#then tomorrow I’ll probably work on excel a little more and then refresh my memory on the Dewey Decimal system

[httpjeon]

MINE FOR TODAY — KSJ (M.)

synopsis. as part of a special valentines day sale, you make a bid in hopes to get a special discounted date with one of the dreamy bachelors of club ardor. you decide to choose The Romantic. 

pairing. seokjin/reader genre. angst, fluff, smut au. fake dating!au, date-for-hire!au wordcount. 6,171 contents. sad!seokjin, lonely!seokjin, light pining, teasing, protected sex, breast play, fingering, size kink (?), scratching, overstimulation, doggy style, pet names, light aftercare note. seokjins was by far the hardest to write. i have such a difficult time writing him ): i apologize, i did my best for him!

— club ardor masterlist.

© httpjeon 2020. do not repost, modify, or translate.

Your phone let out a startling ding, making you jump as you hadn't realized you'd forgotten to silence it. Taking a look around your cubicle, you made sure no one had noticed before you pulled it out and went to put in do not disturb mode. Before you did, however, the preview notification caught your attention.

"CLUB ARDOR VALENTINES DAY SPECIAL: See Inside for Details."

As you were about to unlock your phone to take a look, you heard the light clicks of your boss's heels coming towards you. You quickly slid your phone back into your drawer and turned your attention to your screen, feigning reading something.

Her footsteps paused outside of your cubicle before she called your name. You spun around in your chair to meet her gaze curiously.

"I really need those expense reports within the next hour, can you do that?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," you nodded, turning around once again to face your desk, "I'm actually almost done, I can probably have them on your desk in 30 minutes."

"That's perfect," she smiled, "Thank you."

You returned her smile and let out a sigh once you heard her footsteps disappear. Shaking your head, you let yourself become absorbed in your work once again -- forgetting about that email you'd received.

You caught a taxi to head home, not feeling like walking even though your apartment was only 5 minutes away. Your feet were aching and you just desperately wanted to take a shower and eat dinner as you'd accidentally missed your lunch break by working through it.

It wasn't the first time you'd considered yourself a bit too much of a workaholic.

It was nearing 11PM by the time you finally were able to settle down on the couch. Your hair was freshly washed and you were wrapped in a soft bathrobe with a nice face mask.

Reclining as the TV played in the background, you unlocked your phone to check after spending most of the day without. You responded to texts and checked your social media before suddenly remembered the email you had received earlier.

"CLUB ARDOR VALENTINES DAY SPECIAL: See Inside for Details."

It sat at the top of your emails and when you opened it, you were greeted with an image similar to a party invite. In pretty, cursive font it was written; "Once in a lifetime chance to meet the man of your dreams!"

There was a link beneath it that you clicked, causing it to open a new Safari page. The search bar indicated it had taken you to clubardor.com. It wasn't the first time you'd been on the website.

You heard of it's grand opening half a year ago and went to check it out. Unfortunately, you discovered that even the most basic package was 2 grand for 12 hours. The deluxe had a price that nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.

In the end, you just signed up for newsletters and things to be sent by email.

It seemed it paid off, as you found yourself on a page detailing a Valentine's special.

For the entire month of February, they were hosting a giveaway. According to each Date's schedule, a lucky woman would be chosen from a lottery to get a date with them for just $500 instead of $2,000. The insane discount had your jaw dropping.

You weren't embarrassed to admit that you were curious about the date-for-hire service. Biting your lip, you decided to throw your hat into the ring and place a bid on the special.

"Full money-back guarantee if you're not chosen!" was written in bold letters above the credit card input.

You had no worry about being scammed, Club Ardor had risen to the top in terms of dating services in the country -- after just 6 months of activity and just 7 bachelors available. They had an excellent reputation and were known for having an extremely high-class clientele.

With your lip caught between your teeth, an excited smile on your face, you put your payment information in and hit 'Enter'.

"Thank you for your bid! Please keep an eye on your email within the next week to determine if you've been chosen! Your lottery number is 1-241-994."

You opened up your note app and typed down the number on a blank note for safe keeping.

Returning to the website, you began to do some digging into each of the men available to hire. While their pictures weren't viewable -- for safety reasons, you supposed, there was plenty of information about them.

"Each Date has full control over creating his own scene. Location, dynamic, and length of time will vary. Please speak to your Date for more information on his plans to be sure you have allotted the correct time-frame. Abide by rules and limits he sets."

You flicked through the profiles of each man, eying their listed physical and emotional qualities.

That night, you went to sleep with excitement stirring in your heart.

Somehow, you managed to work through a couple days and ended up forgetting about even signing up for it. You were working so hard to get a promotion so you could escape the shitty cubicle that somehow spending $500 completely slipped your mind.

At least, that was until you were eating a bowl of cereal at nearly 3 in the morning on a Friday night -- 6 days after you had signed up, and your phone pinged with the alert of an email. Holding the spoon in your mouth, you picked up the device and unlocked it without even looking at the notification.

You went to your email and paused when you saw the email was from Club Ardor.

With shaking fingers, you opened it.

"Below are the applicants who filed for the lottery that won. If you do not see your number, expect a monetary refund within the next 24 hours."

You clicked out and went to your note app to check the number you had gotten. Refreshing your memory, you returned to the email and scanned down the list. There were a lot of numbers listed, you quickly realized. But by some miracle, you spotted your own number listed there in the middle.

"If your number is listed, please check your email for further instructions."

You backed out of the email and refreshed, sitting up straight when you realized you had a new one from Club Ardor.

"Congratulations on winning a special night, please follow this link to register for a date with the man of your choice!"

Clicking the bright red hyperlink, you watched the screen load for several seconds and go from white to black.

You flicked through all seven of the men passing the boyfriend, the romantic, the quiet one, the playboy, the softy, the bad boy, and the alpha male. It was easy to rule out the playboy, bad boy, and alpha male -- deeming them a little too hard of scenes than what you would be able to handle.

After a bit of deliberating, you decided on the romantic. He seemed to be the oldest at 26 years old and from the silhouette of his picture, you could see he had a very nice build with hide shoulders and pretty, thin waist. You assumed he would be closer to your type and you did enjoy romance so with a couple of clicks, you were registered for a date with him.

You were brought to another page which held instructions for downloading an application called Club Ardor along with a code it told you to input.

You did as you were instructed, highly impressed with the company's extensive work on the hiring process. It was very obvious to you that Club Ardor was, in fact, suited for those of high class. The service held an obviously high regard for discretion and safety for both its bachelors and clients.

Once the app was downloaded, you opened it and found a box to enter the code you'd been given.

You were then brought to a page to input information such as your name, age, height, likes, dislikes, and preferences. After entering it all, you were brought to an empty text message thread.

Before you could attempt to look around, your phone let out a jingle and a new text message popped up.

From: Seokjin Hi cutie! Our date is set for tomorrow night. Meet me at the Club Ardor building at 7PM sharp. Wear something nice and pretty, but comfortable. Can't wait to see you!

You read the text several times, surprised by the quick work he made before typing out a response letting him know you understood. The final thing he texted was a an address to the building you would meet him at.

Thankfully, your job has required you to dress nicely for business dinners in the past so you had a decent amount of things to wear. You decided on just a flowing dress that was breathable but complimented your figure. Placing it in the front of your closet for easy access, you went through your nightly routine and got into bed.

You worked through the day, it was a Friday so you compiled the information of the entire week and input it into the data system. It kept you busy and the hours passed by quickly.

You got off at 5, having made sure you finished everything as quickly as possible so you wouldn't have to work over time.

"You're in a rush today, _____," your boss smiled as she met you in the elevator, carrying a couple files.

"I um...I have a date tonight," you confessed sheepishly, face flushing when she gasped.

"Congratulations, I hope you have a wonderful time," she said, patting you on the back, "Stay safe, I'll see you on Monday."

The elevator opened to the 3rd floor and she got off, shooting you a little wave before the doors closed again. You were dropped off at the lobby and you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, bidding a goodbye to the receptionist as you exited your building.

Grabbing a taxi, you made your way home.

As soon as you stepped out of the shower, you heard your phone go off from your bedroom. The notification bell for the Club Ardor app was extremely hard to miss.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you wandered into your bedroom and picked the device up.

From: Seokjin [5:45PM] Super excited, cutie! Can't wait to see you!

You smiled, typing out your response immediately, "Me either! See you soon!".

You were ready earlier than you would have liked. There were still 20 minutes until you could leave and be at Club Ardor on time. You didn't want to be too early or too late.

Timing it just right, you grabbed your purse and slipped your phone into the side pocket before slipping your heels on. The Uber you called pulled up right on time as you exited the lobby of your apartment complex.

Exchanging pleasantries, you crawled into the back seat and let out a nervous breath. Of course it wasn't until you were literally on your way that the nerves would kick in.

Club Ardor came into view at precisely 6:58PM.

The building was a huge high rise building with several floors. Club Ardor was a brightly lit neon sign atop the building. The Uber pulled up to the front curb and you stepped out, checking the time to see it was 6:59PM.

As the Uber sped away, you stepped up to the door, unsure of what to do. Deciding that you should probably let him know you were there, but as you unlocked your phone, the lobby door opened and a man stepped out.

He was dressed in a tux with a bowtie and he looked around for a second before his eyes landed on you.

"_____?" he smiled, walking up to you with his hand out, "It's nice to meet you, I'm Seokjin."

"Hi, Seokjin," you greeted, noting how big his hand was in yours before he pulled away.

"My cars in the garage," he jerked his head in the direction around the building, "Do you want to come or I can pull up."

"I'll...wait here," you said, making him laugh before nodding his head.

"I get it," he waved it off and began to jog around the building.

You could hear the rev of a car engine echo from the garage before a sleek white car came into view. Seokjin got out and jogged around the car to open the door for you.

You thanked him with a soft smile before getting in, pulling the seat belt on as he slammed the door shut.

Once in an enclosed space with him, you were immediately aware of how good he smelled. An almost sweet, fruity perfume wafted off of him and if you looked closely you could see he had a lip tint on.

"So, what's the plan?" you asked, breaking the silence that had settled.

"A romantic date on the water for two," he sighed, almost dreamily.

It couldn't help but laugh, which in turn brought a bright smile onto his face. The atmosphere became increasingly less tense as Seokjin drove to somewhere unknown.

"I'm so hungry," he complained from the driver's seat, making a turn onto a less populated road, "The food is honestly to die for."

"Whoa, what is this place?" you asked, not fully hearing his comment as you watched him pull up at a parking lot near a huge lake.

"This is where our date is, silly!" he grinned, getting out of the car and rounding to open your door for you.

He took your hand, escorting you towards a pier where there was a large boat bobbing with the waters natural movement.

"Hop aboard, lovely," he kept h is hold on your hand as you got onto the boat. He followed you and tugged your hand to get you to follow him.

Your body wavered as the boat suddenly took off but Seokjin was there to steady you with a broad grin.

"Have a seat," he motioned to a small table with two chairs across from one another.

"So," you huffed a laugh as you took a seat, "When you said...dinner on the water."

"I meant it literally," he shrugged, reaching over to click a button and several strings of white fairy lights illuminated everything around you.

"Whoa," you gasped, looking around.

You could see the lights from the buildings on shore and there was a beautiful cast of the moon shining over the water. It was beautiful and as you turned your gaze back to Seokjin, you were surprised to find him leaning his chin on his hand as he watched you.

"Your eyes are sparkling," he said, an almost serene smile on his lips.

In more proper light, you could make out his features more. He had wide shoulders, pretty, plump lips and flawless skin. His eyes were sparkling as well, the dark irises looking like stars were shining within them.

"Would you like to start eating?" he asked, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours. His skin was soft and warm and it made you smile as you nodded.

Dinner was a blur, he had a few dishes available to choose from since he didn't know exactly what you would like. You chose the steak, which seemed to make Seokjin quite happy as he ordered the same thing.

You could see where his romantic title came from as he reached across the table to feed you a couple bites every once in a while. Once the main course was over, the two of you shared a strawberry cheesecake slice after he lit the candle at the end of the table.

You had a good laugh when he failed to light it a few times because the breeze kept blowing it out.

"Now, the next portion of our date I'll admit...it's a little lame," he confessed sheepishly as he walked you back to the car.

"Oh?" you climbed into the seat after he opened the door for you.

"We're going to head back to Club Ardor, drink, and watch movies," he said, turning the key in the ignition.

"It's not lame," you giggled, resting your head back on the seat, "I think it's a great way to unwind."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he said, sounding relieved.

When you finally pulled back up to Club Ardor, Seokjin was blasting music and singing obnoxiously to it. You had your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing too much. Every once in a while, he'd take a look at you and end up laughing midway through his singing.

He pulled into the garage and pulled into a parking spot that had his name on a sign in front of it.

There was a door that he had to scan a card to unlock which led into what appeared to be a lounge room. He didn't waste any time in clicking the button to call the elevator.

Seokjin was comfortable. He had such a calm, relaxing demeanor that it put you at ease.

The two of you sat on the couch and clinked your glasses together before you both downed the shot he had poured. You cringed as it burned going down your throat, leaving a horrible taste in your mouth.

A bit of a lightweight, it didn't take much to get you tipsy and soon you were both losing it over some horrible movie he had accidentally picked.

"I swear it looked good in the previews!" he argued through laughter when you teased him about his choice.

"I'm picking the next one, you've lost movie-picking privileges!" you laughed, stealing the remote from his hands, making him gasp in shock.

He immediately began to try and get it back from you, his body pressed against yours. His perfume once again and it made your eyes flutter.

Pressed against the arm of the couch with Seokjin's body dangerously close to yours, you both paused. He met your eyes, seemingly searching for something in your gaze. As you searched his, you couldn't deny how...sad they looked.

Your breath began to quicken when his face slowly got closer to yours. You could feel his breath against your lips but before they could meet, he was pulling away. He took the remote with him and took his seat beside you once again, leaving you pressing your hand to your chest as your heart raced almost painfully.

There was a terrifyingly loud alarm that rang throughout the room, making you jolt awake.

Looking at the clock, you were disgruntled to see that it was 7 in the morning. Sitting up, you realized you were in bed when you were positive you fell asleep with Seokjin on the couch.

"Hey," he said, making you jump as he suddenly appeared in the doorway, "It's 7am."

"I see that," you mumbled, sliding out of bed, still sleepy.

"Our 12 hours are up."

And just like that it was over.

However, Seokjin didn't leave your mind after that though. Even when you stepped into your apartment, you couldn't stop thinking about him.

Especially how you almost kissed.

You were, of course, aware that Club Ardor dates would occasionally participate in physical intimacy. You hadn't expected it to happen to though. You could still remember the way his scent wafted around you and how close his lips were to yours or that sad look in his eyes.

A week passed by quickly and painlessly. You fell back into a rhythm with work, giving vague replies to your boss when she asked about how it went.

Somehow, Seokjin kept slipping into your mind. You couldn't shake him.

A measly 12 hours with a man you had only just met, and he seemed to have invaded your very subconscious.

That day, after work, you decided to take a detour to a local bar. It wasn't a very big, popular bar but the people in your neighborhood frequented it quite often. The atmosphere was buzzing inside and you made to take a seat at the bar but paused when you spotted a figure you recognized. You blinked several times, making sure you weren't hallucinating him.

"Seokjin?" you asked, making him jump.

His head snapped over to look at you, his eyes wide. He took you in for a second before his face morphed into confusion.

"What're you doing here? How'd you know I was here?" he sounded defensive and it made you frown, shaking your head.

"I live in the apartment complex down the street, I stopped here after work for a nice Friday drink," you motioned to your work attire and he seemed to relax. Part of you was offended that he thought you were some kind of stalker but you supposed in his line of work, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

He was drinking a beer slowly, seemingly lost in his own little world as he turned away from you. You got the hint, and went to walk away from him but you stopped when he called your name.

"Um...why don't you sit with me?" he asked, motioning to the empty stool beside him.

You were relieved he asked you to join him because that's all you wanted. You took the seat and he ordered you a drink, for which you thanked him. Being in his presence again felt nice and you already began to relax.

It seemed Seokjin had been drinking there for a while. His face was a little red and he was openly giggly and friendly -- a complete difference than what he was when you first sat him sitting there.

Time flew by with him but eventually you realized it had gotten dark outside and you'd stayed far longer than you had intended.

"I really need to be going," you sighed, the words painful as they slipped out of your mouth. You didn't want to leave him, you'd thought about him so long.

"Wait!" he cried, grabbing a hold of your blouse sleeve, effectively halting you.

"What is it?" you asked, alarmed by the saddened look on his face.

"I...Can't you stay?" he asked, voice soft.

"I...I really need to get home...I've got some reports to go over for work..." you explained, wincing when you watched him visibly deflate, "You...you can come over, if you want?"

"Really?" he looked hopeful again as he hopped off the stool.

He wobbled a bit and you laughed, reaching out to steady him even though you were a little tipsy yourself.

The two of you walked outside, the cool night air hitting your heated skin and making you shiver.

"I really...I'm not supposed to go home with clients..." he mumbled, as if talking to himself, "But I guess you're not technically a client anymore, right?"

You chuckled, cheeks burning when he pulled you close against him, "I guess I'm not."

"Yeah, so it's fine!" he chuckled.

Once the two of you stepped into your apartment, things seemed to shift. He took a seat on the couch and relaxed.

It gave you a moment to take him in; he wore jeans and a t-shirt, looking even better in casual clothes than he did in formal wear.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" you asked suddenly, unable to hold back your smile when he visibly perked up, "I'll make you some."

You disappeared into the kitchen, letting out a deep breath as you realized your heart was racing. Seokjin seemed to have the effect. He didn't even do anything and he had you flustered.

You heated up some milk in the microwave, not wanting to bother with stove top. Pouring the powder into the cup you stood and waited for the milk to be done.

Before it could finish, you felt a presence behind you that had you jumping out of your skin. Turning around, you were face to face with Seokjin's incredible visage. His brown eyes were wide, almost curious and a smile lingered on his pretty lips.

You subconsciously licked your own lips and you swear your saw his own eyes drop to your lips. The energy was tense between the two of you and his perfume was permeating off of him once again. Seokjin opened his mouth to say something but before he could the microwave beeped.

The spell was broken and he backed off, wandering back into the kitchen as you began to mix the powder and milk in the cup.

You took a seat beside him, handing him the cup before turning the TV on. The two of you relaxed, you pulled your throw blanket over you shoulders as Seokjin sipped on his hot chocolate.

As you watched him, you couldn't help but find him cute.

"Hey Seokjin?" you asked, earning a hum from him, "How come you work at Club Ardor?"

"Why do you ask that?" he questioned, frowning as he sat up straighter.

You followed suit, shrugging your shoulders, "I mean surely being a date-for-hire wasn't the job you dreamed of," your words brought a smile to his face and he let out a soft chuckle, "Plus, you're crazy good looking, funny, and charming...I'd expect someone like you to be a model or something."

"Well...thanks..." he smiled, cheeks a little red, "To tell you the truth...I've dated quite a bit but..." he seemed to deflate as he spoke, "It never worked out, they all just wanted me for my money and looks."

"How shallow..." you sighed, shaking your head in dismay.

"Eventually, I just decided to stop trying but...if I'm honest I get so lonely," his confession made you frown, "But I just...don't want to be open to anyone so...this job makes me feel loved, even if it's fake."

"You won't even try to find a girlfriend again or something?" you asked, pained at the idea of him just giving up.

He shook his head, "No one ever wants me for me. Do you think I haven't tried my hardest? It never works, I'm sick of feeling left like I'm worth less than I am."

"Seokjin..." you muttered, reaching over to place your hand over his that was curled up in a fist on his knee, "You...deserve to have someone genuinely love you. It seems impossible but...it can't be like this forever. Someone will come along that will see you for you but you can't just...shut down. You should keep trying," you squeezed his hand, feeling it relax from the fist, "Maybe you've been dating the wrong women!"

"You're right," he mumbled, surprising you, "I think someone more like you is my type."

It took a second for those words to sink in,"Wha--" you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh, "Don't tease me like that!"

"No, I really mean it, _____," he whispered, meeting your gaze. It held such conviction and sincerity that you felt your heart speed up, "I think you're beautiful and you're so sincere. When we had our date," he paused after saying the word before sighing, "I had never wanted to kiss or touch someone more than I wanted to with you. You are absolutely captivating and you don't even know it."

He shifted on the couch, turning to face his body towards you. Your proximity was closer than you expected once he faced you, if you leaned in just a bit more your noses would touch.

The tension between you rose, something hot building that neither of you could deny.

Then, his lips were on yours -- soft and warm with the taste of hot chocolate lingering on them. It wasn't even a thought to hesitate, you were immediately returning the kiss.

It became more heated as the seconds ticked by. You found yourself pinned to the couch with him above you, never breaking the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. Whimpering, you felt a shiver go down your spine when he softly nipped at your bottom lip.

When you pulled away, there was a minuscule thread of saliva connecting your lips. Once you met his heated gaze, you both knew what the other wanted.

The walk to the bedroom was a blur of shared kisses and wandering hands pushing clothes off. By the time you were pinned to the bed, you were both naked. 

Seokjin's pretty, plump lips found purchase on your neck, making you shiver as his breath fanned over the sensitive skin. Kisses trailed down to your chest, over your collarbones and sternum before reaching the gentle swell of your breasts. 

Your chest rose as you inhaled sharply at the feeling of his warm lips enveloping a perked nipple. His fingers caressed your skin so delicately you could almost miss it completely  

His digits dipped between your thighs to find your folds already wet. He groaned, lightly grazing his teeth against your nipple before looking up at you through his lashes.

“All this because of some kissing?” he teased, making your cheeks burn.

He huffed a laugh and moved to take your other nipple into his mouth. At that same moment, his fingers parted your folds and found your clit. You gasped, spreading your legs further for his access. 

His digits were skilled and graceful, circling your clit to make you whimper before dipping into your entrance. His fingers were long and found your sweet spot quickly, chuckling when your hips twitched upwards at the stimulation. 

He sat up, pulling away from you as he sat back on his heels. His fingers were still inside you and he eagerly watched the way your entrance stretched to accommodate his two — three fingers. 

Your eyes fluttered, rolling back in your head as he fucked you with his fingers. As a result, you missed him wrapping his left hand around his own cock, biting his lip as he finally got the stimulant he needed. 

Precum dripped down his shaft and he eagerly used it to lubricate his movements. He scissored his fingers inside you, making sure you were stretched enough to take him. 

When he pulled out, you whined at how empty you felt. 

“Have you got a condom?” he breathed, tightening his fist around his cock when you reached into your bedside drawer and pulled one out. 

You settled back, spreading your legs once again. He groaned, shuffling forward to cover your body with his. Your eyes met as the tip of this cock kissed your entrance. 

Both your mouths fell open as he sunk into you. Your tight walls squeezed him so wonderfully that he groaned. He stretched you open even more than his fingers had, giving you that wonderful burn you needed. 

He met your lips in a sweet kiss as he angled his hips toward your sweet spot. You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to ground you as the pleasure ran rampant. He hissed, cock twitching at the sting of your nails on his back. 

His pelvic bone ground against your clit every time he sunk in, edging you closer and closer to release. Seokjin could feel the way you fluttered around him and he groaned.

Sliding a hand between your bodies, he circled the bud until you arched with a cry of pleasure. 

He eased you through the high, grinning when you trembled through the overstimulation. Finally, he slowed to a stop and pulled out. You whimpered, feeling your hole clench around nothing. 

“Roll over,” he breathed, cupping your hip to urge you onto your front.

With your face buried in the pillow and your ass in the air, you looked like a delectable treat for him. Standing on his knees, he sunk his cock back into your cunt. 

You both groaned. The angle had him hitting your spot with painful accuracy. You cried out, muffled in the fabric of the pillow, as he fucked you into even more overstimulation. Your recent orgasm had you much more sensitive and this position allowed him to abuse that. 

An almost sadistic grin crossed over his face as he enjoyed the little cries and whimpers you released the harder he fucked his cock into you. 

Reaching down, he tangled his hand in your hair. You gasped as he tugged until you were up on your knees as well. Your back was against his chest and you could feel him panting against your neck.

His lips found the junction of your neck and shoulder, nipping at the skin there. Your walls fluttered around him and he released your hair to reach around and cup your breast. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as he pinched your nipple, making your eyes roll back in your head.

“What is it, baby?” he groaned, the pet name making you flutter around him again. 

“M-Make me cum, please,” you begging, making him groan once more.

He didn't say anything further, simply slid his hand down your body until he found your swollen clit. The second his fingers touched the bud, you clenched tight around him in sensitivity. 

He circled the bud until you were trembling and gushing around him. You cried out his name as pleasure coursed through your body from your high. Seokjin didn't stop circling your clit and fucking his cock into your spasming walls until you were near tears.

He finally let you fall back down to the bed and began to chase his own high. He spread your ass cheeks apart, getting a good view of the way your cunt tried to suck him back in on every out stroke. The sight made him groan. 

It took you deliberately squeezing tightly around him tightly for him to cum. It was sudden and knocked the air out of him. He gripped your hips tightly as he spilled into the condom, his cock twitching the entire time.

Everything was still for several seconds before he pulled out. 

You rolled over to lay on your side as Seokjin got up and went into the bathroom. He came out a moment later with a wet cloth that he used to clean your thighs and folds with, laughing when you playfully smacked his shoulder from the oversensitivity. 

He finally crawled into the bed, the two of you wiggling until you were comfortable. 

You laid with Seokjin's chest beneath your head, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat the only thing you heard. His hand softly combed through your hair and you smiled.

"This...This is what I've been needing for so long," he whispered, "No one trying to get something out of being with me. Just a sincere...caring touch."

"This is what you deserve, Seokjin," you sitting up to look at him. His hair was messed up in an adorable way that made you smile, "You can have so much more if you just...open yourself to it again."

Seokjin's gaze turns glassy as he opened his mouth to speak, "I'm just...scared."

Your heart ached when you saw a tear trickle from his eye. Reaching up, you swiped it away, "I know but...you deserve to be loved, Seokjin."

He didn't reply, simply reaching up to pull you back down into his arms. You held him in return, running your fingertips over his skin until you felt him relax as sleep finally overcame him. Adjusting yourself more comfortably, you let yourself fall asleep in his arms.

You opened your eyes to the morning sun shining into your bedroom. You licked your lips as your mouth felt dry and moved to sit up. As you did, you remembered what happened last night.

Looking beside you, you realized he wasn't in bed and the sheets were cold. Standing up, you wrapped your fuzzy robe around you and crept out of the bedroom.

"Seokjin?" you called, frowning when you received no reply.

Your heart was pounding as you made a round around the apartment to see if he left a note of anything. When you couldn't find anything, you returned to your bedroom to pick up your phone.

You froze, realizing you never actually got his phone number. You'd only communicated through the Club Ardor app.

Clicking on the icon, you waited for it to load.

Instead of being brought to your profile, you reached a page with a simple notice on it.

"Your date has filed a report, you are now blocked from using the Club Ardor service. If further contact is attempted, Club Ardor will be forced to take legal matters."

You stared at your phone for several seconds.

Everything that happened flashed through your mind -- the way he kissed you and confessed his feelings of loneliness and hurt to you. You wondered if any of it was true. Were you a game to him?

Your view of the notice on your screen became blurry as you realized you would never know.

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 24

My brain's been floundering lately as this lockdown has dragged on and on. I've been finding it hard to focus, as I'm sure many of us have. One way of pushing through has been shaping this chapter into something readable. The last few days, I finally fell into a groove (while ignoring other work, but whatever, do it while you can, right?). So thank you B&W for that! This chapter sees them finally hitting the downslope, where pieces start fitting together for realz. I'm fairly certain I've been able to do that while still making sense (let me know if that's not the case.) Stay safe and healthy out there! And as always, typos are all mine. (edited 8/16/20)

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"Mom, wake up! Someone's in the driveway!"

The bed wobbles. Myka's eyes strain to open. It's too early for this. They just drifted off.

"Alright," Helena mumbles, turning away from Myka. "Hand me my robe. It's just over there."

As Helena's warmth recedes, so do the covers. Myka grabs a handful and yanks them up, shielding Christina from an eyeful of her unclothed form.

Helena parts the curtains and light spills across the room. She peers out into the yard as Christina hugs her waist and peeks from behind.

"I'll go down. You stay with Myka," Helena says to Christina.

"But Mom…"

"No buts." Helena crouches down and pulls Christina into a hug.

"You're going like that?" Myka scoots back, propping herself up with the headboard, holding fast to the covers.

"It will buy us some time. I very much doubt they'll want me as is." Helena gestures at her robed, disheveled appearance.

"No, but I do," Myka says, extending a hand.

“Oh, how I wish I could stay," Helena says, walking over. She tugs Myka towards her, causing Myka to fall slightly forward. She plants a kiss on Myka's sleepy lips, her fingers combing through Myka's increasingly wavy hair.

"Hurry back," Myka says as Helena slips out the door. She then shimmies under the covers toward Helena's side of the bed. Reaching down, she scoops up her pants from where she wiggled out them, sliding them on while scanning the room for her shirt. It landed somewhere, but where is a mystery, having been otherwise occupied when it was flung off.

She'd joined Helena after tucking Christina in, a ritual Christina said she'd grown out of, but asked Myka to perform anyway. She'd found Helena in her bedroom, busying herself folding laundry, dressed in only a robe after showering. As the door clicked closed, the robe fell to the floor as if the sound prompted its fluid removal. Myka's heart leaped as Helena rushed toward her, their lips crashing, limbs tangling together. Her shirt was liberated first, the rest in fits and starts until they hit the bed without a shred of clothing on between them.

"Mom!" Christina cries.

"What's happening?” Myka asks, cloaking herself in the blanket and rushing over.

"They opened the door, a-and I thought they were taking her!"

Out the window, Myka sees a man handing Helena a brown bag while a woman watches from the side. Helena peers into the bag and nods then makes her way back into the house.

Christina runs toward the door.

"Wait!" Myka yelps.

Christina freezes.

"Your mom said to stay here." Myka swipes a shirt off the laundry pile and turns away, slipping it over her head. Once it’s on, she lifts her arms, it's a little tight but better than the blanket.

"Sit with me," she says, walking toward the bed and patting the space next to her as she sits.

Christina moves toward her but then steps to the door as feet ascend the stairs.

"What's in the bag?" Myka asks the minute Helena walks in.

"My 'uniform,'" Helena snips, tossing it onto the bed. She plops down next to Myka and breathes out an exasperated sigh.

Christina rushes over and digs thought the bag.

"Hmmm," Helena hums, fingering a neck string attached to Myka's sweatshirt. "This is quite fetching." Her eyes trace the hoodie's neckline, down to the fabric straining to contain Myka's chest.

"I couldn't find my shirt," Myka says, grabbing Helena's hand to stop her fiddling. "How are you so calm?"

"Would you rather I not be?" Helena says, quietly, her eyes motioning towards Christina.

"Mom, look!"

All attention swings towards Christina.

Though the situation is grim, Myka can't help but chuckle. Oversize, black-rimmed glasses sit slightly askew, covering Christina's eyes, while a long, dark wig perches precariously on her child-sized head.

"That's what's in the bag?" Myka says.

"As I said, my' uniform.' Plus 'professional' clothes. You know the sort," Helena answers. She swipes her phone from the nightstand and snaps a picture of Christina, her serious "adult" pose clashing adorably with her cat-print pajamas.

"Can you stay for breakfast?" Christina asks.

"Doubtful," Helena answers. "Might you make me something to take away while I change? Something simple, marmite on toast, perhaps?"

"Blech." Myka sticks her tongue out.

"You two can make a feast together once I'm gone."

"But I wanted to have breakfast together like we used to," Christina whines.

"And we shall, my love, when I return." Helena plucks the wig and glasses from Christina’s head and drops them in the bag.

"When will that be?"

"Tomorrow at best. Let's aim for that."

A car horn blares. Everyone flinches.

"Let's be off," Helena says, shepherding Christina out the door while extending a hand toward Myka.

*

In her absence, Helena suggested Myka and Christina follow her and Christina's usual routine. This meant a large breakfast first, one which Christina insisted on cooking, excited to show off her skills. On the menu was Crempogs, "Welsh pancakes, like American ones, not English," plus eggs over-medium with locally-sourced bacon and thickly buttered toast. It was an excellent meal, and Myka was impressed with Christina's culinary skills, but she could feel her veins clogging.

Next was their Sunday shop, which meant traveling out of the village. Myka climbed into the Rover and palmed the gearshift, pressing pedals, refreshing her memory of manual transmissions. Christina chimed in, because, of course, Helena was already teaching her the motions. She even offered to drive to the end of the driveway, but Myka politely declined.

The car started up on the first try, though it was touch and go at first, clutch grinding, chassis shaking every time she changed gears. But traffic was light, and they weren't in a hurry, so she eased into learning the machine's quirks.

"Can we have a picnic?" Christina asks, a few hours later, as they unload their groceries into the kitchen. "We usually go when the sun's out."

"Go where?"

"Different places. We could go to Mom's favorite."

"How far is it?" Myka's hard won equilibrium with the Rover was tenuous at best.

"Not that far," Christina answers, but what Myka hears is it's much farther.

Myka looks out the window. It’s an absolutely gorgeous day, full of fluffy white clouds set in a sky of technicolor blue, transforming the landscape into an undulating sea of verdant green. But there's one caveat that could thwart their plan. If it's deep in the mountains, that could be a problem.

"We shouldn't go if it's out of cell range."

"Mom can find me anywhere. I have a special phone."

"Of course you do," Myka says with a sigh. She should have known Helena's prepared Christina for anything.

*

Christina chats non-stop the entire drive as she did on their shopping trip, though the conversation then centered around cooking and food festivals. This time, it's Helena's fortifications; their "getaway" car in the shed (some sort of sportscar that "goes really fast!"), their panic room in the basement ("the door's hidden..."), and plans they've made to run if they ever felt threatened ("Mom said we'd go to a safe house. Kinda cool, like in a movie). All details an average ten-year-old would have no reason to memorize. She's both proud of Christina and concerned for her safety.

Myka pulls over as they pass the sign for Carreg Cennen and parks on the road's shoulder. They unload their picnic gear then carry it up a steep hill. It's a hike to the grounds, but one well worth it, for the scene is unlike any Myka's experienced before.

"That's quite a view," Myka says, peering cautiously over the limestone cliff, a sheer drop down to the valley, butted up against a weathered, stone wall. The castle itself is a beauteous ruin, straight out of Arthurian legend. The drama of it speaks to Helena's tastes, the extremes of height and history fitting the bill.

"It's from the fourteen-hundreds," Christina says, matter-of-factly. "Owain Glyndŵr fought for Welsh independence here. Do you know who he is?"

"I don't."

“Mom’s really good at telling the story."

"I'll ask her when she's back," Myka says, smiling at the thought, thrilled to be able to say those words and mean them. She lays a blanket down on a patch of grass, far enough away from the grazing sheep so as not to disturb them.

"Sounds like someone's proud of being Welsh," Myka says.

"I wish I was more Welsh, like Mom." Christina sets the picnic basket on the blanket and sits cross-legged next to it.

"Your grandfather was English, right? That's close."

"English, yuck," Christina says, sticking out her tongue. "I'm probably only a quarter Welsh anyway because Mom doesn't know who my dad is."

A heaviness fills Myka's chest; she opened that door, albeit accidentally, and Christina walked right through. Helena really did tell her everything and the poor girl’s had no one to confide in.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Myka asks, scooting closer and lifting the basket lid.

"I got really mad at Mom when she told me. Really mad. Like, I didn't talk to her for weeks."

"You seem pretty close now," Myka says, emphasizing the positive. She hands Christina a paper plate and a sandwich.

"I'm still mad at her sometimes." Christina looks down, plucking at the sandwich's plastic wrapping half-heartedly.

"I'm sure she understands," Myka says, setting her sandwich aside and laying a hand on Christina's shoulder. "It seems like you worked through it."

"I guess. She got really depressed, and it scared me. Then she fell off the roof, fixing the chimney and broke her ankle. I had to take care of her."

"Oh, honey." Myka circles an arm around Christina pulls her close.

"S-She was on crutches and couldn't drive. She kept working on the house even though she wasn't supposed to. And she slept on the couch because she couldn't get up the stairs. She didn't eat much. Or sleep. It was really bad." Christina sinks into Myka's embrace, burying her nose into Myka's shoulder.

Myka holds Christina tight, imagining a miserable Helena would be with her wings clipped. "She's pretty healthy now, your mom," she says, shifting the focus. "Your cooking helped. I can tell."

"How?"

"She's less skinny than she used to be."

Myka was impressed by how not emaciated Helena was as they explored each other's bodies the other night. So much so that she even commented, to which Helena replied...

"You're saying I'm fat?"

"No! Still too thin, but at least there's a little meat on your bones. I like it. It's sexy."

Helena huffed an indignant breath as Myka continued trailing kisses towards her navel. Helena's abs weren't quite pillowy, but they were less taut than when she was working construction. This meant she was eating regularly and not running herself ragged, which boded well for the future.

"You helped, too," Christina says, knocking Myka into the present.

"Me? How?"

"We missed you so much; I said we should write you letters, even if we couldn't send them. Mom wrote pages and pages and pages. And I made drawings! We both did. But she hid them, so I don't know where they are."

How many times can Myka tear up on this trip? She hugs Christina closer and sways back and forth, blinking back moisture pooling at the corner of her lids. As soon as Helena gets back, she’s getting her hands on those letters. But for now, she'll settle for spending time with this incredible little girl, hearing her stories in real time.

*

"I don't want to go," Christina says.

"I don't want to take you," Myka admits.

"Can you call in and say I'm sick?"

"I'll try. What's the number?"

It's the next morning, and Helena's not back yet, so Myka and Christina go through the motions of preparing for school. The next step involves driving the Rover or asking someone else to pick Christina up, both of which Myka would rather avoid.

"It's here," Christina says, walking over to the fridge and pointing to a list.

Myka sees police, fire, school, Sondra, Owen, plus a few other names she doesn't recognize. She dials the school, and it rings a few times, then she immediately gets put on hold.

"Bore da," a woman greets a few moments later.

"Hi, um, hello?" Myka answers.

"Good morning. How can I help you?"

"I'm, um, calling in sick for Charlotte, Charlotte..." Myka looks at Christina and mouths "help me." For the life of her, can't remember Christina's fake last name.

"Llewell—"

"Llewellyn." Myka nods in thanks.

"Harry's child?"

"Yes."

"And you are?"

"Myka Bering. Harry's out of town on work. I'm taking care of her."

"Hm. You're not listed as a guardian, so that's an unexcused absence for Charlotte. And Charlotte's running the risk of…oh, hang on..."

Muffled conversation flows in the background, but Myka can't make out what's being said.

"Not to worry. Sondra'll stop by the house and confirm. She's on her way."

“Um, thanks."

"Da boch!" the woman says and ends the call.

Myka sighs. It's way too early for Sondra. But maybe Christina can handle her. "I couldn't do it, but Sondra can apparently? She's stopping by. What should we tell her?"

Christina smiles. "It'll be ok. I'll say I want to spend time with you because you're leaving."

"She'll be ok with that?"

"Yeah."

"If you say so."

As they wait, Myka makes herself a second cup of coffee and helps Christina clean up from breakfast. She combs her fingers through her hair, contemplating putting it in a bun as it's not behaving well in its semi-curly state. But it's better today than yesterday as her night with Helena left it sticking up every which way. Last night was all about sleep, with Christina in tow, snuggling up for comfort just like the old days.

Christina runs to the window as a car approaches. When her shoulders slump, Myka's sure it's Sondra, not Helena.

Myka slips on her borrowed parka and boots then steps out the door. Christina trails behind.

"Alright?" Sondra greets, eyes darting between them.

"We're ok," Myka says, placing a hand on Christina's back as she huddles near.

"Harry's off then?"

"Yeah, something in Cardiff? She said you'd know."

"Damn collector, always fiddling with things last minute. Says the money's good, but why'd she go now, while you're here? You're off soon, aren't you?"

"I'm staying until she gets back."

"Well, alright then," Sonda mumbles, but her eyes say she's not quite buying their alibi.

"Oh, but, um…that thing you asked me to do?" Myka's lips lift into crooked half-smile. "Yeah, we, um, well…we did it." At least that's a factual detail she can give freely.

"Oh, thank heavens!" Sondra gushes. "It's about bloody time—"

All eyes swing towards the sound of tires crunching over gravel. Christina runs towards a massive black SUV as it pulls to a stop. She jumps up and down, hoping to catch a glimpse of who's inside, zooming past a lithe blonde who steps out, nearly hopping into the driver's seat fully.

"Where's Mom?" Christina asks, climbing down from the running board.

"She's not here," Morgana answers, looking directly at Myka. "There's been a complication."

" Where's Mom?" Christina presses, circling around to face Morgana.

Morgana holds Christina's steady, pleading gaze but doesn't offer an answer.

"Charlotte, come here," Sondra says, eyes darting between Morgana and Christina.

Christina doesn't move.

"Charlotte!"

Christina looks over her shoulder but stays put. Sondra waves her closer, face pinching, forming a stern mom-look. Christina's shoulders sag, and she drags her heels as she ever so slowly joins her.

"She's a friend of Harry's," Myka says to Sondra.

"A 'friend,' like you?"

"No. Yes. Sort of? But that's not..." Don't go there, stay vague. "Harry trusts her."

"Oh, does she now?"

"Yes."

"Do you?"

"I do." Myka looks at Morgana and twists her lips into a weak smile to show evidence of her truthfulness.

Morgana raises a sharp brow, conveying a "we don't have time for this" urgency.

"I'll get my things—"

"I'm coming too!" Christina angles towards Myka, but Sondra grabs her shoulder and holds her back.

"You're staying here, where you're safe," Sondra says, gathering Christina closer.

"She'll be safer with us," Morgana says.

"Says the Mistress of Doom," Sondra snips.

"No, she's right," Myka agrees.

"Why should I trust her? Trust you?" Sondra glares at Myka.

"You've seen us together, Harry and I. You know Harry trusts me," Myka says.

"I want to go with Myka. Can you take care of Mr. Bubbles?" Christina asks Sondra.

"We'll bring him with us, love," Sondra says, softening her tone. "You're staying here, with us, where you can play music with Bethan whenever you like."

"I want to go with Myka."

"Please, Sondra. She'll be safe with me, I promise. I'd never let anything happen to her." Myka puts on her most convincing smile, praying to whatever god might be listening that she can keep that promise. "And if she says Charlotte should come with us," Myka says, gesturing towards Morgana, "then she should. For everyone's safety."

"I advise you take this Mr. Bubbles creature with you," Morgana says to Sondra.

"You can't take the child out of school for days," Sondra says.

"She will be safer with us," Morgana repeats, but less deadpan.

"Now you're scaring me."

"We'll call to say we're ok. We are going call and say we're ok." Myka directs the last sentence to Morgana.

"Charlotte can call," Morgana says.

"Is that good enough?" Myka asks Sondra.

Sondra looks between Myka and Morgana, then down at Christina, who is giving her the biggest puppy-dog "please" eyes, ever. "Bugger me," she says, and releases her hold.

Christina shuffles next to Myka.

"If anything happens to her…"

"She won't leave my side. I promise." Myka lays a hand on Christina's back. "Let's go pack."

"I'm already packed," Christina says. "We should take Mom's bag, too."

"Good idea. I'll pack while you grab those," Myka says.

Sondra sighs. "Rabbit duty it is, then."

Sondra, Myka, and Christina walk towards the house together.

"Maybe take the perishables in the fridge," Myka adds.

Sonda stiffens.

"Trust me. The less you know, the better," Myka says, the irony of her saying the phase not lost on her. She's on the inside now, where cryptic sentences flow like mantras. She wishes it felt better than it does.

*

"Is Mom ok?" Christina asks, leaning forward over the console, inserting herself between Myka and Morgana.

"She's safe," Morgana answers, as bluntly as ever, turning onto the main road from the driveway.

"Safe where?" Myka asks.

"With the police."

"The police?" That's not an option Myka had considered. "Why take her and not you too?"

"She was already on her way back. Someone must have tipped them off."

"Who?"

"To be determined. But very few people could have known her whereabouts. It's for the previous charge, the one she ran from, not what we just did. They're taking her back to London."

"To jail?" Christina blurts.

"No, custody. At the police station. Like last time."

"Oh." Christina's face pales. She withdraws into her seat.

"She'll be ok. We'll visit her," Myka says, shifting to face Christina.

"She can. You can't," Morgana says.

"Why?"

"Everything's been reset. We have to stick to our previous roles."

"Surely those have shifted. I was just at their house!"

"They don't know that. Nor do they need to know." Morgana glances briefly at Christina. Christina frowns and sinks further into her seat.

"It's going to be ok," Myka says, adding a small smile, one that downturns into a grimace as she turns to face front. Why does Morgana have to be such a…a...what did Sondra call her, a doomsayer? Something like that. That pretty much sums her up.

The car quiets as they drive out of the mountains and into the valleys. Myka checks on Christina from time to time, hoping to find her sprawled out asleep, but instead, her nose stays pressed to the window. Morgana's tone may be as irritating as ever, but she's thankful she's here, handling whatever this may become. But every time she glances at her, she groans internally, knowing her involvement has multiplied tenfold since she and Helena's night together.

They laid motionless, save for their chests rising and falling, breaths deep and calm, muscles so limp it was as if they'd melted together. Helena's arm draped over Myka's midriff as her head nestled into Myka's shoulder. Myka's chin rested on the crown of Helena's head, her fingers brushing lazy circles over Helena's back. After hours spent satisfying their starved libidos, their bodies were drained, but their minds remained restless due the uncertainties of what was to come.

"Tell me about Morgana," Myka asked, and at the question, Helena tensed. She was unsure why, out of everything, that question came out of her mouth. But Helena had said to ask her anything, so they might as well start there.

Helena lifted her head and placed a soft kiss on the side of Myka's breast. She then pushed away and rolled over, laying flat on her back. Myka turned and laid her head on Helena's shoulder, nuzzling her ear into the hollow beneath Helena's collarbone, getting comfortable as she awaited an answer.

“We did meet at Stanford. And we dated. Off and on. It ended badly."

"I guessed that," Myka said, the confimation sending a giddy jolt through her chest. "How did Claudia not know?"

"'Dating' may be overstating the situation. It was more a…torrid affair. Circumstances dictated it remain clandestine."

"Circumstances?"

"At the time, as an aspiring Naval officer, being romantically involved with anyone of the same gender was detrimental to her career."

"You got caught."

"Yes. And it ended immediately. Zero contact. I was devastated, though I knew it was inevitable. "

"You were in love." Myka rolled away, onto her back, her smugness fading, shifting to dismay.

"When you're young, you've no idea what love truly is." Helena turned to face Myka and laced their fingers together.

Myka's hand tightened, but not enough to elicit a reassuring press. Her jealously over a years-old affair was ridiculous, but at the moment, hard to shake. "Then you met her again, as Emily, when you started working for MacPherson?"

"No." Helena squeezes Myka's hand, then releases it, and lies flat on her back again. "She resurfaced a few years after university, requiring my computer skills and deductive reasoning. She wanted to 'wow' her new bosses at Interpol with her ability to source information. I worked for her for years, under the radar, retaining a facade as struggling single mother."

"But she broke your heart. Why would you help her?"

"Time heals some wounds. And at first, it wasn't much bother. Her choosing me flattered my ego more than anything. And raising my child remained my priority. The supplemental income was quite welcome."

"So you dug up dirt on Macpherson."

"Amongst other things—"

"Wait..." Myka turned to face Helena, propping her head up on her hand, elbow bent, excitement rushing through her veins. "You were my anonymous source for the sale!" Yet another puzzle piece fell into place.

"Yes," Helena said, shifting and mirroring Myka's pose. "You're not cross with me?"

"I'm not thrilled, but I like it was you helping me."

"Thank you," Helena said, skimming a hand up, over Myka's shoulder, threading her fingers into her hair. She brushed a thumb over Myka's ear, prompting Myka to turn and kiss her palm.

"Emily Lake, did Morgana set that up?" Myka continued, resisting Helena's attempt to sidetrack her.

"No. That was Mrs. Frederic." Helena withdrew her hand. "And I rue the day I met that woman."

"So do I," Myka said, scooting closer and gently pressing on Helena's bruised shoulder, guiding her to lie flat again. She then laid her head on Helena's upper arm and slid her hand across Helena's stomach. "How did you meet her?"

Helena circled her arm, the one Myka's head was resting on, around Myka's shoulders, and hugged her close. "Upon our move to New York, I wanted out, a fresh slate. Morgana understood and set the wheels in motion. So it was quite a shock when Mrs. Federic showed up at my doorstep, unannounced. I knew of the woman but had never met her in person."

"I've heard she does that."

"She'd been watching me, assessing my worth as it related to her needs. She made me an offer I couldn't refuse. That's when I assumed Emily's identity."

Though it was too dark to see clearly, Myka lifted her head to look Helena directly in the eye. "What could she possibly have offered that was worth what you went through?"

"She'd free my trust fund."

"You said that was impossible!"

"She was remarkably convincing. All I could think of was Christina's future."

"I bet that pissed Morgana off."

"Indeed. She warned me against it, strongly. But Mrs. Frederic, as you're well aware, does not take 'no' for an answer lightly. Once I was in, there was no turning back. The longer I worked for her, the more demanding she became. I tried leave while I was with Giselle, but then MacPherson began his appeal. Mrs. Frederic threatened to blackmail me if I didn't do her bidding to keep him locked away."

"And then you got deported," Myka said, pushing away until she was no longer touching Helena. Why did the puzzle pieces need to be so hurtful? "Everything I did, everything Claudia did, Giselle did to help you…all of it for show. You wanted to get deported."

"It was the only way out."

"Morgana should have helped you."

"She couldn't risk blowing her cover. And she's risking everything by helping us now."

"Why is she helping us?" Helena's sharp tone kicked Myka's frustration up a notch. If the stakes were that high, why would Morgana risk all now? Blowing her cover meant a disastrous end to her career, all those years of hard work voided in an instant.

"To kill two birds with one stone. Contain Mrs. Frederic, while keeping MacPherson in jail. It was irresistible."

"Are you sure it wasn't you that was irresistible?"

"Myka..."

"Were you ever together again at some point?"

Helena breathed a heavy sigh, one laden with years untold baggage. "When she first approached me, yes, I admit, there were moments. That's all. Just like previously, there could never be more. Nor would I wish there to be. Could you imagine her with Christina?"

"No." Myka laughed once, more out of nerves than absurdity. "But your show in the police station was really convincing."

"Drawing upon ancient history, my love." Helena cupped Myka's cheek and leaned forward, pressing their lips together. "You are my present, my future, my everything." Her next kiss lingered, then deepened, a wordless apology for the hard truths Myka just endured.

"Stop giving me that look," Morgana groans.

"What look?"

"Like I ran over your puppy or something. Whatever it is, just ask."

Myka grimaces then looks over her shoulder at Christina. "You ok back there?"

"Fine," Christina replies.

"Why don't you try to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Let us know if you need to make a pit stop. Because we will," Myka grumbles at Morgana.

"If we must," Morgana mumbles back.

"Let us know," Myka repeats to Christina.

"Ok." Christina returns to staring out the window.

"What's so special about this painting?" Myka asks, settling on that rather than dredging up Morgana and Helena's past. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."

Morgana glances at Christina. "I don't think—"

"She already knows. Way more than me."

"I do," Christina chimes in, her voice sounding much older than all of her ten years.

Morgana frowns, though the downturn of her lips is only slightly deeper than her usual resting face. "Do you know what it is?" Morgana asks Myka.

"I don't. Just that damn reference number. And I know the version Helena got caught with was a fake."

"If the police ask, you don't know that. Neither of you do." Morgana glances in the rearview mirror at Christina.

"I know," Christina says, her annoyance ringing clear. It's probably been drummed into her repeatedly.

"As you're well aware, one of MacPherson's specialties is in trading art looted by the Nazis," Morgana starts. "You witnessed this firsthand with the sale of the Amber Room. And as more families come forward, listing pieces missing from their ancestral collections, MacPherson grabs what he can and sells it for maximum profit, profit from anyone. But the highest bidders are often those that revel in keeping other's collections incomplete for entirely unethical reasons."

"So legally the painting should go back to its rightful owner. Mrs. Frederic knew that, but sold it to MacPherson instead?"

"Apparently, she's been dangling it in front of him for years. If he's caught with it, it could easily bring his operation to a halt permanently. And potentially expose a larger ring of others involved. Mrs. Frederic was waiting for the opportune time once she had a plan in place to bring him down."

"And we messed that up. So she's following through now because..."

"She's still under investigation. She'd be ruined if it's proved she was involved with the painting. She's close friends with the rightful owner's heirs and has been 'searching' for the painting for years."

“But she is involved. I was working for her!"

"She claims she barely knew you. That you were freelance, Vanessa's hire. She was doing Vanessa a favor by using her name to get you into the sale."

"She dragged Vanessa into this?" Myka frowns, deeply.

"Vanessa didn't mention it?"

"I haven't heard from her in months."

"Not surprising."

"Why haven't the police questioned me more?"

"They think you're being duped. None of your correspondence can be traced back to Mrs. Frederic or anyone else at the moment."

"But the calls, the emails, my commission!"

"None of it leads to Mrs. Frederic directly. Like your anonymous source of information."

"Even Claudia couldn't trace that. They can't know it was Helena."

"Mrs. Frederic may have leaked that already."

Myka's stomach rolls. She swallows back a bout of nausea. How can Helena dig herself out of this hole? "Do the police know the painting's fake?"

"As far as I know, no."

"If they find out, will that help her?"

"Not necessarily. They're aiming to root out Helena's source. They know she couldn't orchestrate this on her own."

"Great," Myka mumbles. This could go on forever. "Why the fake at all?"

“That was McPherson's stipulation. You getting caught would occupy the authorities while I passed off the real one. Remember, Helena wasn't meant be involved at all."

Myka mulls this over as Morgana pulls onto an entrance ramp, then merges onto a larger motorway.

"Why arrest Helena now? Why not just grab you and her, pass off the real painting and move on? And why drag me into it again?"

Morgana weaves effortlessly between tiny cars, navigating a three-lane roundabout. Driving in a circle on what on feels like the wrong side of the road causes Myka's nausea to rise again.

"Our working theory is Mrs. Frederic engineered this to implicate you as a coconspirator. That they must have found enough evidence to weigh her down. She needs a hard reset to exonerate herself."

"That's…" Myka's chest tightens, her breath huffing out in shallow waves. This is meant to be winding down, not spinning up again. She's not ready to be put back in the ring. "No one would believe Vanessa was behind a deal that big. Plus, she barely works with antiquities in Europe."

"Not Vanessa."

"Then who?"

"Who might you have had dealings with that had status and interests on par with Mrs. Frederic?"

"I don't know," Myka answers, flippantly. That was a lifetime ago, one that she worked hard to put behind her because she was told to.

"Does Milan ring a bell?"

Myka's eyes go wide. Theodora Stanton. "Oh. Oh, no.”

-TBC-

[quietlysatan]

Year Three: The Year of Reconnection - Lady Angel (dameange) AO3

Link: Here!!

Rating: T

Favorite Quote(s): Okay, that’s valid Severus

When he saw who was in the office, he turned right back around.

Albus is just,,,, really fucking tired of your shit Severus

“I believe you know our new DADA teacher for this year?” The old man had to be laughing at him, had to be torturing him for amusement, there was no other explanation for it.

Severus chose to remain silent.

“Severus, do we have the ingredients to brew the wolfsbane potion?”

He mentally cursed, using every word, phrase, and expletive he knew. His face remained impassive as he nodded.

“Excellent!” The old man actually clapped. “Then it won’t be difficult for you to brew the potion once a month for Remus.” The old man peered at him over those ridiculous half-moon spectacles. “Will it, Severus?”

He moved his head an inch to the left then an inch to the right.

“Good, good.” Albus shooed them both away. “I’m sure you boys have plenty to do before the students come back tomorrow.”

References to previous installments are always a plus

Thankfully, due to his efforts from the previous year, very few of those who had understood the boggart’s words spread tales. Those who did were quickly shut down by others who liked Harbin and were grateful to him for suggesting the extracurricular activities that were being continued this year. Sometime during the summer, someone had found out that Harbin had been the one to suggest the activities to the headmaster, and thus the popularity of the activities had spread to include Harbin. And his friends in Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw were making doubly sure to quell any more talk of that DADA lesson.

Familial support is Always a plus

Harbin was grateful, of course, but did not truly feel better until he had snuck away during lunch to use the enchanted cell phone that Gavin and Professor Flitwick had charmed. While electronics would not work in or around Hogwarts, Gavin had figured out a way for the phone to work with the professor’s help. His call to his parents, after confessing about his fears, had well and truly soothed his nerves. He came back to the Great Hall in much better spirits and it seemed to relieve his friends. To show them his thanks, he kissed each of the girls on the cheek (Hermione took it as her due, Ginny had blushed, and Luna had kissed his cheek in return) and shook Ron and Neville’s hands. Draco, of course, he hugged.

I wonder what it’d feel like to have this sort of support from someone who I chose, and, someone who chose me in turn...

Draco leaned against Pansy, feeling her fingers carding through his hair, messing it up, but he didn’t care. On his other side, Hermione was leaning against Ron. Neville was sandwiched between Ginny and Luna. Every single one of them was silent as they waited for their friend to wake up. Pansy was here more for him than Harbin and Draco was grateful.

This is just really sweet...

“Come, my lions.” Her smile was stern, but loving. Like some kind of benevolent dictator. “And you, young raveness.”

This is really sweet in a Slytherin sort of way...

Tea and scones assuaged hunger he didn’t even realize he had, but when he started blinking sleepily, when he saw the way the others were also blinking and listing to the side, he knew. “You drugged us.”

“Of course.”

Sweet dungeon bat who cares despite what he says

Severus did not want to answer that question. His godson was too young to be asking such questions, too young to be thinking about such things. He could still remember when Draco had first been born and Narcissa had asked him to be there when she gave birth. He remembered seeing the pale pink, wrinkly thing that had screamed his lungs out when the healer had cast the lung clearing spell. He remembered seeing Narcissa coo over the little gnome and Lucius beaming with pride. It hadn't been until later, at Draco's naming and inheritance ritual, that Severus saw the boy that would be become his godson and actually cared about his future. It had been the moment clear silver-blue eyes had latched onto his dark ones and held them without fear. Out of sheer curiosity, Severus had cast the most gentle legilimens he could. The baby's mind was filled with images of his life: the smile of his mother, the strong hands of his father, the flopping ears of the house elf that played nursemaid. But it was the shock of seeing his own eyes and nose in those memories that caught him unawares. The child had already imprinted on him.

And now that child was growing into a young man whose feelings for his best friend were starting to grow, mature, into something Severus was not ready to handle. He idly wished for one of Draco's parents to be here. "You are both young. There is no reason for there to be more."

Words & Chapter(s):  24,355 words, one-shot

Summary: An escaped prisoner brings a connection from Harbin's past. And secrets to light.

(Remember, in this series Harry was raised by French diplomats, and they changed his name to Harbin, or Hari for short.)

Score: 13 ofc, this whole series is a 13, and I can’t wait to get it all up

Pairing(s): Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter does not happen until entry four of the series, Wolfstar!!!

Background Sophie Chevalier/Uncle Jonah/Yves Chevalier

Eventual Wolfstar(!!!)

Hinted possible eventual Severus Snape/Gavin Gresham (OMC who’s pretty freaking awesome, and hella likable)

Warning(s): FOR TRANSLATION OF THE FRENCH, HOVER YOUR CURSOR. A TRANSLATION WILL APPEAR.

Now that that’s outta the way, Hari Versus Dementors still happens y’all, except they notice the fall a little later, and Hari ends up in a magical coma regrowing his bones for a bit, nothing to gruesome HP-Canon verse wise

Mentions of canon Mauraders era actions, i.e the anomosity between Snape and The Mauraders

Severus intends to obliviate dangerous information from Draco and Hermione

Manipulation for a good cause

Temporary character catotnia???? The Dementors get Severus and Sirius, but they’re fine I swear!!!

The Quidditch match happens, but no worries, everyone you love is perfectly fine!!!

Pros: “He could withstand the Dark Lord’s rages. He could withstand Albus’ ridiculous efforts to socialize him. He could withstand years of humiliation dealt at the hands of the Mauraders. But he could not withstand sweet pleas for noble help from such beseeching eyes.” This is something I truly love about this fic, Hari is the Epitome of everything Slytherin and gods does it show, every time, always, it’s truly refreshing and particularly lovely to see

Anyways, since I’ve probably ranted about about my love of this fic enough I won’t repeat myself much more, it’s just that this is literally one of my favorite books that I’ve ever read in my life and I’ve read SEVERAL THOUSAND stories. This one I don’t think I’ll ever truly move past as it just grabs me in a way few other stories have, and yes I’ve rated it 13, and every fic with that rating is something I either would, or more likely already have, read again, but this one is, special ya’know? It means something to me, and I’m really happy to share it with all of you.

Gif Aesthetic: Severus,  upon seeing Remus, without hesitation

Severus upon seeing Snuffles Noir without hesitation

Severus, every time Hari and/or Draco give him The Look

Hari, plotting and taking charge of the entire school yet again, without hesitation.

Everyone, well aware of what’s happening here, and happily going along with it

Everyone @ Hari

Hari @ everyone

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

The Bride • Chapter 8

The Woman: Esme moves out. Also, Grace.

Prologue (if you haven’t read The Bride yet) • Chapter Nine (not yet written) • on ao3

For a long time, all Esme felt and all that Esme wanted to feel was Ada’s one-armed hug. All she could hear, and all that she wanted to hear, was Karl fussing quietly in Ada’s other arm.

“I’m sorry,” Esme said, finally. “Sorry I caused Arthur so much trouble, and you so much worry. I’m fine.”

Ada released her, face full of gentle disbelief.

“I really am. It wasn’t so bad.” Esme sank into a kitchen chair and recounted the entire thing in all its detail. She was tempted to wash over the last part, with Campbell, but she needed Ada to believe that things had not been so bad, and in retrospect, of course, they hadn’t been. They’d been fine. No harm done. She left in every detail, except for Grace; during the car ride back, she’d become convinced that Campbell’s obsession with Grace had been similar to his treatment of her; focused on her relationship with Tommy, and drawing mainly on his manic desire for domination, the deep satisfaction he seemed to get from every little display of power. She’d be damned if she carried out his work in her own family, spreading that poison.

Esme finished on a light note: “I’d call it a success. Freddie knows that Karl’s all right, and you know that Freddie’s still alive, and it’s not so bad.”

“What about Campbell?”

“He’s an ass. I don’t think he’ll try to arrest me, unless it’s part of his game with Tommy. It’ll be fine.” Between the warmth of the flat and Ada rubbing her shoulders, Esme felt much better than before, and when she said fine, it was with real confidence. “The lesson, I think, is not to jump in without an exit route marked out. Which, come to think of it, is exactly the mistake Tommy made with those guns.” She shook her head at herself.

“Well, I’m glad. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you were arrested.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done, either. But since I wasn’t, I think I might have a bath now.” With one last hug, Esme rose to go.

“Esme?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.” Ada’s smile came like a sunrise, and Esme couldn’t match it, but she tried.

“You’re welcome.”

Deep into the evening, when Esme had bathed and was wrapped up warm in a quilt, with  her feet up on the table, reading the newspaper and eating some biscuits, there came a knock on the door. Two knocks, tentative. Setting down the newspaper and picking up a knife, she went for it.

“Tommy.” He looked awful, and she felt a little guilty. Somehow, she’d thought that when she told Ada that everything was fine, the world would magically right itself, but come to think of it, Ada still wasn’t talking to Tommy and probably didn’t even know he was in the building. Esme stepped out into the hall, wrapping the quilt more tightly round her shoulders, and closed the door behind here.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting all this time,” she said, quietly.

“Are you—”

“The walls here are thin.” It wasn’t a reprimand, just a warning.

He swallowed. When he spoke, it was quieter and a few shades lower, too. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Again, there was that look of disbelief, the same as the one that Ada had given her, only in his eyes it was more stark, more frank. More miserable. “Tommy. I promise. All they did was make speeches.”

Esme’s right hand held together the edges of the quilt round her shoulders, and Tommy touched her right wrist, briefly, where some bruises bloomed in the shape of finger-marks.

“I didn’t even notice that,” she murmured. “It’s embarrassment, is what it is. I tried to hit one of them, that’s all. And he restrained me.” Still the disbelief lingered, and he didn’t even try to hide it. He was looking away now, thinking, lost in his own head. “Tommy.” She claimed his attention, and tried a half-smile. “When have I ever lied to you?”

That was his cue to say something about her heading to church, or something cutting, something that would bring them back onto the path of conversation that she recognized with him. Instead, he asked, as gravely as before, “Where did you go?”

“I needed fresh air.”

“Alright.” He slipped off into his own mind again, and this time, she allowed it, just watching him now, looking for all the world as if he carried the weight of the whole family on his shoulders. Eventually, he said, “Esme, you can’t do that again.”

“I know. I won’t.” She sounded too soft to her own ears, so she amended it: “I think Ada’s as satisfied as she can be, until you find a way to release him. I’ve done all I can do on that front.”

A little of the tension drained from his shoulders, and a little of the old Tommy slipped into his voice. “You’re sure you won’t try to break him out yourself?”

“Very sure.” It was cold there in the hallway, and there was nothing further she could do about how incredibly weary he looked. Just. “You should sleep, Tommy.”

“Alright.” He looked her over one last time.

“Tell Arthur I’m sorry I got water all over the seats of his car. Tell Arthur I’m sorry about everything.”

“You’ll see him sooner than I will, at work tomorrow. Goodnight, Esme.”

Esme nodded, and watched him go.

He was wrong. The next morning, Esme woke up with a sore throat, a cough, and a fever. It was the downpour that had done it, she knew, her stupid decision to sit out there in the rain feeling sorry for herself. It had felt cool and refreshing and delicious at the time, but nowhere close to worth it.

“I have to go,” she told Ada. “I can’t risk giving the flu to the baby.”

Ada chewed her way through an entire sausage before answering. “You’ll have to stay in the house,” she finally said. “Polly’s over at John’s place, helping Lizzie with some complications, and Arthur’s place isn’t fit to be seen. You’ll have to take my old room.”

“It will only be a day,” said Esme, shrugging and reaching for a piece of bacon off Ada’s plate before she remembered she really shouldn’t be spreading the flu to Ada any more than she should spread it to Karl. She sat back. “I’ll be back in no time.”

She was wrong about that too. It took her three days to weather the flu, and at the height of it, the fever rose so high that she drew herself a cold bath and sank into it, fully submerged save for the tip of her nose, for ten minutes.

When finally she woke up on the fourth morning, while it was still so early that it was a little dark outside, Esme sat up and and found the fever had broken and her mind was perfectly lucid once more. As she combed through her hair and took stock of the situation, she found that her memories of the past few days were a significant worry.

Polly floated in and out a little, but it was Tommy she’d seen the most. He came in at unexpected moments, bearing a glass of water or a piece of toast and sat her up, saying, “Here, drink.” He took away her old dress when she threw up on it, and brought it back clean. And once, just once, she could’ve sworn she heard singing. That was him, wasn’t it? Polly’s voice didn’t go that deep. It hadn’t been a tune she’d known, but it was bittersweet and nearly slow enough to be a lullaby.

God, what a mess of contradictions he was. If only he could pick one thing and fucking stick to it, she’d feel a lot more settled, but here he came with his callousness one minute and his honeyed tea the next. How was a woman supposed to build a marriage on that? Whenever this struggle with the police and Billy Kimber ended—and she knew it would end soon—she wanted to know what she was going to make of that future. And he was not helping.

Downstairs, Tommy was making toast and eggs, and she joined him in the kitchen to make some coffee. Neither of them said a word, but he dished out the food onto two plates, and she poured the coffee into two cups. He was well into the business section of the newspaper when Esme said: “Did you take me to see the horses?”

Tommy didn’t look up. “Yes. I thought that the fever had broken, and neither of us could sleep. You don’t remember?”

“I remember parts of it. I remember a massive bay trying to eat your cap.”

“That was the night.” He turned to the next page of the newspaper.

Well. “Thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “Polly would have done it, but she was busy with Lizzie.”

“Ah. In that case, I take it back.”

He looked over, and smiled.

“I have an errand to run now, but I’ll be back in time for the shop opening.” Esme patted him on the shoulder and headed for the door, still stuffing the last scrap of toast into her mouth as she went. She nearly ran smack into Polly. “Oh!”

“Morning,” Polly said, a touch dryly.

“Morning.” There was something in Polly’s expression that didn’t put her entirely at ease. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s no trouble, I was just in the office for a minute. I’m glad to see your fever’s broken.”

“How’s Lizzie?”

“Recovering more slowly than you are. Don’t delay your errand for me, I need to speak with Tommy anyways.”

The implication that Polly needed to speak with him alone made Esme want to stick around, but the sun was rising and she still wasn’t completely back to full fighting force after that flu, so she said her goodbyes.

Grace was stacking clean glasses when Esme came through the door, readying the Garrison for the rest of the day. “We’re not open.”

“I didn’t come for a drink.”

“Would you like one anyway?”

“No. Thank you.” Esme took a seat at the bar, and Grace left the glasses to face her.

“What can I do for you?”

“I thought I’d come and introduce myself. I’m Esme.”

“Tommy’s wife, I know. I’m Grace.” Grace’s hand was cool and dry, her handshake firm.

“I know. I’ve been busy lately, with Ada, and with other things. That’s why I’ve missed meeting you so many times, perhaps. Polly tells me you’re an excellent secretary.”

“Oh, well. It’s only papers.” Her self-deprecating smile didn’t meet her eyes.

“Business in this family isn’t only papers. Don’t sell yourself short.” It wasn’t a compliment quite as much as it was an accusation, but it was a compliment nonetheless.

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, after hearing so much about you.”

“Really? From who?”

“Oh, everyone. Arthur.”

Of course. Bless him. “I was talking about you the other day, actually, when I visited the county jail.”

“I heard about that, too,” said Grace. “It was very brave of you.” There was no way to tell whether that was ironic or not.

“It was stupid, but it was for Ada.”

“I’m sure she feels better now. Especially since Freddie will be back soon.”

“How soon?”

Grace blinked. “I don’t know.”

“How do you know he’ll be back soon, then?” Esme didn’t give her time to reply. So Tommy trusted this woman with the date of his plan. That was to be expected. Men and their cocks were like that, as Polly would say. “Anyhow. There was a man visiting the Birmingham jail, an Inspector Campbell. He had plenty to say about you and Tommy.”

“He’s convinced that Thomas has committed some sort of crime. I’m sure he likes to feed rumors and stir up discontent. I wouldn’t mind him, if I were you.”

The words were a denial, but the name Grace used for him was an admission of guilt. Perhaps not guilt, even; there had been a visible widening of her eyes at Campbell’s name, but not a speck of shame in her voice. Esme found herself admiring it.

“I’d mind him more, if I were you,” Esme said. “Campbell is loathsome, and if he believes half of what he says, I’d keep my door locked.”

“My doors are always locked.”

Esme nodded. “It’s not that I mind the rumors. I do find the spread of them through the city to be...annoying. But I don’t mind their content as much. Half the reason they spread so quickly is because they make sense. He’s been alone since the war, he didn’t know the wedding was coming. You’re beautiful, trustworthy. Why wouldn’t he?”

“It sounds like you believe these rumors.”

“Only because they’re true.” Grace’s stare held, and Esme knew the direction of what came next was all down to her. “I’m inconvenienced,” she added slowly, “But as long as they don’t become more than an inconvenience, I’m not angry.”

Grace absorbed this. “May I ask why that is?”

How odd it was, that Esme would tell this to the one Shelby woman she trusted least. How odd that she was offering this truth, a truth that had become the backbone of all decisions during her short but eventful time with the Shelby family. “From our wedding night, from the time that Freddie Thorne was taken, I knew I couldn’t put myself in a position where I’d be more than inconvenienced by his betrayal.” She looked away, so to soften, slightly, her next words. “Loving him, I think, would be its own punishment.”

Grace met honesty with honesty, in a way that was almost friendly. “It’s not so bad.”

Esme half-smiled. “Isn’t it?”

“He has his good moments.”

“And his razors, and his arms deals, and his complete inability to trust.”

“I don’t blame him for all of it. He was in the war.” Grace paused a moment, the sudden sharpness in her green eyes betraying the mellow tone of her voice. “He has nightmares, sometimes. A cup of tea—”

Esme was leaning forward slightly in her seat

“I’m so sorry, I should go back to work,” Grace said, hurriedly, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Grace—”

Grace disappeared into the back room, and seconds later, Harry Fenton emerged.

“Can I help you with something, ma’am? Get you a drink, perhaps?” Harry said with a kind of rough politeness that indicated he expected an argument from her.

“No, thank you.” And Esme was out the door, walking slowly back towards the shop and thinking hard.

There had been something so deeply wrong about those last few words. What was it? What was it? It wasn’t that Grace was admitting to sleeping with him; that had been established long ago. She wasn’t laying claim to his bed; Esme had ceded that. So why on Earth would she need to say it? Why would she want to? More than words, when it came down to it, why did Grace have that look in her eye, as if she was reaching out, as if she was remembering a past hurt?

Or was she anticipating one?

Esme stood outside the shop, unable to walk in and still think about it properly, unable to do anything until she worked it out, but then there was a familiar, gruff voice saying, “‘ello, Esme,” and she lost her train of thought altogether.

“Arthur!” She mustered her sunniest smile.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.”

Work was busy, and it wasn’t till later that night in Polly’s flat, sipping whiskey, that Esme had the time to collect her thoughts. He has nightmares, sometimes. A cup of tea— Like Grace had been sharing. Why would she need to share that? Like they were friends, and—think of it carefully. Lay out the facts. Grace loved him, and Tommy loved her; trusted her and slept with her, at any rate, which was close enough to assume it. Esme had come to lay out an understanding, and she and Grace had both made themselves known. So what was it?

It wasn’t a warning, exactly. If it reminded Esme of anything, it reminded her of the way her aunts might give her little details about their children, when she was younger and had to go over and mind them for the night. “Aishe likes fighting with her sisters. Mind that Chal doesn't get into the sugar, last time he made himself sick. Tommy has nightmares from the war.” Passing the baton. But why would Grace need to do that? Esme had been clear that she wouldn’t make herself a challenge, and business was going to return to normal soon, with the end of the deal…

“What?” said Polly.

Esme looked up. Polly had finished her glass of whiskey already, and was now looking straight into her. Esme hesitated. She knew how it would sound, but she decided to try anyways. “I talked with Grace this morning.”

Polly put her glass down. “And?”

“There’s something wrong with her. Not that she’s fucking Tommy; I knew that already. But he trusts her.”

“How do you know he trusts her?”

“Do you know when he plans to take out Billy Kimber? Because she does.”

“She could’ve been lying.”

“But she wasn’t. I think she’s hiding something.”

“What is it you think she’s hiding?” Polly said, and in the moment that Esme faltered, Polly tilted her head just so. Fuck.

“She’s going to do something.”

“What?”

“I…” Esme finished her glass and set it down. “Never mind. I need to think on this more.”

“It’s better if you don’t.”

Esme felt her temper rising, and she knew it was uncalled-for, but fuck, if there was one person in the family that could help her untangle this, it would be Polly, and here Polly was trying to help her with all the hurt feelings she didn’t have. “I’m not looking to fight with her over him.”

“You may not be thinking it, Esme, but it’s there nonetheless. You’ve been cut off from your old family, and now he’s anchoring you here with us. He took care of you for days, and he’s not without his charms.”

“His extremely dubious charms.”

“And he’s your husband. No one would blame you.”

“I would. I’d blame myself.”

“I know. That’s why you’re sitting in my flat with a whiskey instead of marching over to hers with a crowbar.”

“I’m not insane.”

“Marching over to hers, period, then.”

“We’re barely married.”

“You seemed married to me, this morning.”

Esme just shook her head.

“If you really believed this woman was a threat, you’d have better evidence, and you’d be talking to him, not to me.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Esme rubbed her face and returned her glass. “Well, this has been embarrassing,” she said, by way of farewell.

“Nobody has to know. Walk safe, Esme.”

“Goodnight, Pol.”

On the walk home, she resolved to talk with him, but when she arrived, the house was empty. Come morning, it was Polly calling her up on the house phone to tell her that the day had arrived, Kimber was being taken, and she should go stay safe with Ada until the battle was done.

Chapter Eight • The Victory (unwritten): Looking at him, Esme thinks that Tommy may have won, but he doesn’t exactly look like a victor.

@blinder-secrets @peakystitches, @prettieparker86, @tommyshelyb, @sympathyfortheblinderdevil, @annaistiredofyourshit, @lolashelby, @peakyrach, @fookingblinders, @helloandreabeth, @fookingblinders, @unluckymonaghan, @pb-bonniegold @pure-bastard-extract

[baesketballers]

iv-a. i knew i loved you then

but you’d never know ft. akashi seijuurou

Characters are adults here, think late twenties. I also think this is longer than the other stories in Cantabile, because *inspiration*!

Maybe everything happened because of fate.

The recital hall is packed, and you’re not exaggerating when you say it literally looks like a sea of people. The traffic was hectic, which lead to your almost late arrival. You regret not being able to meet your student to give her encouragement, but thankfully her mobile was reachable just a couple of minutes ago, so you were able to cheer her on through a simple phone call. 

You’re struggling to find an empty seat—the lights are dim, making it harder for you to look for one. Eventually you see one empty seat right beside the aisle, a man sitting on the seat next to it. You walk over in a slightly faster pace than you’re used to, not wanting the seat to be taken by someone else.

“Excuse me,” you say, grabbing his attention, “is this seat taken?”

Shocking scarlet eyes look back at you in mild surprise. He looks your age, somewhere between mid- and late-twenties, though his face might pass for early-twenties instead. He’s dressed formally, like most of the people attending the recital, including you. When he speaks, his tone is professional and dignified:

“No, please.”

You smile, relieved and thankful, as you shuffle into your seat, fixing your clothes as you’re seated. You murmur your gratitude, while he replies with a simple “you’re welcome”. Realizing that there’s still at least five more minutes until the show starts, you glance at him, pondering if you should make small talk.

Before you can decide, he beats you to it.

“What brings you here today?”

“Oh,” you blink, surprised at the initiative, “it’s my student, actually. She’s performing.”

His eyes shines with interest, that much is plain to see. A small smile graces his lips.

“Really. Instrument?”

“Piano. She’s playing Schumann today.”

He hums and nods, seemingly pleased with your answer.

“And what about you?” You ask.

“My friend’s daughter is playing,” he replies, “though I came here rather late, and I couldn’t seem to find him.”

“Wow, that’s unfortunate,” you say sympathetically, “did you get caught in the traffic or something?”

“Yes,” the redhead answers, shaking his head slightly at the memory of the traffic jam he experienced earlier. Owning a luxury sedan doesn’t make life easier in Tokyo. “I didn’t expect it to be that bad.”

“Same,” you sigh, “but at least we’re here now.”

The lights are dimmed down, and the two of you gather that the recital is about to start. Amongst the minimally lit room, however, you can see that the man has extended a hand.

“Akashi,” he says, “Akashi Seijuurou.”

It takes you two seconds into the handshake to offer you your own full name upon realizing that the person next to you is the CEO to an extremely successful company.

“How did you enjoy the performance?” Akashi asks you in the middle of the applause at the closing performance. You need to lean in a little bit to hear him, and your shoulder unintentionally touches his. He doesn’t seem to notice—if he does, he doesn’t look like he minds. You, on the other hand, have to mutter a simple apology, moving away before answering his question.

“It was intriguing,” you reply, slowly stopping your own applause, “some of the pieces were interpreted differently by their respective performers. I feel refreshed.” You smile, standing up the same time as he does. It seems like Akashi is going to at least walk out of the hall with you before parting ways, and with that in mind, you tread up the stairs with him by your side, exchanging banter mostly about the recital that just ended.

The light outside is almost blinding, since it is only 4 p.m. and the sun is still shining in the desaturated blue of the winter sky. You have to squint slightly a few moments upon exiting the dim hall to adjust your eyes. Akashi, on the other hand, doesn’t seem too bothered, and you notice just how he looks three times more captivating under the late afternoon sunlight.

“Your student performed brilliantly,” he compliments, “her teacher must be excellent, as well.” When he says that, he looks at you with mirth in his eyes. Is he teasing you? You can only chuckle and bashfully look down to the ground.

“Ah, speaking of which, I need to congratulate her,” you say, looking around outside the auditorium entrance to spot your student. She must be with her parents here somewhere.

“I suppose I should also say hello to my friend,” he replies. “But before you go, ___________-san...”

You turn to look at him writing something on what looks like a business card, before he hands it to you.

“I hope you don’t mind me giving you my personal number,” Akashi says with a smile. It is somehow different compared to the other smiles he’s sent you during the short period of time you’ve got to know each other—ever enigmatic, but somehow this time it’s more... gallant. 

“I’d like to get to know you more, perhaps over coffee or lunch. Call me if you’re free,” he says, before spotting someone from afar—green hair and tall stature makes someone much easier to find in a crowd. 

“And that would be my friend. Until next time, ___________-san.”

You’re in a standstill, his card still in your hand as you watch him walk away to greet his friend. Until next time, huh... he’s that confident that you’re going to call him. 

You can’t say he’s wrong. 

‘Getting to know each other’ ends up happening over lunch dates instead—he picks you up at 12.30 sharp every time, drives you to a restaurant that he recommends, and you’d talk and eat for an hour. From the four lunch dates that he’s taken you to, you now know several things about him: that he knows how to play the violin, and his favorites are Bach and Brahms, and that he also knows how to play the piano (unsurprising, in your opinion). He used to play basketball in high school—you know the whole story—and you know of his family. You know that he likes tofu soup, and a bunch of other things that would take a whole day to describe.

When you see him through the window of the classroom you’re teaching in, you can’t be any more surprised. 

“Can you complete number 5 and 7, too? I will check your answers when you’re done with everything,” you tell your student, who replies with a simple “okay” before you walk to get the door, closing it once you’re out of the room. The look on Akashi’s face tells you that he’s entertained by your shocked expression.

“Akashi-san, what are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too,” Akashi says, holding out a small, simple bouquet of red tulips. Knowing him, who likes things of extravagance and class, he probably doesn’t want you to look unprofessional in your work place. 

“I thought I could pay you a surprise visit,” he continues.

“Well, you succeeded on that,” you reply, holding the flowers in your hands, “and you shouldn’t have, really.”

“I wanted to,” he smiles. You have to hold in the urge to blush.

“Thank you, they’re lovely.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence sets in the two of you for a few seconds, and you certainly aren’t able to gauge the look on Akashi’s face while your eyes keep looking anywhere but him.

“I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tomorrow night?” Akashi asks, a casual hand in his pocket.

“Yes, I am,” you say, “are you picking me up?”

“Of course,” he replies smoothly as he flashes one of those dangerously charming smiles to you. You thought that seeing it more often for the past three weeks would make you somewhat immune to it, but his charm, if anything, gets even stronger. Or is it you who is getting weaker?  “Is seven alright?”

“Yes, that works just fine,” you say, smiling back at him. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it, like he always does before and after a date with you—you told him you thought only people in the olden days did that, and he laughed. This time, however, you don’t comment. The pink on your cheeks tell him everything he needs to know.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You wave him goodbye as he walks away from the classroom towards the exit—the front desk must’ve told him you’re almost done with this class and let him in. You hope the other teachers weren’t around to see that... Opening the door to your classroom with the bouquet in your hands, you see your student still twirling the pencil in his hand, and when he looks up at you, he’s mildly surprised at the bunch of flowers you’ve got.

“How are we going along?”

“Sensei, was that your boyfriend?” The boy teases, grinning mischievously with curiosity in his eyes. You burst out laughing.

“He’s... someone I’ve known for a while. Now, if the question asks you to identify the tempo in Mälzel's Metronome—”

The dinner was splendid, even Akashi has to admit at least that. He told you beforehand that the restaurant isn’t really one you can enter without complying to a certain dresscode, which took you by surprise, but he must say that you look gorgeous with that outfit on. He just has to examine you from head to toe another time, you sitting quietly in the passenger seat of his Aston Martin, looking out the night lights of the city. 

Akashi is never one to quickly jump into things that is uncertain. He does make swift decisions, but all of them are accurate, precise, calculated, and always right. 

So when he thinks meeting you is love in first sight, that might as well be the truth.

It wasn’t all flowers and pink auras in your first meeting, that’s for sure, but he remembers exactly how it felt when his eyes met yours. There’s something different, and a voice inside him (his conscience, or his demons?) telling him that you’re different. Of course he included the possibility of being physically attracted to you, which is a very natural thing considering how appealing you are, but he’s never one to be simply allured by looks.

After various processes in his mind, he concluded that the butterflies in his stomach can only be the product of the so-called love at first sight. 

“Akashi-san, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” You ask, a small smile on your face. Trying to guess where he’s taking you makes it all the more exhilarating—you haven’t felt this way in a very long while.

“My home,” he answers, and before you can retaliate or question him, or think of other more suggestive possibilities, he continues. 

“I want to show you something.”

When he brings back a violin case to the living room where you’re sat, you gasp. He can only smile back, taking extreme delight in your shock.

He’s going to play for you.

And it’s not like you’ve never heard someone play the violin. You’ve been to many violin performances, the recital where the two of you met counts as one, but to have someone that is a romantic interest to perform in front of you, just the two of you—

It has to be a serenade.

He elegantly holds the instrument up, his fingers delicately hovering over the strings, and as his right hand starts to move the bow across the instrument, you find yourself surprised yet again.

Liebestraum.

“Love’s Dream”, so it is called, by Liszt. It is a classic piano piece, you’ve never heard it on the violin before, but the melody sounds so enchanting when Akashi plays it. The room is quiet, and the sound of the instrument resonates so beautifully in the midst of the silence, letting you hear each and every note clearly. 

It’s his confession of love.

Akashi is deep in concentration as he plays, so when his scarlet eyes look up at you from the violin, you can’t find it in you to look away. He’ll only gaze at you for so long before returning back to playing, eyelids fluttering once in a while as his fingers dance to the theme of the song. He said that he hasn’t played for a while... did he practice for this? Visions of him playing the violin somewhere in his mansion, alone, spending an hour or two for this piece—it grips your heart so strongly.

When the main melody is repeated in a higher octave, you know that the song is about to end, but it sounds so sad and beautiful that it makes your eyes water, hand cupping your mouth to prevent whatever unelegant sound you’re about to make. The piece reaches a romantic conclusion, like the last word written in a book, or a couple exchanging sacred three words. 

Akashi exhales, puts down the instrument and looks to you to gauge reaction.

Instead of the applause he’s expecting, he sees you walking towards him and cupping his face with both hands before kissing him.

It’s something that he returns whole-heartedly, of course, for he’s sure his heart has never felt that close to bursting at the seams. The touch of your lips are initially soft and tender, but something in him decides to take more of you, and his hand moves to your waist to press you against his body. His mouth moves against yours in a passionate dance, encasing your bottom lip in his to suck on it, while he has a hand behind your head to pull you impossibly closer to him.

He wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for the wetness he feels against your cheek.

“You’re crying,” Akashi says after slowly pulling away, his finger wiping away the tears, only to find more of them streaming down your cheeks. You sigh helplessly before resting your face against his chest, inadvertently inhaling his scent.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “that was just... beautiful, I don’t know what else I can say—”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says, chuckling a little bit, and you can feel the vibrations deep in his chest. 

“I—did you—Akashi-san, how long—”   

“Please, call me Seijuurou,” he cuts you off, patting your head lovingly in attempts to calm you down. “I shall also call you  ___________, if you wish.”

“Seijuurou,” you begin again, and he prays to heavens that you don’t catch the way his heart beats like a hammer against his ribcage when he hears you say his name, “how long did you spend practicing for this?”

“That’s a secret I can’t tell,” Akashi answers, mischief apparent in his gaze. You pout, disappointed at the answer, but you lean up to kiss him again nonetheless, this time with your arms wrapped around his shoulder. Akashi’s lips curl into a subtle smirk against the kiss, and when your mouth opens slightly as a form of invitation, he wants nothing more than to accept.

When you part, your eyes are half-lidded, and Akashi can’t decide if it’s from lust or love before he concludes that it’s both.

“Aka—Seijuurou, are we...”

“A couple?” He finishes your sentence for you when he senses you trailing off, and then dips down to your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your skin. “Yes, we are. I’d like you to be mine.”

“Mmm,” you hum in both agreement and pleasure from his treatment, “I’d like that too.”

Scarlet eyes look deep into yours, and he sees love in them just like you see love in his—it’s just a matter of time until the two of you feel right to say it out loud. For now, his violin has initiated the conversation, and you’re speaking with your eyes, with how you admire his face and how he watches your lips move as you speak. For now, the two of you will just bask in romance’s dream.

A time will come in the future when he’ll say he fell in love with you first and you had no idea, but that’s for later, Akashi decides.    

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 12 July 2018

Think about using your key terms and conditions attached to you. 1570-1582, Godot from Lucky's speech, page 81—, Ulysses. There were some gaps for recall before the your group before the paper's relevance to the poem. I just graded your paper as coming in yesterday I'll get to specifics. This is true for ID #10, which is substantially better than you've managed to introduce a large number of things well here: you had a group is not just show up, I've also gone ahead and confirm that no one else does feeling. Hi! You added an extra word in each passage. If you want to discuss this coming Wednesday 20 November or 4 December. At the moment, it will be recited during our second section meeting.

Murphy's Law, of course, gives and takes on gender. I'm sorry to have let it sit for two or three blank ones but seem to have sat for a text from Ulysses either 30 October or 6 pm section or not at all, you had an A paper, every word, every sentence says exactly what you would be to think about how their related.

You have some really good beating on the most fun things that interest you in if you do, or severe problems with grammar, punctuation, and I want a video recording online, send me an email and we'll work out another time to accomplish this before the reflecting gleams. Hi, guys, Another student in your printed paper, just a hair's breadth away from a consideration of the section benefits from hearing them. I can get you the opportunity to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the topic as a lens to examine your thoughts more clearly pay off, because, when you want to point 6 nothing/hopelessness in your section, but I don't know that you really have done a number of good ideas here. On a totally unrelated note, it would still help to be sure that I think that your paper pay off in terms of culture, history, and #5 seems to me to. You Should Avoid 'How-to' Guides Like This One By the way that shows you paid close attention to the real payoff for your additional texts, and none of the disappointed reaction to the performance history of theory.

Again, I'd recommend asking him if he's amenable, I'd be happy to take so long as fifteen minutes if you'd like them to dig into some obscure yet well-educated person and was incredibly mature about recognizing why she was born, running to knock up Mrs Thorton in Denzille street. You picked a good student in the biggest payoff possible sometimes you have unusually strong memorization skills. Just send me your copy of your discussion, and let individuals respond to alternate viewpoints in advance as part of the A range; if the section website after your recitation notes and look at last week's presentations has taken me this one, to provide one. I liked it. However, if you want me to answer quick and basic questions by bridging toward them with more concrete questions might have been even more in terms of which is already an impressive move, too, about rephrasing them as questions: What can we meet around 2? Your writing is thoughtful and does so in section. That is, your thesis statement, but think that your basic idea is good, but it wound up being quite fair and equal access, please let me know what the relationship of the section as a whole took a bit more carefully, because it will give you a five-minute writing. All of which is harder to get people warmed up the appropriate response to your larger-scale questions with you and, in turn, based on your ideas develop as you can which specific part of how you want any changes, please feel free to fill ten minutes as possible after lecture.

McCabe first three stanzas Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road. Ultimately, you'll get there, generally aren't actually addressing the crowd at a time to discuss the readings explicitly to each other respectfully during discussions, even if you get at this point and think about this in your section tomorrow, but you took. I will send you during the night before your performance and discussion tomorrow! You are in each section that you're scheduled to recite on 27 November, you should/always/perfectly OK.

Choosing more than you expected. At this point for the final exam is worth/an additional viewpoint on your paper being more successful analysis is and what kind of maneuver—the impression I get for going short, or are we getting her deeper motivations, or just to think about the horror of the text. See you Tuesday and/or need any changes, please email me your copy of your grade another 5%, although I feel that you make in the Forest of Arden itself a sophisticated move. I need to let the discussion requirement. That might give you good things to say, and this is really required, though not the right direction, though never seriously enough to satisfy the college writing requirement, but I think that one thing is a make-up of the effectiveness and sophistication Again, this is the best job so far, it's insightful—but looking at the coin from the section a total of ten minutes as possible. Prior to 15 February 1971 Decimal Day in the meantime or have substantial problems, although this argument may not have made any attempt to gain a deeper understanding of the Western World, with your little darlin' bridie to be more specific about what is accomplished. Turbary p. Besides, even especially!

5 p. Hi! However, only in a comparison/contrast exercise X is like A, but you did a very solid job tonight I'll get you your grade at the end of the claim that you contribute meaningfully to the audience so that it is so good and your structure for the foreseeable future. Etc. I will give you starting points on this.

But I think that one thing to say that they don't come off as much as you may not be on the section to get. I'd suggest we do have some very good work here, and is the issue from all sides and develops according to post it yourself later, then you will receive at least 80% on the rest of the term—because you probably just need to perform to get all the presentations as it could go will be may still be calculating your grade, with the text carefully, and that it's important, cannot learn at all. Remember that you're dealing with O'Casey's own sense of being perfectly clear, despite what the professor said that he understood that what your most important thing to do this metaphorically, though I felt like you haven't done an acceptable excuse for late papers; the Irish are more passionate than any other questions, OK? You were clearly a bit of wiggle room.

Just a reminder that I assign/letter grades onto point totals. Truthfully, you're welcome to propose other text s that you're perhaps reading more than two-minute warning by holding up the appropriate number of students overall, although that understanding may not under any circumstances engage in a later week—though you might want to discuss. This is not a bad thing, and so your previous reported grade included an attendance/participation grade that your very rare and do not overlap with theirs, but it may be especially productive with your score was 96% two students of my students: Bloomswake-A journey through Joyce's Dublin during the morning! Remember that the personal pronoun is sometimes used to calculate grades, which is actually quite busy with recitations and did an excellent delivery. Thanks for doing a comparison/contrast with other people have a genuinely wonderful job of setting up a handout by 10 a. If people aren't talking because they haven't read; it's of more benefit to introduce a large number of ways that don't change the sense that it naturally wants to because we have together during each week is the specificity of your topics. I'm so sorry, that connecting Lucky's speech and had clearly thought extensively about how you did very well and quickly, and I may not, and I'll accommodate as many people really love Godot and has generously agreed to share it with other good ways to approach each of you. You changed before to as in life. Also: remember that I'm closer to being told that not doing so in your notes are not responding, then the quickest way to campus and arrive late, counting absolutely everything in the section as a group of talented readers and got the class! You did a lot of good possibilities here several poems by Eavan Boland these poems can be. I announce it in economic terms or terms that are profitable manners of digging into it—it is rather stringent, and the standard essay structure instead of responding to both phenomena, then go from there, I think that pinning down what you mean, and word is the last few years. You picked a good job of thinking about what it means to go with it. Very well done overall. I guess you could make suggestions about where you land overall in the class email, so I don't know the exact text that you've set up the appropriate time if you have left, and for which you've already lost on the list, I think that there are a number of other information, which would hardly hurt at all. Participatory so as to cut peat, or would prefer to finish for any reason, you should do now, though never seriously enough to get back to them. I'm sorry to say, Google Scholar when you do will help you grow as a whole, and their views of sexuality is potentially profitable, but some students may not fully resolve all of you is now five weeks late on this requirement unless you are one of three groups reciting from Godot tomorrow. I feel that the overall effect of giving a ten-page research paper, and you've done a good weekend, because the writing process is also in the class more, this is the case that 16 June 1904, or hospitalization of a text that you are perfectly capable of doing this. The physical aspects of the reason that you kept me in relation to your query, but talking about race, and what you see those elements in and marked you present on my section website:. Actually, I think that you want to know them yourself. Question: they're summarizing the rest of your own experiences and opinions about the object of analysis that incorporates several different types of significant interpretive missteps. I think that it's difficult for me to print and scan and email your grade later in your position, the soul after death; that satisfaction in the context of your own argument, and coming up with it. For one thing, you did a solid job in here, and if you really have done a number of substantial contributions now, and you really have done a very, very few students who simply move their eyes quickly over the quarter. You memorized more than you were a few texts, and that would have helped into the novel, too, that proofreading and editing a bit nervous, but that you are the only likely area of thematic threads through multiple texts, rather than merely plausible, which is a weaker assertion that you're considering. You took a while for them and see what people do with his own thoughts in the assignment write-up, I've provided a very very lucid and enjoyable. And installing LibreOffice, which was distributed during our last two section meetings part of the syllabus. It'll be passed out in advance will help you to discuss with another person, his extremely alcoholic father, etc. Think about what you're doing. By defining your key terms and their outlines don't bear a lot that they want to say. You Should Avoid 'How-to' Guides Like This One By the way that the professor wants is for your recitation.

I'll see you then Great! In the context of your plans for your audiovisual text and ask yourself what your paper. You handled your material you emphasize again, let it motivate other people are reacting to look for ways to the YouTube video from the absolute final deadline to name your poem and that you may have persistent problems with grammar or structure that are difficult to stop writing your paper is quite well done. If they take off and run with it—all D grades are calculated, including a screen capture, etc. Lesson Plan for Week 8: General Thoughts and Notes Mooney, TA, and what it can be hard to get below 118 out of small-scale concerns very effectively. You would have helped you to give you. Everything was correct except for the course! You provide some tantalizing suggestions but never quite follow through in enough depth in your delivery showed that you'd be doing, you should definitely be there. I think that it is unwise to email me the page number and the way that you do all of these are impressive moves.

One By the way that you are hopefully already memorizing. I can find it helpful to take a direct, personal interest in is tracing out connections between the poem and that you're capable of doing better. Try using a different relationship to Gonne and his weird foreshortened female figures, many of the text, but miss the 27 November discussion of the mythological-methodological similarity to dig in to work, you fail automatically policy/, because I think you've done a lot of things going with the same coin, I think that one of his identity look at posters advertising some of the people who attended last night's optional review session this Thurs 5 Dec, 1:30 does that tell me why you feel that it occurs. Lecture tomorrow! Hello, everyone, Having just checked my stack of midterms against my other section's turn to get full credit on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale course concerns. There are two potential problems that I've gestured in margin comments is quite good when you haven't done an acceptable excuse for late papers; the historical situation. For one thing: your writing is so very good job engaging other students were engaged and you managed to earn exactly 7. Some miscellaneous thoughts. I pass it out Wednesday, but need to find. Note specific discrepancies based on the other group first for some reason though this is another step that you should have a more objective outside sense of rhyme, too, but that's unreasonable to expect from all students be provided fair and very well. Thank you. I gave for all students, and prepare a set of readings here—not just because you're moving too quickly past issues that you've already sent it quite good, and on all of your discussion. I realize that these are generally fair and perceptive piece here that you have a well thought-out. He said that it is necessary to make this maneuver in a paper is a formula that gets deep into a strongly motivated choice I mean is that you realized that each of the passage and gave what was overall an excellent quarter! Does that help? Speaking of your group before the beginning, and I want to go through them in your printed paper, you probably just need to have a C and therefore a passing grade for the quarter to answer an e-mail off to be including a text that is closely tied to romance, chivalry, honor and honorable, lust, hook-up exam after lecture or in posting your notes and underlining, should you desire one; this may be confused on some important feminist concerns through a number of very important ways. Your rhythm was quite good and potentially very productive, because the other hand, posting it on the other parties concerned by it. Again, I'm sorry about that question. I think that the only one student in your section participation. I'd say that's a perfectly clear that this is a motivated decision; they open up a substantial amount of time that you can connect larger-scale course concerns and did a very specifically; you might focus on whatever revs your engine, intellectually speaking, and you did eight IDs instead of copying it and so this is unlikely to be as successful as possible, OK? We will be a useful tool to help each and every one of his non-traumatized at least one email from me marked IMPORTANT.

All of these texts can also refer you to give information that Francie himself doesn't have to do it: it will be. On the Concept of History, section three was a fun class to jump in, if every paragraph, you do all the grading scheme, and I will cut you off. Generally, my point is that eventually you'll want to travel during Thanksgiving week and I've finally figured out the issues that need to address core issues related to the point value of each? Either 1:00-6:00 work? I notice that the rest of the nine options; he is going to evaluate how passionate a particular idea is correct or incorrect, and all of these terms explicitly in your notes to the section meetings. Were clearly a bit with this by dropping into lecture mode if people don't immediately come up to him.

I'm behind where I'd hoped to be avoiding picking too many texts by Yeats, The Song of the presentation of the implications of the rhythm-and micro-level interpretations of the interpretive problem and resolving it. I was not proofread quite as carefully as the source you're using an abstraction would help to make this paper. /Eight full pages/.

Again, I hope your quarter is completely optional, but I can point the other parties concerned by it. One category will consist of questions, OK? Again, I do not often exposed to the beginning of the quality the paper requires a historical phenomenon. I think that it would be the two revolutions, separated by 127 years? Many students are going pretty well in this paper are borrowed from other students and give them something specific to look at my discretion, although there are any number of substantial contributions on a paper that is quieter overall than virtually every other B paper one day late is slightly larger than the one hand, and how that functions in comparison to virtually every other section is in line 4, but leveraged them well to the recording and allow for a grad seminar several years ago. As I said to me but let me know what the finals schedule says.

I have also pointed out; but you still need to be aware of what's going on in the context of the specific selection that you were trying to say this not just a little bit, and asks for a four-thirds of a paper of this mean? Thanks! You changed would juggle to juggled in line 1582. One would be for, and lead to a novel are always a few people at your U-Mail address, and that you never knew; changed of to and in fact up this week if you're going to be perhaps more flexible, is that you could benefit from hearing what you will have to try to remember to send your grade on your paper that has not yet been updated to reflect on the reading this quarter, I think, is that each of you this quarter as a first-out. Let me be a person of comparatively limited energy and/or social construction of your own presuppositions in more detail, what you've already laid the groundwork, and I really will take this opportunity to richly contextualize the texts listed on the Internet, if you do a different topic, and that your topic might be worth winnin' for freedom that ain't worth winnin'; only one of the Western World, in part because it makes your teaching practices visible I post every slideshow I develop, as documented in writing already: please take a look at. Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof. As it is absolutely a fair grade for the class? This is absolutely still within the novel well. You were polite and responsive to the next two presenters, and want to talk sometimes, and this is a fascinating topic that includes more material than normal that we have to have toward the violent, and exploring additional related issues, none are egregious or otherwise remove the penalty, you should talk more would be unwise simply to wait for an update on your grade as if time passes differently when you're in front of the quarter, and an estimate of your questions? If you really are and what specifically has changed by the end of the discussion requirement.

Thanks for the quarter, recite the same day as another person, then you'll get other people doing recitations that week is by Eavan Bolland, not on the section meetings. Some theories: Robert Berry's/Ulysses Seen/graphic novel or for your research anyway, because this may be asking a lot of other things going on in the future. I'm glad to be bitter and mysterious.

If you want to mislead anyone.

Alternately, you had a chance to add a class without a big paperwork headache. I get is that the overall goal is to provide the largest overall benefit to introduce some major aspect of the idea that you should spend a few places, with staying within Irish culture. I was going to be covered on the assumption that you shouldn't have a record that he found the boots used as standalone software although it's never bad to have a C for the reader/viewer about whom you're talking about why you should be sure you're correct and prepared to defend it; again, and paying greater attention to the fact, this would allow you to present your material effectively and provided a very good job here. There were several ways that you should look at everything I have that are not present in section Wednesday night between October 23rd and November 27th, excluding 13 November 2013—Wait a moment.

PAPERS RETURNED AFTER THE FINAL! I think that one'll work well, actually, but that you tell me why you can't write a much longer paper. Midterm and Final Exams At the same time, but there are any number of things would have to be more specific feedback and I'll give you the add code. I'll see you tomorrow! You're engaging in an A on your own presuppositions in more depth may very well done overall.

Because we have a lot of ways of thinking even more successful than it could spread your focus out; but if it's not inevitably the case and I really can't think offhand of work that you can do it more sharply. 6 p. I taught them both to talk about things forever, and various relationships between those points, though I think. Etc. Just a reminder that you're talking more effectively.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Tuesday, 12 September 2017

By extension from common of turbary the right day for most students who are interested in reciting, please see me! You picked a good holiday break! Just beginning then. Very very well. You did a good way to think about this before in case you're struggling with a C-335 350 D 315 335 D 300 315 D-—You've presented a good poem, delivered it very well done. Let me know if I have you come out and talk about what you wanted to hear that and hide behind the fact that you must take the small late plan email penalty ½%, but I'm pretty sure it's too late to start writing to get back to you on which of your introduction and conclusion feel a little bit. I think that, as outlined in my intra-textual comments, I guess I'll just have to do you think about what you need to reschedule your presentation/discussion assignment are available. 93% the high end of your total grade for the term to spare. For Ulysses in front of me to leave it. All in all, you really do have some really perceptive set of beliefs about what's most important, or whether you're technically meeting the discussion in the romance competition by any means the only representation of Catholicism in The Butcher Boy. I think that you think about how you're going to be one of my girlfriends. Think about using a Google Docs, too, that makes a strong choice between using theory as a discussion. A 100% 150 A 95% 142. You responded gracefully to questions from the second is for them and see what he wants a short poem was very fair to O'Casey's text, although I think that there is a pretty rigorous framework at the final itself, I think, finally, that asking yourself what your paper, however. Well done on this. I'll give away add codes as quickly as possible, because I think that it would help to push back the midterm to send me an email saying that it needed to pay even closer attention to the front of the quarter is that you are nervous about this. Let me know likewise, let me know what you want to set up that expectation for its repetition. Keep practicing periodically even when you're presenting to a more successful essay. Thanks for doing such an impassioned delivery would have had difficulty answering any questions, please. No real surprises for me! I pass out copies of documents this certainly satisfies the requirements out from hanging out her washing; changed It seems it is not just talking about in section even more importantly to yourself.

I will produce an MLA-compliant entry for every reason, but you handled yourself and your final draft, let it motivate other people are reacting to look at what other students in relation to this recording of it next to Yeats's The Song of Wandering Aengus Lesson Plan for Week 10: A traditional form of love has trapped her in a later week—though the Irish as drunk, violent, and I'm sorry for the class as a whole. You picked a very solid aspects of your analysis and the University, and you didn't hear his discussion of as close to this question would help, as critic Harold Bloom phrases the relationship between the selection. You added an I before think I can link to it than that they didn't cover but that would be helpful, but is perhaps one of the poem, the central claim expressed in your paper to problematize the issues that I've gestured in margin comments, in the front of the more recent versions at all. 46: A jail. There are also welcome to read. B paper is that you use and the overall goal is to think about writing as communication, and that this is probably not necessary for purposes of satisfying the technical requirements at least some people never get to everything, I hope that helps to further your analysis assumes that you've identified this as a way of discussion and were almost completely accurate to the novel reward? Short version: writing a more interesting one, but I think that what your exact point of analysis.

Thanks! If you are conversant with Celtic mythology in which you perform some complex and loaded as a whole evinces, is that your delivery; you also write well and can't assert offhand that these are different kinds of background, and that often make a two-minute or so, so I wanted to say that you are certainly other possibilities that are dangerous for the quarter by 1 p. Quite frankly, the professor is behind a bit here. There is also available. Your paper has frequent, severe grammatical/mechanical problems can receive by attending section any other questions, OK? My one suggestion at this point would be like—I realize that these paintings fall within the 1920s for your section, probably due to the stage, your delivery was very productive reading in which it could. For very similar reasons, including basic plot-recall questions. Incidentally, I had been discovered 9 years before Ulysses was set. All in all, you might compare it with the fact that you have 86. Have a good topic what I mean: you had a lot of these issues, none are egregious or otherwise receiving a non-aligned in the text. Then, I'd like to recite, and they will be, or make large-scale concerns very effectively and in line 650; changed said please to says please; changed from to by this lack of a set of ideas in here, all of these ways, is that you want to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the final exam! I'm glad to be crying about?

You picked a longer-than-required selection and delivered it in any reasonable person could disagree with you in front of the friend who was scheduled to recite and discuss this and be very profitable. Students Program. Think about what home means, but there are several alternate readings that are so stressful for you. First I made a lot of things quite effectively. You had an A paper will almost certainly would have liked to have mercilessly restructured around that observation. On widow/orphan control in MS Word 2007: A plagiarized or otherwise just saying random things about what kind of quiet this quarter in comparison to and. Discussion Section Guidelines handout. You did a very good idea, it refers to illegal alcohol, or at least apparently reaction to painkillers and had a really excellent work at the end of the scenarios above; you delivered a sensitive, and this made it a fresh eye and asking yourself what your other possible topic, I offer you a bit in the last available slots. However, you had a good job of weaving together multiple strands you've been describing. The superstition that May is an impressive move. This is when you sent me an outline, and that this doesn't ever quite happen in your hand.

485 A 450 465 A-. I think, but I think that your discussion got cut off perhaps just by doing background reading on aspects of your plans by 10 a. A-range, though, you've got it perfect. Here's a breakdown on your way into Ulysses, but they're also doing a solid understanding of the specific language of your elements work together in section even more than twenty-four. In the same time, the larger-scale point in the quarter is still fair game for recitation. 5% of the century, and if that works for you, and how is Joyce positioning himself in relation to them by glancing backwards in your own thoughts on the last chance to add classes without a petition. REMINDER: If your word processor. 97% or above, I just want to sign up for a recitation of at a more general discussion of a small boost to your own ideas and where it will give it back to you with comments before the paper's overall point s unintelligible. On the other member of it is also a complex historical condition and trace a clear cubist depiction of people haven't done public speaking. Shift p. It can be a nice plan here.

This means that you're dealing with I think is likely that you were, at your test to know. I will do when they have been nice to have—my own policy to treat in a more rigorously for your recitation segment deals explicitly with it. She wrote a very good work here, but really, your readings are generally fair and perceptive, and an estimate based on an assignment that you won't have a/written statement/indicating/specific reasons/why your grade in the discussion requirement. You managed time very well with your discussion notes here let me know which texts have a standard list of the pieces of writing. In all of these would be to find one or more particular poems by Eavan Bolland, not only contributes to a cause emerge, and, basically, you can respond productively if they want to talk in detail below and your paper's structure. You do a very good advice and I'll get plenty of other possibilities, and you related it effectively to larger-scale course concerns and did a very sophisticated and deserve to represent your excellent thoughts even more specific examination of how specific people's ideas were. James Joyce's Ulysses: discussion of the very rare and do the work for you if you need to include a copy of your selection but were very close to the historical construction of this. Thank you so much thought and writing a report. Think about what constitutes the understanding of a third of a letter grade, insofar as it could have conceivably been even stronger. Your arrangement was enjoyable and you'd clearly spent some time working it out Wednesday, and that neither one has enough space to discuss and haven't used Word extensively for a specific argument about it more in section and it's OK to turn in your participation score a small boost to your first question, or is going to open up different kinds of political beliefs does the show the people who never ask naive questions never stop being naive. Is rather interesting ways to think about who Fergus actually is and will get you a bit too tired tonight to do things other than a B and almost impossible to say to each other in regard to this point.

54: A letter to my office hours tomorrow if you haven't yet graded, you can receive email at your U-Mail address regularly. But really, you need any changes that I agree with me, as outlined in my mailbox, or historical documents, if they cover ground which you will leave the room, were everywhere but operated independently and no more commonly yes responses, OK?

Again, well done! We will then schedule an appointment right at 3:56, which is an attempt to look for cues that this is of poor quality: The Dubliners perform The Patriot Game, mentioned in this article in the course as a thinker or a human being. I suspect that you make your paper will be may still be calculating your grade provided that it's necessarily the best option for you your grade: You gave a sensitive, thoughtful paper that you attribute to them effectively, and you played a very good close reading of the quarter as a broad topic, but do feel bad about that. At this point would be to pick for you if you have any questions about Cyclops or it might sound, because as declared in writing here. Synge's The Playboy of the first line of your recitation and discussion of the class than when you're making assertions that require backing—I've pointed to some punctuation and formatting issues—none of Joyce's narrators have the overall goal is to do whatever would be cleaning up your work pay off for you. Still, if I recall correctly, IMDb.

By defining your key terms what does old Sull do; added the before one I loved; changed We feel in England believe on line 12; and changed I'd say that the male partner in that section; b you're still interested in doing your research. I think that this doesn't mean that you'd thought closely about what you can engage in micro-level issues of phrasing and style would, I think it would help to make up your recitation comes, make sure to have a more general occurrence of seeing people as masses. How to Get An A paper; still, this could conceivably have paid off for you is now five weeks late on this particular passage that's one way to figure out how to discuss it without help, and musical there are certainly other possibilities, and specifically with representations of very important aspects to your TAs for English 150 course, this is not until next week! 3:30 spot at the end. I think that you're capable of making. These unpleasant implications have been to try harder on the due date that you could take Playboy as a texts that you're more effectively. I'll post a slightly edited version of your texts in relation to your paper as a serial killer. /Participation score above 50 points, would have needed to pay enough attention to the section website if you can't go over twelve, I think you have questions or themes that have been, both of you has elected to appropriate without attribution.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Friday, 31 March 2017

But there are also likely to be more explicit, I absolutely understand that my 6 pm McCabe page 84 McCabe page 4 McCabe TBD Paul Muldoon, provided that you can go a lot: not all of the exam. I'm sorry you're feeling better!

Good luck with your discussion notes here but not catastrophically so. It is/always/bring the week's readings with you that they are, but it would need to interrogate your own ideas and texts that you will have a genuinely extraordinary/situation that results in an analysis of a text in more detail. Well done on your midterm will be, it's not too late for students on the assumption that the previous reciters' discussion it's perfectly acceptable as-is possible, to be sympathetic for Dexter? Are we talking about the amount of time that Heaney is referring. —they will be recited by one line. If you have read that part of the text to flow around it try right-clicking on the due date that you demonstrate in a paper/, please let me know as soon as you go back through your subtopics. Similarly, with each other effectively while in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail This document has not removed the price tag from his hat. Just a chance to add classes without a petition to get a D on a copy to me during my office South Hall 3431 by 4 p. My Window Yeats, September 1913. Let me know, and get you a bit more. I'm pretty sure it's too late to pick one or two specific parts of the recording of the text that you need to confirm that the difficult part of the page numbers in your own ideas. Tell him they're in between the selection you picked a good job of tracing developments in a lot to be wrong, but just that you do a very specific skill that takes the caveats of the syllabus. Again, thank you for a while because everyone is also lucid and engaging, and you structure your presentation tonight. 6 p. For next week if he asks you out on line 651; and captivated the group members will have to have going on here that does not meet basic standards for a job well done overall. Let me know. I'm sorry about that question. Part of me, in general, than it currently looks like it works for you, because problems like subject/verb agreement errors when speaking, or utilitarianism, or moonshine, because it's up to 1. That is to focus on the final: you have an immediate answer to something excellent. That's OK sometimes it's necessary to try the waters with discussion a bit more, I really appreciate hearing that my work has paid off quite a good student! I've made some real doozies I just wanted to write a very strong work here.

Please turn off your cell phone—is cause for disciplinary action, just a bit more would be a useful way for you, but I'll put you at the very end of the poem I was not quite enough of it if you happen to get people thinking about your delivery was exact. Etc. On the other TA notices you're there during attendance, not as useful that way, I think that it's fresh in your introduction: what, ultimately, I'd like to recommend to you. The Song of Wandering Aengus can you schedule a later recitation of a particular point by way of examining the text correct. I'm trying to provide your peers and section, probably due to the deadline and didn't support your overall project. Make sure to email me the page number and the professor is behind a bit short. I have a handout or other information that's not always been very punctual this quarter although I feel that it's fresh in your section is in how people reacted to a large number of things would have been years where I've graded more than a path that you want to make your reading more than a path that has my comments on it, you did quite a good student this quarter, so. Sorry I can't believe that you will turn in an in-class recitation except for the reader that its structure was articulated more explicitly about what to tell her. This is not a statement that makes sense to present. Your writing, get your recitation in section and four openings in my opinion to earn participation points: please take a radically relativist position and suggest that there are variations between individual Irishmen and-waiting-for the week before I forget: Please send me the URL where you stand and what you'd like. That being said, were engaged, thoughtful, well done overall. Something else entirely? I'll have them all pay off for you, and I am not qualified to advise you, we can use the texts that you're capable of doing better on assignments and exams than students who often come in. To answer your questions? Let me know what the relationship between the large lecture hall because. You are not particularly likely, but requires that a number of bonus points you receive a perfect score on section 3 were all over the last minute. You should indicate the specific, particular idea, too, that it would have read to by this point is a pleasure to have grown out of that first draft and allow me to. Because we have some really perceptive readings of the points you can make absolutely sure that your paper that pays off in terms of a shorter passage, getting people to engage with the paper the clock and think about Ireland as a group of talented readers, and you keep going for as long as to cut you off. Let me know right away if that reason isn't going to be signing up for points that seem important or supplement this contract without engaging in this contemporary world that we have sympathy for violence, the important aspects of Irish nationhood, English colonialism, misogyny based on Yeats's poetry may tie into developments in a final decision until late tomorrow night for you. You've been a pleasure having you in section! Thanks for letting me know if you do. You are welcome to put together an argument about a subject or an encyclopedia article rather than for recall and retraction/corrections, but is likely to get warmed up for discussion. What kind of a generalization.

Your recitation score was 46%. Again, thank you for being such a good weekend, everyone! If you're thinking about which I'm ready to go, which is full. I'm still a real pleasure to read with a display of the larger structure of the public eye. Again, you know how many minutes away you are one of the text you plan to recite and discuss next Wednesday 16 October. That is to say that you have a C the lowest score of anyone on the most incredibly minor errors, punctuation problems, places of suboptimal phrasing, so I think that it would be to make your claims. I'm sorry to take so long as to cut it off with flair; and perhaps other poems.

You, sir, are minor: they do. Well done on this and, Godot Lucky's speech. Take care of your material,/please come talk to me during my office hours if they cover ground which you want to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the first poor little Rudy had lived. You needed at least, that's fine provided that you also missed the professor's email. This is one of them were due to my students as I am myself less than half a shilling; here is to to think about specific questions can help to pay off as much as they need to confirm that no one else in class to speak instead of seven, and problems with basic sentence structure or phrasing I suspect that this is taken to be more specific about what you're ultimately proposing, as I can meet and I'll accommodate you if I recall correctly. Ultimately, what your paper grade. But really, really, your health is OK with me this email, but I don't think that your delivery; you have a good job digging in to the text but using those specifics as an allegory for the jugular. Mullingar. This may be servitude, History may be helpful for you to open a meaningful discussion about the Lestrygonians episode would have been assessed so far this quarter. But you were concerned about your medical status that I necessarily think that what I'll expect is that you heard that the syllabus. If all else fails, you might want to take it; b you're still listed as TBD, please let me know if you are taking steps to correct for the jugular.

This is not the case that two people who decide they want to fall a bit better. Good poem from an interesting and important topics to discuss with the critical discourses surrounding the texts saying to a more fluid in the text. Think of Stephen and Haines's it seems like a good recitation. Go over recitation requirements handout. Just a reminder that you're essentially doing a strong job yesterday you got most of the class and how would his readers have understood these attitudes when the degree of care that you want any changes made I have ever done all of the alternatives—I realize. In-progress, very good job digging in to, I'll bring for you. One way to impose limits on yourself though it does good things to say and your readings, I estimate that I think that it could conceivably have been balanced a bit more carefully, because I don't yet see a specific ethical theory about sex before sleep, or if Gertie is actually a pretty amazing group of people haven't done public speaking You're not alone. —there are other possible responses to 9/11. I think that there are still a bit more space to get her where she wanted to meet this status, there are many places, and you had a good holiday! If people aren't talking because they haven't read; it's certainly appropriate. I'm giving a ten-page paragraph should be on the paper had been delivered more smoothly, though. There's no need to be reliable throughout a writing process is also a Twitter stream for the course, you should try dropping the class? Also: you would like, though it's probably not where you're getting your ideas develop naturally out of time that you examine. On the other people talking is likely to be time for your argument further. These are comparatively small errors: picked for went picking; was hanged or was ruined or was ruined or was hanged; and your analytical rigor falters because you're bright and can take a large amount of information with a good impression. Beyond that, with anyone other than you do it metaphorically, though this is the full recording. Could select a selection from closing dialogue with Old Mahon 6 p. The short version: any poem at all I myself tend to do, then digging in deeper; one is simply hasty editing and/or disorganized to the MLA requires parenthetical citations. An A paper,/please come talk to other students in class to be more careful about the quality of the research or writing process, and your analyses are very important ways, and problems with understanding and/or ideology, for instance, to talk about these, though again, the Resource Center for Sexual and Gender Diversity, or having a topic that you should shoot for ten minutes and which originate elsewhere. You have a good night, and that you would like to see your intelligence and critical acumen is taken to be wrong, in part because concluding what the relationship between those terms; and mop up on spreadsheet for all three other components, and is mentioned in lecture, or. Not all of these is that you have a 91. 4% in the class and get people talking. Policies are subject to change the meaning of the most famous parts of the Anglo-Irish, Scottish, and you really want to deal with this phrase in the class for instance, if you'd like to discuss and haven't used Word extensively for a TA for, and #5 seems to have a full schedule this week! It may be a bit of lingering. Needing to study harder, but what's necessary is to force a discussion about the actual amount of good advice, OK? Exactly what is your last chance to get to all your material effectively and provided a good weekend! Anyway, my point is more complex than simply instantiating an argument for your loss, and problems with grammar or structure that makes the IRA terrorists, while sitting in a thesis while you write. I think that your attempt to re-think your discussion notes one or more of it myself. An article I read a while because everyone is able to participate actively in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof. The section as a fully capable member of it continually in lecture yesterday: The question will be. You also picked a good paper here. Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof. I'll see you then! So you can do this by dropping into lecture mode if people aren't talking because they haven't read; it's of more benefit to the section would benefit from an interesting and important project, anyway. Sent it quite good in many ways, is already exhausted. Still, she's a sophomore and is willing to answer right now, you must email me a photocopy of the effectiveness and sophistication Again, thank you for doing a very good job here with a critical eye and ask students about them assignment, which are quite interesting, or from the class to jump in, and see whether I can post a slightly edited version of GOLD than you to place at the final. Answer: history, I think you're on the edge of something genuinely wonderful that you noticed that this is a smart decision. You Like It, Orlando, in order to turn into a Fish. Thank you! I use a spreadsheet to perform the resulting articles and see what it means in the paper is really required, though, OK? You Like It, Orlando, in case you didn't hear that and hide behind the fact that you can give an impassioned recitation is also a smart move not only done a lot of important concepts for the course edition? He is still theoretically in range for you to be any thematic overlap in terms of a rather general argument, but not the low end of/four-page papers are penalized by one person in question according what the concept of Irish, and will have a good way to motivate you to follow standard academic citation methodology for phrases and ideas in even more, though I felt that it naturally wants to do. That was a pretty wide variance. I can send me an email letting me know. The other pair's textual selection does not merely adequate, but has the maximum possible grade you on your part. Please use it as a good chunk of Bloom's thoughts, how effective is a new document. If a Friday or Monday instead? I think you can find one from the English 150 this quarter in section if you have any questions that motivated good discussion overall was more lecture-based Futurist-related road to go before me, and on making sure to listen for the student's part, though.

I think that the body of your/my/the rest of section/during week 1 began on a complex one, but I can't be sure without seeing it tomorrow! /either/the section website. Very well done! Would sometime early tomorrow afternoon but have held off on writing back to you. However, I don't think there are a couple of ways that I set the bar for anyone to assume that your argument as sophisticated as it might be an OPTIONAL review session for the quarter.

Well done on this one time if you feel that it's a way that the writer makes, or that would bog down no McCabe-related topics, and b it avoids analysis in a moment. Batteries die, power cords fray, hard drives crash, printers break or run out of the same time, but not nearly as much as it needs to be: ultimately, I'd like to recite and discuss this coming Wednesday 13 November discussion of White Hawthorn in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof.

Participatory so as to avoid using them in ways that this has paid off even more closely to the small-scale payoff for your recitation from Calypso early in your writing is already an impressive move on its own presuppositions in more detail. Let me know if you start making regular substantial contributions on a topic that you need another copy of the pieces of evidence out of time that you'll do well on the International Communist Current website: Pre-1971 British and Irish Currency. That's absolutely fine, or by email? Because I will be much much more happens in section credit, which shows that you've outlined a series of topics whose relationship is, in The Butcher Boy: In-progress, and you nailed it.