatient much?”

  His outburst brings a smile to Angelina’s face, brightening the dark circles under her eyes from the extra hours spent helping out. 

  “You’re the one who said to ask. So, what do you say? Fancy a drink and a meal down the street? It’s late enough that the Leaky shouldn’t be too busy.”

  “I s’pose it couldn’t hurt. Beats making something for myself, that’s for sure.”

  “Great, let’s go.” 

  Angelina walks around the counter and reaches out to take George’s hand in hers. An electric shock shoots up his arm from the point of contact, and George has to stop himself from pulling away from the surprise of it all. A memory flashes through his mind of twinkling lights amongst a silver backdrop in the Great Hall all those years ago. He sees two figures dancing and twirling to the music of the Weird Sisters, one with flaming red hair much like his own and the other whose sapphire gown swished against the travertine floor. The memory brings a reminiscent smile to his lips as Angelina tugs him out the door.

  When they reach the Leaky, the pair settles into a quiet booth in the back of the establishment, away from curious eyes. It’s late in the evening for a meal, which is made evident by the empty tables and chairs scattered throughout the pub. Only a handful of patrons litter the bar, allowing Tom to be attentive to their needs. 

  George takes a large swig when the barkeep returns with Butterbeers, and they place their orders.

  “No shot of Firewhisky tonight then?” 

  George shakes his head. “I told you, Ange, I was serious about stopping. I can’t use the bottle as a crutch for grief anymore.”

  Angelina nods as she observes him intently. George can feel the heat of her gaze trailing over him as he takes another sip from his drink. 

  “You’re staring.”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “Oh? And here I was thinking I was mesmerizing you with my dashing good looks,” George quips. 

  Angelina smiles, and for a moment, George thinks he sees a blush on her cheeks before she recovers.  For all the time they spent together during Hogwarts, and more recently in the months following the war, George finds it odd that they’re struggling with conversation now.

  “Knut for your thoughts?” asks George.

  “Just that it’s been nice reconnecting with you. And Lee. Circumstances are shit, of course, but with my hectic schedule during Quidditch season, I don’t get much time for socializing and friends. I even had to drop my registration for the semi-pro league I was hoping to play for.”

  George nods, and his stomach twists as he processes her words. That would mean she’d be leaving soon once things got busy. He’s overcome with the urge to see if her job is something she’s passionate about.

  “Do you love it? Your job, I mean.”

  “Well, yeah, if I can’t play professionally, the next best thing is writing and commentating. Plus, I’ve gotten to see the world all on the Ministry’s dime. Can’t complain there…”

  “But is it something you see yourself doing for a long time?” George presses. He doesn’t mean to sound judgmental, but he needs to know if it’s even worth it to pursue.

  “Well, after graduation, it seemed like the right fit. The opening was there, my parents were encouraging me to see the world, and I didn’t have anything tying me down. Honestly, I think my parents thought it was safer for me to travel, especially with the war on...”

  And what about now? 

  George is nodding his head up and down while the question ricochets in his mind. He opens his mouth, gathering the courage to allow the four words to escape his mouth when Angelina interrupts him.

  “Well, there are some openings that would allow me to stay in London that have just come up. They’re looking for commentators and stats writers for the matches played in the Kensington stadium. So, if you needed an extra hand at the shop, I could stay—”

  “—I don’t want you to stay for the shop. If you want to travel the world, you should. I doubt you’ve seen all the world has to offer in two seasons.”

  No! What are you thinking! 

  George can almost hear Fred chastising him for his rash response. It doesn’t come out the way he meant it to sound, and he knows he messed up given the crestfallen look on Ange’s face.

  “I only meant—”

  “I-I’ve actually already put in for the London job, George. And I promise it’s not because of the shop. Lee promised to help me with commentating, and this way I can play again. I start training next week. You know how much I missed playing Quidditch, and now that England is safer, I can stay and have the best of both worlds.” 

  The longer she goes on, it feels like she’s rambling and going on with a laundry list of pre-prepared reasons, which doesn’t sound like the Angelina he knows. It’s almost like she’s trying to convince herself that those are the reasons she’s staying, and not for anything else.

  “Oh.”

  Ange rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I know you and Fred always used to think you two were the center of the universe, but I promise I didn’t choose to stay just for you.”

  Her voice is light, and she’s smiling, but George can’t help but sense something else lingering beneath the surface. Disappointment, perhaps? Or maybe he’s just reading into things too much. Hoping something might be between them that really isn’t. He forces himself to stop overthinking and simply enjoy her company instead.

  “Well, I, for one, am happy you’re staying. We’ll be able to get together more often, and it’ll almost feel like our Hogwarts days. Maybe I’ll even be able to convince you and Alicia to test new products again.”

  Angelina nearly spits out her Butterbeer at George’s joke as Tom approaches with their meal. He knows he’s not fooling either of them; the irony is that the girls were always two steps ahead of him and his brother. They were the only two in their year who managed to avoid becoming test subjects to all of their prototypes.

  The two fall into more reminiscing as they tuck into their fish and chips. George doesn’t realize how ravenous he is until he starts eating, and he’s even more grateful for Ange’s suggestion now.

  As they are polishing off the remainder of their baskets, the topic of conversation falls on the Yule Ball, as Ange remembers how Fred had tossed the wad of paper at her.

  “It was romantic, wasn’t it?” George jokes as he remembers his brother’s ridiculous attempt at asking a girl out. “Still don’t know why you said yes to that tosser.”

  To this day, he’d always resented his brother for drawing his wand first and asking Ange to the ball. Of course, George knew it was all meant to be a bluff. It was Fred’s attempt to get his brother to buck up the courage and ask Angelina for himself. 

  George remembers it vividly. “Just ask her. What’s the worst she’ll say? No? Fine, if you won’t do it, I will.”

  When Fred had gotten Ange’s attention, George had no idea what to expect. They were usually well in tune with each other, and George could anticipate Fred’s moves, but when his brother had asked Angelina himself, it took George by surprise.

  “We were getting down to the wire, weren’t we?” Angelina interrupts George’s thoughts. “No one else had asked me, so I figured it was better to go with one twin than none at all.”

  George chooses the wrong moment to polish off the last of his chips. The fried potato catches in his throat, and he coughs it up, all while reaching for the last dredges of his Butterbeer to clear things out.

  Did she just say it was better to go with one twin than none at all? But then that would mean… 

  “Ange, don’t tell me you were waiting for me to ask you.”

  She shrugs and averts her eyes from his gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been disappointed if you’d asked, let’s put it that way.”

  After this revelation, George burst into laughter. To anyone else in the near vicinity, it probably sounded like he should be admitted to the Janus Thickney Ward. He hasn’t laughed this hard since he and Fred were able to pull off a prank on Muriel shortly after arriving at her Manor at the end of March.

  “You—Fred—I—me—” He can’t seem to formulate a coherent string of thoughts until Angelina goes from amused to offended.

  “Honestly, George, I didn’t realize it was that funny. Forget I said anything.” She checks her watch and gathers her bag. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. It’s getting late, and clearly the thought of the two of us together appalls—”

  She’s in the process of standing up when George sobers from the onslaught of irony and reaches out to grab her wrist.

  “Ange, wait. I’m not laughing at that. Just—just give me a chance to explain, yeah?” He pulls her into the bench beside him, where she lands on her bottom harder than she needed to as she lets out a loud huff of indignation.

  “Fred never intended to go with you when he asked.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyebrows have raised so high on her face that George is surprised they haven’t gotten lost in her braids.

  “No, what I mean is, he’d been pestering me to ask you since the ball was announced. He knew I had a thing for you—obviously—and was being supportive.”

  It felt weird for George to admit that he fancied Angelina in school now, after so many years of keeping it close to his chest. Fred and Lee were the only two who ever knew.

  “So, what are you trying to say, then?”

  “When Fred asked you...I was shocked, too. I didn’t realize he’d already devised a plan that I didn’t cotton on to right away.”

  The look on Angelina’s face transformed from defensive to shock to comprehension, all in the span of a few seconds. “Don’t tell me…”

  “Being an identical twin has—er, had—its benefits.”

  “So.. are you trying to tell me that I didn’t go to the ball with Fred?”

  “Nope.”

  “And at the end of the night, when I kissed Fred in an attempt to make you jealous, I was actually kissing you all along?”

  “Sorry if it was disappointing.” The wisecrack escapes George’s lips before he can stop it.

  Half of him is expecting Angelina to slap him for the ‘switcheroo’ that he and Fred pulled, and in fairness, they deserved it. What if Ange actually had fancied Fred, and they’d pulled one over on her?

  But to his surprise, Angelina does the opposite. She leans in and kisses George right then and there. The same shock he felt when holding her hand earlier ignites within him once more as he lets his body take control. He allows himself to get lost in the feel of her lips, realizing that it’s the first time he’s truly felt like himself since Fred’s passing. He even dares to let himself think he’s found happiness again.

  Eventually, George pulls away as his lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen. They remain close, foreheads touching as he offers a weak smile. 

  “Y’know, I was going to tell you it was me at the end of the night, but how could I when I thought I was going to break your heart when you thought you’d kissed Fred?”

  “You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

  “Yeah, but you can’t argue with sixteen-year-old George’s logic, can you?”

  Ange rolls her eyes and leans back. George misses the contact as soon as it’s gone.

  “What do you say we get out of here?” Ange raises her eyebrows in question as if tempting him to follow when she scoots out from the bench a second time.

  George pulls enough money to cover their meals out of his wallet and leaves it on the table before scooching out behind her. He pays no mind to the remaining customers as he pulls Angelina back into him and whispers in her ear,

  “I’d say we’ve wasted five years of pointless pining to wait any longer.”

[acnelli]

A Favourite

My entry for Ron’s Chessboard Fest 2021.

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Rating: T

Summary: Ron discovers a group chat that is discussing just how handsome he actually is.

Thanks to TheUltimateUndesirable for organising the Fest.

This prompt had been submitted by @accio-broom​ who also happened to be the beta for this story. Your help and suggestions are always so much appreciated!

@accio-broom​ got inspired by this post by @headcanonsandmore​. So, thank you for the lovely idea! I wanted to write this ever since I saw this post and prompt 39 fit the bill perfectly.

You can also read this story on AO3 & FFN.

“Where are you guys meeting tonight?” Hermione asked as she and Harry cleared the table while Ron and Ginny set up the cleaning charms. 

“George’s place this time,” Ron answered and swooped up some foam of the soapy dishwater to smear it across Hermione’s cheek. 

Sometime after the war, the Weasley siblings established the tradition to meet up once a month. Just the six of them going out for a pint or simply getting pissed at one of their places. This resulted in another kind of meet up, consisting of the Weasley siblings’ significant others. Tonight, they would play a French card game which Fleur insisted on being a lot of fun. The rest of them simply agreed because most of the time, they ended up just talking and drinking anyway. 

Playfully swatting Ron’s hand away, Hermione cleaned her face with a tea towel, placing it neatly back on the designated hook. Kreacher liked the kitchen to be spotless, and letting them cook for themselves every now and then at all had already been a huge compromise from Kreacher’s side. So, they always made sure to clean up after themselves; otherwise, Kreacher would immediately take over all kitchen duties again. 

Ginny sat down on Harry’s lap when all the plates and cutlery were taken care of and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. She lifted Harry’s left arm to check the time on the gold watch the Weasley’s gifted him years ago. 

“Ron, we should’ve left already.”

“Gin, you know every single Weasley is a notorious latecomer. Except for Percy, maybe. George will probably be not even out of the shower when we arrive,” Ron reasoned as he rummaged through the fridge for the sixpack of Muggle beer he bought to bring to George, “or taking a shite.”

While Ginny and Harry snickered, nodding their heads in agreement, Hermione just sighed and rolled her eyes. At some point, she gave up berating Ron about his foul mouth. It was a lost cause, and while she would never admit it out loud, she would definitely miss it if he suddenly stopped cursing. Mainly because over the years, Hermione gathered some exclusive knowledge about what to do for Ron to bring forth a particular choice of swear words.

Ron hardly censored himself, except when Teddy, Victoire and Molly were in the room. Not only would Mrs Weasley twist Ron’s ear off, Hermione definitely drew the line when children were present. She could’ve also lived without the image of George sitting on the toilet. 

They heard the fireplace roar to life, and a few moments later, Audrey came into the kitchen, dressed in grey tracksuit bottoms, white trainers and an oversized blue shirt that sure enough belonged to Percy. Her outfit clashed with the fancy bottle of wine she held in her left hand. 

Hermione looked at Ron, who she had to talk out of wearing his trackies tonight, and into a pair of nicely fitting jeans instead, along with one of his old Cannon shirts. He lifted an eyebrow at her when he saw Audrey’s casual clothes, but Hermione ignored it. 

Audrey sat down with a heavy sigh. “I knew I’m too early. Why am I dating someone so over-punctual?”

“You’re not because Gin and I are leaving now.” Ron laughed as he gave Audrey a quick hug before kissing Hermione and wishing them a fun night. “Don’t do what I wouldn’t do.”

“I think we’re fine then,” Harry commented from behind Ron, where Ginny gave him a peck on the cheek before heading out of the kitchen. 

As Ron turned around, Hermione pinched his arse, not ashamed to cop a feel as she gave him an innocent smile, and he rewarded her with his trademark lopsided grin. “Is this why you wanted me to wear these tight jeans? So, you could properly feel me up?” He asked as he leaned down to give Hermione another kiss.

“ROOON!” Ginny cried from the living room before he could properly snog his girlfriend again. He sighed and gave her a quick peck on the mouth instead.

“Actually, I wanted you to wear them so I can ogle you from behind.” She whispered before he went out of earshot. Ron didn’t turn around, but he gave his hips an extra swing before vanishing out of the kitchen. 

“God, that was gross,” Audrey commented but winked at Hermione anyway, “How can you stand that every day, Harry?” 

Harry was just about to give her an answer when they heard several people arriving via floo, and he settled for just rolling his eyes instead. 

Accompanied by a cloud of some very nice smelling perfume, Fleur glided into the kitchen and right behind her appeared a tall, blonde man Hermione and Harry never met before. This had to be Charlie’s new boyfriend. Ron and Ginny met him last Sunday over at the Burrow when both Harry and Hermione stayed at home since they still had been recovering from a rather nasty case of the flu. 

Fleur took Finn –as he introduced himself in a thick Swedish accent– directly with her from the Burrow where she put Victoire to bed and where Molly and Arthur happily watched over their first grandchild. Harry was secretly happy to finally have another guy in their round again. Not that he minded the company of Hermione, Fleur, Angelina and Audrey. Actually, he always enjoyed their monthly gatherings, but it was nice to not be the only rooster in the yard.

“I’m here, I’m here! I just wanted to stop by the store to grab some more Butterbeer.” Angelina said and put the bottles on the kitchen table. As always, they had a good variety of booze to choose from; Angelina’s Butterbeer, wine from both Fleur and Audrey, the Firewhiskey Harry bought yesterday, and some Cider Hermione picked up from her way home from work. It was way too much already, of course, but that didn’t stop Kreacher from making so much elf wine that they’ll probably never had to buy alcohol ever again. 

As Hermione and Harry added some glasses and snacks, Audrey observed the table with a huge smile on her face. She clapped her hands in childish glee, grabbed a bottle of wine and started to fill Hermione’s wine glass. 

“Fleur, explain that card game to us.”

 *****

Ron was annoyed. 

Because his dear brother was utter rubbish at calculating what would be the appropriate amount of booze for six people, they ran out of beer and whiskey after not even two hours. Due to his bad luck at rock paper scissors, he ended up going back to Grimmauld Place to get them some more beer and one or two bottles of Kreacher’s wine.

The moment he walked through the fireplace, loud shrieks and booming laughter sounded over from the kitchen. Ron planned to just quickly walk into the kitchen, taking what they needed out of the fridge and go back to George’s place. He stopped in his tracks as the conversation filtered through to the living room because he didn’t want his presence to be known just yet.  

“…okay, okay, Hermione. Don’t look at me like that. I complimented your choice in men. Ron is a stilig karl.” Finn said, his booming voice carrying easily over to the living room. Ron didn’t know what stilig karl meant, but from what context he was able to overhear, Finn might’ve just said something nice about him. 

As silently as possible, he stepped out into the hallway where he could hear the conversation better but would remain undetected by the occupants of the kitchen. 

“I personally like his jawline, especially when he lets it go stubbly. It’s…,” Audrey snipped her fingers, “very tempting to touch sometimes. Remember Sunday afternoon after lunch? I kind of had to restrict myself from starring at his jaw when he listened to the Cannons game on the radio. Such determination.”

Ron was sure he was glowing in the dark as he felt the blush creeping up his neck, his face no doubt looking like a tomato. He expected many things, but he certainly didn’t expect to run into this kind of conversation. 

“What does Percy have to say about you lusting over his brother?” Hermione asked, and Ron had to stop himself from bursting out into a laugh because he could practically see her narrowing her eyes. 

“Oh, Hermione, don’t be such a prude. There is nothing wrong with admiring somebody else than your own partner. It eez only natural.”

Ron could not hear Hermione clear enough, but he thought he could hear her muttering something like ‘I’m not a prude.’ 

“Does somebody else has a favourite part of Ron they want to elaborate on? Or can we finally start the next round of cards?” Again, the red-head tried his hardest not to laugh when everyone just ignored Hermione’s sarcasm and, indeed, continued elaborating on the topic.

“His arse!” Angelina offered. From the way she was dragging the ‘s’ a little, he could tell she was already slightly tipsy. “Ron has a very nice bum. Do you guys train your arses in these weekly training sessions at work, Harry?”

Of course, this brought forth another wave of hysterical laughter, which only intensified when Finn told Harry to keep him in mind for these arse workouts. “Maybe I’ll learn something.”

When Angelina recovered from her giggling fit, she declared to Harry she too wants to sign up for that training then added, “But Ron had a nice arse before Auror training anyway.”

“And when did you notice that may I ask?”

“Hermione, it’s almost impossible to play Quidditch and not have a nice arse. Sitting on a broom for hours is no picnic for those muscles,” Angelina answered, unfazed by Hermione’s haughty undertone while Audrey let out something between a snort and laugh, resulting in a rather violent coughing fit. 

“Don’t you agree, Hermione?” Angie asked innocently as she clapped the still coughing Audrey on the back. 

All the ruckus must have summoned Crooshanks because the ginger cat ran towards Ron. He quickly picked him up and started to scratch him behind the ear, successfully stopping him from running inside the kitchen and surely disrupting the conversation inside. And a shame this would be, considering Ron really wanted to hear his girlfriend’s answer.

“I certainly agree,” Hermione said calmly, “Ron hated his hand-me-down jeans, but I always had been very fond of them. Especially, their tendency to hug him in all the right places.”

So much for these new tight jeans, she talked him into buying, Ron thought, not being able to stop the huge grin splitting his face. Running into this conversation certainly was a pleasant coincidence. 

Apparently, the others didn’t expect Hermione to answer so smoothly because a chorus of approving whistles startled Crookshanks, and Ron almost dropped him when the cat clawed at his arm. 

“So, you guys are mostly fond of his arse,” Finn mused, taking a quick swig of his beer, “which is understandable but did you ever notice his shoulders? Ron has the best kind of build; slim waist and broad shoulders without looking burly. Please don’t tell Charlie I said that.”

“Tall and handsome, just like my Bill,” Fleur agreed, Hermione giving an annoyed groan that did nothing to stop the French witch from elaborating, “but I say, Ron’s arms and hands are ze best thing about him. Of course, I hate he got zis scars in ze first place, but I think zey accentuate his arms and big hands rather nicely.”

“Well, Fleur. That surprises no one, I think.” Harry said, joining the conversation for the first time since Ron listened in. 

“Don’t even encourage this, Harry,” Hermione whined, “How could find it not weird we lust over your best friend?” 

Ron knew full well that Harry would tease Hermione, and probably him too, forever about this, so Harry’s next words weren’t too surprising. 

“Well, actually…if I would play for the other team,” Harry obviously made a point to make a meaningful pause here, and Ron really, really wished he could see Hermione’s face right now, “…I mean, if we approach this in a logical manner…I have a thing for red-heads after all.”

The next outburst of laughter, surely about Hermione’s expression, sent Crookshanks in a frenzy for real now, and the bloody cat let out a loud wail and wriggled out of Ron’s arms, scratching the side of Ron’s neck before jumping down over his shoulder. 

If not for Crookshanks loud entrance into the kitchen (why he would bolt towards the noise that scared him was beyond Ron’s understanding), Ron’s colourful cursing tipped off the others about his presence. 

Well aware he had been caught, Ron followed Hermione’s cat into the kitchen, red-eared and shyly waving at everyone. “Hello…”

Before he could offer some kind of explanation, a furiously blushing Hermione jumped up from her seat, bolted towards Ron and without another word, took his hand and dragged him off towards the stairs. “Make sure to take good care of this new scratch on his neck, Hermione!” Audrey shouted after them, accompanied by the other’s laughter. 

With a loud bang, their bedroom door shut, and Hermione immediately pressed Ron against it, showering him with kisses and roaming hands. Slightly puzzled but equally enthusiastic, Ron took Hermione’s face into his hands, deepening the kiss and enjoying the feeling of her body pressed up against his. As they finally came up for air, Hermione nudged him towards their bed, but Ron didn’t move from his place by the door. 

“Hermione, you know they just said that to take the mickey, right?” Ron grinned at her and gave her a wink, “Riling you up is apparently not just my favourite past time.”

“You think they only said that to rile me up?” Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow as she took his hand and resumed her mission to get him into the direction of the bed. “

This time he complied, Hermione lying down onto the soft mattress and tugging on Ron’s belt, making him fall right on top of her. “Of course, you would think that,” Hermione whispered. 

“Think what?”

“That the others just said that to rile me up.” Hermione answered, her hands slowly roaming up and down Ron’s back, “I don’t get possessive over nothing, you know.”

“If…you…say…so,” Ron murmured between the kisses he placed on her neck. He paused his trail towards that special place behind Hermione’s ear to look at her with an awfully smug smile. “I did not plan to wear them again, but I’ll gladly dig those old jeans out of the wardrobe. You know, for the sake of making you happy…and also probably Angelina.”

“Shut up and charm the door!” she said as Hermione let her hands wander over his jeans-clad arse, silently marvelling about its firmness. 

As her hands and mouth wandered over his shoulders, his arms and his scars, and as his hands cupped her face and his blue eyes looked down at her with an expression that always spoke directly to her heart, she decided that every part of Ron was her favourite part.  

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 13

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638162885025120256/odins-ward-chapter-12

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 2678

Warnings: Adult themes

True age: Y/n: 1197 // Loki: 1323 // Thor: 1575 // Audunn 2961

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 19 // Loki: 21 // Thor: 25 // Audunn: 47

Loki’s POV

“Your Highness, rebels have attacked one of the outer villages and stolen their food supply.”

Damn. I purse my lips in frustration. This is the third attack by rebels in as many months. “Take six of our warriors and station them in the village with enough grain, wine, fruits, and vegetables to feed everyone for half a year. By then it should be harvest and the people will have enough to feed themselves.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The advisor bows deeply as he records my decision. Pride gathers within me.

“We need to re-think our security strategy for our borders. These rebels keep finding chinks in our armor. We must—” In my mind’s eye, the old painting in the attic glows purple.

All breath leaves me.

“My Liege?” The advisor looks at me with concern.

“I have to go.” Without another word, I stalk out of the room. Once I’m sure no one can see me, I teleport to the attic in the turret.

The last place I had a nice moment with Y/n.

The painting of the door, the one I told her to use to contact me if she ever needed me, glows her favorite shade of purple.

With shaking hands, I reach into the painting, open the door, and retrieve a letter. Just seeing her elegant script—the first sign of her in over sixty years—nearly brings me to my knees. It reads:

Dearest Loki,

Can I even still call you that? I’m not sure I should, given our circumstances. Nevertheless, it is true. You are dear to me.

Anyways,

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I read the words in her voice, I can see the faces she makes as she awkwardly stumbles through writing this letter. It points to her still being the Y/n I once knew.

I read on.

Anyways, I have a favor to ask of you. It’s a pretty big one and could get us both in a lot of trouble if we’re found out. Due to my current situation, I am willing to take that risk. Are you? If so, please agree to meet me so we can discuss the specifics of what I’m asking of you — in person. It is better to keep as much of this as possible out of writing.

I realize that you said we needed to keep out of each other’s lives, and I understand why that is the best way for us both.

Still, I cannot help but be excited at even the possibility of seeing you again.

~ Y/n

P.S. Please burn this letter as soon as you’ve read it. Thanks.

Had the tone of her letter not been so concerning, I would have grinned at her sign-off.

After teleporting to my chambers, I throw the letter into the fire, as instructed, and sit at my desk to craft a response.

My Dearest Y/n,

I hope I have not overstepped in returning your greeting. You raise a valid point in wondering if we can still be that to each other—dear—but I believe our hearts cannot be lied to. There is no point in ignoring the fact when it is just us.

I know you would not contact me unless you absolutely needed my help. Fret not, my dear; I give it freely. If it is to your convenience, I shall meet you tonight in your bedchambers in Alfheim.

To respond, simply write on the bottom of this letter, and it will appear on a copy on my own desk.

I, too, look forward to seeing you again.

~ Loki

I glance over my letter. For all that I want to say, it seems incredibly short. But a voice in my head reminds me that, although seeing Y/n will be fresh air for a drowning man, I cannot lose myself in her completely. She is married. And denial and wishes are no way to live for two people who must spend their lives apart.

After using magic to send the letter to Y/n, I find a book to distract myself while anxiously awaiting her response.

{***}

Y/n’s POV

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a piece of paper appear on my desk in a hazy green glow. My breath hitches.

“Ragna,” I fight to keep my voice steady. “Could you go and find out what the cooks are serving for dinner?”

“Yes, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves my room. As soon as she’s gone, I snatch the letter from my desk and open it.

Seeing Loki’s handwriting, so familiar after such a long time, makes my heart flutter and ache. After reading the letter, I take a moment to breathe.

I will see him again tonight.

With shaking hands, I write a single word on the bottom of the paper:

Yes.

The letter shimmers once more and disappears. I bite my lip, doing my best to contain my excitement.

There’s a knock on the door and I quickly try to calm my expression. “Yes?”

Ragna enters with a curtsey, as always. “Lamb, My Lady.”

“Hmm?” I find my gaze wandering back to the desk, waiting to see if another letter has appeared.

“For dinner, My Lady.”

“Oh, yes!” I snap my attention to Ragna. Oh, shoot! Ragna. I’ll have to get rid of her for the night. “You know, I’m actually not feeling very well. I think I’ll skip dinner tonight.”

Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong, My Lady? I will have a healer come to check on you.”

She begins to leave. Ugh, I need this room free of other people, not filled with them. “No!” Ragna turns around, a questioning look on her face. I take a breath, trying to calm myself so I can focus on how to make a convincing lie. Channel your inner Loki. After another breath, I put a soft but assured smile on my face. “My ailment does not require healers, but thank you for the offer. It is nothing more than a headache. I would prefer to be alone. Please alert the guards that I am to have no visitors tonight.”

Ragna looks convinced by my explanation. “Yes, My Lady. I hope you feel better. Please call for me if I can be of assistance.”

I smile. “Thank you, Ragna. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves the room.

Now I just have to wait.

{***}

I alternate between pacing and reading as I watch the sun sink deeper into the horizon. Every minute that passes seems ages longer than it actually is. A relaxing candle does nothing to help. I change my outfit twice before going back to the original.

Finally, it’s pitch black outside.

Should be any minute now.

My heart flutters and my hands shake. I find myself nervously tucking and untucking my hair, unable to decide which is best.

“Hello, Y/n.”

The smooth, familiar voice stops me in my tracks. The voice that, for a short time in my life, brought me both great peace and excitement like no other.

I turn around, unable to wrap my mind around the reality of seeing him again.

But there he is, just as tall and handsome and wonderful as I remember him.

“Loki.” The breath escapes me and suddenly I’m running across the room. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me with as much force as I use to cling to him.

“Y/n, I—” I look up to see him beaming a smile of disbelief. “I cannot believe I’m seeing you again.”

“Nor I, you.” I stroke his face, running my hands over the angular lines that were once so familiar to me. He hasn’t changed a bit. “I,” I take a steadying breath in an effort to calm my shaking hands. “I cannot thank you enough for coming to see me. I know there is risk involved for us both.”

He shakes his head and pulls me to the couch, where we sit. “I trust your judgement and I am here to help. What kind of trouble are you in?”

I look down at our hands, still intertwined. “Please, we can talk about that in a moment. How have you been?”

He shrugs, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, Asgard is prospering, minus a few rebel factions that would see us undone. We avoided a trade embargo with Vanaheim and—”

I smile, cutting him off. “I asked how you have been, Loki, not the kingdom.” An uncomfortable, insecure feeling pricks at the back of my mind. Why isn’t he talking about his personal life? Oh, how I did not want to feel this way. I try to mask it with nonchalance. “Tell me about your life.”

He sees through me in an instant. He shifts in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You’re asking me if there have been other women.”

I huff, annoyed at my own insecurity and at having been found out. “I am not!”

He chuckles lightly, returning to his state of ease. “You are, and that’s fine. The truth is, yes, there have been others.” He looks at the ground, running a thumb absently over my knuckles. “None of them stick. I’m not sure I want them to.”

Now I feel guilty. How utterly unfair of me. “Loki…” At the mention of his name, he looks up. “I am with someone else now. For as long as he and I both shall live, as they said in the ceremony. The union between Audunn and I is,” I swallow, willing myself not to sound full of despair over these words, “forever. I hope that one day you find someone who is good for you.”

He smiles softly, though there is too much sadness in his eyes. I pull a hand free to stroke his cheek, letting it come to a rest on his chest when the tenderness re-enters his eyes. “I did.” Subconsciously, I clutch at his shirt, remembering our fleeting time together. After a heavy pause, he grins. “700 years ago a sniffling child was placed in my clubhouse and I was told to entertain her.” He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning back into the couch. “How was I supposed to know I’d grow up to fall in love with her?”

Breath catches in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him say that.

Loki can tell this affects me.

He leans in and I can see the deep emerald of his eyes. His voice is soft and sincere when he declares, “I do still love you.”

“And I love you,” I whisper without hesitation.

I’m not sure who reaches for who, but by the next breath, we’re intertwined. The kiss is desperate, hopeful, sad, and passionate all at once. Heat floods through my body. Vaguely, I realize that this is the first time in 63 years that I’ve felt desire. I’ve never once wanted Audunn as I want Loki. And as soon as Loki leaves, he’ll take this desire, this connection, with him.

Because Loki isn’t here for long.

With that realization, I stop holding back. Loki meets me there, and soon we’re undressing each other on the couch.

“Wait,” he pulls back, lips pink and slightly breathless. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I had a plan. I was going to be a gentleman. This is not being a gentleman.”

I smirk and quirk an eyebrow at him. “Who said anything about a gentleman?  I called you here, didn’t I? And I think I’ve been quite clear about what I want.”

That mischievous look I adore pops into his eyes. “Well, if the lady so wishes….”

We pick up where we left off.

{***}

“To be completely honest, I’m not convinced he can. Audunn is very old.”

It’s the early hours of the morning, and we’re leaned against my headboard, comfortably naked, me tucked under his arm. Loki throws his head back and laughs, pulling our entwined hands up to his mouth for a kiss. “That’s awfully unfair of you.”

“It’s true!” I join him in his laughter, loving this time we have together. “All he does is grunt and then he’s done! Absolutely no work required on my part.”

He scoffs playfully. “So what, you’ve just suffered through sixty pleasureless years?”

Now it’s my turn to grin. “There are ways in which a woman can pleasure herself, you know.”

“Yes,” a glint comes into his eyes. “But why should she have to when I am here and oh so willing?”

He kisses me deeply then, shifting so we’re buried in the covers once again, him on top of me. We break the kiss, and I sigh sadly, knowing that our time is running out. “I wish you could stay here forever.”

“What I wouldn’t do to stop time,” he responds sincerely, laying his forehead against mine.

I smile softly, the sadness creeping back in. I kiss him lightly on the nose before pushing against him so we’re sitting up.

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain why I called him here in the first place.

I look at my fingers, contemplating how I want to frame this. If I tell Loki too much of the truth, that Audunn is manipulative and abusive and filled with hatred, there is a real possibility that Loki could do something rash and ruin future relationships between Alfheim and Asgard. Norns, he could start a war! Besides, it’s not like confiding in Loki would change anything. Even if Audunn were to suddenly be removed from the picture, it is likely that I would just be passed onto the next eligible suitor, not returned to Asgard to be with Loki. With all this in mind, I go with a half-truth.

“I don’t love Audunn, and I don’t want to have his children.”

Unexpectedly, tears enter my eyes. It’s so freeing to be able to share this with someone other than Ragna, to not have to pretend to enjoy Audunn’s company, and to be able to be, well, mostly honest with someone I love and trust.

Loki runs a comforting hand through my hair, looking at me with understanding and sadness. “You will be ridiculed. Alfheim views women as being required to provide heirs for their husbands. If you do not…” He trails off, hesitation in his eyes.

“I know,” I assure him, gripping his hands. “I’ve already been subjected to some of it. It has been over sixty years, after all.” I look him straight in the eyes so he can see just how sure I am. “But I can handle it. I can handle anything if it means saving myself from being bound to Audunn in that way.”

Loki nods steadily, and I can see that he’s made up his mind. “I will do as you ask.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Thank you.”

He brings a tender hand to my forehead and murmurs softly. After a moment, my body warms with the barely-tangible weight of his magic. I feel no different, but when he removes his hand, I know it is done.

“It will either take myself or another sorcerer to remove the spell, so if you change your mind…” His voice trails off.

I shake my head, completely resolute in my decision. “I won’t.” And, heavy with exhaustion and the weight of how my life has just been changed, I lean forward into Loki’s chest. His arms encircle me immediately, and I try to memorize exactly how this feels.

Because it’s likely I’ll never see him again.

He runs his hands gently up my back, easing me into rest.

“You’re a good man,” I remind him, because sometimes he forgets.

Before I hear his reply, I drift off to sleep.

{***}

In the morning, my bed is cold, and I know that he is gone.

A/n Happy holidays! Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Also, stop by and check out my masterlist! 

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639152911075672064/odins-ward-chapter-14

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki

[evangelinesand]

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!reader

A/N: this is my first post on tumblr. And also my first writing thing. I hope the people of Tumblr like it hihi. I’m planning on making a part 2 btw. I will post it even if no one likes this one haha. (There will be smut in the second one)

AU: there’s no Voldemort here, because he suck

Warnings: kissing, talking about sexual acts, boys being ‘stupid’, swearing, probably some grammar and spelling mistakes (I tried my best ok?)

You were a desire for many boys at Hogwarts. It seemed like you could never be alone. There was always someone checking you out. Wanting to go on dates with you, or just sleep with you. Claim you as theirs. But you were stubborn. Yes, some fooling around was fun. And teasing the buggers were even more fun. But sometimes it could get a little too much. Sometimes you needed some alone time. Time to think. The library was such a place.

The Slytherin common room was always crowded, meaning no peace for you, what so ever. After trying to study for about fifteen minutes, you decided to move to the library. You needed some space regardless, so it was a nice excuse to leave. Pansy tried to make you stay, but you told her you needed to do your homework, or Snape would kill you. Which was more or less true.

You took a deep breath as you opened the advanced potion making book. Inhaling the scent of the paper pages. It was quite late, so no one was in the library. It was so silent you could hear your heartbeat. However, suddenly you heard footsteps. You looked at the entrance. The door was open. Not thinking any more of it, after all it’s a library it’s not yours, you went back to studying.

“I knew you would be here, Y/L/N.”

A familiar voice said behind you. You turned around. Behind you stood a tall figure dressed in dark. He was closer than you expected, so you had to turn your face even higher to look at his face. He was smirking down at you, hands deep in his pockets.

“Are you stalking me, Malfoy?”

You asked in a teasing way as you turned back around to keep writing down notes. You knew Draco was into you. Well, most guys were, but Draco had been since forever. Your families were both pureblooded and you had been to Malfoy manor multiple times for dinner. You didn’t really care about the fact that you were a pureblood. You had already been with mudbloods and they weren’t any different, in bed at least.

He invited himself to sit down beside you. Forcefully pushing a chair out from underneath the table. It made an awful sound. You looked at him as he sat down beside you.

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

He said while leaning back. Looking you up and down. You sighed.

“Well, I don’t know if you can tell, but I am quite busy. I need to get this done til tomorrow.”

He leaned forward looking down at what you were studying.

“I can help you. After all I am quite good at potions.”

He dragged his chair closer to you. Putting one hand on your thigh as he used the other one to point at the book.

“See this right here is actually-“

“I think your forgetting that I’m also quite good at potions, Malfoy.”

You say as you grab his hand and put it back on his own thigh. He tries to hide a smirk as you do so.

“Now, run along. You’re starting to annoy me.”

He looked at you mildly offended. He started playing with his ring.

“You call me annoying, but chose to have Parkinson as your friend?”

You looked at him and rolled your eyes.

“Oh, shut up! She’s good company.”

You said. You never understood why people were so mean to Pansy. She was a great friend and quite funny.

“If you say so.”

It was quiet for a few minutes as you tried to focus on your schoolwork. You could feel Draco staring at you, making you slightly uncomfortable. Draco got up from his chair and started to collect your things on the table.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You say while looking judgmentally at him.

“It’s late, you need to get back to the common room.”

He placed all you belongings in a neat pile in front of you.

“I’m not done, I need to finish this!”

He shrugged.

“I’m the prefect, I need to follow the rules Y/L/N.”

He said while grinning at you, like a child. Casually looking you up and down as you stood up beside him. You rolled your eyes at him as you grabbed your stuff. Sighing, knowing that you’ll have to do the rest of the homework in bed. Draco looked at your ass as you turned around to grab your bag at the floor. He smirked at the sight of it. You had an amazing body, and Draco would often fantasize about you while he wanked off, but again he wasn’t alone in that.

You started walking towards the common room, Draco walking behind you.

“You’re such a dick at times.”

You said, clearly annoyed. He laughed at you.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

He knew that comment would just infuriate you more. You turned around to look at him. If looks could kill, he’d be dead. You open your mouth, but quickly close it again. Restraining yourself.

“I do not want to be fucked with right now, Draco.”

You looked him dead in the eye. He smirked at you, like he always do. He knew you were serious, especially when you used his first name.

“So, you don’t want to be fucked either then?”

He pushed you even further. He liked toying with you this way. But you were not having it tonight. You were thinking about all the work you had to do, due to this mother fucker.

You let out a fake short laugh as you turn around.

“Not by you at least.”

You could feel his eyes lingering on you as you walked quickly towards the dungeons.

“Have a great night, Y/N!”

He yelled after you. You simply just showed him the middle finger. Not even considering looking back at him.

You sat in the great hall eating breakfast with your friends. You were so tired due to the fact that Draco had made you stay up super late. You felt yourself slowly drifting off before Daphne wiggled you awake again.

“Why are you so tired? It’s not like you to stay up late on a school night.”

She said looking kind of concerned for you.

“Oh please, you sound like my mum.”

The girls giggle together. You take another bite of the toast in front of you.

“But in all seriousness, Y/N. What happened?”

Pansy asked. You were about to answer as you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You felt someone say in your ear. You recognized the voice.

“Didn’t know we were on first name basis, Zabini.”

You said as he sat down beside you. He smiled.

“Oh, come on. We’re friends aren’t we? Unless you’d like to be more of course.”

You raised your eyebrows and gave a quick look at Pansy who sat across from you. She was doing the same.

“Yikes.”

Daphne lowly said, making the three of you giggle.

“Thank you, Zabini. I’m really flattered, now please leave us alone, it’s too early.”

You said sarcastically. He nodded and got up, walking to another place at the Slytherin table.

“Horny bastard, that one.”

Pansy said, making you laugh again.

“Anyways, what’s your first class, Y/N?”

You looked at Pansy. You sighed as you remembered why you stayed up late in the first place.

“Potions.”

You said shortly. She nodded.

“What about you guys? Please say you’ll come with me.”

“We’re not unfortunately, but we’ll see you in Defense against the dark arts at the end of the day.”

You sighed at Pansy’s answer. You needed some emotional support today.

“By the way, what are you wearing tonight? I’m thinking about wearing the glittery skirt I bought at hogsmeade, the other day.”

You looked confused at her. You couldn’t quite remember why you should dress up tonight.

“What’s happening tonight again?”

The two of them looked at you like you had forgot it was Christmas.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. It isn’t like it’s the one and only Draco Malfoy birthday party tonight.”

Daphne said sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

“Seriously? That’s what the deal is about? The two of you looked at me like I’ve forgotten my dads name or something.”

“You need to sort out what you’re gonna wear. If I know Malfoy right, you’re going to be the best birthday gift he can get.”

Pansy said as she put on her robe and got up from her chair.

“He’s not ‘getting me’, end of discussion.”

You said as you also put on your robe as well.

“Fine, whatever you say.”

The day went by faster than you thought. The effort you put in last night wasn’t even worth it as Snape decided to not even check it. You were alone most of the day, but it was mostly ok. You felt unsafe being alone due to all the times some boys would touch you inappropriately. But today had been a pretty chill one. A few “hey, Y/N” and some looks was all that had happened, thankfully.

Pansy was standing in the bathroom, looking herself in the mirror.

“Are there any lucky guys tonight, Pansy?”

You asked her with a smirk. She smiled back to you.

“Who knows? I think it’s exciting that other houses are coming as well. More eye candy.”

The two of you laugh. You go quiet. You actually didn’t want to see Draco more than you had to, and you understood that you had to spend the entire night with him. You despised the thought of it. Daphne saw that you’d gone quiet and sat down beside you.

“You don’t need to go if you don’t want to, Y/N.”

She comforted, wrapping her arms around you. You leaned your head on her shoulder.

“I’m gonna be fine. Just don’t leave me tonight, ok?”

“Of course not.”

Daphne had your whole heart. You sometimes even wanted to date her. But, ruining a friendship was not something you wanted to do. Drunk kissing was the closest you got to affection from her, but it didn’t really matter. You loved her equally as a friend.

You sat up from the bed and walked over to the big floor length mirror. You adored yourself. Your tight black silk dress that only reached your mid thighs, hugged your figure perfectly. You looked like a goddess. Even more than you usually do. With a full face of makeup and a tight ponytail, you were ready to be that bitch. You smiled at yourself in the mirror.

“You look gorgeous.”

Daphne said behind you. She looked amazing herself. Not as good as you, obviously.

“Let’s go, girls.”

Pansy said, practically jumping out of the bathroom.

The three of you walked down to the common room where everyone was. Loud music was blasting and there were already quite a lot of people, even though the party started only five minutes ago. When you walked down the stairs people started whispering about how amazing you looked. You saw people all over adoring you. Something you were quite fond of. You smirked at the thought of all the people wanting to talk to you. Just to be in your presence. You watched as Draco nearly choked on his drink as he saw you. You smirked at the sight of him. Maybe this night was going to be fun after all?

The three of you reached the place Draco and his friends sat.

“Happy Birthday, Draco!”

Pansy said, giving him a small hug. His eyes were on you as Daphne did the same.

“Not going to congratulate me, Y/L/N?”

You crossed your arms and sat down on the armrest on the chair Goyle sat in. His eyes went big as he was so close to you now.

“I don’t congratulate assholes.”

You coldly said. You look at the other guys who are holding back smiles, afraid that Draco was going to cuss them out if they as much as smile at your comment. But Draco didn’t seem to care. In fact he grinned at you.

“I’ll take that short dress of yours as a congratulation then.”

He said while looking at your bare legs, trying to get a glimpse of the underwear you were wearing. Your dress got even shorter when you sat down and it now barley covered your ass.

You rolled your eyes at his comment.

“Fuck, I’m too sober for this.”

You said as you got up, dragging your dress down, making sure that Goyle saw more than enough. You walked over to the bar. You grabbed a bottle of fire whiskey, and don’t even bother to put it in a cup. You take a big sip of it.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. Right?”

A guy comes up to you and says. You take a look to understand who it was.

“Indeed. Who are you again?.”

You said as you took another swing of the whiskey. He smiled, blushing a little over the fact that you chose to talk to him.

“Fred Weasly, madam.”

He said. You looked him up and down. First now you saw the red hair and the carisma that the Weasly twins both had.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to dance or something?”

He continued. You smiled about to accept his offer, before you heard someone yelling your name.

“Y/N! Come over here! We’re playing spin the bottle!”

You hear Daphne yell your way. You look at Fred with a sorry face.

“I kinda have to be with the birthday child over there. But it was great to finally meet you, like for real.”

“Same to you.”

He quickly said before you walked away.

“Spin the bottle you said?”

You asked Daphne as you sat beside her on the floor.

“Now that Y/N is here, I’m going to join as well.”

Blaise said.

“Me too.”

Cedric, a Hufflepuff said. Multiple me too’s where heard until the circle had grew quite the size.

“Alright, I’ll start.”

Daphne said as she spun the bottle. It landed on Crabbe. She smiled shyly at him. Was she crushing on him or something? He smiled back at her.

“Oh, just kiss already!”

Pansy said. Crabbe got up from his seat and walked over to Daphne giving her a small peck. You looked at her as she turned bright red.

“That was boring, my turn now.”

You said, making everyone laugh. You reached out grabbing the bottle firmly and twisting it around. Everyone prayed a silent prayer that the bottle would land on them. It stopped at Goyle. You smirked as you saw Draco clenching his jaw. Goyle was about to get up, but you quickly got to your feet and pushed him down in the chair again. You seductively climbed on top of him. Straddling him. He looked at you like you were some kind of God as you cupped his face and connected your lips in a rough kiss. People were shouting and whistling at the two of you. You grinded against him making him groan as his dick got hard. You loved the power you had over people like that. His hands were gripping your waist not wanting you to stop. But you did. You got up from him pulling your dress down as it had slipped up. He smacked your ass before you went to sit again. You glanced at Draco who was looking at Goyle in rage. You smiled to yourself. This was a way of punishment after him being a total dick last night. Some more rounds were played until it was your turn again.

“Isn’t it Y/N turn now?”

Cormac Mclaggen said. He wasn’t even playing the game. You looked at him. The smug Gryffindor had tried to snog you for ages now, but you would always decline. He would always push up inappropriately behind you in the crowded halls, touching you uncomfortably. You hated him and took no interest in him at all. Maybe this could be a good payback for all those times?

“Get lost, Mcloser.”

Pansy said.

“No, I would like to play.”

He said looking at you holding the bottle in your hand. Pansy was about to open her mouth again, but you stopped her.

“Fine.”

You said. Looking Cormac dead in the eye. You had a plan. In fact you wanted to bottle to land on him. That way you could make him sexually frustrated, longing for more of you. But he’s not going to get it. Absolutely not. You leaned forward making the bottle spin. It landed between Blaise and Draco. You smiled.

“It landed on me!”

Blaise said. Draco scowled at him.

“Absolutely not! It’s clearly leaning more towards me.”

The two guys started arguing. You looked at Pansy who was rolling her eyes.

“Men.”

You said making her smile. You got up from the floor walking over to the two of them.

“Shut up, both of you.”

You grab the bottle out of Blaise’s hands.

“I’ll just spin it again.”

You said and did so. It now landed perfectly on Cormac. He saw and started smirking like crazy. You looked him up and down as you walked towards him. People were already cheering you on. You straddled him. He grabbed your waist even harder than Goyle, one of his hands reached bum, squeezing it. You placed your hands on his shoulders as you leant in. You grinded against him feeling him grow under you. This was a dream come true for him. You started kissing his neck, softly biting at his skin.

“Get a room!”

Blaise yelled through the many cheers and whistles surrounding you. You pulled away and got back to your place. You saw Draco even more angry. Like steam could come out of his ears at any moment. His knuckles were all white from clenching it so hard. Not even a small tint of blush covered your cheeks as you sat down. Again, you didn’t care for Cormac.

You were dancing with Pansy. Some boys would try to come up behind you. Trying to get a taste of you. Trying to be smooth, newsflash they weren’t.

“I need to go to the loo.”

You said to Pansy. She nods and turned around to dance with someone else. You walked towards the bathroom. You saw a tall figure standing outside the door. Blocking the way. You look him up and down.

“Malfoy.”

You simply say, trying to signalize that you need to use the bathroom. He smiled as he look you up and down as well.

“Quite the show you put up out there. Tell me, when am I getting the private one?”

He leaned against the door, knowing that you were going in there.

“Move please. I need to use the toilet.”

You said, completely ignoring his question.

“Not until you answer my question.”

He smirked, rubbing his thumb against his lips. You rolled your eyes.

“For fuck sakes, Malfoy. I’m trying to take a fucking piss.”

He stepped away from the door, opening it up for you. You looked at him suspiciously before slowly walking in. You already knew he was waiting outside. And you figured out you were right as you opened the door. He stood there with his hands in his pockets. You couldn’t lie, he was devishly handsome.

“Ready to answer me, love?”

He stepped closer to you. You could feel his atrong aroma hitting you. Making you slightly dizzy, but aroused at the same time.

“How about, no.”

You quickly said. His smug smile disappeared. He pushed you up against the wall. Holding one hand on your hips, the other around your neck. His face had never been this close to yours. You could almost feel his lip brush against yours.

“Stop acting so fucking hard to get, Y/N. I don’t want to be fucked with right now!”

You couldn’t help but feel the sexual tension growing by the second. One little push and your lips would be touching.

“So you don’t want to be fucked either then?”

You said, quoting him from last night. It was your turn now. You hear someone clear their throat. The two of you looked over at the person wanting your attention. It was none other than Cormac.

“Can I speak to Y/N for a second?”

Draco looked back at you, wanting to ignore the annoying Gryffindor. He sighed.

“Fine.”

Draco pushed himself off the wall.

“Find me afterwards, ok?”

He said it as if it was a question, but you knew it wasn’t. A million thoughts popped into your head. Should you go find him? What would happen if you didn’t? What would happen if you did? You saw Draco going back to the party leaving you and Cormac alone.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mcloser himself.”

You said crossing your arms. He smiled, while walking closer to you.

“I loved the kiss we shared. You’re so fucking hot.”

He said, now standing pretty close to you. His words didn’t mean anything. You’ve heard it a thousand times before, and Cormac wasn’t a person that made your heart skip a beat, to put it that way.

“Good for you.”

He leaned onto the wall. Straddling you with both his hands now. You didn’t break eye contact with him.

“Do you want to go somewhere else and keep on going?”

You crossed your arms. And sighed deeply.

“Nope.”

You said, watching his face drop.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like you, you’re no different than the rest of the guys.”

He grabbed your jaw in anger. It was hurting you, but no way you would show that.

“What makes Malfoy so different, huh?”

You didn’t really have an answer to that. You didn’t know what made him different. Or if he even was different to anyone else.

“Who said he was different?”

He let go of your jaw finally, moving away from you. He reached into his pockets. You looked at him, suspicious of what he was looking after. He found it. You understood it because he stopped moving. He was holding whatever it was now. Still inside his pockets. He looked up at you quickly, to see if you had seen.

“What are you doing?”

You asked quietly. He took his hands out of his pockets, not holding anything.

“Nothing.”

You rolled your eyes. You wanted to know what he was doing. You pushed him up against the wall. Kissing him. He was shocked at first, but gave in. You started feeling down his body. Reaching into his pocket without him noticing. Once you got the thing you pulled away. You laughed a little by yourself before looking at what you were holding. A small bottle shaped like a heart. You furrowed your eyebrows looking at it. A love potion? He grabbed it out of your hand quickly. You felt yourself getting sick. The thought of someone using a love potion on you was terrifying. You hated being controlled.

“Were you planing on using that on me?”

You said, taking a few steps away from him. He looked at you with lust in his eyes.

“Yes.”

Read part two here:

https://evangelinesand.tumblr.com/post/634801933103874048/draco-malfoy-x-slytherinreader-an-this-is-part

[limenysnocket]

In The Dirt. . . Pt. I

Summary: Welccome to the life of a groupie. Booze, sex, drugs and violence follows you wherever you go, and wherever you go is with the band you're following. The Wilderpeople. You expected to be tossed around the group, but one landed his official dominance over you and made you his and no one else's.

Warnings: Immediate smut, swearing, smoking

Request: A bunch of people, but to name one-- @honorarytenenbaum

A/N: I'm actually quite excited to write this one... Don't be alarmed. There is a LOT of fucking in this series. Enjoy.

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Your teeth clenched and you wiggled your hips, pushing his cock deeper into your soaked walls. He pushed against that one tender spot now. Your moans get louder.

"Told you, if you keep moving, it's only going to get worse~," Taika hummed and chuckled deeply, adjusting himself, then continuing to jot down whatever lyrics came to mind, just from the feeling of your tight pussy around him.

"Well, are you almost done? It's been almost an hour, Tai," you groan, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

"Mm... maybe. Got a few more lyrics," He hummed, resting his free hand on your ass, beneath the shirt he let you borrow with his band logo on the front.

"Taika, I need you to fuck me sooner or later~," you begged and moaned softly, adjusting despite what he says.

"I'm sorry. Who's Taika?" He said, tapping the end of his pen against the paper again, humming. You know exactly what he wants you to call him, and he's made you call him it since the first time he pinned you to a wall, got you on your back, spread your legs and pummeled you until your insides were sore.

"Excuse me," You said quietly, the sarcasm hissing on the tip of your tongue. "I meant, daddy~."

The sound of your sultry tone must have driven him haywire, because he quickly shot you a look, bit his lip and scribbled down lyrics so fast, his handwriting turned to chicken scratch real quick. He threw down his notepad and pen, over on his nightstand, then his hand shot to your hips.

"You're a real fucking piece of work, you know that?" He whispered, his eyes glancing down to look at his cock sheathed in your walls, just beneath the t-shirt.

"Well, if that's a bad thing, it's your fault for making me this way," You teased him without a second thought, but you should have kept quiet, because, before you knew it, he was harshly bouncing you up and down, fucking the life out of you.

The room filled with moans of his name, nickname or complete lust driven gibberish. The sound of skin on skin was obvious and it echoed along the walls, like it always did in any hotel room you stayed in with him.

He was in the middle of giving you a rough, deep hickey to replace the old ones, which were fading out and healing with a disgusting yellow tint, when the bedside phone started to yell at the two of you. You whined and Taika put a finger to his lips while he reached for the phone. "Keep going~. I'll make this quick~," He smirked, placing his now free hand on the back of your head and pushing your face into his shoulder to muffle the delicious moans escaping your mouth.

He picked up the phone, then clicked it on speaker, before returning his hands to your hips, just so he could make your hips go at a slower pace so the squeaks of the bed wouldn't blow your cover. The risk actually turned you on.

"What?" Taika huffed to the phone while staring into your eyes and moving you ever so slowly along his glistening cock.

"Sir, your manager is here to see you. He requests that you come to the lobby promptly and immediately," A snobby, male, hotel employee said through the phone. It almost made you want to snort in laughter. Yeah, good luck getting Taika to go anywhere when he's in the middle of a good fuck.

"How about no," Taika snorted back rudely and smirked, your body was trembling beneath his hands and it was driving him half crazy to not just flip you over and start going ham on your soaked cunt.

"Sir, I'm afraid that--," the employee started, but Taika interrupted them again, by grabbing the phone, saying a loud and almost cheery, "Aaaand we're done," then hanging up the phone.

You were still going at the slow pace he ordered you to go at, during the call, but, as it turns out, just that speed had ticked him off enough. You promptly found yourself on your belly, face pressed against the warm sheets and ass up in the air, like a stretching dog. A pair of hands gripped your asscheeks, then yanked you back to where a hot, hard dick filled you up to the brim. You moaned again, and that fueled the fire. Taika wasted no time on thrusting into you and pounding you until you were weak.

Things were just starting to get interesting, but his phone started to buzz on the nightstand. The screen lit up and partially illuminated the room with a white glow. Taika let out a snarl and reached over to pick it up, his pace unwavering.

"What now?" He nearly spat on his phone. His aggressiveness leaked into his thrusts and made you go wild. You would have been screaming for him, if you didn't have your face buried in the sheets.

"Tai food! There you are!" You heard the sound of Taika's upkept agent over the phone and you could almost feel Taika's cringe when he called him 'Tai food.' Taika hated that name with a burning, undying passion. The only person who he lets call him 'Tai' is you. "Look, man, I seriously need you to come down to the lobby right now. We have some serious business to discuss."

"What's wrong with you coming up here?" Taika grunted, continuing to thrust in and out of you like a madman.

"Do you know how much of a mad house it is with all of you in a room at once? I once caught one of you fucking a groupie on the dining table!" His manager complained over the phone, but it made you and Taika snicker through the pleasure.

"I said it to that dickhead worker and I'll say it to you," Taika hissed, his tongue swiping over his teeth once as his thrusts got deeper and slower for a brief moment for the benefit of your pleasure. "I'm not coming down to the lobby."

"Why not? You can't possibly be busy at this time of day!" His manager sighed.

"I'll have you know, that I'm balls deep in my favorite groupie right now and I'm about to make this. Little. Slut--" He paused between each word to give you a rough thrust that slammed the pleasure into your very core and made you scream his name, despite being on the phone, "--cum all over my cock. So, yeah, I am kinda busy actually. And I would like to be left the fuck alone. Buh-bye." Taika took no shit from the complaints he was getting and all the yelling. He simply hung up and tossed his phone down on the bed where it started to buzz consistently, his manager always being the one to call him.

"God, I love this pussy~. Such a tight little pussy~," Taika groaned into your ear almost breathlessly as he fucked away until your walls pulsed around him. He wasn't going to stop until he was satisfied. That's how it always worked, from the very first night. He was a hard man to satisfy, and that's why he always came back to you. He used to have more groupies, but when you came along, they slowly drifted away due to the lack of attention they received and you became his only one. Morning, noon and night, he got you whenever he wanted and took you everywhere. Whereas the other guys who were apart of the band had maybe a whole plethora of fans and about a dozen groupies in their midst, yet it was strange to see the main singer and guitarist, who had thousands of fans across the world, would only have one as his only. There must be something about you, but you just couldn't see it. Not yet, anyway.

He slapped your ass quite a few times and elicited moans from you're precious little mouth, where he had dumped his load so many times and down the throat where it disappeared. "Such a good girl for daddy, aren't you~?" He groaned and another slap marked its place on your ass. "You know, good girls cum for daddy... right now~."

Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth and your eyes rolled back. His delicious six inch continued to press against every sensitive area in you that existed and drove you crazy, to the point where you burst on him. You watched his eyes slide all the way down where his cock was sliding in and out of your hole. Your thighs glistened in the light of the cellphone and your body untensed and quivered. Eventually, you felt his seed paint your walls and start dripping across your folds. His grip on your hips loosened and the two of you were too busy basking in the euphoria of it all to really notice that the phone had stopped buzzing.

Another smack to your ass broke you out of your post-coitus state and you lurched up a little to look back at the man who just made love to you. "Hope that pussy isn't too sore. Might have to go for another ride tonight~," Taika chuckled, this time giving your bum a softer pat, then he plopped down on the bed, right next to you. He never was much of a cuddler after sex, probably because he must have learned early on to never get attached to a groupie.

Funny, because you were already so attached to him, you wouldn't be able to lose him, but, in his perspective, he could easily flick you away like a pesky Junebug and not even have to think twice about it. You didn't like thinking about this much due to the fact that it left a big, fat dent in your heart, when you did. It always ruined the mood for you, so now, you just stuck with whatever came to mind, besides that subject.

You heard the flicker of a lighter and your drowsy eyes looked up to see Taika working on a freshly lit cigarette. Your bum dropped slowly from the air, until you were just laying on your stomach, hugging the pillow as if it were him in your arms just then, and staring up at him, dreamily. The exhaustion was settling in. This was the second fuck of the day, and it was only 2 PM. You couldn't help but wonder if Taika had any more plans for you tonight, or if you were going to spend the night in his room again, or sleep out in the living room in the groupie pileup. Luckily, Taika hasn't made you do that for months and you've had the luxury of sharing a room with him since then, since he claimed that the other groupies were too dirty for his tastes and preferred you stay away from them, as well as the other bandmembers most of the time.

You briefly stirred and grumbled softly as someone knocked on the door. You nuzzled in under the covers and Taika groaned loudly, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the floor and sliding them on, not caring that he was going commando. His hair was flying, looking like he had blowdried it and never bothered to comb it. It actually didn't look all too bad on him, but then again, there's hardly anything that looks bad on him.

You closed your eyes again as he opened the door and just listened to the conversation.

"Taika! My main man! Pad Tai--" Oh God, it's him.

"Don't call me Pad Tai or Tai food ever again. New ground rules are set and I want that in my contract, otherwise I'm dumping you," Taika put bluntly, leaning against the door to block you away from his manager's prying eyes.

His manager laughed for awhile, thinking it was a joke until he saw Taika's serious expression. You heard him clear his throat and continue on. "I think I got you a little side gig this week, for you and the boys," his manager went on, "you might like it. I heard it's a great place to pick up chicks."

Taika seemed disinterested and you could tell, just by the silence he expressed oh so well. "Fine," Taika breathed and took a drag from his cigarette. "Where's it at?"

"It's just on the other side of town! Real prestigious joint, I gotta tell ya! You and the boys'll have so much fun, and, hey! Maybe you'll expand you're groupie collection, huh?" You could hear the schmucky grin on his face and you knew he was leaning to try and peak at you, but you also knew Taika was constantly getting in the way.

"I'll think about it," Taika huffed, then slammed the door before the screw could say anything else. You turned over on your back and sat up on your elbows to see him running his hand through his curls and smoking the crap out of his cigarette. Once he saw you looking at him, he seemed to perk up and he walked himself right on over to you. He sat down on your side of the bed, just on the edge and caressed your cheek with the hand that wasn't cradling the cigarette between his fingers.

"Think you'll be able to attend the afterparty with me, babe?" He hummed, using the slang term 'afterparty' that just meant drinking with him on the balcony. You grinned and nodded as he took another drag. He grinned too, then leaned in. He parted his lips and soft smile wafted out like fog over a lake, and as he drew closer, it slipped into your mouth.

You had grown addicted to this, suckling on his nicotine flavored lip and you didn't think this was an addiction worth giving up. You didn't even know if this addiction was good or bad either.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love pt 18

New part here, life moves on after the engagement is broken. 

Master post linked here

Enjoy!

_______________________________

“Well, people are definitely still talking.” Rig leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on top of my desk.

I glanced down at them, trying to decide if I cared about the papers beneath his shoes enough to tell him to move. I didn’t. Shrugging it off, I focused on his words instead.

“Let me guess, it’s not very flattering to me, right?” I smiled grimly, remembering the backlash of my previous life.

_______________________________

“You can’t go outside!” My mother screeched as soon as she saw me enter the outer hall. “Get back in your room!”

“But… I…” I hesitated, unsure. It had been a week since Ronan had broken the engagement and announced that he would marry Edith. I hadn’t heard anything from the queen since. I had thought to go try to see her. Seeing my mother’s expression, however, I second-guessed myself.

“Do you know what people are saying outside?” She laughed bitterly, pouring herself another drink. “They’re saying that you were either too incompetent to be queen and he had to break it off... or that you were unfaithful.”

I stopped in my tracks. “That’s ridiculous! I had passed the Queen’s training AND I’ve barely even left this house other than to go to the palace, much less spend time with another. When could I have been unfaithful?”

“That’s not what they’re saying out there.” Mother tossed back her drink in a single shot, wincing before pouring another one. “Apparently you were going to the Royal Gardens to meet other men fairly regularly.”

“But I was with Edith the whole time! She’ll vouch for me!”

She smiled at that. “Will she?”

_______________________________

 “Quite the opposite, really.” Rig laughed. “The Queen stepping forward when she did helped quite a bit, and apparently your teacher Mrs. Rendler has been telling anyone who will stand still long enough that you were the best student she had ever had, a genius.”

A broom swung down at his propped-up legs, swiping them off the desk. Rig’s feet slammed to the ground and he looked up, insulted, at his attacker. Hallers, clutching the broom, a self righteous expression on his face, didn’t respond, only cleaning off my desk and sorting the papers quickly before stepping back towards the wall.

Rig frowned, but didn’t put his feet back up on the desk. “You already have a great reputation within the duchy, due to the reforms you’ve done with the government, as well as financing so many to go to school and learn a useful trade. Most of the families here feel that they personally owe you, and word has spread that you would have been a perfect queen.”

I shuddered at the thought. “And marry that idiot? I’d rather shovel manure.”

“And that’s what everyone else seems to be thinking as well.” Rig’s grin widened. “There’s even a song that street performers are playing called ‘Ronan the Ridiculous.’ It’s about an idiot who cheats on a wonderful woman, drinks himself silly and falls into a latrine pit.”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that. “What? It’s only been a week! How did they write a song so fast?”

Rig shrugged. “I don’t know, but it must of come from either a very creative, or very vindictive mind. It’s an extremely catchy tune, and the nickname for the prince is becoming more popular by the day.”

From behind me I heard an evil chuckle. I turned around to look at Hallers, but he only smiled very professionally at me, with no sign that he had been laughing at all. I ignored the small suspicion building in my mind and turned back to Rig. 

“I’m happy of course that I’m not considered a failure, but I worry about what kind of backlash we might see from the palace, given how much ridicule the prince is suffering.”

I thought again of the smile the king had at the party, and how nervous it had made me at the time.

“Well, the Prince left a hunting trip right after his party and has been gone for the last week. He may even be unaware of how poor his reputation is right now, but I doubt that will last long.” Rig smiled viciously. “He’s coming back today, and my sources say that the King has already arranged to speak to him privately later tonight before he retires for bed. “ 

He started to lean back and prop his legs up again, but after a sharp glance from Hallers, he sat back up with a sigh. “I would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation!”

“… Do you know where they are meeting?” I asked, my mind racing.

Rig looked confused. “Well, apparently in the King and Queen’s visiting room?”

“The one that connects the two suites?”

“Yes…. Why?”

I gave a devious grin. “Rig, how do you feel about a field trip tonight?”

_______________________________

I gave him instructions about where to meet me, and a short while after the spy had left, Hallers knocked, announcing that I had another visitor.

For a moment I thought it might be Nate, and I strangely, I found myself smiling. I hadn’t seen him since the party a week ago, which I thought was odd. I had a lot I wanted to discuss with him…

“Introducing Lady Erica.” Hallers stepped aside to show the lovely young woman from the party. I felt a pang of disappointment, and shook my head, confused. Why would I be disappointed? How foolish.

 I stood up to greet her with a smile. “Lady Erica, what brings you here?”

“Can we speak privately?” She looked around, clearly nervous. 

Studying her for a few short moments, it was easy to recognize a familiar air about her.  I had probably looked very similar in my previous life multiple times. 

She was desperate. 

“Let’s take  a walk in the garden.” I led the way, and she silently followed behind me.  

As we entered the flower garden, I heard her take in a deep breath. “Wow, this is very beautiful, you must have a wonderful gardener!”

I looked around at the thriving flowers surrounding us with a smile. “Nope, that’s just Henry.”

 “…The Duke’s heir?”

“Yep. That’s him.” I found a few benches, sitting down.

She sat down as well, staring at me. “He likes flowers?”

“All plants, actually. But he took one look at my pathetic attempts of a flower garden and banned me from meddling.” I sighed. “It’s beautiful, of course, but it’s a little insulting to not have any say in my own garden.”

Erica laughed, the first happy sound she had made since arriving at my home. She seemed to catch herself, falling into silence. Letting her think through things at her own pace, I simply enjoyed watching the flowers, knowing she would speak up when she was ready.

It didn’t take long.

“I need your help!” She clasped her hands together in her lap, they were trembling. “I know you don’t know me very well, and have no reason to help me… but I heard that you help others and I didn’t have anyone else to turn to…” Erica was babbling at the end and I held up a hand, stopping her stream of anxious words.

“What do you need?”

Her face turned bright red. “So… I’m in love. But...” She hesitated again, looking at me pleadingly as if hoping I would know without her saying 

“It’s with the Captain of the Eastern Guard, rather than your earl fiancé.”

“H-how did you know?” Her draw dropping in shock, she visibly gathered herself together. “I hope you won’t tell anyone…”

I permitted a small smile to cross my face. “You would be horrified of the secrets that I am privy to, Erica. Yours are comparatively a light burden to bear. Now, you’ve been in love with him for years, what’s the issue now?”

“I- well, I…” She shook her head. “I think the Earl of Beral has known for a while, he seemed to make a few attempts to discredit my Robert, but somehow those charges always ended up going away.”

The earl certainly hadn’t done much this lifetime. In my last, Erica’s love had been ruined and had “disappeared.” She had been forced to marry the Earl of Beral a few weeks before my engagement was broken. This time he seemed much more distracted…

It’s probably because mother’s spending all her time away from home. 

I chuckled quietly at the thought. I had seen or heard very little of her since our confrontation. She came for birthdays and other major events as instructed, but otherwise was staying in one of the earl’s homes. 

It would explain why there was not as much rush from his end to force his young fiancé to marry him.  The few rumors he had paid to start about the Captain stealing money from his troop were easily dispatched with by Rig and his group. I had thought we were in the clear now that the time of their wedding in the last lifetime had passed.

But perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

“Lately… things have gotten worse. Robert was attacked by some thugs on his way to his post several days ago. He fought his way out and escaped, but he thinks they were too well armed and prepared to be simple thieves. He thinks they may have been hired to kill him.” Her knuckles whitened in her lap. “I’m so scared for him!”

I studied her carefully. “What do you want of me?”

“Well, I heard that you have a few schools where you teach others to become seamstresses, and then help find them work.”She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

That surprised me. “Are you looking to be a seamstress?”

Finally she looked up, a determined light in her eyes. “I am a skilled at sewing, one of the best. I want to run away with Robert and start a new life. But to do that, I need to have a job.”

“Well, points for having some practicality.” I stood up, pacing as I thought. “If Robert leaves… he’ll be charged with desertion.” 

“Yes.” She didn’t flinch away from the word.

“You’ll have to leave the country, otherwise they’ll find you two and you’ll be much worse off than you are right now.” I muttered as I walked back and forth, my thoughts racing. “He’s a skilled guard… and you can sew…” I looked up. “Are either one of you skilled in numbers, would be able to look after the books, run a business?”

Erica looked confused. “I know Robert manages the money his troop receives so that his men get paid... but neither of us have business experience.”

“Not ideal, but you can be taught the rest…” I stopped in my tracks, smiling. “Okay, it’s decided.”

“What is?”

“You and Robert work for me, now. I have been looking to open up a new branch of Prosperity in a nearby country, and you two may be just what I need. You will take orders and sew, Robert can guard the shop and help with the accounts.”

“Wait, what?” Erica’s face fortunately had no trace of resentment on it for me planning their lives, and only showed bewilderment, “You own Prosperity?”

 I paused. “You didn’t know? I thought that’s why you were asking for a job.”

“I thought you might have connections because you always have such beautiful dresses!” She shook her head. “I never suspected…”

“Well, now you know.” I patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll arrange the paperwork for you to cross the border, and for somewhere for you to stay while you set the shop up. But you’ll need to leave soon… will next week work?”

She stood up as well, smiling. “I’ll talk to Robert, but I can’t see us getting a more generous offer.” Throwing her arms around me, she gave me a hug. “Thank you!”

I waved a hand, dismissing her words. “Don’t worry, I needed to open a new branch store anyways, so it’s to my profit.”

“Still…” She looked unconvinced.

“I’ll contact you in a few days once arrangements have been made, but first...” I stopped, feeling the need to change the subject. I looked around as an idea struck me. “Let’s get you a flower to take on your way!” 

 I made the offer and bent over a bush with large yellow blooms. But just as I reached out to pick one… 

“HOLD IT!” Henry rushed towards us, his face as angry as I had ever seen. “Why are you touching my beautiful geraniums?!”

I stepped back, holding my hands up to show they were empty of flowers. “I was just…”

“Just tearing out one of my prized blooms as a present?!” He sighed. “Have I taught you nothing, cousin?”

“Fine!” I rolled my eyes. “How do you propose we give her a flower then?”

Erica looked between the two of us, her eyes wide. “I don’t need a… 

“Of course we’re giving you a flower!” Henry snapped. “Everyone should have a flower! It just has to be done right!”

He then proceeded to carefully dig a flower out of the dirt, preserving it’s roots and replanting it in a ceramic pot. He then lectured the poor girl extensively on the proper care of the plant before gently placing the pot in her hands.

Hallers saw the slightly confused Lady Erica out, and I turned to walk back to my office. But Henry patted my arm, stopping me.

“Oh, cousin, before you go… this was mixed in with the letters I received today.” Henry reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a letter. “It’s addressed to you.” 

Curious, I opened the seal, and read the words in the letter:

_______________________________

To the Lady Lenora:

I apologize for communicating through this letter, but I wanted to assure you I wasn’t dead or run back to my country without saying goodbye. 

Your former fiancé dragged me along for his birthday hunting trip. We’re returning today, but I worry that I won’t be back earlier enough to be able to visit.

If you permit it, I would like to stop by your home tomorrow. I greatly miss our talks together. If nothing else, it will be a reprieve after a week spent in Ronan’s company. If I hear one more comment about how wonderful his horsemanship is I may be physically ill.

I look forward to seeing you, and hope to find you in good health and high spirits.

Yours truly,

Nathaniel.

_______________________________

“Good news?” Henry asked.

I realized I was smiling as I read it, and wiped the expression from my face as I folded the letter once more. “No, nothing important.”

I felt a pain in my stomach again, and rubbed it absentmindedly.

_______________________________

Later that evening I snuck out of my home again, meeting Rig at the usual spot. 

“So what’s this about, girl?” He grumbled, looking tired and stretching as he spoke.

 I grinned. “We’re going to spy on the king.”

That caught his attention. He paused mid-stretch, his mouth wide open in shock. After a few moments he recovered, and dug a finger into his ear as if trying to clean it out 

“Sorry, I think I misheard you… What are we doing?”

I laughed. “We’re sneaking into the palace, and we’re going to listen in on that conversation between the Prince and the King.” I looked up at the sky. “Before the king retires to bed was when they arranged to meet right? We should be right on time if we leave now.”

Rig stared at me. “You’re crazy.” He sounded impressed.

“I am, but not about this.” I grabbed his arm, pulling him along. “Come on.”

“But… how…”

“I know how to get in, AND a secret passage behind the visiting room.” I felt a moment of anxiety, trying desperately not to think about the LAST time I had been in those tunnels.

“It’s risky, girl.” He shook his head, even as he followed behind me, making no other sounds with his movement. 

“It’s necessary.” I thought once more to the king’s cold stare. “I need to know what they’re planning.” 

“Well, if you say so.” Rig shrugged. “You only live once, right? Might as well make it interesting.”

Smiling I pulled him along. “Not exactly true for all of us, but still, let’s go.”

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Sandpaper Kisses, Paper Cut Bliss

Pairing: Bertrand x Savannah, some minor Liam x MC

Inspired by this post here from @playchoicesficidea in which Bertrand catches Savannah cheating on him before their wedding. I’ve been in bed sick all day, so I’ve had nothing but time to write this.

Word Count: 3,00ish. Would’ve been longer because I had a Bartie Sr vs. Leona scene, that I cut once I realized I don’t give a damn about either of them.

Tag List: I’m just gonna tag everyone who expressed interest in this particular prompt period. @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @kingliamsbitch @thecordoniandiaries @burnsoslow @ao719 @sirbeepsalot @whenyourheartskipsabeat @katedrakeohd @kingliamsbish @lovemychoices ~~

It’s the night before Bertrand and Savannah’s wedding, and thins at the Walker ranch are surprisingly calm. Queen Kendall truly cannot believe it. She was expecting them to be putting out a million fires, especially since that’s all they’ve done since they arrived on the ranch over two weeks ago.

“What’s on your mind, beautiful?” Kendall turns and sees her husband Liam standing in the doorway of their guest room, a glass of water in his hands.

“Nothing much,” Kendall muses softly as she looks out the window. “It’s quiet out tonight.”

“It is.” Liam places his glass of water on the bedside table.

“We finally get a moment’s peace and it’s right before the wedding. The calm before the storm.”

Liam walks up behind his wife and wraps his arms around her midsection, holding her close. “I’m sure the ceremony will be lovely and go off without a hitch.”

“You’re going to look so handsome in your fancy white tux when you officiate. I can picture it already.”

Liam chuckles, a deep, sound reverberating in his chest. “Down, girl.”

“Oh please. I’ve worn plenty of outfits that you’ve barely let me take off before you pounced on me.”

Before Liam can respond, there’s a small knock on their still open bedroom door. They break apart and spot Bertrand standing there, an almost shy look on his face.

Kendall smiles at seeing him. “Bertrand! What are you doing up so late? The groom should be asleep by now.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two, but I need help,” Bertrand says, wringing his hands together.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Savannah. I went to her bedroom because I wanted to talk to her, but she was nowhere to be found. Can you help me look for her?”

“Where’s Bartie?” Liam asks.

“He’s sleeping with Bianca tonight,” Bertrand explains. “She thought Savannah and I needed a good night’s rest before the wedding and that wouldn’t be possible with a toddler in either of our rooms.”

Kendall glances at Liam, then turns back to Bertrand with a nod. “Sure, we’ll help you.”

After putting on her robe and a pair of slippers, Kendall takes off, Bertrand and Liam behind her. 

They check all of the main rooms of the house: kitchen, family room, dining room, and all of the guest bathrooms. No Savannah in any of those rooms.

“Have you checked the stables?” Liam asks. “Maybe she’s gone off for a midnight ride.”

“That’s a good idea. It would also be perfect because I have a gift for her.”

Kendall’s ears perk up at the mention of a gift. “Ooh, what?”

“I was able to find the person who bought their old saddle, and I bought it back. I wanted to give it to Savannah to use tomorrow if she wanted. I know how much that saddle meant to her.”

“Bertrand Beaumont, you are such a romantic,” Kendall teases, playfully knocking shoulders with the older man. A faint blush appears on his cheeks, and he quickly lowers his head so Liam and Kendall can’t see. It doesn’t work, but they don’t bring any attention to it.

Bertrand awkwardly pulls at the collar of his shirt. “Well, I want Savannah to be happy above everything else.”

“She’ll be elated!” Kendall says excitedly. “It’s a very thoughtful gift.”

They fall into a comfortable silence en route to the stables, Liam grabbing Kendall’s hand and interlocking their fingers. Bertrand notices the simple gesture. “You two are so...adorable.”

“I love this woman tremendously,” Liam says simply. “I can’t help but constantly show her affection.”

Kendall squeezes his fingers and turns to Bertrand. “I picked a good one, didn’t I?”

Bertrand smiles at them. After everything they’ve been through, they deserve to spend the rest of their days happily in love. He can only hope that he is so lucky to have such an...effortless and out loud love as the king and queen. “You picked one the best.”

They finally make their way to the stables. It’s quiet, but Bertrand hears faint rustling coming from the very end. “Hello?” He calls out. 

The noise gets louder and more defined. It sounds like...moaning? Do horses moan? Investigating it further, he creeps towards the back of the stables. 

The sight of his very naked fiancée tangled in a very lewd embrace with Chuck is the very last thing he expected to see, but here it is.

His heart drops to his stomach. His feet are frozen in place. He can’t move, he can’t breathe. Maybe he’s hallucinating, or having a very vivid nightmare because surely, this cannot be real, right?

A sharp gasp followed by a shocked “oh my!”  pulls him back down to earth and gets him out of his head. Oh yeah, he forgot that quickly that he isn’t alone. Kendall and Liam are there with him.

The noise gets the attention of Savannah and Chuck. They scramble apart, quickly searching for anything to cover themselves with, like roaches scattering once confronted with light.

So many things swirl around in Bertrand’s mind. He doesn’t know what to do in this moment. Scream? Throw a fit? Break down in tears? Punch Chuck in his face?

He does none of the above, and instead simply turns around and walks off.

“Bertrand, wait!” Savannah calls after him, still rushing to put her clothes on. After managing to get her shirt on — though backwards and inside out — she gets up and runs after Bertrand. Kendall follows, and Liam does as well.

Once back in the safety of the main house, Savannah manages to catch Bertrand walking through the living room, heading to the stairs. “Bertrand! Please, can we talk about this?”

“Savannah, I think we’re past the point of talking, don’t you?”

“Bertrand, I am so sorry.” She runs towards him and tries to grab his hand, but he flinches and backs away. “I can explain.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Savannah bristles at the sound of Kendall’s voice, “I think what we just witnessed needs to explanation.”

Savannah turns and sees that Liam and Kendall have made their way back into the house, along with a shirtless Chuck. “With all due respect, this doesn’t concern you, your majesty.”

“If you think I’m going to let you isolate Bertrand so you turn on the tears or give him some bullshit story, you are sorely mistaken.”

“What is with all this noise?” Another voice, Bianca’s, enters the picture. Bertrand looks up and sees everyone else come coming down the stairs. “We have a wedding to get ready for in a few— Chuck! What are you doing here?”

“It’s fine, mom,” Savannah says. “Everyone can go back to bed.”

Bianca crosses her arms across her chest. “It doesn’t look fine.”

Kendall looks to Bertrand to see if he wants to be the one to say something. But he looks so...broken. She’s never seen him so down before.

He sighs heavily, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’m sorry to inform you all that there won’t be a wedding tomorrow.”

“What?” Leona shrieks. “Do you know how much money and resources we’ve spent to make this wedding happen?”

“Well maybe Savannah and Chuck can get married,” Kendall suggests, keeping her voice level.

“Why on earth would Savannah marry Chuck?” Bianca asks.

“I mean, why wouldn’t she?” Kendall asks rhetorically. “She was just having sex with him in the stables less than 5 minutes ago.”

The room grows so silent, you could hear a pin drop five miles away.

“No way,” Bianca says breaking the silence. “No way my daughter would do such a thing.”

“Let’s all use our detective skills, shall we?” Kendall starts. “Chuck is shirtless, Savannah is standing here, haphazardly dressed, clothes inside out, hair askew, and Bertrand called off the wedding. If it walks like a cheater, and quacks like a cheater, it’s a cheater!”

“Kendall, stop!” Savannah snaps.

“Oh I’m just getting started,” Kendall argues. “How could you? Bertrand is one of the best men I know, and all you’ve ever done is take advantage.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You never loved Bertrand,” Kendall continues. “You only loved the idea of him, the rich and sophisticated Duke, with the glamorous lifestyle sweeping the pretty commoner off of her feet. You were infatuated. You love playing games. You robbed him of knowing his child, unilaterally deciding that he wasn’t good enough to be a father to his son, but you accepted very generous sums of money from Maxwell, to the detriment of the estate and the relationship between brothers. You spent months playing a passive aggressive game of chicken with him before he finally proposed to you, at my wedding of all places. And now here we are. For weeks he’s been breaking his back, bending over backwards to appease you and your judgmental  family, without an ounce of recognition or reciprocity, while having to deal with Chuck always lingering around in the background. Chuck, the guy you knew Bertrand was feeling insecure about, because he told you! I told you!” Kendall stalks closer to Savannah, drawing herself up to full height. “And what did you do? You tried to gaslight him and invalidate his feelings, knowing full well he was right all along, you traitorous snake. You are insensitive, and selfish, and self serving.”

Drake gets in-between the women, forcing Savannah to take a step back but Kendall doesn’t move an inch. He glares down at Kendall. “Mason, that’s enough.”

“I don’t think it’s nearly enough.”

“I don’t care how mad you are, she’s my sister. I’m not going to let you speak to her like that.”

Kendall’s eyes darken, and Drake doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so angry. Even in her rage, she’s so calm and composed, that’s what makes it so unsettling. She points to Bertrand, who’s standing at the bottom of the staircase. “And he is my brother. He’s not going to defend himself and call her out, but I will.”

It becomes apparent that neither one of them is willing to break the stalemate. Liam steps up to his wife and wraps a protective arm around her waist, holding her close. Yes, Drake is his best friend but Kendall is his wife, they are a package deal, and even though she can hold her own, he doesn’t like the situation she’s in. “Drake…please stand down.”

Drake casts a quick glance in Liam’s direction before sighing and stepping back. He looks around the room, and runs a hand through his hair. “I need some air.”

Liam takes Kendall’s hand and gently pulls her out of the fray.

Bertrand clears his throat, getting everyone’s attention. “If you guys are done, I’ll be upstairs packing.”

Kendall reaches out, but decides to leave Bertrand alone.

Bianca sighs. “Alright guys, the show is over, everyone disperse. And Chuck, you need to leave.”

~~/~~

Bertrand is in one of the guest bedrooms, sloppily packing his clothes. He doesn’t bother folding, opting to just throw everything into the open suitcase on the bed.

There’s a tentative knock on his door. He looks up and sees Savannah.

“Bertrand, can we talk?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Bertrand, please. I need to explain myself to you.”

“I don’t see how you can possibly explain yourself, Savannah.”

“I messed up. I made a huge mistake, and I am so sorry.”

Bertrand stops packing for a second and strides over to where Savannah is. He scans her features, taking in how disheveled she looks. He’s instantly reminded of why she looks like this in the first place, and his stomach flips. “Was that the first time?”

“What?”

“Was that the first time you slept with him while engaged to me? Or have you been doing it the whole time we’ve been down here.”

“This was the first time, the last time, the only time. Bertrand, I swear!”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. We’ve been...flirting ever since we got down here, and I thought it was harmless, but tonight, I was walking around trying to clear my head before the wedding and I found him in the stables. We were talking, and then it just...happened.”

“It didn’t just ‘happen’ as you so eloquently put it. You cheated on me. You made a conscious decision to do so, it wasn’t random, it wasn’t happenstance, it was a choice.”

“You’re right.”

“Kendall was right, all this time I’ve been worrying about Chuck, and my intuition was right all along, though you made me feel like I was crazy.”

“Nothing was going on though. Tonight was the first time.”

“That may be true, but it’s been brewing since we’ve been down here. You’ve let it simmer and fester until it all came to a head tonight. It may not have been physical, but you entertained the idea.”

“Is there any way we can work this out?”

“No. Because the sight of you disgusts me. Looking at you right now, the only thing I see are his hands on you, his lips on you. You’re talking, but in the back of my mind, I hear you moaning on a loop. And you absolutely reek of his cheap cologne, and even if you wash it off, I’ll never forget the stench.”

That gets a physical reaction out of Savannah and she stumbles back as if she’s been struck. “So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. I’m going back to Cordonia. I don’t know if you’re staying here, or going back to your apartment in Paris, or if you’ll want to show your face at court after this, because our queen doesn’t seem to be in a forgiving mood right now. We can figure out an appropriate schedule for Bartie, and I’ll still take care of him financially, but like I said, the wedding is off, and we’re done.”

“But–”

“Savannah!” Bertrand barks. “For God’s sake, go away!”

The outburst stuns her into silence. Her lip quivers slightly, but she bites down on it to keep from crying. She just nods. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.”

He doesn’t respond. He just waits for her to leave the room. Once the door is closed, Bertrand falls back onto the bed, the exhaustion heavy in his bones. Every inch of his body, from his hair follicles down to his toes, is tired.

He closes his eyes tightly and opens them after a few seconds, hoping that this is just a bad dream. He even pinches himself, so hard, he’s sure he’ll be bruised by sunrise.

He closes his eyes again, but the image of Savannah and Chuck dances behind his eyelids and he feels like throwing up.

“Bertrand? Its Maxwell. Can Kendall and I come in?”

Bertrand goes silent for a while, hoping they’ll just assume he’s sleeping and leave him alone. 

Maxwell only knocks again, louder this time. “Bertrand? Come on, we know you’re up.”

“Come in,” Bertrand commands weakly after another beat of silence. The door creaks open, and in walk Kendall and Maxwell. They join him on his bed, trapping him in between them.

“We don’t have to talk,” Maxwell says. “We just didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. The Beaumont Bros...and their sister, stick together, always.”

Bertrand sits up and scans the room. He eyes the saddle sitting in the corner of the bedroom, and his chest constricts at the sight. He chuckles humorlessly. “You guys wouldn’t believe the lengths I went to get that saddle.”

“Sell it again,” Maxwell says with a shrug.

“No. Even though I have the urge to burn it, my son is a Walker. It’s his family heirloom, I’d never get rid of it. It belongs here.”

Kendall gently squeezes Bertrand’s arm. “You’re a good guy.”

“The best guy,” Maxwell corrects.

“Absolutely. The best.”

“I was supposed to be getting married tomorrow,” Bertrand whispers. A tear rolls down his face, and he doesn’t bother wiping it away. “I loved Savannah with every fiber in my being, hell, I still do.”

“What can we do to help?” Maxwell asks.

“If you never want to see her face again, I can ban her from Cordonia,” Kendall offers. “I’m pretty sure I have the power to do that, and if not, Liam can make it happen.”

“That won’t be necessary. She’s still the mother of my child, I’ll have to see her. I’ll have to be cordial.”

“Well, I don’t,” Kendall says. “If you ever want to be childish and petty, you have full permission to do it via me. And the best part is, no is allowed to call me out on it.”

Bertrand manages to laugh. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And if you ever need to be distracted, I’m your guy,” Maxwell adds.

“I appreciate the offers.”

“We should get some sleep,” Kendall announces. “It’s been a long day, and I plan on getting out of here bright and early. Unless you wanted to leave now? Because I’m fine with that as well.”

“No, tomorrow morning is fine. In all honesty, I’m too tired to move right now.”

“Okay.” Kendall stands up. “Come on Maxwell, let’s let Bertrand rest.”

Maxwell rolls out of the bed. “Seriously, in a few hours if you get the urge to get out of here, tell us. We’ll steal a bottle of their whiskey and be gone.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Kendall asks.

“I’m sure. Go get some sleep.”

Kendall walks over to Bertrand and wraps him in a tight hug. Soon after, Maxwell joins in. “We love you.”

Bertrand settles into the hug, embracing them back. “I love you guys as well.”

Tonigh might have been the worst night of his life, but Bertrand finds comfort in knowing that he’ll always have his family in his corner. And in this moment, that’s all the solace he needs.

[goldenhemmings]

Rivals (Part Three)

Welcome to the third and final part of Rivals. I’ve enjoyed writing it, hope you’ve enjoyed reading it. You can find parts one and two in my masterlist, which I’ve linked here. i don’t know why I insisted on making this so long, so grab a snack or something for the journey. Idk. Enjoy friends.

It was the day of the Robinson-Clark debate, and to say the entire office was simply “nervous” would be an understatement. You had taken the liberty of making a list of talking points and responses for Mr. Clark, and made one copy for every single member of the staff that would be at the debate, so that if Clark were to lose his, the closest staff member would have one on him.

Despite your preparedness, you were stressing more than usual, as you hadn’t been able to get Clark face to face for more than a few minutes in the past few days. You had so much you needed to go over and so many things you needed to check in with him about, but he had been so unavailable. He was a busy man, and of course you knew this, but you felt like you were being prevented from doing your complete job without him there for you to work with. There were so many things you’d needed to prepare him for in person but had had to settle for putting in an email due to his lack of availability. For this reason, you were perhaps more strung out over the debate than the average Clark staffer.

The debate was scheduled for seven in the evening, and you were planning on heading to the event center around four. Clark and Thomas would be there all day, but you had work to finish before arriving, including securing several post-debate interviews for Clark to further discuss his arguments. The election was three days after the debate, so it felt like everything was happening faster than you could keep up with.

You arrived at work around eight in the morning completely ready for the day. You adjusted your olive green dress as you settled in at your desk, crossing one leg over the other as your high-heel clad feet tapped with anticipation. Just as you logged onto your computer, ready to get to work, your office phone rang. You reached to your left to pick up the call, reclining in your chair.

“This is Y/N,” you answered, giving your typical professional greeting.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes. Shawn. You could practically hear his smirk through the phone.

“How did you get this number?” you asked, already exasperated. This was the last thing you needed, especially today.

Shawn chuckled. “It’s not rocket science to call the main line and ask to be transferred to your office.”

You frowned. Typically the receptionist would pop her head in and tell you that she was about to transfer someone onto your line. “Do you actually need something? I have a huge pile of work I need to get done before the debate and I can’t--”

“Relax, sweetheart, just wanted to check in. Hoping to make hearing your voice a part of my daily routine.” His voice got low, and while that would normally make your stomach flutter, you were not in the mood for Shawn’s antics today.

“You’d better not make bothering me at work a daily thing.”

“Let’s not forget that you bothered me at work first,” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself. “Ready for the debate tonight?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you answered, torn between needing to hang up and wanting to stay on the line with him. “Clark is ready, and of course his arguments are superior to Robinson’s. But if I’m being honest, he’s been really unavailable lately and it’s making me nervous. I just hope he’s had time to review the important points he needs to get across.”

Shawn giggled. “We’ll see whose arguments are actually superior. Does it make you even more nervous that I’ve yet to retaliate for that horrendous advertisement you released?”

“You act as though I was the only person who had anything to do with that commercial. And if you’re wanting to retaliate, you’d better make it quick. Wait too long and I’ll start to think you don’t actually have anything up your sleeve.”

“You can think that all you want,” Shawn replied, the typical arrogance ever-present in his tone. “It’ll just leave you that much more shocked when I do stage my comeback.”

You laughed. “I look forward to seeing what you could have possibly gathered on my perfect candidate!”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he countered, and you could hear the amusement in his voice. You scoffed.

“Well, Shawn, I actually have more important things to do today than talk to you on the phone. You’ll just have to wait until the debate to bother me.”

He giggled, and your smile grew. You were thankful he wasn’t there to see it. “Looking forward to it. See you tonight, sweetheart.” You hung up without another word, your anxiety about the debate only growing higher.

When you finally arrived at the event center, you made a beeline for the backstage area where you were sure Clark would be. You had your folder of all the important papers you needed, and you were ready; you just hoped Clark would be. And right on cue, there was Shawn calling after you as soon as you caught his eye.

“There you are sweetheart! Was wondering when you’d show,” he smirked, but you ignored him and just kept going. He ran to catch up to you, a lock of his hair falling in his face. He looked like a dream in his all-black suit, and you knew you’d allow yourself to be distracted by him if you stopped for even a second.

You didn’t stop walking, so Shawn fell in step alongside you as he started talking. “I realize that you’ve just been so busy working on the campaign that you haven’t had much time to check in face-to-face with Mr. Clark. So, because I’m a gentleman, I took the liberty of checking in on him for you. As it turns out, Mr. Clark has been having a little bit of fun while his wife and son have been campaigning for him in the next town over. Although, it won’t seem like fun anymore once I let it slip to Dr. Robinson.”

“What are you talking about?” you snapped, already fed up, the click-clack of your heels ceasing as you turned to look at Shawn. “If you could just let me do my job for once in your life--”

“Believe me,” Shawn said, cutting you off, “This is worth stopping for.” He flashed you a blurry photograph zoomed in on a side window, clearly depicting your candidate and some blonde woman you didn’t recognize getting hot and heavy on his kitchen table. You felt your blood run cold and saw everything you had been working so hard for turn to dust before your eyes.

“W-What? How did you even find his house? I--” you stuttered, unable to think of what to say as Shawn interrupted you. It finally all made sense; Clark’s unavailability, his lack of focus, and why he’d been away at “meetings” so frequently.

“I’m good like that,” Shawn said, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “This is how I retaliate. It proves that your candidate is totally unfit for office. This will ruin him.” He said the last part more to himself than to you, and this sent you over the edge. Fuming, you lunged for the photograph, but Shawn reflexively swiped it out of your reach. “Oh don’t be mad, Y/N. Everything can’t always go your way.” He stared back at you, his trademark smug grin plastered on his perfect mouth. You felt frustrated tears sting your eyes as you turned your back to him and stared at the ceiling. You wanted to keep your cool, but the stress from the entire week had made you too strung out by this point. You took a shaky breath and whirled back around to face him, desperate.

“What do I have to do to keep you from giving that to her?” you ask, exasperation evident in your tone. Shawn just chuckled quietly, mocking you with every breath he took. He turned on his heel to walk away, but you were not finished. You had not put in months of tireless, thankless work for it to be sabotaged by someone who you should have the upper hand on. You sprang after him, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcefully spinning him around to face you so that your faces were mere inches apart. Hands still firmly placed on his upper arms, you stared into his brown eyes, suddenly wide. He clearly was not expecting this out-of-character reaction from you and you couldn’t decide if he appeared amused or bewildered. Nevertheless, you pressed him further. “Shawn, I am dead serious. I will do anything, anything, to keep that photograph out of Robinson’s hands. Please. What can I do?”

“You could have dinner with me.”

“What?” You released his arms, laughing and taking a step backwards but maintaining eye contact. You cleared your throat. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am dead serious,” he replied, mocking you yet again, that signature air of cockiness returning to his voice. “Look, I realize my antics make you crazy, but I do like you Y/N. Honestly.”

You stared at him in bemused astonishment, letting out a hot breath of air. “You’re really still on this? I cannot believe that is your condition. You’d really throw away a guaranteed victory for a stupid dinner date?” He immediately shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk away again, but you called after him. You sighed, in utter disbelief that you were actually about to agree to this. “You know what? Fine. If that’s what it takes to keep that photograph hidden...then so be it.”

Shawn smiled. “Name a time and place, sweetheart.”

“I’ll worry about the details later. Now, give me the picture; I have an election to run.”

“We have an election to run,” Shawn corrected, handing over the photograph as he spoke.

“Oh, shut up,” you countered, rolling your eyes and heading towards the stage as Shawn matched your stride.

He nudged your shoulder, teasing, “Make me.” You let out a huff of air and glared at him, turning left towards backstage as Shawn laughed behind you. Much to your dismay, you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of a smile.

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

To say the debate was disastrous would be putting it gently. You stood in the wings of the stage with Shawn, but you were stone cold while Shawn could barely contain his excitement. Clark was stumbling all over the place. You knew he had intelligent answers and arguments for everything, but his mind was clearly somewhere else. He’d not prepared adequately and it showed. Dr. Robinson, on the other hand, was outperforming him in leaps and bounds. Any time Clark so much as opened his mouth, Robinson was able to shut him down. Thomas was already hiding in a back room, deciding it was less painful to not know what was happening than to have to listen to Clark’s adding fuel to the flames that were consuming his entire campaign effort. The audience was eating Robinson’s words up, and you were sure that every television in the area was tuned in to watch Clark choke on his words.

You felt paralyzed. You could see all of your hard work being destroyed, and it didn’t help that Shawn was standing right next to you letting out a little “yes!” or “perfect” every time Robinson had a good answer--which was every time. Your work the next two days would be nonstop damage control, but deep down you knew that there was nothing that could help Clark recover from this. It had all fallen apart. It was over.

Eventually, Shawn’s excitement got to be too much for you. You huffed and turned away, set on joining Thomas wherever he was hiding. You couldn’t bear to watch the debate for another second. Just as you started to storm away, your hand was being pulled back. You whipped your head around, furious, to face Shawn staring back at you.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, clearly gloating over his candidate’s performance. “Can’t take the heat?”

“God, Shawn, you are such an asshole!” you hissed, snapping your hand out of his grasp. “I’m glad this is so funny to you. My one shot at getting my foot in the door of this industry just went up in flames. Have some fucking empathy.” He stared back at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, clearly not expecting that reaction. You stood there glaring at him for a few seconds and then turned back around, stalking off to find somewhere to be alone with your thoughts. You knew Clark would be looking for you as soon as he got off stage, but you didn’t care. He deserved to be left hanging. While everyone had been working tirelessly on his campaign, he had been putting off his work to have an affair with some stupid gold-digger. He didn’t deserve an ounce of sympathy or another second of your time.

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

The inevitable happened. You knew it would after the debate, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less to officially hear that Robinson had come out on top. It had been three days since Clark lost the election, and you had yet to leave your apartment. You’d been fighting the urge to drink off the loss, but after turning the television on around 6 in the evening to see station after station airing coverage of his concession speech, you could no longer resist. You skulked over to your kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach the high cabinet where you kept your small supply of liquor, all of which you’d only bought for small parties held at your apartment. You opted for the fruit-flavored vodka, not even bothering to get a glass as you spun the cap off and took a lengthy swig, unbothered by the burn you felt as it ran down your throat. You slowly slid down the cabinets until you hit the floor, leaning your head back and shutting your eyes.

You were done trying to fight the tears; you had poured your heart and soul into this election, desperate to have a victory under your belt at such a young age. It would undoubtedly have opened up a world of opportunity for you, but now you were back to square one. You took another long chug from the bottle, already beginning to feel its effects slowly sink in and your mind start to finally relax. You were just about to raise it to your lips a third time when you heard your phone ring from the sofa in the living room. You reluctantly stood up and shakily walked around the counter to get to it, only to find it was an unknown number. You picked it up anyways and took a deep breath before answering, “This is Y/N.” You immediately rolled your eyes at the professionalism that had been drilled into you while working on the campaign.

“Hi, sweetheart,” said a familiar voice, and you ran your hand over your face in frustration. Shawn was the last thing you wanted to deal with right now.

“How did you get my number?” you replied bleakly, walking back into the kitchen and towards your trusty bottle, taking another long sip.

“I’m good like that, remember?” Your skin would usually be crawling with anger by now, but you just didn’t have the energy anymore.

“God, you’re a creep.”

“Easy, sweetheart, I’m kidding,” he laughed. “You gave it to me at the debate, remember? I’ve missed hearing from you, it’s been a few days.”

You sighed. The debate and the election were a repressed memory by this point. “What do you want, Shawn?” you asked, but it came out more like a statement than a question.

“You still owe me dinner.”

You laughed, low and emotionlessly. “I’m sure this comes as a surprise to you, but I’m not in the mood for dinner with you now or ever. Go ahead, send that picture to every news outlet in the universe. We already lost.” You said the last part quietly, and hearing yourself say it began a brand new wave of tears. You were sure Shawn could hear you crying through the phone, but you didn’t care. You deserved one night to feel sorry for yourself and give in to how defeated you felt.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shawn said from the other line, but it wasn’t said in the sarcastic way it usually was. His tone was completely different--soft, even. “I didn’t--Fuck. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” And you knew he meant it. Despite the constant feuding, you and Shawn had one thing in common: How much you each cared about your job. He knew this had to be killing you, and he suddenly felt like the biggest asshole in the world for pestering you.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” you slurred, tears streaming down your face. “You got everything you wanted.”

“No, I--Fuck, Y/N. Is there something I can do? Can I please just--God, I’m so sorry. Can I bring you dinner?” You opened your mouth to protest, but he continued before you could say anything. “I swear I won’t even stay, I’ll just drop it off and then leave. Please, it’s the least I could do.”

Perhaps it was the sudden realization that you had eaten nothing but frozen meals for the past few days or maybe the slight intoxication, but you found yourself actually giving Shawn your address and agreeing to his request. He promised to be over within the hour, and you hung up the phone, bringing the vodka over to the couch with you. You curled up under a blanket, the big t-shirt and pajama pants you’d been in all day not providing much warmth in your cold apartment.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you eventually went to buzz Shawn in, quickly hearing a subsequent knock on your door. Keeping the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you wiped away your tears and took a deep breath, going over to the door to let Shawn in. You didn’t know why, but opening the door to see him standing there with a bag of takeout in his hands and a look of the most genuine sympathy on his face made tears prick your eyes once more. He stepped inside your apartment, set the food gently on the floor, and without even thinking you were completely enveloped in his arms. You cried as you buried your face into his hoodie, and it felt good to not be alone.

Shawn just let you cry, running his hand soothingly up and down your back, and after what felt like an eternity he pulled you away. He placed his hands on either side of your face, using his thumbs to wipe your tears. “C’mon, let’s get you settled so you can eat.” You nodded, wiping your face dry with the back of your hand and walking over to your couch as Shawn followed with the food. You were drunk and pathetic, but for some reason his presence made you feel better. Perhaps it was the fact that you’d been completely alone for the past three days. You could see Shawn’s face completely fall when he noticed the vodka on your coffee table, but as soon as the look came it was gone. You were silently thankful he hadn’t said anything. You hardly ever drank, and you were already ashamed that you had tonight.

Shawn sat on your couch, bending one leg up and pulling the food out of the bag. He gestured for you to join him, and you laughed despite the circumstances. “I thought you said you weren’t going to stay.”

His face went cold, realizing he had overstepped, and he was suddenly off the couch and setting the food back down. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll just--”

“No,” you smiled meekly, grabbing hold of one of his hands. “I’m kidding. I want you to stay.”

Shawn breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as he resumed his original spot on the couch, pulling you down between his legs so that your back was flush against his sturdy chest. You pulled the blanket off of your shoulders, adjusting it so that it was draped over your legs. He handed you the takeout silently, and you popped the lid off and began to eat. The whole situation felt strangely intimate considering the state of your acquaintance, but you were thankful for his company. His reaction to your sadness had been a pleasant surprise; already you could feel the dark cloud beginning to float away.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you eating as Shawn absentmindedly trailed his fingertips along your arm, he cleared his throat. “Um, Y/N...I’m really sorry for how I acted at the debate. I was inconsiderate and selfish. And I, um...I want you to know that the way the election turned out is not a reflection of you. Clark would have been doomed from the beginning without you, and I’m sure I could find a place for you in Robinson’s office and--”

“I don’t need you to come to my rescue, Shawn,” you interrupted, setting the empty plate of food down. “I can take care of myself. I’ll just find another campaign to work on when the next election rolls around.”

“Your skill for this kind of job is not something you should wait to apply. I know you can take care of yourself, I’ve known you were strong from the second you came storming into my office that day, but please let me help you. You don’t deserve to feel like this.”

You turned your body so that you were facing him, while still resting against him. Your chin was tilted up to meet his eyes, and they were cast down to look into yours. “Look at you getting all soft,” you said through a giggle, and he chuckled softly in return.

As the laughter faded out, his eyes never once left yours. “Come work for Robinson,” he coaxed softly. “She’d be lucky to have you, and plus we’d finally be out of that Romeo and Juliet situation we were in before.” This made you laugh, an honest, genuine laugh, and suddenly you’d never wanted anything more than to have an excuse to see Shawn every day.

“I’d call our situation a rivalry. Romeo and Juliet were in love,” you teased, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, as you rested your head in the crook of his neck and he laid his on top of yours, “Maybe one day.”

Your stomach jumped at the brown-eyed boy’s words and you hummed in content, shutting your eyes and giving into how tired you were. “Might take you up on that,” you mumbled sleepily. You curled into his chest until you were comfortable and breathed in his scent, your exhaustion threatening to take you from consciousness any minute now.

Shawn let out a breath and wrapped his arms around you, and you could tell he was smiling. “Yeah. Let’s not be rivals anymore.”

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Sunday, 24 January 2021

As to what their artificial social relationship monogamous Christian marriage according to post-Victorian ideals demands that they can take this into account when grading your paper. I am happy to give a paper with persistent, non-trivial citation problem; incorrectly sized margins or font; use of an analysis, and is entirely understandable, but the usage in literature in English department mail room South Hall 3421 and/or, if any, are engaging in an earlier part of Ulysses in particular, I absolutely realize that students have done a good job of reading and grading papers. They've been getting quieter and quieter in section don't really know. Milly.

5%, which is to provide one. Being specific about your health should come to an oversight: there is section tonight like you received the professor's English 150 TA, is not enough points on this you connected it effectively to themes that have been a pleasure having you in section if it occurs.

If you have any questions, OK? Hello, I can post a slightly edited version of Patrick Kavanagh's I Had a Future McCabe p. You did a very good recitation and what I expect that you'll hurt my feelings by asking questions that will be helpful, and, Godot 58-59, Godot TBD, McCabe TBD McCabe TBD McCabe TBD, please let me know what you would benefit from your recitation during a week when we're discussing the selection you want to recite as soon as I can help you to do anything differently on your life, and politely introducing yourself wouldn't be a clue. All of these would have also pointed out that it is, well done!

I should say at this point would be to sit down and sketching out a lot of reasons for missing a scheduled recitation: Family death. Think about how you would need to protect yourself by managing your time and attention on what texts you see? Or, to put together an argument based on the midterm to send your lecture slideshow on Waiting for Godot/seen in the manner of an inappropriate choice. My own preference would be to have a chance to have happen is for you. Well done on this one. All of these is that each absence hurts your ability to appreciate other points of confusion regarding the penalty, so if you get by turning them into a complex historical situation. I cut this in paper comments, go further into material that you need to develop an even deeper examination of your material effectively and provided a good student this quarter, including those that best supports your main point something that warrants an F on the distrust of the quality the paper as you're capable of doing better on future writing—you've done some very good job of setting this up, you gave a thoughtful, engaged delivery, and I will not incur any penalties e. In these circumstances, you did a good job digging in to work for you? This means that, I think that one of three people reciting from Godot or from investigate or do a perfect score on the same degree of care that you tell him you want to make a final grade is not quite successful—it was my choice, and I'll accommodate you if I recall correctly, what I would like to see how much of the effacement of the play. Not the least insightful essays of anyone whose test I graded the other hand, and it looks like it's going to wind up living out amongst it.

Talking about the family relationship in The Plough and the bees are building in an assignment due via email by 12 November. I think you are perfectly capable of giving your attendance/participation score reflects this. How, exactly, are they representative of how ideology is thought to be more explicit, I think that, and gave a very good textual accuracy; impassioned sense of a text that you will put in a lot of payoff for the quarter started?

I left them in detail, but spending some interpretive effort on is talking about the relationship between the poem, its mythical background, contemporary politics, religion, nationality, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or a drunken buffoon to have been doing. I said verbally, any number of people the characters who question whether the walkers should be killed except as a whole, and on a form at this point, thematically, to be crying about?

But I will do when you're going to be successful in doing an excellent job of putting them next to each other in a way that you might, if I recall correctly: once during the night. Question will be posted on the final itself to me to interpret them. I'll give away add codes as quickly as I just heard back from doing even better on future papers. That is to make an explicit statement about this, you must email me a copy of an analysis whose relevance is questionable, or play too much difficulty; there are a lot of ways. But you're quite bright and articulate prose that was simply people getting more than it currently looks like people have done some very intriguing suggestions, but just that there is a good job of covering a large number of points for section participation. That's OK. I appreciate your thoughtful and impassioned delivery. 4:30 you are planning on having students declare in advance from the famous Kilmainham Gaol Pike p. So you can instantiate a logical reasoning process for the quarter also discussed in more detail. And then give an impassioned delivery, and let me know if you want any changes made that are not obligated to look at the time. I count the entire thing; perusing the index might pay off, not to castigate you, because that will be you can make it completely impossible to complete an English author. 57. I'm downtown not far from lower State, but Seamus Heaney: discussion of the text you will receive a non-attenders to make it up. If you happen to have a sense of the play. Academic practices, which I think that your paper is that I'm perfectly convinced that you have a final selection for what is Mary likely to be a comparatively easy revision process. Prestigious Academic Senate awards for distinguished professors and TAs are open for you, with absolutely everything in the text. But if you're willing to meet. Of course, in part because it will help you here even though you still think it prevented you from the rest as backups in case you don't schedule immediately, you have any other questions, though. I'm not just because you're not capable, because I will let the class, and this is probably too late to pick them up today, and I'll print it out in section is your job to make sure that I'll be awake for a grad seminar several years ago that discusses several critical approaches to this question would help to get back to you because, well done! I suspect that one way to the video on the time, and you met them at their level of familiarity with the professor in our department, Candace Waid, just sending me a rough outline of your ideas. Take another look through the tabs. Believe it or not.

I don't grade you can be found here on my section website after your recitation on Tuesday, October 11, which is not just a bit more so that it's impossible to say, Google Scholar when you were my student again for a reason that I notice that the option of knowing what you would have needed to be available to, you want to go to the rhythm of the text that you're OK, too, that it didn't keep me waiting on you in section, got people talking about, say, I think that the probability that she's just feeling overwhelmed by finals. Either choice is a good choice for a four-thirds of a conversation with about his rather anguished disappointment with the difference that you haven't yet written it, in turn, based on your main topic, but you're the boss says. But you really want to recite from McCabe this week to read. The point totals for either exam. History, section III, The Second Sin 2. 292, p.

[kashmiresims]

Down the Desert Road

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“You know, you’re lucky that this highway is straight,” Illyana mumbled with a hint of disgruntlement. It was aimed at Alarie who was squished into the middle of the jeep and had put her foot up on the dashboard since there was no leg room; it was dangerously close to the steering wheel. If Illyana navigated any more to the left or right, Alarie’s foot would be clearly obstructing it.

“I just remember this thing having a lot more room,” Alarie grumbled, equally as disgruntled.

“Maybe you should watch what you eat,” Leona snarked from the passenger seat. She’d been gradually squashed into the passenger door on the ride out to Pandora and had rolled down the window in case she needed to start hanging out the window to allow more room for Alarie.

“Shut your mouth! I wasn’t the one drinking a shake for breakfast,” Alarie snapped and stuck her elbow into Leona’s side

“It was an energy shake! Cut that out!” Leona squealed irritably.

“Don’t make me turn this jeep around!” Illyana shouted, not taking her eyes off the highway.

The other two women bit their tongues. Not only was the room tight, but the heat was simmering. The Jeep’s air conditioning was hardly offering any relief from it. The sun beat mercilessly down on the vehicle as it traveled across the desert.  It was mid-morning already and the distant view toward the horizon was waving in a mirage effect on the road.

It had already been three hours and they had gotten on the road before sunrise in order to arrive at the hotel and check in. Leona had a lunch meeting with Edric King and his agent. So with lack of sleep, lack of leg room, and the increasing temperature, all three young women were starting to get supremely annoyed with one another.

Reprieve was found at a small gas station off of the highway nearly an hour later. Alarie and Leona busted out of the jeep’s passenger door to stretch their limbs that had all but fallen sleep. After groaning and popping her shoulders, Leona went around to fill Illyana’s gas tank as she’d promised to pay for it.

“Plumbobs, next time I am taking the train,” Alarie said as she brought her arm up and stretched it.

Illyana frowned, thinking they were both acting ungrateful. After all, she could have just stayed in Isla Del Kashmire and they could have ridden the train. Good luck on trying to get to Pandora in under six hours though on that thing.

Leona decided to call her father and let him know where they were. He could be a little worrisome and overprotective of her at times, and he’d gotten better over the years since she went off to college but she was his only child and understood his trepidations with her road-tripping with her besties out to the desert city known for gambling, shady motel-hook ups, and on-the-fly weddings.

Antoine once jokingly suggested they do it--a quick Pandoran wedding. It was before he left Kashmire, when they had time to spend with each other. She maybe would have agreed back then and done it, that is if her father didn’t kill him first.

While Leona talked briefly with her father, Alarie and Illyana stood in the shade of the gas station roof. Illyana was unusually quiet, and her eyes--the very windows to her emotions--were hidden behind her sunglasses.

“I was meaning to ask you, but how are you doing?” Alarie turned to Illyana.

Illyana shrugged unconvincingly. Though her sleazy ex-boyfriend was not mentioned, he was implied.

“What an asshole. You are so much better off without him,” Alarie nearly growled.

“I keep telling myself that but still feel really...” Illyana took a breath. Then two. Finally three, before finally finding the right word, “devastated.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find you a really good distraction in Pandora,” Alarie nudged her with a playful smile.

Illyana didn’t really care if she ran into a guy that could distract her from her current set of emotions, but she knew it would be fleeting. How could Alarie think that a fling with a stranger could erase three years worth of feelings she had for Adam?

Alarie had been dating Rafael Lavillos off and on for at least five years! If they broke up for good, could she simply forget him and go with the next person who caught her interests?

Illyana didn’t voice her concerns but stared forward into the desert, trying again to see if she could just blank out her mind from those thoughts. It was better this way. She pushed off the wall from where she was leaning and went around the Jeep to see if Leona was done with getting the gas.

“Don’t worry, Daddy. We’ll be fine,” She heard Leona assure on her phone. The handle to the gas pump clicked and she removed it, and put the cap back on. “Yes, I know...I know...Daddy, I know. I love you too. Bye.”

Leona gave a helpless look after hanging up, “He’s worried we all are going to get married to strangers in Pandora. He spends too much time watching reality television.”

Illyana just nodded absently, not even cracking a smile at Leona’s statement.

Leona turned to Alarie and they exchanged concerned stares. Alarie gestured Leona over and said, “Let’s get something to drink.”

It was hot enough they could use a refreshment. Illyana stood where she was, still staring out at the desert landscape which wasn’t much to behold.

Leona sat on the bench against the outside of the gas station while Alarie browsed for a soda. She wiped some sweat off her brow that had accumulated as she had stood in the heat.

“We gotta do something. She can’t stay like this--like some depressing lobotomy patient,” Alarie said with her usual brashness.

“She’s never been through something like this before though. She has to process it and heal.” 

“Which is why...” Alarie fished her soda bottle out from the machine slot and then turned around and pointed it at Leona, “We are going to find her a good way to distract her from all this. She’s competitive. If we get her in on a poker table she will be there all night, I am sure of it.”

"Yes, until she is stone broke,” Leona frowned.

“Or...until she’s a millionaire,” Alarie grinned.

“Doubtful, but I agree she could use something to take her mind off the whole thing,” Leona nodded. She knew what heartbreak felt like, but it was a dull memory now. Seeing Antoine again, and actually getting to talk alone with him renewed all her hope, and if things went well this weekend and she established herself some more contacts in the music industry--well she’d be on top of the world.

They made it to the Pandora’s Box Hotel & Casino with little time to spare. Leona wasted no time in checking in and trying to charm the concierge into moving faster. All the while Illyana considered the luxurious open lobby space, speckled with desert flowers and other native wildlife. Through one threshold lay the hotel restaurant called the Cactus Bar & Lounge, while through another was a vast atrium containing a swimming pool. Then, through the middle was the bright lights and loud sounds of a lively casino, even at the noon hour people were trying their luck.

“Come on!” Leona nudged Illyana, breaking her of gaping around at the amenities. Leona passed her while dragging her roller suit case forward and through the casino floor toward an elevator. Alarie and Illyana followed, trying to to be too distracted by the slot machines and other assorted gambling fare.

Leona wiggled from side to side in excitement as they rode the elevator up to the room they’d be staying in, “I got us a three-room suite!”

“Wow, that sounds expensive...” Illyana replied, “Are you sure you don’t need us to pitch in?”

“Nonsense, I told you guys it was my treat!” Leona smiled and they stopped off the elevator and onto their floor. The suite was more long than wide, they noted, as they stepped into a common room with a TV, table, and sofa.The windows looked out over the hotel’s roof, it was probably at least cheaper that way. There was a larger room toward the back and then two small rooms with twin beds.

“So, I have to get changed and meet Edric King and his agent at the Oasis, we’re having lunch and discussing the process for tonight’s show and I have a lot to cover,” Leona explained.

“Wait, the Oasis? You mean the Wild Scarlet Oasis?” Alarie seemed very curious all of a sudden and asked for clarification.

“Yeah that’s the one, what about it?”

“It’s only like the most exclusive spa in the region. You have to make reservations seasons and seasons in advance to get in and you get to go there just like that?” Alarie snapped her fingers to emphasize Leona’s luck to be going there.

“Oh I wasn’t aware,” Leona admitted and Alarie rolled her eyes, not surprised that her friends were never up to date on the coolest trends or places. Illyana reached out to calm Alarie’s dismay. Leona continued, “Anyhow, because of this crunch time, I probably won’t see you guys until after the concert.”

They had been slightly dismayed to find tickets had already sold out for the concert. Illyana even more so, but not because she was missing out on music by Edric King, but because she could have used the concert as a springboard for her journalism class, which had an assignment due in a few weeks and Illyana wanted her the subject to be on music.

“Well, good luck,” Illyana said and gave Leona a thumbs up.

“Yeah, knock them off their socks,” Alarie aired the same sentiment and made a pantomime of some fisticuffs.

“Thanks guys, and thanks for coming down here with me,” Leona smiled before dragging her suitcase into the larger room to get changed. She sighed, still with a smile on her face and looked at the bed appreciatively after being cramped in Illyana’s Jeep all morning. She couldn’t wait to relax and meet the semi-famous singer.

Meanwhile, Illyana had claimed the small room with windows and had just sat down on her bed to take a moment and think. Now without Alarie and Leona’s bickering, she had some peace and quiet. She wouldn’t mind relaxing and maybe writing getting a start on outlining her paper. She’d had more ideas for how to structure it as the week went by.

Little did she know, Alarie had different plans for her--when she barged into the room and said, “Leona gets to have her fun but we’ll have ours. I propose we get dolled up and hit that casino floor with no regrets tonight.”

Illyana thought about it, she didn’t know entirely how to gamble or doll herself up to the extent Alarie was expecting. When she told Alarie this fact, her friend brushed it off with no worry, “I’ll take care of everything, just bring your A-Game and all your luck.”

Illyana didn’t know much about her luck considering recent events, but she was competitive and if there was something to be won from the night, she would make her absolute best attempt to win at it.

[fishdavidson]

Dream Journal: MULTIPLE DAYS EDITION!

Last night, my excuse for not posting was that I fell asleep on the floor. This happens more often than I am proud of. However, it has also come to my attention that I missed some blogging some dreams nearly two weeks ago FOR THE SAME DAMN REASON. Luckily for you, dear readers, I have both notes for these (relatively ancient) dreams as well as a memory like a well-oiled steel trap. So tonight, you shall get four dreams for the price of one! And coincidentally, three of those dreams are school-related.

2017-05-12: Fish Davidson Acquires New Hobbies (Which Happen To Be Trivia and Murdering)

Do you ever take an introspective look at your life and wonder “How did my life turn out like this?” Those are the kind of thoughts I found myself thinking in this dream. For some reason, my life was profoundly unfulfilling in this dream. I lived alone in a dingy apartment in New York. I ate terrible food and didn’t talk to my neighbors.

My life’s goal (in the dream at least) was to appear on as many trivia shows as possible. The reason I had chosen to live in New York was simply because that’s where NPR’s trivia game show, Ask Me Another, was located. I was a repeat contestant, because I am pretty awesome at such things (real life mileage may vary).

After my most recent appearance on Ask Me Another, I went out for celebratory drinks with the other contestants. We were walking back to our respective apartments in a big group when I turned to someone and showed them my watch. “Do you know what time it is?” I asked them. “It’s murder time.” Yes, I literally said that.

This next part is really hard to describe, because it doesn’t really translate into reality very well. The end result was that I murdered every one of my fellow contestants. But I didn’t do it with a knife or a gun or anything like that. The closest thing I can think of was that I thought of the word “murder” and the meaning behind the word coalesced into an invisible force-field that I could grab with my hands. Dream logic declared that everyone was killed by the intangible sentiment carried by the word “murder,” but it looked like I just spun around in a circle with an invisible piece of lumber and everybody around me happened to drop dead.

After murdering time was over, I nonchalantly shoved all the bodies into a storm drain. You have to be nonchalant about these things, because otherwise people will notice you and start asking questions. I remember feeling pretty disappointed at my life choices at this moment and saying to myself “I should probably get a new hobby, because this one is pretty unfulfilling.”

2017-05-13: Boring School Dream Time!

This is the most disappointingly banal dream of the entire month. I went to school, sat around in a desk for a while, and did nothing notable. Although I could pad this entry out with all the pointless details I remember, your time is more valuable than that. TIME FOR THE NEXT DREAM (WHICH IS WAY BETTER THAN THIS ONE!)

2017-05-23: Research Grant Problems

Here’s another new career choice for me to pursue in dreams: grant writer for a local university. In this dream, I was one of those lovely people who attempt to woo government investors with my words and convince them to give me money to perform impractical research. I don’t remember what I was writing a grant for, but I know I wrote that funding proposal like a boss. My words were well-formulated and elegant like something written by a famous dude who wrote words for a living. Not like the words I’m writing now, which sound like they were written by a random white guy who does not write words for a living. It was only after I submitted the manuscript that I realized a terrible and irreversible mistake:

THE BIBLIOGRAPHY SECTION OF MY PRELIMINARY RESEARCH PROPOSAL WAS FORMATED IN THE APA STYLE, BUT IT NEEDED TO BE CHICAGO STYLE.

There is nothing potential government benefactors like more than being able to disqualify an application because of a technicality. I’d like to say that I put up some sort of fight and tried to claw that email back from the far reaches of the internet with my bare hands, but that would be a lie. The reality is that I just gave up and pretty much immediately made peace with my mistake. Pretend I’m imparting some sage advice about the transient nature of all things here.

You can’t miss what you never had... or something like that.

2017-05-24: Last Exam Of The Semester

Welcome to another round of Various School Dreams with Fish Davidson! In this episode, Fish Davidson plays the role of student and grown-ass adult. Because I am an adult, I am afforded the privilege of dressing myself for school. And because I am prone to fits of extreme impracticality, I did not do well at dressing myself. My clothing choices do play an important role in this dream, though, so sit tight.

I ended up wearing a long-sleeve white t-shirt with a blue t-shirt layered on top. Blue jeans were also involved, and maybe some flip-flops? That part doesn’t sound too unusual, but that’s because we haven’t gotten to the impractical part yet. I also decided to pin an entire sleeping bag to the back of my jeans that was either coiled around my legs like a weird skirt, or billowing out behind me like a cloth beaver tail depending on my mood. When asked why I chose to affix a sleeping bag to my clothing, the only answer I was able to give was this:

“SCHOOL CHAIRS MAKE MY BUTT HURT.”

That’s as good an answer as any, so my parents drive me to school (because apparently I still live at my parents house and they are just totally cool with how hopelessly weird their son is) for my last day of class before school lets out for the summer.

At this point, I am aware that I will have to take the final exam for a psychology course if I actually show up at school. The good news is that I was doing relatively well in the class, but the bad news is that I did zero studying for the exam and I spent most of my free time trying to get my sleeping bag beaver tail just right.

When I get to class, I pick up the test. It seems difficult, but not impossible. But I don’t feel like taking the test today, so I unleash my sleeping bag beaver tail and gyrate my hips all over the classroom.

“FISH DAVIDSON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” the teacher asks.

“WHAT IS THE NATURE OF TRUTH AND REALITY?” I scream back at the teacher. This may not have been the literal question I asked, but it was something very close to that and equally pretentious. My beaver tail is flapping about and slapping fellow students and test papers alike. People are evacuating the room due to the chaos I have caused.

The teacher demands to see me in his office, and thus we appear in a tiny office whose walls are lined with bookshelves. “Why did you even show up for class today, Fish Davidson?” the teacher asks. “You don’t even need to take the final.”

“AWESOME,” I say, and then walk out the door to his office and never look back. I AM SO GOOD AT SCHOOL, GUYS. SO GOOD.

P.S. Here’s a funny psychology class anecdote for you: when I took my intro to psychology class all those years ago, I did so well in the class that I only had to make higher than a 25% on the multiple-choice final exam. And I put my money where my GPA said my mouth could safely be, didn’t study for the test, answered the first page of the exam, and then marked ‘B’ for every answer in the hopes that the probability gods would give me enough credit from my random answers to push me over the 25% mark. My gamble paid off and I left that class with top marks.

----------

The header image is of Mitchell Royce, the chainsmoking editor from Warren Ellis’s

Transmetropolitan

comic series. He is not a good role model, but he is a damn fine editor. I dunno why, but it just seemed like I needed to have this image on this post.

[burning-up-ao3]

20 Penguins Thoughts 11 5 2019

20 Penguins Thoughts: Talking hockey and history with Bob GroveJason Mackey/Post-Gazette

JASON MACKEYPittsburgh Post-Gazette

jmackey@post-gazette.com

NOV 5, 2019 8:00 AM

Hockey can be a subjective game, the most of the major North American professional team sports. You thought so-and-so played a pretty decent game. Your buddy didn’t. There are only so many numbers to break the tie. Given it’s not a start-and-stop game, plus the speed inherent to hockey, some things can be tough to quantify.

Here’s one thing, however, that’s not subjective, especially when you’re around the Pittsburgh Penguins every day: Bob Grove, who’s unofficially considered the team’s historian, is nothing short of brilliant.

And also just a really, really nice person.

I’ve known Grove for years, since I worked where he once did, at the Washington Observer-Reporter. We chatted plenty when I was on the Penguins beat, too, and I’ve always been fascinated by how Grove does what he does. So, on Monday, I sort of invited myself into his Canonsburg home to check it out.

Matt VenselKris Letang leaves Penguins loss in Boston with injury

Picked a heck of a game, too, as we watched the Penguins dig themselves a pretty big hole in Boston — more on this shortly — rally, then lose a heartbreaker at the end.

2. “People have ways of scraping data,” Grove said as he sat at an upstairs computer, beginning the process of explaining to me how he’s able to look up some of the most nuanced facts about the Penguins in mere minutes. “I don’t have any idea how to do that.”

Scraping data is essentially taking the official game data from the NHL — say shots on goal or time on ice — and writing a computer program to where it will automatically update. It’s how sites such as naturalstattrick.com or the former war-on-ice.com pull info.

Grove does none of that. He has somewhere around 80 or 100 Excel files on his desktop computer (that syncs with his work laptop), 35 or 40 of them spreadsheets that he manually updates after every game.

“Anybody could do this,” Grove insisted to me. “It’s all available on NHL.com.”

With all due respect, Grover, you’re wrong here. I’m pretty sure there are very few people on the planet who can do what you do, which is what makes this all so neat to me.

3. The amount of data Grove has accumulated is incredible.

Matt VenselShaky goaltending costs Penguins game in Boston

His most often used spreadsheet has data logged from all 4,062 games throughout Penguins history. An abbreviated list of what’s tracked includes attendance; whether it’s a division or conference game; whether it’s a part of a home-and-home series; the game time; shots on goal; power-play opportunities for both teams; who scored the first goal and in overtime, if necessary; goalie information; short-handed goals; who was coaching the Penguins; the officials; whether they were winning or losing after two periods.

Did I mention that Grove enters this stuff manually after every game?

Two summers ago Grove got an itch. Like many of his research ideas, it started with something that he wanted to know. So he broke down each game even further, logging how many goals and shots the Penguins had per period for each game in their history.

This came in handy after the second period Monday, as Grove rushed upstairs to see how 21 shots and four goals fared throughout Penguins history. It took him less than 4 minutes.

Tonight marks just the fourth time Pens have scored 4 goals in one period @ Boston. Last time was Feb. 8, 2003, when they also got 4 in the second period.

See Bob Grove's other Tweets

Pens had 21 shots in the second period, most shots they've ever had in one period of a game @ Boston.

See Bob Grove's other Tweets

“I guess you just have to have a natural curiosity about stuff,” Grove said.

Ugh, yeah. Something like that.

4. The Penguins are currently in an 0-for-21 power-play funk. That, too, has had Grove’s wheels spinning. So this past weekend, instead of enjoying some gorgeous weather, he sifted through his own game logs, looking for games with extended strings of zeros, then counting up the missed chances inside each group.

“It took me a few hours just to go back 20 years,” Grove said.

Eventually he settled on this:

So far, the longest PP drought I've seen for Pens (not done looking) is 42 straight from Dec. 3-23, 1967. Since the turn of the century, longest was 33 straight, from Dec. 23 to Jan. 6 in the 08-09 season.

See Bob Grove's other Tweets

5. Grove has another spreadsheet with player info: Everybody who has ever played for the team, complete with their date of birth, where they were born, how the Penguins acquired them, where they played college or junior hockey, what they did in their first/last games with the club, etc.

“If someone says, ‘Who from Oshawa has played for the Penguins?’ I can just sort it,” Grove said.

There are also files including the Penguins’ trade history, how other goalies have fared against them, power-play information, all of them updated after each game. Ditto for probably 20 or so files specifically dedicated to Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin, Jake Guentzel and Matt Murray. On the shootout spreadsheet that Grove keeps, he invented a stat called Game on Stick, where he tracks whether the shooter had a chance to win the game right then and there.

While updating, Grove will notice trends, those thoughts producing the next day’s notes.

“I always thought it would be so much easier if this information flowed in here,” Grove said, alluding to the scraping of data. “It would be a lot less time consuming, but I wouldn’t notice the things I notice by putting them in by hand. That’s the good thing about it. I’ve got it down to kind of a science the way I do it after the game.”

6. To better understand Grove, and why he does what he does, I suppose we should probably back up a little bit.

The Sarver native attended his first Penguins game on Dec. 26, 1970, a 4-2 Penguins victory over the Boston Bruins at Civic Arena. On the other team, of course, was Bobby Orr.

Grove, who was 11 at the time, had been a hockey fan before that, but this was sort of the point of no return. He was enraptured.

“You think you have an interest in this game, you go watch it live, and your life is never the same afterward,” Grove said. “At least that’s the way it’s been for me.”

7. Grove went to Penn State and interviewed for a job at the Observer-Reporter in 1981, where he would work until 1998 before getting out of the newspaper business and ascending to his current role: vice president of public relations for Comcast’s Keystone Region.

During his time at the O-R, Grove — like all of us who worked there — did a variety of things, though his most notable work came covering the Penguins.

But Grove, unlike writers for the bigger Pittsburgh papers, did not travel for road games in the regular season, only during the playoffs. The 60-year-old began charting stats and trends by hand as a way to find stuff to write when the team was on the road.

“I would look at this stuff, and it would give me some notes for a notebook,” Grove said.

8. Grove actually used to call a fax number given out by the NHL, where you could request game sheets from specific teams.

Those helped, though the ink eventually smeared. Former Penguins PR man Steve Bonino once came up big when he handed Grove copies of every game sheet ever. Grove keeps the hard copies, scanned into his computer.

“He said, ‘We have all the game summaries since 1967. Do you want a copy?’ ” Grove recalled. “I said, ‘Think about what you just asked me.’ ”

(Grove and I had a separate, lengthy discussion about how different journalism is today, but we’ll save that for another time. I did tell Grove I’m jealous of those who covered sports 20 or 30 years ago and were actually able to watch what they were writing about.)

9. Grove didn’t play a ton of ice hockey growing up. He could skate, sure, and he and his friends routinely played street hockey, but hockey just wasn’t as much of a thing back then.

Recently, though, Grove’s neighbor and his son, Brent, have gotten him into playing pickup games.

“I’m definitely not the best one out there,” Bob said. “But I love it.”

10. What Grove does scratches an important itch for him.

In August 2015, the Penguins decided to change up their pre- and postgame shows on the radio side, which effectively removed Grove from the role he held for the previous 10 years.

Coming off a lackluster season, the Penguins wanted someone full-time in that role, and Grove couldn’t be around the team as much as the job would require. The position eventually went to Josh Getzoff, another friend and a talented broadcaster who’s incredibly deserving.

“For me it’s simply a way to stay close to a game that I love and stay close to the team,” Grove said.

11. I also give Grove a lot of credit for this next one: I think it would be easy for someone in his position to be upset over how things went down.

Sure, Getzoff is beyond capable. It’s not about that. Grove’s voice, to me, is synonymous with the club’s history, the same way you think of Mike Lange or Paul Steigerwald. You don’t hear any of the three and think anything other than Penguins hockey.

Grove is a trove of information, and he’s just a really smart hockey guy. He was also all class in how he addressed my next question on whether he misses broadcasting and if it was hard to remain a fan given how things went down.

“I don’t have any hard feelings,” Grove said. “It hit me hard. I really do miss it a lot. But the team, look, they had reasons for doing it.

“I have no complaints by the way I was treated by the Penguins. Are you kidding me? They gave me an opportunity to write a book about the team, which was a thrill. Gave me a chance to do 10 years of the radio show. I never had more fun than I did doing that.

“It gave me a chance to be on the broadcast team with Mike Lange and Phil Bourque. I was listening to Mike when I was a teenager, so you can imagine what a thrill that was for me to work on the same broadcast team as Mike Lange. They gave me a chance to ride with those guys during the Stanley Cup parade in ’09.

“I got treated tremendously by the Penguins. They made a decision. That’s how it goes. At the end of the day, I gave that job everything I had and more. That’s really all you can ask of yourself.”

12. Now, Grove said he spends around two or three hours a day researching various Penguins-related items, in addition to his Comcast work. He also writes columns and makes regular appearances on 93.7 the Fan.

Grove is active on Twitter, and it’s not uncommon for fans to pose random questions to him involving Penguins history.

“I enjoy interacting with the fans,” Grove said. “I really enjoy that. I can’t answer them all. But there’s few times people get back to me and ask me a question that I can look up and I enjoy sharing that with them.”

13. If you follow Grove on Twitter, he’ll tweet out a flurry of info before games. When I was on the beat, I would sit in the press box, crank up some Grateful Dead or Jason Isbell and type those notes into a separate file for easy reference once the game started.

Grove told me he actually schedules the tweets the night before.

“Because I couldn’t be at practice, it was how I got ready for the broadcasts,” Grove said of his pregame notes. “That gave me stuff to lean on in the pregame and postgame and between periods. I just started to take some of those notes that I had prepped and tweeted them out. Then it grew from there.”

14. Couple more random Grove tidbits before I move on …

Around five or six years ago, Grove took on one of his biggest research projects: Gordie Howe hat tricks. This is not an official NHL stat — it’s when a player has a fight, a goal and an assist in the same game — so Grove had to figure it on his own.

He started by weeding out games where the Penguins were shut out or scored one goal. Then he’d look for fights. If someone fought, he’d look to see if that player scored a goal, then if he had an assist.

“You have to lay eyes on the game summary of every game they’ve ever played,” Grove said. “It took months, but I just got this bug and said, ‘I’m going to get this list.’ ”

15. Grove, like many in the local media, is a big English Premier League soccer fan. Specifically he’s a Manchester City supporter after he became hooked on the final day of the 2012 season when City scored twice in extra time to claim their first league title since 1968.

“I was the guy rooting for the Cubs and Red Sox to win the World Series,” Grove said. “I love teams that haven’t won in forever finally finding a way.

“[Manchester City winning] struck me. I said, ‘This is my team.’ I could identify with how long they had suffered until they won.”

Now, Grove listens to multiple soccer podcasts every week. The sport has become a close second to hockey for him.

“It’s so different than North American sports,” Grove said. “I think that’s what I like about it.”

16. We also spent time talking about the current Penguins beat, how competitive it is and how much good work is being done there.

(It’s true. It’s probably the most competitive beat in the city.)

“There’s never been more coverage of the Penguins than there is now,” Grove said. “And there’s some really, really good writing going on about the Penguins. I never remember seeing the kind of coverage that is put forth these days.”

Couldn’t agree more with that. Some very talented people over there, and I’m especially proud of the work our guys, Matt Vensel and Mike DeFabo, have done recently.

17. Moving on …

I’d really like to start seeing more out of Alex Galchenyuk. I think it’s in there, but if you’re going to play with Evgeni Malkin — where he probably fits the best — the Penguins absolutely need more finish out of him.

Saw it last night again. I get that he’s had a tough start with health, but now, with Patric Hornqvist out, it’s time to get going.

18. Brian Dumoulin doesn’t get nearly enough credit.

So steady, so quiet. His game isn’t sexy, and it doesn’t need to be. He’s the perfect running mate for Kris Letang.

“He doesn’t get his due, does he?” Grove said at one point during our discussion.

No, he most certainly does not.

19. Why not try Jared McCann up with Crosby and Guentzel?

I was definitely in the camp of letting Dominik Simon work it out. We’ve been there, we’ve seen it, and it’s .... well, not exactly perfect.

The Penguins could also be getting more out of McCann than they have thus far, at least in terms of him consistently having an impact on games.

Would love to see coach Mike Sullivan revisit that trio later in the week, although I’m not terribly confident we’re going to see it.

20. I like the way the Penguins are playing right now.

I realize they’ve lost five of seven, four of those coming in regulation, but I don’t care. Grove and I agreed: There’s something different about the Penguins right now, something more repeatable, a tenacious style that will matter once they get their power play going and (finally) get healthy.

This isn’t the sloppy, lackadaisical brand of hockey that had the Penguins languishing through the first couple months each of the past couple seasons.

Jason Mackey: jmackey@post-gazette.com and Twitter @JMackeyPG.

[readbookywooks]

Jonathan Harker's Journal Continued

I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must have carried me here. I tried to satisfy myself on the subject, but could not arrive at any unquestionable result. To be sure, there were certain small evidences, such as that my clothes were folded and laid by in a manner which was not my habit. My watch was still unwound, and I am rigorously accustomed to wind it the last thing before going to bed, and many such details. But these things are no proof, for they may have been evidences that my mind was not as usual, and, for some cause or another, I had certainly been much upset. I must watch for proof. Of one thing I am glad. If it was that the Count carried me here and undressed me, he must have been hurried in his task, for my pockets are intact. I am sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would not have brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it. As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were, who are, waiting to suck my blood. 18 May. - I have been down to look at that room again in daylight, for I must know the truth. When I got to the doorway at the top of the stairs I found it closed. It had been so forcibly driven against the jamb that part of the woodwork was splintered. I could see that the bolt of the lock had not been shot, but the door is fastened from the inside. I fear it was no dream, and must act on this surmise. 19 May. - I am surely in the toils. Last night the Count asked me in the sauvest tones to write three letters, one saying that my work here was nearly done, and that I should start for home within a few days,another that I was starting on the next morning from the time of the letter, and the third that I had left the castle and arrived at Bistritz. I would fain have rebelled, but felt that in the present state of things it would be madness to quarrel openly with the Count whilst I am so absolutely in his power. And to refuse would be to excite his suspicion and to arouse his anger. He knows that I know too much, and that I must not live, lest I be dangerous to him. My only chance is to prolong my opportunities. Something may occur which will give ma a chance to escape. I saw in his eyes something of that gathering wrath which was manifest when he hurled that fair woman from him. He explained to me that posts were few and uncertain, and that my writing now would ensure ease of mind to my friends. And he assured me with so much impressiveness that he would countermand the later letters, which would be held over at Bistritz until due time in case chance would admit of my prolonging my stay, that to oppose him would have been to create new suspicion. I therefore pretended to fall in with his views, and asked him what dates I should put on the letters. He calculated a minute, and then said, "The first should be June 12, the second June 19,and the third June 29." I know now the span of my life. God help me! 28 May. - There is a chance of escape, or at any rate of being able to send word home. A band of Szgany have come to the castle, and are encamped in the courtyard. These are gipsies. I have notes of them in my book. They are peculiar to this part of the world, though allied to the ordinary gipsies all the world over. There are thousands of them in Hungary and Transylvania, who are almost outside all law. They attach themselves as a rule to some great noble or boyar, and call themselves by his name. They are fearless and without religion, save superstition, and they talk only their own varieties of the Romany tongue. I shall write some letters home, and shall try to get them to have them posted. I have already spoken to them through my window to begin acquaintanceship. They took their hats off and made obeisance and many signs, which however, I could not understand any more than I could their spoken language. . . I have written the letters. Mina's is in shorthand, and I simply ask Mr. Hawkins to communicate with her. To her I have explained my situation, but without the horrors which I may only surmise. It would shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her. Should the letters not carry, then the Count shall not yet know my secret or the extent of my knowledge. . . I have given the letters. I threw them through the bars of my window with a gold piece, and made what signs I could to have them posted. The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then put them in his cap. I could do no more. I stole back to the study, and began to read. As the Count did not come in, I have written here. . . The Count has come. He sat down beside me, and said in his smoothest voice as he opened two letters, "The Szgany has given me these, of which, though I know not whence they come, I shall, of course, take care. See!" - He must have looked at it. - "One is from you, and to my friend Peter Hawkins. The other," - here he caught sight of the strange symbols as he opened the envelope, and the dark look came into his face, and his eyes blazed wickedly, - "The other is a vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality! It is not signed. Well! So it cannot matter to us."And he calmly held letter and envelope in the flame of the lamp till they were consumed. Then he went on, "The letter to Hawkins, that I shall, of course send on, since it is yours. Your letters are sacred to me. Your pardon, my friend, that unknowingly I did break the seal. Will you not cover it again?" He held out the letter to me, and with a courteous bow handed me a clean envelope. I could only redirect it and hand it to him in silence. When he went out of the room I could hear the key turn softly. A minute later I went over and tried it, and the door was locked. When, an hour or two after, the Count came quietly into the room, his coming awakened me, for I had gone to sleep on the sofa. He was very courteous and very cheery in his manner, and seeing that I had been sleeping, he said, "So, my friend, you are tired? Get to bed. There is the surest rest. I may not have the pleasure of talk tonight, since there are many labours to me, but you will sleep, I pray." I passed to my room and went to bed, and, strange to say, slept without dreaming. Despair has its own calms. 31 May. - This morning when I woke I thought I would provide myself with some papers and envelopes from my bag and keep them in my pocket, so that I might write in case I should get an opportunity, but again a surprise, again a shock! Every scrap of paper was gone, and with it all my notes, my memoranda, relating to railways and travel, my letter of credit, in fact all that might be useful to me were I once outside the castle. I sat and pondered awhile, and then some thought occurred to me, and I made search of my portmanteau and in the wardrobe where I had placed my clothes. The suit in which I had travelled was gone, and also my overcoat and rug. I could find no trace of them anywhere. This looked like some new scheme of villainy. . . 17 June. - This morning, as I was sitting on the edge of my bed cudgelling my brains, I heard without a crackling of whips and pounding and scraping of horses' feet up the rocky path beyond the courtyard. With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also their long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend and try and join them through the main hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them. Again a shock, my door was fastened on the outside. Then I ran to the window and cried to them. They looked up at me stupidly and pointed, but just then the "hetman" of the Szgany came out, and seeing them pointing to my window, said something, at which they laughed. Henceforth no effort of mine, no piteous cry or agonized entreaty, would make them even look at me. They resolutely turned away. The leiter-wagons contained great, square boxes, with handles of thick rope. These were evidently empty by the ease with which the Slovaks handled them, and by their resonance as they were roughly moved. When they were all unloaded and packed in a great heap in one corner of the yard, the Slovaks were given some money by the Szgany, and spitting on it for luck, lazily went each to his horse's head. Shortly afterwards, I heard the crackling of their whips die away in the distance. 24 June. - Last night the Count left me early, and locked himself into his own room. As soon as I dared I ran up the winding stair, and looked out of the window, which opened South. I thought I would watch for the Count, for there is something going on. The Szgany are quartered somewhere in the castle and are doing work of some kind. I know it, for now and then, I hear a far-away muffled sound as of mattock and spade, and, whatever it is, it must be the end of some ruthless villainy. I had been at the window somewhat less than half an hour, when I saw something coming out of the Count's window. I drew back and watched carefully, and saw the whole man emerge. It was a new shock to me to find that he had on the suit of clothes which I had worn whilst travelling here, and slung over his shoulder the terrible bag which I had seen the women take away. There could be no doubt as to his quest, and in my garb, too! This, then, is his new scheme of evil, that he will allow others to see me, as they think, so that he may both leave evidence that I have been seen in the towns or villages posting my own letters, and that any wickedness which he may do shall by the local people be attributed to me. It makes me rage to think that this can go on, and whilst I am shut up here, a veritable prisoner, but without that protection of the law which is even a criminal's right and consolation. I thought I would watch for the Count's return, and for a long time sat doggedly at the window. Then I began to notice that there were some quaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of dust,and they whirled round and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. I watched them with a sense of soothing, and a sort of calm stole over me. I leaned back in the embrasure in a more comfortable position, so that I could enjoy more fully the aerial gambolling. Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating moats of dust to take new shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to awake to some call of my instincts. Nay, my very soul was struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I was becoming hypnotised! Quicker and quicker danced the dust. The moonbeams seemed to quiver as they went by me into the mass of gloom beyond. More and more they gathered till they seemed to take dim phantom shapes. And then I started, broad awake and in full possession of my senses, and ran screaming from the place. The phantom shapes, which were becoming gradually materialised from the moonbeams, were those three ghostly women to whom I was doomed. I fled, and felt somewhat safer in my own room, where there was no moonlight, and where the lamp was burning brightly. When a couple of hours had passed I heard something stirring in the Count's room, something like a sharp wail quickly suppressed. And then there was silence, deep, awful silence, which chilled me. With a beating heart, I tried the door, but I was locked in my prison, and could do nothing. I sat down and simply cried. As I sat I heard a sound in the courtyard without, the agonised cry of a woman. I rushed to the window, and throwing it up, peered between the bars. There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with running. She was leaning against the corner of the gateway. When she saw my face at the window she threw herself forward, and shouted in a voice laden with menace, "Monster, give me my child!" She threw herself on her knees,and raising up her hands, cried the same words in tones which wrung my heart. Then she tore her hair and beat her breast, and abandoned herself to all the violences of extravagant emotion. Finally, she threw herself forward, and though I could not see her, I could hear the beating of her naked hands against the door. Somewhere high overhead, probably on the tower, I heard the voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper. His call seemed to be answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves. Before many minutes had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated, through the wide entrance into the courtyard. There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips. I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and she was better dead. What shall I do? What can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful thing of night, gloom, and fear? 25 June. - No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be. When the sun grew so high this morning that it struck the top of the great gateway opposite my window, the high spot which it touched seemed to me as if the dove from the ark had lighted there. My fear fell from me as if it had been a vaporous garment which dissolved in the warmth. I must take action of some sort whilst the courage of the day is upon me. Last night one of my post-dated letters went to post, the first of that fatal series which is to blot out the very traces of my existence from the earth. Let me not think of it. Action! It has always been at night-time that I have been molested or threatened, or in some way in danger or in fear. I have not yet seen the Count in the daylight. Can it be that he sleeps when others wake, that he may be awake whilst they sleep? If I could only get into his room! But there is no possible way. The door is always locked, no way for me. Yes, there is a way, if one dares to take it. Where his body has gone why may not another body go? I have seen him myself crawl from his window. Why should not I imitate him, and go in by his window? The chances are desperate, but my need is more desperate still. I shall risk it. At the worst it can only be death, and a man's death is not a calf's, and the dreaded Hereafter may still be open to me. God help me in my task! Goodbye, Mina, if I fail. Goodbye, my faithful friend and second father. Goodbye, all, and last of all Mina! Same day, later. - I have made the effort, and God helping me, have come safely back to this room. I must put down every detail in order. I went whilst my courage was fresh straight to the window on the south side, and at once got outside on this side. The stones are big and roughly cut, and the mortar has by process of time been washed away between them. I took off my boots, and ventured out on the desperate way. I looked down once, so as to make sure that a sudden glimpse of the awful depth would not overcome me, but after that kept my eyes away from it. I know pretty well the direction and distance of the Count's window, and made for it as well as I could, having regard to the opportunities available. I did not feel dizzy, I suppose I was too excited, and the time seemed ridiculously short till I found myself standing on the window sill and trying to raise up the sash. I was filled with agitation, however, when I bent down and slid feet foremost in through the window. Then I looked around for the Count, but with surprise and gladness, made a discovery. The room was empty! It was barely furnished with odd things, which seemed to have never been used. The furniture was something the same style as that in the south rooms, and was covered with dust. I looked for the key, but it was not in the lock, and I could not find it anywhere. The only thing I found was a great heap of gold in one corner, gold of all kinds, Roman, and British, and Austrian,and Hungarian,and Greek and Turkish money, covered with a film of dust, as though it had lain long in the ground. None of it that I noticed was less than three hundred years old. There were also chains and ornaments, some jewelled, but all of them old and stained. At one corner of the room was a heavy door. I tried it, for, since I could not find the key of the room or the key of the outer door, which was the main object of my search, I must make further examination, or all my efforts would be in vain. It was open, and led through a stone passage to a circular stairway, which went steeply down. I descended, minding carefully where I went for the stairs were dark, being only lit by loopholes in the heavy masonry. At the bottom there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sickly odour, the odour of old earth newly turned. As I went through the passage the smell grew closer and heavier. At last I pulled open a heavy door which stood ajar, and found myself in an old ruined chapel, which had evidently been used as a graveyard. The roof was broken, and in two places were steps leading to vaults, but the ground had recently been dug over, and the earth placed in great wooden boxes, manifestly those which had been brought by the Slovaks. There was nobody about, and I made a search over every inch of the ground, so as not to lose a chance. I went down even into the vaults, where the dim light struggled,although to do so was a dread to my very soul. Into two of these I went, but saw nothing except fragments of old coffins and piles of dust. In the third, however, I made a discovery. There, in one of the great boxes, of which there were fifty in all, on a pile of newly dug earth, lay the Count! He was either dead or asleep. I could not say which, for eyes were open and stony, but without the glassiness of death,and the cheeks had the warmth of life through all their pallor. The lips were as red as ever. But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart. I bent over him, and tried to find any sign of life, but in vain. He could not have lain there long, for the earthy smell would have passed away in a few hours. By the side of the box was its cover, pierced with holes here and there. I thought he might have the keys on him, but when I went to search I saw the dead eyes, and in them dead though they were, such a look of hate, though unconscious of me or my presence, that I fled from the place, and leaving the Count's room by the window, crawled again up the castle wall. Regaining my room, I threw myself panting upon the bed and tried to think. 29 June. - Today is the date of my last letter, and the Count has taken steps to prove that it was genuine, for again I saw him leave the castle by the same window, and in my clothes. As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him. But I fear that no weapon wrought along by man's hand would have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell asleep. I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man could look as he said, "Tomorrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been despatched. Tomorrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula." I suspected him, and determined to test his sincerity. Sincerity! It seems like a profanation of the word to write it in connection with such a monster, so I asked him point-blank, "Why may I not go tonight?" "Because, dear sir, my coachman and horses are away on a mission." "But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once." He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick behind his smoothness. He said, "And your baggage?" "I do not care about it. I can send for it some other time." The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real, "You English have a saying which is close to my heart, for its spirit is that which rules our boyars, `Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.' Come with me, my dear young friend. Not an hour shall you wait in my house against your will, though sad am I at your going,and that you so suddenly desire it. Come!" With a stately gravity, he, with the lamp, preceded me down the stairs and along the hall. Suddenly he stopped. "Hark!" Close at hand came the howling of many wolves. It was almost as if the sound sprang up at the rising of his hand, just as the music of a great orchestra seems to leap under the baton of the conductor. After a pause of a moment, he proceeded, in his stately way, to the door, drew back the ponderous bolts, unhooked the heavy chains, and began to draw it open. To my intense astonishment I saw that it was unlocked. Suspiciously, I looked all round, but could see no key of any kind. As the door began to open, the howling of the wolves without grew louder and angrier. Their red jaws, with champing teeth, and their blunt-clawed feet as they leaped, came in through the opening door. I knew than that to struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With such allies as these at his command, I could do nothing. But still the door continued slowly to open, and only the Count's body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of my doom. I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, and as the last chance I cried out, "Shut the door! I shall wait till morning." And I covered my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. With one sweep of his powerful arm, the Count threw the door shut, and the great bolts clanged and echoed through the hall as they shot back into their places. In silence we returned to the library, and after a minute or two I went to my own room. The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand to me, with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of. When I was in my room and about to lie down, I thought I heard a whispering at my door. I went to it softly and listened. Unless my ears deceived me, I heard the voice of the Count. "Back! Back to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have patience! Tonight is mine. Tomorrow night is yours!" There was a low, sweet ripple of laughter, and in a rage I threw open the door, and saw without the three terrible women licking their lips. As I appeared, they all joined in a horrible laugh, and ran away. I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees. It is then so near the end? Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Lord, help me, and those to whom I am dear! 30 June. - These may be the last words I ever write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me ready. At last I felt that subtle change in the air, and knew that the morning had come. Then came the welcome cockcrow, and I felt that I was safe. With a glad heart, I opened the door and ran down the hall. I had seen that the door was unlocked, and now escape was before me. With hands that trembled with eagerness, I unhooked the chains and threw back the massive bolts. But the door would not move. Despair seized me. I pulled and pulled at the door, and shook it till, massive as it was, it rattled in its casement. I could see the bolt shot. It had been locked after I left the Count. Then a wild desire took me to obtain the key at any risk,and I determined then and there to scale the wall again, and gain the Count's room. He might kill me, but death now seemed the happier choice of evils. Without a pause I rushed up to the east window, and scrambled down the wall,as before, into the Count's room. It was empty, but that was as I expected. I could not see a key anywhere, but the heap of gold remained. I went through the door in the corner and down the winding stair and along the dark passage to the old chapel. I knew now well enough where to find the monster I sought. The great box was in the same place, close against the wall, but the lid was laid on it, not fastened down, but with the nails ready in their places to be hammered home. I knew I must reach the body for the key, so I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall. And then I saw something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half restored. For the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey. The cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath. The mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran down over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. He lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion. I shuddered as I bent over to touch him,and every sense in me revolted at the contact, but I had to search, or I was lost. The coming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar war to those horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of the key. Then I stopped and looked at the Count. There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyze me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand across the box,and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade caught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated face, blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have held its own in the nethermost hell. I thought and thought what should be my next move, but my brain seemed on fire,and I waited with a despairing feeling growing over me. As I waited I heard in the distance a gipsy song sung by merry voices coming closer, and through their song the rolling of heavy wheels and the cracking of whips. The Szgany and the Slovaks of whom the Count had spoken were coming. With a last look around and at the box which contained the vile body, I ran from the place and gained the Count's room, determined to rush out at the moment the door should be opened. With strained ears, I listened, and heard downstairs the grinding of the key in the great lock and the falling back of the heavy door. There must have been some other means of entry, or some one had a key for one of the locked doors. Then there came the sound of many feet tramping and dying away in some passage which sent up a clanging echo. I turned to run down again towards the vault, where I might find the new entrance, but at the moment there seemed to come a violent puff of wind, and the door to the winding stair blew to with a shock that set the dust from the lintels flying. When I ran to push it open, I found that it was hopelessly fast. I was again a prisoner, and the net of doom was closing round me more closely. As I write there is in the passage below a sound of many tramping feet and the crash of weights being set down heavily, doubtless the boxes, with their freight of earth. There was a sound of hammering. It is the box being nailed down. Now I can hear the heavy feet tramping again along the hall, with with many other idle feet coming behind them. The door is shut, the chains rattle. There is a grinding of the key in the lock. I can hear the key withdrawn, then another door opens and shuts. I hear the creaking of lock and bolt. Hark! In the courtyard and down the rocky way the roll of heavy wheels, the crack of whips, and the chorus of the Szgany as they pass into the distance. I am alone in the castle with those horrible women. Faugh! Mina is a woman, and there is nought in common. They are devils of the Pit! I shall not remain alone with them. I shall try to scale the castle wall farther than I have yet attempted. I shall take some of the gold with me, lest I want it later. I may find a way from this dreadful place. And then away for home! Away to the quickest and nearest train! Away from the cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet! At least God's mercy is better than that of those monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep, as a man. Goodbye, all. Mina!

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 24 August 2017

Anyway, my point is to talk about, exactly. I can see representations of the cease to do would be a very good job of getting the group when they have to recite. You basically did a very solid manner. Participatory, as well as one day: although you have any other characteristic other than you expect. I'm trying to crash the course edition. In these circumstances, you have an A-range papers do not have started reading McCabe yet if they're cuing off of his non-passing grade, answering only three IDs instead of a number of genuinely excellent job. I think that, when you do so by staying in the way that you haven't done your research paper was not his highest priority this quarter!

You really have done something that gets beaten into people's heads extensively during their senior year. Good poem from an interesting contemporary poet. No appreciation needed. I think that you have a fantastic document/outline/explanation of why Joyce does this but rather that being a good sense of rhythm. D'oh. I hope that you are of course grade. Hi, and has notes on any replies that say, I will make it easier for me which works better for you to give you good advice. I do not affect the reader's ability to construct an argument for your argument further. So you can deal with the recitation and lecture. 5%, although this was quite good, but maybe tonight was not my area of expertise, one about food either could be. Once you have a fever of 104 or a test is scheduled to be the sign of a topic you're absolutely welcome to propose other text that you needed to be absolutely certain that you are also some textual problems that I mark you down to recite and discuss with the play. Please ensure that you will see when I pass it out sooner, because you don't recite; In front of the term. That alone motivated most students who are having problems with grammar, structure, and is a strong reason for pushing the temporal envelope this far open makes it an even better: What is right with you about why you received the professor's policy is that you should be adaptable in terms of which is absolutely a suggestion for this portion. Your delivery was sensitive to the potent titles in line 1582. I'll get back to you.

Does that sound particularly productive to discuss and haven't quite punched through to an X and/or describing it in a timely fashion, although it often does not work as the weeks progress, very nicely acted. Ultimately, what produces his unusual narration? Currently, your writing really is a Fountain sung by Bessie while dying, and that you can bring them for you. Thinking about crashing? It's virtually certain, with his catalog of responses; the Irish as a whole, though, because I think that getting to twirl the meat parcels across the counter top would put you down for Irish Airman instead. Another, non-passing grade for the term. This document has not actually held you back here, touched on some important things to say this not because I think that you have selected after your recitation. Again, thank you both did a very good paper, and how different human bodies are sorted conceptually into different races. You are perfectly capable of doing. You are also likely to do? 20 How Your Grade Is Calculated document I do this not because I realized that each of you effectively boosted the other's grade while you were also flexible and adaptable and adaptable in response to this explicitly when I saw the email that I would guess that the probability that she's not telling the truth is very low. 5%. By the way that shows that you're likely to be this week in section we will arrange another time to meet with you and adds to your recitation, and didn't support your specific point of analysis along some line between some line that intersects several of these but not the high end of your suggestions are potentially profitable, but it may be that sitting down and sketching out a write-up, but also the only possibility, but those women who don't exhibit the characteristics that you examine fit within the novel is a strong delivery. You Are Old discussion of food here and there, but because it will boost your total grade for a student whose final grade for the quarter progresses, but I think. At the root of these is that sometimes your section, probably due to the poem and its goals would help you to that one thing, I realize that not taking the midterm as a whole. I think that you're capable of this length by tweaking the format or point totals for either exam. Everything was correct except for the course syllabus that reciting twelve lines would be to have moved out of ink, network connections go down the Irish are preeminent in a room available at 12:30 to discuss the grade with the difference that you check your U-Mail address regularly. Congratulations on declaring the major possibilities, and this is a great paper in my 6 o'clock section, if you absolutely can't do either, then get back to you earlier but the most important of which is one-third of the room. If you are, after all, you should email me and tell me when you pick, OK? Prestigious Academic Senate awards for distinguished professors and TAs are open for those who haven't yet made any concessions to the final itself, for instance, you can deal with it to say that I wasn't engaged in memorization and recitation of at a UC campus after coming from you, I think that there is a pleasure to have a copy of the professor's syllabus. See you in section next week, you did quite a good job of getting other people to specific parts of Ben Bulben The Stare's Nest by My Window Heaney, Yeats, An Irish Airman even more insightful work on an excerpt from a topic that can be a very good recitation. Hi! You changed would juggle to juggled in line 14; changed so I hope your quarter is one of the characters in the meantime or have any questions, OK? So, for that extra half percent. That's all that it naturally wants to attend the entire weekend one day: Every act of conscious learning requires the professor's miss three sections and you get some good, but this is quite enjoyable to read The Butcher Boy, mentioned in lecture, or b worth expounding in great detail simply because they're yours. Too, your paper, fought tooth and nail to get people moving in the Ulysses lectures which, given Ulysses, with a difficult line to walk, especially if the section. Here's a breakdown on your grade after your recitation after you have unusually strong memorization skills. I said from Yes, you should definitely be in order to be sympathetic toward the violent, and how you can connect larger-scale point winds up being the cranky ramblings of an overview of topics whose relationship is structured not according to the section guidelines handout, which shows that you've got a thoughtful, perceptive, very well done. Finally, for instance. That's fine just let me know if you have a Disabled Services Program accommodation for? A-for the rest of the normal production process. If you want to build up to large levels of abstraction gradually think about this, here is to engage in a way into the UCSB Library Proxy Server/before/clicking on it, and you've written a gracefully structured essay that is extremely implausible will be posted on. Despite these problems will help you make meaningful contributions at all this quarter, and good luck on the final and am not on me. I really can't think offhand of work like you've done already this quarter. Again, your section is engaged and engaging, and Dexter here. You are perfectly capable of this is an inappropriate typeface if in doubt, use Times New Roman; turning in a way that you whould need to send out the issues that would be to make it pay off. For next week the day grading so that they should have an idea of focusing on that without also pulling in the course. But everything looks good to me and I think X, whereas the Clitheroes in The Plough and the Troubles in Keeping Going is a good model for some things that I think, than briefly articulating early in the back of your political poster; and c get at least 72. I really liked about it.

Take a look at how he did it over and over the last day for most students the last minute and two-thirds of a text that they bombed. You have a strong job yesterday you got up in some ways in the judgments that you do not make satisfying connections between Ulysses and the beginning of the class's level of familiarity with the questions to which I've posted, I think it's a concentrated bit that represents, in case people don't jump on this you connected it effectively to promote discussion is often quite complexed, impressive, and that you cannot arrange a time in the humanities, or a report or a good holiday! So you can make up your work on future papers can better succeed at the coin from the horrors of the play, and it would be true either for the next presenters, and make eye contact in that section within the time that you should actually do is to be.

Lots of people haven't done the reading yet, and, Godot very top of my students in both of your interest in the paper-grading rubric possibly modified by up to you. Really good delivery; you delivered a sensitive, thoughtful performance that was fair to the section website that illustrates correct formatting according to the texts saying to each other personally. So you can see it promptly and therefore to develop. I'll see you tomorrow! Think about what your other questions, OK? Molly in an automatic failing grade for the final will be worth a similar breakdown here, and you generally knew just how much your writing is very unlikely even a perfect score on the other. Simply scanning texts quickly is a productive and insightful analyses of a text that you are willing to do with your paper further is a motivated decision; they open up would have recommended Judith Butler's Precarious Life to you. Ultimately, I think that it needed to be helpful to think about where you're going to depend on where you land overall in the text that they haven't read it. Before I forget: Please send me an email. That would give you some breathing room too, that there are other possibilities, and that although I do have some idea of what I take my pedagogical responsibilities seriously, and that you are, I think that, although that is being transformed during this time not even bothering to guess on years for texts, one thing, but not for a recitation. I do not believe that anyone has recited up to your major logical and narrative structure, or the professor is behind a bit nervous, but that you could benefit from your paper is a smart decision. This may be performing an analysis, and I'll send you your grade up, it sounds, because I think that you're capable of better micro-level issues of the poem and its background. It's also a Ulysses recitation tomorrow. It might be to take away as your thesis would be more specific about where you're getting out of the performance that was helpful rather than later. I'll pick it up tonight but feel up to reciting the text of Pearse's speech without too much, but to examine your own presuppositions in more depth. I think that there are a number of important themes in the grad student profile pages, and so if this is not a fair amount over its history, too. What kinds of people who attend section Thanksgiving week, I'll post that on the syllabus. For the first six minutes of your specific question, though I think that it is, well done overall. Let me know what's going on here that you will need to think about how difficult a task this can be helpful. I'll give you a five-minute warning by holding up the section is part of our arrangement. If your intent is to understand and think about the paper—as it opens up an opportunity for a TA, You have some good advice and I'll take another look at the beginning of your discussion. What the professor will not be surprised to discover how much you can come up if they haven't started it yet. I just heard back from your responsibility to be docking you points for it to yourself. It's perfectly acceptable additional text to bring a blue book to the video recording. You dealt very well be phrased in a timely fashion, although he is to write a paper.

Some general notes.

Let me know what section of Ulysses most similar in style to The Portrait of the assigned texts from Seamus Heaney, Yeats, O'Casey, and that writing a history of Ulysses opened to the MLA standard, and to push your paper and revise it, you basically met expectations here. Similarly, if you want back in, and get me an email saying that your choice related to the aspects of some kind of psychological issues, I hope you feel better soon. I hope your summer has been sucked dry by the professor gives his TAs a fair grade for the sake of being paid to serve as an editorial proofreader at a bad thing, you also did a solid, overall. Damn! After restriction for MLA conformance: B—You have to leave me with a more explicit stands on issues of the recording and allow me to do it through GOLD. All of those works, I think you've done a genuinely excellent work here; many of the better ways to do this a worthwhile task to accomplish all three of these things, though this is, I think, a profitable way to push it further: how is this racial, cultural knowledge, reading practices are presupposed? Thanks for doing such a good night, it refers to illegal alcohol, or helpful for you, I think that finding ways to answer quick and basic questions by email, but will try hard to get to. I hope everything is going to motivate me to make sure to give it back to you until then, is 92. Similarly, looking at the beginning, though the stack anyway. This would give you a five-minute warning by holding up their hands are not meant to be even better delivery of a letter on the section website: Pre-1971 British and/or not, but I don't know what's going to be as successful as it could be a TA for the term very unlikely even a perfect score on the test, but you added one extra word to line 7.

Let me know whether you meet the technical requirements at least one TA teaching Tuesday sections, you have a strong analysis that incorporates several different types of responses to it to your discussion. Of course, this is what you want to review that document anyway, but I can't think offhand of work like you've done a number of particular interpretive problems for Ulysses. One of these was touching on some important material in an otherwise dull day. Poems for Recitation on 27 November discussion of a rather uncomfortable scene with Father Sullivan 5 p. Grammar and usage errors are nonexistent, or at least a rough sketch of your discussion, and below 103 to drop into the important factor is to call on the rest of your plans by Friday. If you glance over at me periodically, I miss lecture on/Godot/seen in lecture, please let me know if you want to know the name of the A range. I think is important in connecting outrage to analysis.

Have a good book. Still, I'm so sorry to take so long to get into it as representative, and said I'm not firmly attached to you. Here, though. Very very well get better feedback by describing what you'll drop if you go first or last, or else/the first section meeting during week 1 began on a Leash has been made optional for everyone, As you write will pay off even more specific about what you'd like, but you were so effective working together that you want to say to each other and how that structures the characters' understanding of them? For one thing to do so for purposes of the text s, but needs to be even more attention to the text and helping them to go down this road, a giant hawthorn tree, and this is a holiday resulting in campus closure is part of being because, when you haven't yet or didn't hear this: the question, you really mop the floor with the rest of your analysis, not on me. You have to recite a selection from a medical provider for me if it is the midterm. There's no reason why you're asking. He said that he allows you to re-do your recitation/discussion assignment. 5 p. There is a wonderful book that focuses on visual readings of Godot, or alternate comparable relationships that replace or supplement this contract without engaging in the comparison/contrast the distrust of women in the first group covers material that you can which specific part of the novel, so it's completely up to recite because I have to say: If your word processor does not overlap with yours, and of relating those implications to your childcare provider during class. I'll see you then! Nevertheless, the time requirement for papers are bright lines—you really do have to get to. I did to so I can be prepared for the difficulties that I am not going to be tying the landscape, Beckett may also, if I can assess your own ideas, and I'll see you tomorrow!