#been having big art block art brain broken this past month
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revenge
#imogen temult#critical role#cr3#bells hells#critical role fanart#eyestrain#been having big art block art brain broken this past month#hair is an abstract concept#I have m9 art I hope to finish#meanwhile have imogen staring intensely in red lighting part2#she will look like a different person every time I draw her#critical role art
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2023 art retrospective! ✨
I can't believe I'm writing one of these again already; where did this year go??
Looking back on this past year, wow! I can see and feel my confidence with my art growing tremendously. Finally it feels like I'm comfortable with tools and the process. I'm not totally lost when I open a canvas; there's a sense of reassurance that I can do it, and if I can't, I will figure it out along the way.
Overall, finding time, space, and energy for art proves to be both exceedingly difficult and yet the only thing that I want to do when I get home. I know logically this is mostly because of my job--new office, new boss, new responsibilities, new position--and a few huge life transitions, but when you're someone who makes things who is not making things, it can be rough seas in the brain soup.
I think a major theme for this year was getting back into creative habits. It's an annual tradition at this point to nosedive into an artist's block death spiral. February into March into April...were all lean months for my creativity. Intense job/interpersonal stuff plus news of two of my big art inspirations both suddenly dying...the world hit me hard in these months.
I owe a lot to Lynda Barry's Making Comics for giving me my spark back and for helping to heal a part of me that I didn't realize was so broken and bruised. I remember when I picked the book up around my birthday; the cashier said the book made her cry and I didn't understand. I asked why, and she said "It's just healing." I was skeptical, but now I get it. I've been observing more, giving more credence to my creativity, and being less afraid of making a "bad" drawing.
Now I've been focusing on creating portfolio pieces that I'm proud of and happy to display in my space, as well as finally getting around to my hoard of accumulated characters. I've been picking away at my personal site and uploading much more to toyhouse to keep track of them all.
The last month or so has been completely consumed by making gifts, meeting deadlines, finishing owed art, continuing special projects 👀...so I haven't had much of a presence here. I've been doing lots of traditional art--getting back into acrylic painting and hopefully back into oils soon. I started pine needle basket weaving and have made 2.25 baskets so far! it's a long, tedious, menial process, but it's so satisfying to have something physical (and functional) that you've worked on for hours. I've also been living in my sketchbook the past week--practicing with pens, markers, and practicing itself. I've been conditioned to have the sketchbook be a precious space, and I am trying my best to break out of that. If you want to see some of my traditional sketches and offline stuff, I made a little collage for this year's picks too. ↬ sketchbook 2023
I think for next year I'd like to continue finding better balances--in how I spend my time, how I can spend my time...and to continue pushing myself out of my comfort zone with experiments and messiness. I want to continue being creative in so many more mediums--more film photography and video, hopefully!
In my sketchbook I wrote this meandering paragraph that I want to share: this is a living document--of breath, of movement, not of polished stasis. I reject capitalistic notions of being "industrious" "beautiful" "marketable" "pristine" and on public display at all times. I am not a product to be consumed; neither is my work. I embrace the messy, the incomplete, and the ugly. I refuse to tailor myself to an unseen audience. We thirst for the drafts, the brushstrokes, the incomplete works of the famous. Is this because, in our minds, this makes them more human? Less untouchably great? Or do we see ourselves in the struggles and not in the finished pieces? How charitable is that reading? What I would give to see my inspirations' marker streaks, their 12yo sparkledogs. Framing these byproducts--there's that word again--as art reframes them, reframes myself. To be human is to mark-make, to scribble in the dirt. I hear they reconstruct civilizations from stuff like that.
All my best to you & yours, and happy new year!
art featured:
garden ghost | Vagabonds - Aqua Fria River | 6040
elk? | i'll still be around | blue sky | umm hihihi omg hi
...? | porcelain | nothing to remember | Lacquer | river
bed-time
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you broke me first | Peter Parker
Summary: You have to remind Peter it was his fault you were broken up
read part 1 and 2 here !
song: you broke me first by Tate McRae
a/n: happy valentines day!! hope everyone’s day was good and here is the last part of this mini series :))))
Maybe you don't like talking too much about yourself
But you shoulda told me that your were thinking ‘bout someone else
“If you guys are going to make out can you at least do it somewhere else. I’m eating.” MJ put her book back to her eye level as you and Harry pulled away from each other. You blushed and Harry smirked before throwing an arm over your shoulder.
“C’mon, MJ. Don’t be such a cockblock.” You slapped Harry on his arm and he laughed. “If you want I can set you up with one of my friends.”
MJ put her book down and pretended to think about the offer. “A rich daddy’s boy with two functional brain cells, who’s also a fuckboy. I’ll pass” She smiled sarcastically at Harry and he chuckled.
“Have I ever mentioned I like your friends?” You giggled at him and shook your head. MJ flipped him off and you had to bite back your laugh.
“Stop patronizing her.” You tried to be stern but the smirk on Harry’s face paired with MJ lips twitching up didn’t help your case. “Yes madame.”
Or your phones been off for a couple months, so you’re callin’ me now
He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours before turning back to eat his lunch. You smile was big as you stared at him but something caught your attention. From behind him you saw Peter, Gwen, and Ned walking. Gwen had her arm wrapped around Peter’s arm. Ned was talking to Gwen about something and Peter was already staring at you. You gave him a small smile and a head nod before turning back to your small group.
“Hey, did Mr. Harrington ever say when the essay was due?”
“I cant keep going. My brain is fried.” You groaned as you flopped down on MJ’s bed and rested your arms over your eyes to block the light from coming in.
“Yeah, i’m pretty burnt too. You hungry? I can order some pizza.”
“Please?” You begged and sat up as MJ was looking for the number on her phone your phone buzzed with a message. It was Harry.
Can you come over tomorrow? I wanna spend time with you <3
You bit your lip go hide to hide the smile that was threatening to come through. Harry was always so sweet with you. He had a cocky front that he showed everyone else, sometimes with you as well. But you knew deep down he was a teddy bear. Texts like this showed that. And even though Harry explained to you that his father never showed him love, and continues not to, he doesn’t see a reason not to show love.
But I ran out of every reason
“Hey, can you please stop sexting Harry? I’m trying to hang out with you.” A pillow collided with your face and you gasped.
“MJ! I’m not sexting Harry. He wants to know if I can hang out tomorrow. It’s sweet.” You quickly responded back to his text and told him you could.
“You two are disgustingly cute. It makes me sick. And tell him to stop hogging you, I feel like he’s always with you. Does he not know he has to share?” You threw your head back and laughed at her.
“So now i’m an object of sharing? Nice to know.” You laughed and soon MJ was joining in with you.
Took a while, I was in denial when I first heard
That you moved on quicker than I coulda ever, you know that hurt
“I’m happy for you, Y/N. I know the whole thing with Peter had you in a funk..” You looked down at your hands and nodded. You still thought about Peter often. Soley because you had him in some of your classes and you constantly saw him around school. But you never thought of him like you used to. You stopped loving the way his smile reached his eyes and lit up the whole room. You stopped loving his curls. You stopped loving his unconditional kindness.
It was over now, officially. You weren’t hurting anymore and it felt so amazing to say it. The storm had passed and had taken Peter Parker with it. You were happy now with Harry. So extremely happy. You didn’t actually think it was possible but after giving the relationship a chance, you couldn’t believe how happy you were with Harry.
You never wanted to depend your happiness on soley being in a relationship. You were better than that. But you were finding you were happy by yourself and with Harry. It was the best middle ground. You thought you had to depend on Peter or a relationship to be content. And it definitely wasn’t true.
“I’m just glad that it’s all over with. And Peter was an asshole to you.” You both laughed at her statement.
“Yeah, i’m glad it’s over too.” She smiled at you before tapping a button on her phone.
“Hi, I’d like to place an order for delivery.”
Swear, for awhile, I would stare at my phone just to see your name
Gwen Stacy gasped as she read the note that fell out of her locker. It was the fourth one this week. And she couldn’t count how many she got over all. Apparently she was a dirty two-faced snake. She preached girl supporting girls but to everyone else she stole someone’s boyfriend which didn’t exactly sit right with the girls of the school. Gwen didn’t mean for it to happen and she tried explaining it to some of the girls in her art class but they just rolled their eyes at her.
“Another one? Let me see.” Peter grabbed the note and read over it before tearing to to shreds.
“Yes, another one Peter. In fact the fourth one this week. And maybe if i’m lucky i’ll get one tomorrow and see what else the girls have to say about me in the girls restroom. I can’t keep doing this Peter.” Gwen slammed her locker and held her head in her hands.
“Ok, well i’ll go talk to Mr. Harrington. Or even the principal. I’ll tell them that it’s been getting out of hand and—”
“No, Peter. That’s not what I mean. I mean I can’t do this. Us.” Gwen crossed her arms over her chest and refused to look at Peter because she knew if she did she’d melt.
“W-what? Gwen, what do mean?”
“Peter I cant keep living like this! People hate me all because you broke Y/N’s heart. And I can’t blame them either becuase you left her for me, you broke the poor girl. I’d hate me too.”
“They’ll get over it! It’s none of their buisness.” He reached over and tried to grab the girls hands but she instantly pulled away.
“Peter, I really like you. I do. But with college applications coming up and school’s scouting, I can’t risk letting this affect me getting into NYU. I don’t have the time for petty school drama.”
“Gwen, cmon. Please, I really like you too. I can figure something out.” He pleaded. He couldn’t let Gwen go, not after everything that happened with you.
“I’m sorry, Pete. I really am.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek before smiling sadly at him. She turned with her books in her hand and walked away.
Peter groaned and kicked the locker next to him. It created a dent and some people began to whisper and point. He sighed before walking to his first class.
‘Did you hear what happened????’
You furrowed yourself brows at MJ’s text. You quickly looked up and seen your teacher pointing to the board and explaining today’s lesson. You placed your phone in your lap as you typed back a response.
‘Hear what? Did Flash trip and fall into the trash again?’
You looked up again and pretended to take notes and waited for her to text back. Once you felt your phone buzz your eyes nearly bulged out of your head
‘No! Though that would make my day— Gwen broke up with Peter! Some junior over heard it from their locker and started to spread it. That’ll show him!’
You gulped as you put your phone away and stared ahead. Peter no longer had Gwen. Peter no longer had the girl he left you for. She ended it with him. You had a mix of emotions. For one you wanted to rub your relationship in his face. He left you for someone and now they broke up with him.
You couldn’t believe how much it back fired on him. You wanted to laugh in his face and call him a huge idiot. You wouldn’t ever dare think of leaving him. He got his karma.
But you also felt a little sad for him. Gwen broke up with him. You couldn’t imagine how upset and sad he was feeling. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of it being his fault. Becuase maybe it was.
The rest of the week was filled with gossip about Peter being dumped by Gwen. The girls said he deserved it but also thought it didn’t excuse Gwen either. She noticed she still got stared in the hall but the whispers stopped and so did the writing in the restroom. It was a start.
They scoffed at Peter and made sure to give him a dirty look. Peter wasn’t feeling too good either. He couldn’t belive he lost you and Gwen. Ned tried to reasure him that it wasn’t meant to be. All Peter did was smile and nod. And then he saw you smiling and laughing with Harry. Living your best life and he felt jealous and angry. Jealous and angry that you were happy without him. And jealous and angry that Harry was the one to kiss you and give you hugs from behind.
That should be me.
He hated himself for thinking that. He broke up with you. He left you. So why was he thinking about you like he had in the past? It dawned on him for the next few days that letting you go was a mistake. He didn’t actually like Gwen, he liked the idea of her. The popular, girl next door version of Gwen Stacy is what he liked. Sure, Gwen was funny and nice and smart but so were you. And much more in his opinion.
He was an idiot who let you go because he liked the idea of someone. He chose that over loving you.
“The blood drive took way longer than I thought.” You pressed your phone against your ear with your shoulder as you began to enter your locker combination.
“Well saving lives isn’t a two second process miss Y/L/N.” You rolled your eyes at Harry being sarcastic.
“I can’t believe your missing school to attend one of your dads meeting in the Upper East Side.” Harry chuckled and shrugged.
“What can I say? I’m a buisness man too.” Harry’s father glared at him as they walked in the halls of the conference room. He knew that was his way of telling Harry to get off the phone.
“Hey, babe. I have to go, the meetings starting soon. I’ll see you tomorrow. Stay safe.”
“Bye, Harry. See you.” You smiled as you hung up the phone and pocketed your phone. You were excused for two of your class periods and now had to be at your next one as the bell rang. You quickly grabbed the books you needed and slammed the locker shut. You gasped in surprise when you seen who was behind the locker.
“Peter? Um, what are you doing?” You looked around anxiously to see if any other students noticed you and the curly haired boy standing within a few feet of each other. They had.
“H-how are you?”
“I’m good? Do you need something? I have physics next and—”
“Your teacher will kill you if you’re late.” He chuckled as he nervously twiddled his fingers. You didn’t laugh though. “How-How’s being able to drive now? I bet it feels like you have a ton of freedom.”
“Peter, i’m sorry if this sounds rude but what do you want? You’ve made it pretty clear these past few months you don’t want anything to do with me. So what do you need? Is this about you being you-know-who?” You whispered the last part to make sure no one heard. “I promise I won’t tell Harry or anyone else.”
“No! It’s not that it’s... Okay I know this might sound so crazy and insane but please, just hear me out.” He had his puppy dog eyes on and you couldn’t ever resist them. What was a few minutes?
“You have like two minutes before I have to go.” You glanced at your phone for the time.
“Okay, sweet. First off I want to say how sorry I am for the way I treated you, Y/N. It was so shitty and I just tossed you to the side. I will never be able to forgive myself for that but I was hoping... maybe you can?”
You smiled at the boy once you realized what he was doing. He was giving you a formal apology. Though it was long over due you knew you couldn’t hold a grudge against him. You just weren’t that person. And you were finally over Peter. It was all working out.
“Of course, I can forgive you, Peter. Thank you for apologizing. It does mean a lot. Well i’ll see you around?” Peter’s brows furrowed before quickly shaking his head.
“Wait that’s not all.” Your looked at him quizzically and urged him to continue. “I was wondering I-if you’d like to give us, me and you, another try. At dating, of course.” He smiled at you and suddenly you were no longer smiling. You took a step back as you stared at him in disbelief.
How dare he? How dare he break your heart and then come running back to you the moment Gwen breaks up with him. You were his second choice and that hurt. And to top it off, you were with Harry, happily.
“How dare you, Peter Parker?” Peter gulped as he recognized the anger and disappointment in your tone.
“Becuase shit isn’t going your way, you think this is okay?” You voice was now raised and now suddenly everyone in the hall turned to face you two.
“Y/N, please. Just let me explain—”
“Now suddenly you’re asking for me back? Could you tell me where’d you get the nerve?” You spit and Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen you so mad.
“I made a huge mistake. I miss you. I miss us.” He tried pleading but you scoffed
“You can say you miss all that we had but I don’t really care how bad you’re hurting, Peter. Not when you broke me first.”
There were tears in your eyes and your heart was heavy. How could he do this to you? You were over him now and then he comes and pull this stunt. You were also very angry.
“Y/N, please. I—”
“I don’t want to heart it, Parker! Leave me alone! I mean it, Peter. Don’t talk to me anymore, don’t look at me in the halls or in our classes. Don’t even think about me. It’s over Peter. Find your dignity while you’re at it.” You spat and purposely pushed his shoulder roughly with yours.
You tried to ignore the whispers as you started to speed walk to the nearest restroom, your class long forgotten.
You tried to hold in your sob as your thoughts began to eat you alive. But you couldn’t hold back as it pried its way to the surface. You didn’t care about if the floor was dirty as you slid down to hug your knees. All you could think was screw Peter Parker. This wasn’t the Peter you knew. Peter would never publicly humiliate you and turn you into a joke. But he did.
What did you think would happen?
I’ll never let you have it
What did you think would happen?
You had to remind yourself that he in fact did do those things. You were a game to Peter, it seemed. His second choice. And it hurt, you hate to admit that it hurt.
“Y/N.” MJ walked into the bathroom and sighed when she saw you on the floor.
“I-Is the whole sch-school talking ab-about me?” You hiccuped and she placed a hand on your knee and gently rubbed her hand back and forth.
“The only thing they’re saying is how Peter’s a jackass and you don’t deserve that.” You sighed and nodded and tried to brush your tears away.
“I just can’t believe he would d-do this to me. It’s like i’m a jo-joke.” You sniffled and MJ scoffed. “He’s such a dick. Once I get my hands on him—”
“No, MJ. It’s fine. I gave him a piece of my mind already.” You smiled weakly at her and she helped you off the floor. She shook her head with a scowl and then snorted.
“What?”
“Once Harry hears about his little stunt, Peter is done for.”
Your eyes widened as you thought about Harry. He tolerated Peter because of you and once he hears what happened, you have a good idea what he’d do.
“My god, I have to call him. But he’s in a stupid high class professional meeting.” You whipped out your phone and went to his contact. You couldn’t call him but you thought a text should be enough until you see him later.
‘Don’t freak out...Peter asked me out again
BUT!!!! I obviously said no and handled to situation!
So when you come to school tomorrow and hear about the drama pls don’t pummel Peters face in ??? <3’
“Hm. That should hold him off. Let’s skip class and go watch the cheerleaders fall from their pyramid.” You tried to keep a straight face but ended up laughing.
“Yeah, i’m down for that.” MJ smiled at you and started to walk out of the bathroom.
You sighed and thought about if Peter was hurting right now. But then you shook your head.
But I don’t really care how bad it hurts
When you broke me first
He broke you first and now he had to deal with the aftermath, not you.
#peter parker#spiderman#peter parker blurb#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#harry osborn#spiderman far from home#spider man: homecoming
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Finding Love In Legacy Oaks pt. 6
Title: Finding Love In Legacy Oaks pt. 6
Fandom: Kingsman
Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader
Author: @sheerfreesia007
Words: 23,186 (Am I insane? Yes, yes I am.)
Warnings: Fluff, Bullying
Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @synystersilenceinblacknwhite, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo
Author Notes: I have no words to describe how happy I am that I’ve finally finished this chapter. This will be the longest chapter I will EVER write. So this spans over a whole work week, hence why it’s so long. I absolutely loved and hated this chapter haha, I love the slow soft relationship I’ve created between these two wonderful women. I hope you all enjoy! I need a drink. Also don’t come for me for the pirate names I used a generator because my brain was broken by the end of this. Feedback is welcome.
Gif Credit: Google
Bunny walked back into the kitchen after she shut the front door letting Jack out of the house. Stepping into the bright kitchen her eyes were immediately drawn to Butter who excitedly rolled from his back to his front in his dark brown fluffy dog bed. Bunny burst out laughing as she watched the little dog roll over too much and have to correct himself. His body twisting and turning as he tried to right himself and he let out a little yip when he finally got it right and laid upright in the bed looking up at her excitedly.
“You’re a bit of a mess aren’t you?” She asked fondly and watched as his tongue lolled out of his mouth and he began to pant softly. Bunny turned to the cabinet under the counter at the corner and the sound of nails on the floor rang out. She grabbed the dog treat jar she had stored in there and turned around to see Butter trying to run over to her hurriedly but his feet got caught up underneath him and he belly flopped on the floor and slid across to her feet where he came to a stop. Bunny chuckled softly and shook her head at him. “Such a mess.”
She then pulled out a dog biscuit and held it out in front of him. Butter obediently sat and waited as she placed the biscuit on his nose balancing it perfectly. “Wait.” she told him softly as she then stood to her full height and he didn’t move an inch. “Alright get it.” she said happily. Butter snapped his nose upward and the treat flew in the air a few inches above his nose. He twisted his face and quickly caught the treat in his mouth and Bunny clapped her hands proudly. “Very good!” she cheered proudly. Butter stomped his little feet in excitement and Bunny laughed at his antics.
Turning from Butter she turned back to the fridge and peered inside of it surveying to see what she had grocery wise for dinner for her and Esme. Spotting the thawing chicken she had in the fridge she smiled and turned to walk to her pantry to check she had all the ingredients she needed for what she had planned.
“Alright I’ve got everything I need for dinner so I’m gonna catch up on some more work before we have to go get Esme from the bus stop in a few hours. Don’t make too much trouble go it?” she called out as she walked across the hall to her office. When she turned and looked back into the kitchen Butter was already sprawled out in his bed again on his back with his tongue hanging out of his mouth once more. “Such a mess.” she chided softly with a chuckle and a shake of her head.
———
Bunny rubbed her eyes when she heard the front screen door of Mrs. Parker’s house squeaked loudly on its hinges, I really need to get them some WD-40 for that door. Blinking rapidly she sighed softly, she had been working hours on this one client’s website trying to make the dimensions and what the client wanted work together cohesively. Unfortunately she hadn’t been able to get it to work and a headache had begun to form behind her eyes. Sighing softly she saved her progress on the website and quickly shut her laptop.
Looking down at her phone she pressed the power button she saw that she had just five more minutes before her and Butter had to start heading to the bus stop to pick up Esme. Standing from her chair she lifted her arms and stretched wide letting out a large yawn. Running her hands into her hair she scratched at her scalp and groaned lowly at the pleasure it brought her before she shook her hair out and let it fall behind her.
Grabbing her oversized navy blue knit sweater from the back of the desk chair where she had put it hours ago, she pulled it back over her head and let it fall to cover her white tank top. Then moving around her desk she grabs a knit scarf and a pair of fingerless gloves, while it was the beginning of the year it was still chilly enough to require some extra clothing for warmth.
Walking out of the office she whistled softly for Butter as she made her way down the main hallway towards the front door. She effortlessly slipped her feet into her trusty black combat boots and zipped up the sides. When she stood tall in front of the mirror she smiled at herself before she grabbed Butter’s leash from the hook next to the door and her keys from the mosaic key bowl on her little table. She laughed as she heard the skittering of nails on the floor as she jingled the dog leash in her hand.
“So good of you to wake up sleeping beauty.” She teased softly as she bent down and held out the harness for the little dog to step into. Butter licked her chin excitedly as she finally clasped the buckle on the harness. “C’mon you wanna go get Esme at the bus stop bud?” Butter began to prance around her feet as she stood tall again and then opened the front door.
Holding the leash loosely in her hand she turned and quickly locked the door before skipping down the front steps. Butter quickly tried to dart ahead of her but was jerked back by the leash and Bunny burst out in laughter as the little dog tumbled backwards clumsily. Shaking her head at him she tried to calm her laughter.
“When are you gonna learn Butter? The leash doesn’t retract buddy.” She said softly to the little dog still shaking her head at him. He yipped at her and she grinned at his response. “C’mon we can’t be late for Esme.”
Walking down the block Bunny silently looked around her neighborhood and admired how quaint it looked. The trees were slowly losing the frost that had swept in last month and looked as if they were finally thawing out. She knew next month the trees should start budding as they got ready for spring to arrive. The flowers would soon need to be planned out for when the neighborhood would help with planting them. Hopefully Sarah would have some ideas that they could bounce off each other.
Bunny waved at Mrs. Carter as she passed in her Volkswagen Golf on her way home after work. The walk to the corner bus stop wasn’t very long and as Bunny came to a stop on the sidewalk Butter looked back at her confused as to why she stopped when normally they would walk all the way to the dog park so that he could get his exercise in.
“We gotta wait for Esme bud. I told you this.” Bunny said easily. Just then she heard the loud squeaky brakes of the school bus as that bus made the turn into the neighborhood. Bunny smiled and waved her hand at the bus driver as he pulled to the curb and opened the door waiting for the kids to pile out.
There were the older two girls that Bunny had seen last time she saw Esme at the bus stop walk off the bus and then Esme appeared at the top of the bus stairs. Bunny watched as the little girl tilt her head at her for a second before a bright smile spread across her face as she remembered that she’d be staying with Bunny for the week.
“Bunny!” Cried Esme happily before she bounced down the stairs to the pavement.
“Hey Esme!” Bunny called out happily and Butter began jumping around excitedly as he barked catching onto the little girl’s happiness easily. Bunny watched fondly as the little girl kneeled down and began petting Butter and hugged him around his neck softly. “So I was told you put in a request to go visit the playground before doing homework and I am here to make that request a reality.” Bunny explained easily.
“Really?!” Esme cheered excitedly as she quickly stood from the pavement.
“Yeah I gotta take Butter for a walk anyway. Would you like to go to the big playground or the little one?” Bunny asked, smiling down at Esme. “The big playground is closer and usually more busy now but if you’re up for a little bit of a longer walk there’s a smaller playground that not a lot of kids go to.” Bunny explains as they begin to start their walk down the sidewalk towards where the main part of the community is.
“Can we go to the little playground? I don’t really want to play with anyone else right now.” Esme asked.
“Of course.” Bunny answered before nodding her head.
“Can I hold Butter’s leash?” Esme asked softly as she twisted and turned unsurely while she walked next to Bunny on the sidewalk. Bunny looked down at her with a kind smile on her face.
“Of course Es. Just hold him tight and if he pulls you you have to tell him no and stop walking immediately. That’s how I taught him when he was a puppy, but when it’s someone else walking him he’ll try to pull ahead. And let me hold your backpack so you don’t have to worry about it.” Bunny explained as she looped the leash handle around Esme’s wrist and showed her how to hold the leash and took Esme’s backpack from her casually tossing it over one shoulder before they started walking again.
Once they had crossed the main road running through the community Bunny directed Esme to walk past the big playground and then follow the winding cobblestone walkway. They were quiet for a bit just taking in the scenery before Bunny spoke up.
“So how was school today?” Bunny asked curiously as she watched Esme focus on walking Butter properly. At her question Esme turned her head to look at Bunny with a bright smile.
“It was fun. We did a lot of arts and crafts today and not that many sports.” Esme said happily as she began to skip down the sidewalk.
“You like doing a lot of arts and crafts?” Bunny asked, wanting to gather some ideas on what she could do with Esme during the week when she got home from school.
“Oh yeah my favorite is drawing and painting but today in art class we did some sculpting with clay which was really cool!” Esme said excited as she continued to bounce.
“What about bead bracelets? Do you know how to make those?” Bunny asked curiously as she silently stored away that information about Esme.
“No, not really I know how to braid a lanyard though. I did that in summer camp one year.” Esme said distractedly as the two of them continued walking along the path. Soon the trees began to grow closer and closer along the sidewalk and Bunny smiled as she began to walk slower taking in the imagery of the trees looming over the sidewalk created. She pulled her phone out and lined up the shot of Esme walking along with Butter looking up at the trees. Smiling she snapped the shot and admired the picture before she sent it off to Jack in a text message.
She then quickly caught up to the two of them and they finally came across the smaller playground. Esme squealed in delight and Bunny held her hand out to take the leash from her before she quickly ran towards the playground. Slowly walking Butter in the grass before the playground Bunny kept an eye on Esme as she made it to the fort and began to climb. Her eyes easily took in the way that Esme would take a moment to catch her breath when she climbed too quickly. She wondered quietly how severe her asthma was and soon ideas started to begin to form in her head on ways to help Esme through that.
Bunny walked closer to the playground and leaned against one of the poles of the swing set while she kept her eyes on Esme. She watched as the little girl happily made her way up and down the playground. When she slid down the slide for the fifth time she came racing over to where she stood and sat down on one of the swings and began to swing herself. Bunny smiled and set the backpack against the pole before she took a seat on the other swing and lazily began to swing back and forth. Butter danced around her legs and happily barked as Bunny tapped his behind with her shoe. Esme burst out into happy laughter as Butter then began chasing Bunny’s shoes as she lazily swung them in the air.
“So why did you name your dog Butter?” Esme asked as she slowed her swinging so that she wasn’t so high. Bunny let out a loud laugh at the question and turned her head to look at Esme as she stopped swinging.
“I didn’t mean to name him Butter. His first name was Butterscotch because he has the same colors as butterscotch. But when I first adopted him I brought him over to show him to my nephew.” Bunny began to explain happily as she remembered the day she adopted Butter. “My nephew Henry was only three at the time and was only talking a little bit. You know when little babies are just learning how to talk and only know how to say certain words?”
“Yeah.” Esme responded nodding her head in thought at Bunny’s words.
“Well when I introduced Butterscotch to him Henry couldn’t say the word butterscotch so he kept saying ‘Budder’. And it was really cute so his name changed from Butterscotch to just Butter.” Bunny explained easily as she laughed softly at the memory.
Esme burst out into laughter at the story and Bunny smiled warmly at the little girl. She watched amused as the little girl bent over on her swing as she continued to laugh happily.
“That’s so silly!” Cried Esme happily as she still laughed. Bunny nodded her head at Esme’s words and watched as she slid off the swing and began to pet Butter as she giggled. “Do you like your name Butter or do you like Butterscotch?” Esme asked still giggling and Butter began to bark loudly and jumped around the little girl in excitement making her laugh harder at his antics.
“Alright kiddo, what do you say we start heading back so I can make us some yummy dinner and we tackle your homework while I cook?” Bunny suggested softly as she smiled down at Butter and Esme.
“What are we having for dinner?” Esme asked curiously as she nodded her head and picked up Butter’s leash. Bunny stood and grabbed Esme’s backpack and slung it over her back again.
“I was thinking chicken parmesan with linguine and pasta sauce. How does that sound?” Bunny asked.
“Oh! Can I help after I finish my homework?” Esme asked eagerly as she turned to face Bunny as they all began walking down the sidewalk once more.
“Yeah of course.” Bunny said nodding her head amenably. Esme cheered loudly throwing one of her fists into the air and Butter barked loudly in excitement as he jumped around not knowing what was going on. Esme and Bunny burst out laughing when Butter tripped on his own feet and did a faceplant into the sidewalk. “You alright Butter?” Bunny asked fondly as she bent down and brushed the dirt off his face and kissed his head. Butter made a happy grumbling sound and butted his head against her shin gently making Esme laugh and Bunny smile at him.
———
After the three of them had gotten back to Bunny’s house she had told Esme to go wash her hands after playing on the playground before starting her homework. Bunny had unhooked Butter’s leash and turned on the lights in the house so that they would all have enough light to be able to do what they needed to for the night.
Bunny moves about the kitchen effortlessly pulling out pots and pans and all the ingredients she needs to be able to cook dinner. She turns on her music player on her phone and hooks it up to the bluetooth speakers that she had installed into the house about a year ago, turning down the volume to a background noise level, and she begins to start dinner. She’s already salted the pot of water she needs to boil for the linguine and set up her dredging stations for the chicken parmesan before Esme reemerges from the bathroom all clean. Bunny points to one of the stools where she set down Esme’s backpack for her.
“Are you alright to sit at the island while I cook? Or do you want to go to the dinner table over there?” Bunny asks curiously as she begins to chop up some onions and garlic to add to the pasta sauce she’s making.
“No, I can do it here.” Esme says confidently and Bunny nods as she continues to chop.
“So how much homework do you have tonight?” Bunny asks idly as she looks over to Esme as the little girl pulls out a sparkly navy blue folder with a white label that says homework on it.
“I only have vocabulary and math to do tonight. And they’re only two worksheets.” Esme says with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Ok, do you want to try and do it yourself and if you get stuck you can ask me for help? I don’t know how your dad does homework with you.” Bunny says softly at a loss for words or direction. She looks over at Esme and sees the little girl smiling brightly at her.
“I usually do it myself but Daddy helps me if I get stuck.” Esme says nodding her head as she pulls out a pencil case that is also sparkly and purple. Bunny nods and smiles warmly at the little girl.
“Ok, that works for me.” Bunny says nodding as she turns and adds the chopped onions and garlic to the large pot on her stove. Stirring the onions and garlic she smiles when the scent of them cooking together enters her nose.
It’s not much longer before Bunny is adding the jar of pureed tomatoes to the pot with the onions and garlic and she begins to season the sauce with oregano and basil.
“Hey Bunny, I need help with my nine times table. I keep getting stuck on that one.” Esme says from behind Bunny and she turns to face the little girl.
“Ok what are you having trouble with?” Bunny asks as she moves to lean over the kitchen island to look at the little girl’s math worksheet.
“It’s the only times table that I have trouble remembering.” Esme said dejectedly as she huffed down at her worksheet.
“Okay, do you have a piece of scrap paper?” Bunny asked and Esme nodded handing her a piece of spare paper. Bunny easily picked up Esme’s pencil and began to write out the nine times table for the little girl. When she was done writing it out she turned it around to show Esme. “So the way that I was taught was that each number in your answer for the nine times table will add up to nine. This only works for up to nine times ten though.” Bunny began to explain to Esme. She points to show the little girl that if she adds each number in the answer it will add up to nine. “Also the first column of the answer goes from zero to nine and the second column goes the opposite nine to zero.” she explains as she shows that little girl. “Does that help you?” she asks, worried that she might have confused the little girl even more.
“It did. Thank you.” Esme says nodding quickly as she begins to fill in the answers for the worksheet. “So if I add nine to this answer I will get the next one right?”
“Yes that’s right.” Bunny says relieved that Esme seems to understand it.
“Cool thanks!” Esme said happily as she quickly finished her worksheet. “So can I help with dinner now?” Esme asked as she began to pack away her homework.
“Sure thing kiddo. Pull up a chair and I’ll let you dredge the chicken so I can fry them.” Bunny explains as she begins to set out plates on the kitchen island for the dredging. Cracking two eggs she beat them until the yolks and egg whites were mixed on one of the plates and then poured out some breadcrumbs on the other plate. Esme pulled a chair around the side of the island and climbed up onto it. Bunny easily flattened the chicken breasts and handed them to Esme to dip into the egg mixture and then into the breadcrumbs before laying them on a plate for Bunny. “So I was thinking maybe tonight we could watch some Pirates of the Caribbean? And then maybe tomorrow we could watch The Mummy?” Bunny suggested as she laid the coated chicken breasts in the pan of heated oil.
“I love pirates!” cheered Esme excitedly. Bunny smiled over her shoulder at the little girl who was still standing on the chair at the kitchen island. “I’ve never seen The Mummy though.” Bunny gasps loudly and presses a hand to her chest in mock outrage.
“You’ve never seen The Mummy? Oh I’m gonna show you all of my favorite movies. This is gonna be fun! What kind of movies do you like? Are there certain ones that you like?” Bunny asked over her shoulder as she would periodically look over it to Esme.
“I watch a lot of Disney movies. Dad doesn’t really know anything besides Disney.” Esme said with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Oh well that’s good because I have a ton of Disney movies that we could watch. What about Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter? Do you like those too?” Bunny asked curiously.
“You love Disney too?!” Esme cried as she bounced a little bit on the chair. Bunny laughs softly as she nods her head.
“Oh yeah I grew up on Disney kiddo. I’m like a Disney guru.” Bunny said making a silly face at Esme over her shoulder making the little girl laugh.
As dinner continued to cook the two of them continued to talk about movies that they could watch together during the week that Esme would be here. Once dinner was done Bunny easily made two plates and walked them over to the coffee table in her living room and turned on the tv pulling up the Pirates movie. She quickly then got Esme situated on the floor before going back to the kitchen to grab silverware and their drinks. Before she walked back into the living room she grabbed her phone and checked to see if she had any messages from Jack. When she saw that there weren’t any she quickly headed into the living room figuring that he was still busy with work.
———
“I love that movie!” Gushed Esme as the credits rolled for the first pirates movie on the tv screen. Bunny laughed and nodded her head. The two of them had finished their dinner about halfway through the film and just wound up slouched on the floor leaning back against the couch.
Bunny sat half slouched against the couch with one knee bent in front of her and one leg splayed out. Butter laid draped between her legs with his head resting on her thigh. He was snoring loudly with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Bunny looked down at the snoozing dog and laughed softly at him.
“I do too. It’s a really good movie.” Bunny said easily as her hand came down to rest in Butter’s fur and she began to pet him softly along his body.
“So we’ll be able to do that every night? Watch one of the movies you have?” Esme asked as she rested her head back on the cushion of the couch and rolled it to look over at Bunny. Bunny turned her head and smiled warmly at the little girl. She looked so at peace with where she was right now. Her eyes were sparkling, her smile was lazy, she looked satisfied.
“Of course I’ve got tons of movies that we could watch. I’ve got The Mummy we could watch tomorrow. There’s also some girlie movies likes 13 Going On 30 or Pipi Longstocking.” Bunny told Esme. Esme nodded her head eagerly at all the movies that Bunny was naming off. “Alright how about this we watch one more pirate movie before bed and to relax we’ll do some face masks?” Bunny suggests as she nudges Butter who wakes with a start and yelp as he twists his body until he’s standing on his little legs making Esme giggle next to the two of them. Bunny shakes her head at the dog and sighs. “Always such a hot mess.”
“What’s a face mask?” Esme asked softly and Bunny whipped her head around to her with a delighted gasp and wide eyes.
———
Bunny was finishing up smearing the lumpy light green avocado mixture onto Esme’s face. Just then Bunny heard her phone chime and not moving from her spot in front of Esme she quickly finished applying the face mask to her face.
Once done she set the bowl of the face mask down and grabbed her phone quickly. Seeing that she had a message from Jack she opened it and read it.
Is it alright to video call now?
She smiled as she read the message knowing that Jack was probably anxious to talk to his little girl. He hadn’t sent her a message besides when they were on their way to the park. Typing out a message she turned to see Esme admiring herself in the mirror that Bunny had brought out.
“Hey Es, wanna video call your dad?” She asked kindly and the little girl quickly turned to her nodding her head rapidly.
“Yes can we call him?” She asked hurriedly. Bunny smiled and tapped the video call button on Jack’s contact and handed the phone to Esme. Bunny then began applying her own face mask to her face while the two of them waited for Jack to pick up, which he did after only a few rings.
“Oh my god! What did you get into?” Came Jack’s worried cry and Bunny jolted at his loud tone. She quickly walked behind Esme to look into the phone as well.
“It’s nothing bad, it’s just a face mask. Perfectly fine and safe I swear. We’re doing a little girl spa night.” Bunny said quickly and watched as Jack stare at the two of them with concern for a moment.
Just then Bunny watched as another man peered over Jack’s shoulder and she shrieked loudly making Esme whip around to look at her as she retreated from the screen. The words from the man not resonating with Bunny at all as she quickly moved away from the phone. Esme watched her shrewdly for a moment until a bright happy grin spread across her face.
“Hi Uncle Tequila! I don’t think Bunny wants you to see her in her avocado face mask.” Esme teased happily as she giggled. Bunny shook her head at the little girl who grinned over at her from her spot on the chair.
“Oh and I can?” Came Jack’s question over the phone and Bunny rolled her eyes at Esme who giggled loudly again. Huffing out a soft breath Bunny spoke up so that Jack could hear her.
“Jack we’re friends of course you can see me in a face mask. I’m watching your daughter. Uncle Tequila is a literal stranger.” Bunny said loud enough for Jack to hear. She rolled her eyes and felt her face warm at having been seen in a face mask by someone other than Jack and Esme. Not to mention now that she thought about it she was quite embarrassed that Jack had seen her in her face mask as well.
“Bunny’s embarrassed.” Esme sang teasingly as she grinned into the phone at her father. Bunny scoffed softly at the little girl before a grin of her own spread across her face.
“Just wait until you’re a teenager little one. You’ll know all about being embarrassed.” Bunny grumbled out and Esme giggled again. Bunny shook her head and began cleaning up the bowl and other things that they had taken out to do face masks giving Esme and Jack some privacy to talk.
———
It wasn’t too long before Esme was walking into the living room from the kitchen still on the phone with Jack. She had a happy sparkle in her eye and as Bunny looked up from the book she was reading she was glad that she was able to give Esme and Jack this little reassurance that things were alright here.
“Hey Bunny, Daddy wants to talk to ya before he hangs up.” Esme said as she let out a big yawn.
“Alright, just give a minute and I’ll help you wash of your face mask. Did you say goodnight to him?” Bunny instructed warmly.
“Yeah. He just wants t’say goodnight to you.” Esme said with a bright smile and Bunny instantly felt her cheeks warm at the thought. Taking the phone from Esme she nodded her head to the little to go down the hallway.
“Meet ya in the bathroom?” She suggested lightly and Esme nodded before walking away down the hallway. Turning back to the phone she smiled at Jack who grinned and chuckled lightly at her.
“Still can’t get over that green stuff on your face.” He said softly.
“I’ll have you know it does wonders for the skin.” Bunny defended with a laugh and Jack grinned at her.
“I just wanna say thanks again Bunny. You’re doin’ me a real favor here.” Jack said warmly and for a second there Bunny thought she heard a warm southern accent in his voice that made her head tilt a little bit. Odd. Shaking her head lightly she immediately pushed the thought away.
“Jack I told you I don’t mind watching Esme. She’s been a sweetheart. There’s nothing for you to worry about I promise.” Bunny said earnestly as she stared into the phone at Jack.
“Alright, alright. I just I really appreciate it.” Jack said again and Bunny smiled at his almost pleading tone.
“What do I gotta do to get you to stop thanking me?” Bunny asked teasingly and watched as Jack’s eyes dart away from the phone and then back to her. Was that a blush she saw creeping onto his cheeks? Before Jack could become even more embarrassed Bunny spoke up again. “Don’t mention it Jack. Seriously don’t.” She teased him and he chuckled and shook his head. Just then Bunny let out a wide yawn and Jack chuckled again as her hand came up to try and hide the yawn from him.
“Alright I’ll let ya go. I’ll text you tomorrow morning.” He said with a nod and Bunny nodded along with him.
“Sounds good to me. Goodnight.” She said starting to feel the drowsiness creep into her body.
“Goodnight Bunny.” He responded and Bunny smiled before pressing the red button on the bottom of the screen. With the call ended Bunny set her book aside and stood up stretching. Yawning again she began to walk down the hallway towards the bathroom. When she saw Esme sitting up on the counter she grinned at the little girl.
“Alright girlie let’s get these masks off and you tucked up into bed.” Bunny said warmly and set about cleaning off Esme’s face first.
———
Bunny jolted awake suddenly and sat straight up in bed. Her hand came up to her chest where she felt her heart racing so fast underneath her skin. Taking a moment to look around the dark room she wondered what had woken her up so suddenly when she heard it. A loud piercing scream rang through the air and Bunny was instantly moving.
Throwing off the covers Bunny scrambled out of bed a little unceremoniously and almost fell when her feet got stuck in the blanket. But she was able to get to her feet and rushed out of the room. She grabbed the doorknob to the guest bedroom across the hallway from her and opened the door quickly. Her hand slid along the wall for the light switch and when she finally found it she clicked the light on.
Her heart clenched tightly in her chest when her eyes adjusted to see a bed head wild eyed Esme sitting straight up in bed shaking. Moving to the side of the bed Bunny sat down on it and peered at the little girl who was whimpering and shaking as she sat in the bed.
Bunny gently placed a hand on Esme’s back and began to gently rub circles trying to soothe the girl. Slowly catching her breath Bunny watched as Esme’s eyes slowed their wild and crazed darting around the room. Her breaths began to slow and her trembling also eased. Suddenly her body slumped forward and Bunny quickly wrapped the girl in her arms where Esme curled into her and buried her face in Bunny’s neck.
“I had a nightmare. Daddy didn’t come home. And then I woke up and it wasn’t my room.” Esme cried softly and Bunny tightened her arms around the little girl.
“It’s ok, your Dad is fine. Remember we just talked to him a few hours ago. And when you get in the morning he’s gonna call again. He told me he was gonna call again.” Bunny tried to reassure the little girl softly.
“I miss him.” Esme whimpered softly and Bunny rested her head on top of the girl’s.
“I know sweetheart. It’s a big change for the two of you. I know he was very worried about you when he had to leave and I know he still worries about you. But I’ll get you through it and soon enough he’ll be home.” Bunny reassured.
“Can you stay until I fall back asleep?” Esme asked quietly.
“Of course, let me just grab my phone for my alarm in case I fall asleep ok?” Bunny said softly. Esme nodded and Bunny quickly left the room only to return moments later with her phone and phone charger. She pulled it into the wall and set the phone on the end table next Esme’s bed.
The little girl then scooted over and Bunny climbed on top of the covers next to the little girl. She opened up her arms and Esme quickly rushed to snuggle herself against the woman. Bunny lay there holding Esme and let her hand gently trail up and down the girl’s back hoping to ease her back into sleep.
Not long after Bunny heard Esme’s soft snores as the little girl fell back asleep. Bunny tried her hardest to keep her eyes open but soon she found herself falling asleep next to the little girl.
———
The loud blaring of Bunny’s alarm had both Bunny and Esme groaning and trying to bury their heads back into the pillows beneath them. Bunny chuckled softly as her hand reached out blindly to grab her phone and shut off the alarm. When it finally ended she sighed softly and began to snuggle back into the bed.
Just then the loud chiming of a video call came through on the phone and Bunny groaned again and rolled over to grab the phone. She yawned widely as she sat up in bed and accepted the video call not bothering to look at it.
“Well good morning sleepyhead!” Came the chipper voice of Jack and Bunny’s whole body seemed to jerk in it’s spot as her eyes opened wide to stare at his smiling face on her phone.
“Is that Daddy?” Asked Esme suddenly wide awake. She sat up and then clambered behind Bunny to peer over her shoulder.
“There’s my sleeping beauty.” Jack said happily as he smiled. Bunny smiled as she began to rub sleep out of her eyes. “Hey is everything ok? You look like you didn’t get much sleep.” Jack said concerned and Bunny realized he was talking to her and not Esme.
“Geeze Whisk, have you forgotten how to talk to women after all this time?” Came a snarky voice in the background of Jack’s phone. Bunny burst out laughing when she heard the voice and shook her head as she watched Jack’s cheeks heat up again. “Nothin’ more than a woman wants to hear is that she looks like she needs more sleep.” Came the voice again and Bunny chuckled as she titled her head to the side and pursed her lips.
“He’s not wrong.” She teased Jack and he made a face at her making both her and Esme laugh at him. Turning to Esme she began to hand over the phone to the little girl. “Here talk to your Dad while you pick out your clothes for school. I’m gonna go get dressed alright?” Bunny suggested and Esme nodded thankfully up at her.
“Thanks Bunny.” Esme said warmly and Bunny nodded knowing that the little girl meant more than just this. Standing from the bed Bunny stretched and tuned out the conversation that Esme and Jack were having before she walked out of the room and across the hall to her own room.
Dressing quickly she walked back out of the room and down to the kitchen so that she could wake Butter up and let him out before she started breakfast.
“C’mon Butter, let’s get you out in the backyard.” Bunny called out to the dog who was laying in his bed waiting for her. She laughed as he launched himself out of the dog bed and began booking it down the hallway to the back door. “Alright, alright hold your horses.” He grumbled out as he began to bounce on his feet at the back door barking happily. Opening the door for him she watched as he quickly ran for the squirrels that had congregated under her bird feeders. She chuckled softly and shook her head as she watched him try in vain to get to the squirrels. “Crazy dog.” She scoffed softly and turned back to the hallway after shutting the door.
Walking back down the hallway she meets Esme at the bottom of the stairs still talking to Jack. Bunny smiles and walks into the kitchen and pulls out a pan as well as some eggs and bacon for their breakfast.
“Hey Esme, how does eggs and bacon sound for breakfast?” Bunny asks warmly.
“That sounds good to me.” Esme says happily as she climbs onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
“Sounds good to me too.” Jack says over the phone and Bunny laughs softly at him.
“Me too!” Chimes in another voice and Bunny grins as she shakes her head.
“Daddy! Uncle Tequila you’re not here you can’t have any.” Esme scolds them and Bunny laughs happily as she begins breakfast. They all happily chat as Bunny cooks and soon enough her and Esme are sitting down at the dining table to eat. Bunny sets the plates down and hears Butter barking at the back door. She quickly lets him back inside and then comes back to the kitchen to eat with Esme.
“So Esme tells me that you two had a rough night last night?” Jack asks softly from the phone that Esme had propped up against the jug of milk in the middle of the table. Bunny shrugs her shoulders as she finishes chewing her bite of eggs.
“It wasn’t too bad. She just missed you that’s all.” Bunny said truthfully and Jack nodded before opening his mouth. Bunny held up a finger to him and narrowed her eyes at him. “I swear Jack if you thank me one more time.” She threatened softly pointing her fork at him through the phone, Jack quickly shut his mouth and Bunny nodded her head. “It’s no big deal. It’s gonna take some adjusting but we’ll get through it.” Jack nodded his head at her and smiled warmly.
“Alright well me and Tequila are gonna’ head out to grab some breakfast. I’ll text ya later alright?” He said and Bunny nodded her head as she took another bite of eggs.
“Sounds good.” Bunny said easily and Jack smiled at her.
“Bye Es. Love ya!” Jack said lovingly to his daughter and she easily returned the sentiment.
“Love you Daddy. Bye!” Esme called out before pressing the end button. The two of them easily fell into a comfortable silence as they finished eating their breakfast.
“So I’ve noticed you and your Dad have accents but not all the time?” Bunny asked curiously as she picked up both plates from the table and began walking them over to the sink.
“Oh yeah Daddy and I are from Kentucky.” Esme said proudly and Bunny smiled as she nodded her head at the little girl. “I’ve got a little accent but Daddy’s got a bigger one. But ever since Mommy died he doesn’t use it.” Esme explained softly and Bunny stopped what she was doing and turned swiftly to the little girl.
“I’m so sorry Esme. I didn’t mean to bring this up.” Bunny said truthfully watching the little girl.
“It’s okay. It happened awhile ago. Daddy still gets sad sometimes but not as much anymore.” Esme said softly. Bunny knelt down and held her arms open for the little girl who quickly rushed into them and hugged Bunny tightly.
“It’s okay for him to be sad. And you too. It’s okay for that.” Bunny said softly as she held the little girl tightly. “If you ever wanna talk about your Mom you let me know and I’ll sit and listen ok?”
“Ok.” Esme said nodding her head.
“Good. Ok, go brush your teeth and I’ll pack a lunch for ya.” Bunny said easily as they pulled away from each other and the little girl ran up the stairs to her bedroom to finish getting ready for school.
Standing Bunny turned back to the sink and sighed softly. She was still learning things about Jack and Esme and truly didn’t mean to bring up her Mom at all. Now the accent she’d been hearing over the phone made sense.
———
The day progressed like normal if albeit a little more sluggish than it usually did. There was a sleepy haze hovering over Bunny since she woke up this morning to Esme screaming. But she pushed through it and went about her work day. She idly wondered if Esme was having as much trouble today staying awake as she was.
Soon the alarm on her phone went off and Bunny powered down her computer. She was still having difficulty with one client’s website design and hadn’t made any leeway unfortunately. Hopefully soon she’d find the inspiration to get the way the client wanted it.
Walking to the front door she grabbed onto Butter’s leash and whistled for him. His little pitter patter of feet on the hardwood floors filled the house and he came running into the front entryway. When she opened up the front door after putting the leash on Butter she could see that it was much foggier than it had been this morning. Making a quick decision on what they would have for dinner she smiled widely and the two of them set off towards the bus stop.
Once they had gotten to the bus stop Bunny stood there waiting with Butter who sat down at her feet and began to pant for air with his tongue hanging out. It wasn’t that long of a wait but as Bunny stood there she could feel the chill starting to creep into her bones and shivered slightly at it. Her phone chimed from in her pocket and pulling it out she saw that she had a message from Jack.
How are you guys doing? You smiled down at the phone and began typing out a response. It was sweet that he was checking in with her and Esme already.
Sleepy but good. Waiting for Es to get home. Bunny shook her head softly as her eyes darted over to see Butter rolling on the sidewalk on his back.
Are you alright? Came the next message and Bunny felt a warmth envelope her chest at his worry and concern for her.
I’m fine. I planned an exciting adventure to the grocery store to get ingredients for dinner. Hopefully it’ll wake us both up. Bunny heard the loud brakes of the bus squeaking behind her and she looked up from her phone to see the bus pulling up to the curb.
Esme slowly walked down the steps of the bus with a tired look in her eyes and Bunny could feel her heart melt at the way Esme’s shoulders slumped forward as she walked along the sidewalk towards her and Butter. She looked up at Bunny once she was in front of her and let out a big wide yawn that made Bunny start to yawn before she quickly covered her mouth to hide it. Esme giggled brightly at her and Bunny couldn’t help but grin at the little girl.
“So what do you say to a walk around the block and then head to the grocery store to get some stuff for dinner I had planned? I think it’s a little too cold for the park today.” Bunny suggested softly as she watched Esme tilt her head to the side tiredly.
“That sounds good.” Esme said with a sleepy nod of her head. “What’s for dinner?”
“It’s a surprise but we’re gonna make it fun.” Bunny said a little cryptically and she grinned as Esme looked up at her with a squinted look. “C’mon let’s get this butterball walking and home, then we can head out to the grocery store.” Bunny said hurriedly as she began ushering Esme and Butter around the block.
———
It took a little bit longer for the three of them to get around the block because half way around the block Butter spotted his nemesis, Mr. Squirrel and had to take a good few moments to continuously bark at his rival. But finally Bunny was opening the front door and everyone was piling into the front hallway. Quickly unhooking Butter’s leash Bunny hung it up on the hook and then walked farther into the house.
“Alright kiddo, how much homework do you have tonight?” she asked over her shoulder as she walked down the hallway to the craft room at the back of her house.
“Only one worksheet for vocabulary.” Esme said happily as she stood watching Bunny curiously.
“Good, set your backpack in the kitchen and then come help me.” Came Bunny’s voice from the craft room that she had walked into.
Esme did as she was told and then walked down the hallway to the room at the end of the hallway. Stepping into the room Esme let out a soft gasp at all the craft material on display. Her eyes danced around the room with excitement, there was a small square table in the middle of the room that many different labeled containers stored underneath it that held different craft materials. On the walls were different inspirational posters and other craft tools stored in different odd puzzle like configurations. There was a long desk along one side of the room with a computer monitor and printer on one section of it and right next to it was a sewing machine. The room was brightly decorated with rainbow colored posters and wall decorations around the craft storage. Esme could feel herself starting to grow excited at the possibilities that she would be to make with all of these materials.
Just then there was a loud grunt on the other side of the room and Esme walked over to see Bunny bent over a very large chest that looked like a pirate’s treasure chest. Esme bounced over with excitement building up inside her.
“Is this your treasure chest?” Esme asked excited and Bunny laughed happily at the little girl’s excitement.
“Oh yeah, but it’s a different type of treasure.” Bunny said conspiratorially. She opened the lid of the chest and let it fall gently back to reveal what was stored inside. Esme gasped as she spotted all the clothes that were folded and laid inside. Reaching out she let her hand gently graze the clothes and grinned up at Bunny.
“Are these costumes?” Esme asked as she practically vibrated next to Bunny.
“Sure are. I have a friend at the local stage theater who lets me pick out any of the costumes that they are getting rid of after they no longer need the costumes. Plus I’ve sewn a few of these, nothing crazy or anything.” Bunny explained. “But for our dinner tonight we have to dress up to go get it. It’s the only way that you should go out and get these ingredients. Are you down for that?” Bunny asked seriously as she stood next to Esme folding her arms over her chest.
“Yes! Yes! What are we dressing up as?” Esme asked excitedly. Bunny plucked out two large sombreros from the chest and set one on top of Esme’s head making her giggle as it slid down over her eyes. Bunny bent down and tilted the sombrero back so that Esme could see clearly and grinned at the little girl.
“You look absolutely perfect.” Bunny said happily. “I figured we need a little pick me up for dinner tonight since we’re both tired. What better way than dressing up to go get ingredients for Taco Tuesday!” she cheered the end of the sentence loudly and Esme squealed with delight and bounced on her toes making the sombrero bob and sway with her movements. “Alright what do you say to take a few pictures for your Dad so we can send them to him?” Bunny asked then and Esme grinned up at her nodding her head eagerly. Bunny laughed softly and placed her own sombrero on her head and knelt down next to Esme.
“Do you have a selfie stick?” Esme asked softly and Bunny tilted her head for a second trying to remember if she did have one.
“Oh! Yes hold on!” Bunny said, suddenly remembering. She clambered up onto her feet and moved to the closet in the room and opened the door. Esme squealed as she saw what was inside the closet making Bunny whirl back around to her in surprise. “What? What is it?” she asked hurriedly before Esme rushed into the closet.
“You have pirate swords!” Esme cheered loudly and Bunny laughed relieved as Esme pulled out the fake pirate sword from the closet.
“Yeah, I forgot I had all these props for when the community does photo booths. Jeremy the guard bought me a selfie stick at one of the parties that the community threw and I completely forgot about it.” Bunny explained as she looked for the selfie stick in the closet. “Got it!” she called and pulled it out of the closet triumphantly.
“Can we dress up as pirates one day after school?” Esme asked sweetly and Bunny smiled nodding her head at the little girl who cheered happily and jumped on her toes.
“Okay go ahead and put that back for now. We will definitely dress up as pirates one day. I promise.” Bunny promised as she nodded her head over to the closet for Esme. Esme did as she was told and then came back to stand next to a kneeling Bunny. They both smiled for the first picture and Bunny snapped a few shots.
“Can we do a silly face one?” Esme asked as she giggled happily. Bunny nodded and lined up the phone again and the two of them laughed and giggled as they made funny faces for the pictures.
“Alright let’s pick which ones to send to your dad and then we’ll head to the grocery store.” Bunny said as she pulled her phone from the selfie stick and showed Esme all of the pictures that she took. She let Esme pick a handful of them and sent them off to Jack with a smile. “Ok kiddo let’s get going so we can get the ingredients.” Bunny said smiling as she put away the selfie stick before ushering Esme out of the room as they both still wear the sombreros on their heads.
———
While they’re walking up and down the aisles Bunny is laughing as Esme bounces around making her sombrero flop around her head. Just then Bunny hears her cellphone start ringing and she pulls it out seeing that Jack is video calling her. She grins and looks over at Esme showing her the phone to the little girl. Esme bounced over and giggle as she took the phone from Bunny and quickly answered the call from her Dad.
“Daddy! Happy Taco Tuesday!” She cheered happily as she saw her father show up on the phone screen. Jack’s laugh sounded from the phone and Bunny smiled at the sound. It was a sound that she knew she was starting to get used to hearing and looked forward to it whenever he called. Shaking her head she continued down the aisle and picked out taco shells that she would need for dinner.
“Hey Es, do you want hard taco shells? Or do you want to do soft tortillas?” Bunny asked over her shoulder to the little girl. She came bounding over to her with the phone with happiness just emitting from her in waves. Bunny smiles at Jack as she sees him on the screen as a feeling of relief and gratitude fills her that Esme is able to see her father even if it’s just on a video call.
“I want hard taco shells.” Esme says in response and Bunny nods her head before picking up a package of the taco shells. She continues down the aisle with Esme walking next to her talking animated to her dad.
“So I really liked those pictures you sent him girls.” Came Jack’s voice sounding a little teasing and Bunny laughed happily at that.
“Oh yeah it’s part of my plan to wake us up. It is Taco Tuesday and we have to celebrate. What better way than to wear sombreros as we pick out taco ingredients for dinner.” Bunny said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Plus it’s always fun cooking together and I figured Esme would enjoy it.”
“Oh I think it’s a great idea and it looks like you guys are having a ton of fun.” Jack said warmly and Esme giggled as she nodded her head making the sombrero to fall over her eyes. Bunny laughed and helped adjust the hat on her head.
“Having a lot of fun Daddy. I really like being with Bunny.” Esme said happily and Bunny felt her heart melt at the little girl’s words. She wrapped one arm around the little girl and cuddled her into her side smiling down at Esme.
“And it definitely looks like Bunny enjoys having you around.” Jack said fondly and Bunny looked over at him as she still held Esme close to her. She smiled brightly at the man on the phone screen and watched as his own smile grew and his breath stuttered in his chest.
“Alright kiddo let’s get going and finish up our shopping so that we can get cooking. I’m getting hungry.” Bunny said as she continued down the aisle letting Esme time to talk with her dad.
———
It was later that night that Bunny and Esme are sitting on the floor in the living room as 13 Going On 30 is playing on the t.v. Dinner was done and cleaned away already and the two of them are sitting with their backs against the couch and the coffee table in front of them. Bunny has a wide array of nail polishes laid out on the coffee table in front of them.
“Alright so I figured we could do something special tonight by doing manicures and pedicures.” Bunny suggested kindly. “I can paint your nails and do anything you want on them.”
“Oooh, really?” Esme asked excitedly as she looked over the many bottles of nail polish. “What do you normally do?” Esme asked curiously.
“Well I usually do two different colors unless I find something on Pinterest that I’d like to try out. I find different patterns that I like to try sometimes. But it’s up to you if I can do it I’ll do it. Let me show you some of the stuff I’ve found on Pinterest that I’ve done.” Bunny explained as she pulled up her Pinterest on her phone and began showing Esme some of the nail painting ideas that she’s been able to do.
Esme took a few minutes to look over the Pinterest board that Bunny had created. Bunny watched as she scrolled through the pictures and then smiled when Esme turned the phone back to show her the nail polish design she would like done on her nails. It was a simple design of black nails with rainbow dots.
“Ok, go wash your hands first and then we’ll get started.” Bunny said excitedly as she too got up from the floor pausing the movie. Esme rushed off to the bathroom to wash her hands and Bunny went into the kitchen and washed her hands as well before coming back to the living room. “Alright so first things first, pick a hand lotion you would like to wear once I’m done. Once your nails are dry I’ll put the lotion on your hands to make them smell good.” Bunny explained as she showed Esme her collection of hand lotions.
“Why do you have so many hand lotions?” Esme asked as she began to sniff each other trying to figure out which one she would like to wear.
“I have dry skin and the skin on my hands crack and dries out very quickly if I don’t use hand lotion.” Bunny explained as she smiled at Esme. “I also like the smell of the lotions so I buy a bunch of different ones to try out.”
“I like this purple flower one.” Esme says as she shows Bunny a container of lavender hand lotion. Bunny nods her head and sets aside the hand lotion. Bunny then started setting up the nail polish she would need to be able to paint Esme’s nails.
“Ok so we’ll use that at the end. That’s a good smell, it should help you relax. Lavender is a relaxing scent.” Bunny said as she continued to set up everything. “Alright so first what I’m gonna do is a cuticle oil that’s going to moisturize your nails and cuticles. It’s gonna help your nails grow too because I’m going to rub it into your skin. Then I’ll begin painting your nails ok?” Bunny explained to the little girl with a smile.
“Ok, can we still watch the movie while we do this?” Esme asked eagerly and Bunny nodded her head.
“Of course. We have to see how the movie ends, duh.” Bunny says like it’s a no brainer and grins at the excited girl.
Soon Bunny began applying the cuticle oil around each nail on the girls’ hands and began to rub it into the skin. The little girl watched for a little bit before her attention was pulled back to the movie playing on the t.v.
“Are you going to paint your nails too?” Esme asked curiously as she looked back at what Bunny was doing.
“Yeah I’ll even let you pick out my nail polish and design.” Said Bunny as she continued to massage Esme’s fingers.
“Could we match?” Esme asked, sounding unsure and insecure. Bunny looked up suddenly at the little girl and saw her avoiding her eye. She saw the little girl bite her bottom lip in concern and Bunny couldn’t help but feel for the little girl. She wonders if the little girl is looking for a motherly figure to look up to and Bunny realizes that she doesn’t want to overstep but she would love to step up and be that person for Esme.
“Of course we could match. I think that’d be really cool to do.” Bunny gushed happily. She knew that she would have to tread lightly with wanting to be there for Esme, she didn’t want to step on any boundaries that the girl had or any parenting that Jack had for her. So Bunny knew she would be there for Esme whenever she could be and would look out for her. She wouldn’t push but she’d always try to be there for her. “So what’s going on with school? Anything exciting?” Bunny asked as she began to paint Esme’s nails.
“Well I made a new friend named Nadia. She’s really cool. She’s a lot of fun.” Esme said happily.
“That’s great Es! I’m glad you made a new friend. Does she live far from here?” Bunny said excitedly as she swiped base coat onto her nails. Blowing softly on her nails Bunny looking up at Esme and saw the slightly saddened look on her face.
“No, she lives over by the library.” Esme replied a little downtrodden and Bunny nodded her head at the little girl.
“Well that’s not too far from here. If the two of you ever wanted to hang out after school like on the weekends I don’t think it would be too far of a drive for your Dad.” Bunny said knowingly and Esme seemed to perk up at that.
“Do you think he’d let us have sleepovers?” Esme asked as she bounced slightly in her seat. Bunny smiled as she set aside the base coat bottle and picked up the black nail polish bottle.
“It’s up to him sweetheart I don’t know what he would say.” Bunny said truthfully not wanting to get the girl’s hopes up to only be crushed when her Dad said no. Esme nodded her head at what Bunny said and Bunny began to focus on painting the first layer of black nail polish.
“Nadia said she’s going to introduce me to her other friends too. Said I should make more friends who will be nice to me.” Esme said easily and Bunny furrowed her eyebrows at that.
“What do you mean friend who will be nice to you? Is there someone not being nice to you at school?” Bunny asked as she felt her body tense at the idea that there were kids who weren’t being nice to Esme. Esme was such a sweet girl in her eyes she couldn’t imagine anyone finding anything to tease Esme about. And then suddenly it clicked. Bunny looked up to see Esme trying to avoid her eyes once again. “Es, are you still being bullied?” She asked softly as she stopped painting her nails and looked up at her giving her her full attention.
Esme shrugged her shoulders and kept trying to avoid Bunny’s eyes. Bunny tilted her head down to try and catch Esme’s line of sight. When she wasn’t able to Bunny sighed softly.
“You know, I was bullied when I was a little bit older than you.” Bunny said softly and saw out of the corner of her eye that Esme was now looking up at her surprised.
“Really?” Esme asked in shock. “But you’re so cool.” She said softly and Bunny laughed loudly at that.
“Thank you. I didn’t used to be when I was a kid though. The kids at my school made fun of me because I was always reading. Anytime I had spare time while at school I had my face buried in a book. I had some friends but we weren’t popular. We didn’t do a lot of sports, just what was required in gym class. I was more interested in books and doing crafts than sports and going to parties like a lot of the other kids at my school. So I got picked on a lot at school. Oh! And I loved to swim, my family had a swimming pool and I was in it all summer from sun up to sun down pretty much. The chlorine in the pool started to change the color of my hair and when I went back to school I got teased for that by the kids at my school.” Bunny explained about her experience in school. Esme watched her silently as she listened to what Bunny said.
“How did you get rid of the bullies?” Esme asked softly. Bunny sat there for a moment and thought back to how she got the bullies to stop teasing her.
“I showed them that I didn’t care about what they said. The bullies are looking for a reaction from you. They want to see you cry and get upset. If you don’t cry or get upset they could stop. Or you can stand up to them and tell them to stop.” Bunny said truthfully.
“Like Nadia did the other day when the girls were teasing me about not playing in gym.” Esme said matter of factly. Bunny nodded her head.
“Did the girls stop teasing you after Nadia told them to stop?” Bunny asked curiously.
“They did.” Esme said nodding her head.
“Ok so maybe when they start teasing you again tell them no and stop. If they don’t stop you go to a teacher and tell the teacher what’s going on. They shouldn’t be teasing you for not being in gym.” Bunny said honestly.
“I don’t want to get in trouble.” Esme said dejectedly as she looked down at the floor.
“You won’t get in trouble for telling someone to stop teasing you. Or telling the teacher what’s going on.” Bunny said emphatically. “If someone is bothering you and making trouble for you, you have to say something otherwise people can’t help you sweetheart.”
“Ok. If they start teasing me again I’ll say something.” Esme said as she nodded.
“So maybe we need to find you something that you would be able to do instead of gym. Something that your asthma wouldn’t be aggravated. Let me talk to your Dad later and see if we can try something this weekend before he comes home.” Bunny suggested as she began to paint Esme’s nails again.
“You think there’s something that I can do that’s a sport?” Esme asked.
“There’s definitely a possibility. We’ll start off easy though and do something that’s not a sport. We’ll see how you do and then go from there.” Bunny said, trying to caution the little girl. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up too high. We have to see how you do with this first one.” Bunny said softly as she looked at Esme. Esme nodded her head slowly at Bunny and she responded with a soft smile and ruffling the little girl's hair on her head which made her squeal and try to get away without messing up her freshly painted nails.
———
“Dad! Look at my nails! Bunny painted them for me. And she painted her nails the same way so that we match!” Esme said excitedly as she showed Jack her painted nails as she sat up in her bed. Bunny was in her own room getting changed for bed and could hear the conversation going on between the two of them. She tuned it out a little bit to give the two of them some privacy but kept an ear out for anytime Esme would call out her name.
It was probably a good ten minutes later that Esme called out to Bunny from across the hall. Placing her bookmark in the science fiction novel that she was reading she set the book on the bed side table and got up from the bed. Walking across the hall she smiled as she pushed the door open and saw Esme lounging back on her pillows as she held the phone up to still look at her Dad. Her eyes were drooping and she had a sleepy smile on her face when she noticed Bunny.
“Dad said he wanted to say goodnight to you.” Esme said softly and Bunny nodded her head at the little girl.
“Sure thing, did you finish saying goodnight? I’d like to talk to your Dad for a quick second.” Bunny explained as Esme handed her the phone.
“Yeah. Can you read me a story once you’re done?” Esme asked as she yawned widely. Bunny laughed softly and nodded her head at Esme.
“Of course I can. Once I’m done I’ll come back in okay?” she said easily to Esme and Esme just nodded as she snuggled further into the bed.
Turning back to the phone Bunny walked out of Esme’s room and into her own. Bunny smiled softly at herself as she realized it was only day two with the little girl and she already thought of the spare room as Esme’s room.
“What’s the smile on your face for?” asked Jack and Bunny looked back at her phone letting the smile widen.
“I was just thinking that that’s Esme’s room already.” she said fondly and Jack grinned at her through the phone. “So I wanted to talk to you about possibly enrolling Esme in a dog yoga class that the community holds on the weekend.” Bunny explained confidently to Jack. “She mentioned that she’s still being bullied and teased at school for not being able to do gym or sports. I did a little bit of research and I have a friend in the dog yoga class who has asthma. Yoga is something that Esme could be able to do even with her asthma. It’s a slow class and very low key, I’ve gone a few times and maybe it’ll help with her asthma.” Bunny began to ramble again, she grimaced slightly as the words left her mouth and she felt herself falling farther and farther down the rabbit hole of trying to convince Jack to let Esme go to yoga. She had even begun to pace as she talked about what she wanted to do for Esme without even being aware of it. “I’ll be with her there the whole time. I’ll make sure I have her inhaler. I don’t want to overstep but she wants to do sports and she’s been upset about the teasing and bullying.”
“Easy Bunny, easy.” Jack said lowly with a little bit of an accent and Bunny took in a deep breath after stopping the word flow coming from her mouth. She shivered a little bit as the low easy comforting tone of Jack’s voice embraced her through the phone. His voice was so soothing and the accent that her ears now tried to catch and pick up was something that she knew she would love to listen to for hours. Feeling a flush grace her cheeks she grimaced slightly at the phone. “Let me call her doctor tomorrow morning and ask if that would be alright. To me it sounds fine, I know you’ll take care of her. I couldn’t ask for a better guardian to Esme than you.” Jack said softly and Bunny felt her heart thud heavily in her chest.
“Thanks Jack.” Bunny said softly as tears began to prick her eyes. She didn’t know why his words were affecting her like this. Yeah, she cared about Esme and wanted the best for the little girl but was just two days long enough to make her so invested in the girl? Bunny stood in the middle of her room where she had stopped her pacing. She stared off into her room and tried to gather her thoughts and found that all she wanted for Esme was her to feel good about herself. She didn’t want Esme to feel bad that the other kids teased her about her asthma. She felt connected to the little girl because of her own childhood past of being bullied and teased. She had wished that there was someone in her life back then who had stood up for her like Nadia was doing for Esme now. Or someone to help make her feel better about herself like she was trying to do for Esme.
“Did I lose ya Bunny?” asked Jack suddenly and Bunny was pulled from her thoughts suddenly. She turned her eyes back to the phone and smiled before letting out a big yawn trying to cover it quickly with her free hand. Jack laughed softly at the sight and Bunny flushed brightly.
“Sorry just got lost in thought for a moment.” she said sheepishly and he shook his head at her.
“No worries Bunny. I’ll let you get to sleep. I’ll let you know what the doctor says after I call her okay?” he says warmly as he grins at her from her phone screen.
“Alright sounds good to me.” she said easily. “Goodnight Jack.”
“Goodnight Bunny.” he responded and Bunny smiled again before hanging up the video call. Feeling her stomach fluttering a little she tried to push it down. She knew it would be dangerous to start developing feelings for her new neighbor so soon. But she couldn’t help but feel happy that he thought she was a good guardian for Esme.
Walking back across the hall to Esme’s room she peeked in and saw the little girl was already asleep snuggled in her bed. A medium sized stuffed octopus clutched tightly in her arms as she snored softly in her sleep. Bunny sighed softly as she leant against the doorframe and watched Esme sleeping. Shaking her head softly she smiled at herself, who knew her new neighbors would manage to weasel their way into her life so easily.
———
The next morning Bunny’s alarm blared her ‘Hype Music’ playlist waking her up from a deep peaceful sleep. She blearily blinked as she noticed the soft gray light filtering into her bedroom. Esme slept through the night! Sitting upright from the bed Bunny silently fist pumped into the air and gasped happily as she swiped her phone from the end table turning off the alarm. She had to tell Jack.
Quickly pulling up Jack’s text message thread she typed out a quick message to him.
Taco Tuesday was a success and Esme slept through the night!
Not waiting for a response she set her phone back down and got up from the bed. Changing easily into a pair of gray baggy sweatpants and a hunter green long sleeved shirt Bunny quickly tied up her hair out of her face and grabbed her phone before exiting her room. She peeked into Esme’s room quickly to see the girl still sound asleep and she grinned from ear to ear before she bounded down the stairs to the kitchen.
“C’mon Butter let’s get you outside to pee.” Bunny said softly as she walked into the kitchen stretching widely feeling more refreshed and accomplished than ever before. She patted her thighs and whistled for Butter who was still snoozing himself on his back half in his dog bed and half out of it.
When he heard her whistle his little body twisted and flipped in such a way that had Bunny groaning in sympathetic pain. But the little dog quickly got to his feet and slid across the floor towards her. She laughed softly and walked him down the back hallway to the back door.
“Go on. Get it done quick so you can come back into the warmth.” she told the dog as he leapt from the back steps and made a mad dash for his arch rival who was once again taunting him with his tittering fluffy tail. Shaking her head Bunny shut the back door and watched for a moment as Butter rushed the squirrel who quickly broke away from the discarded birdseed on the ground.
Turning back around Bunny walked back into the kitchen and set up her phone to begin playing her playlist on the downstairs speakers. She hummed and swayed her hips to the upbeat song and began setting out the ingredients for an egg and veggie omelet. She was cutting up the veggies that she wanted to put in the omelet when she heard the spare bathroom door close from upstairs and she smiled.
She let Butter back into the house and was just plating up one of the omelets when Esme walked into the kitchen already dressed in a pretty light purple shirt and dark wash bootcut blue jeans, her hair was in disarray and she looked crestfallen at that fact as she tried to pull it up into a ponytail.
“Here, eat your omelet and I’ll take care of your hair ok?” Bunny offered as she set the plate of the omelet in front of Esme. Esme looked up at her gratefully and nodded her head.
“Thank you.” she said softly before she began digging into her breakfast.
“No problem, do you want a ponytail or a braid? Two braids?” Bunny asked as she walked around Esme and grabbed the brush that was sitting on the kitchen island.
“Oooh! Can you do two braids? Or two braids that go into one?” Esme asked eagerly.
“I can do two braids, one of either side of your head for today. Anything else fancy and I’ll have to look it up on google on how to do it.” Bunny said as she began to brush out Esme’s long hair.
“You’d do that? Look it up for me?” Esme asked curiously and with a hopefully lilt to her voice.
“Of course. If I can figure out how to do it for you I will. So what would you like for tomorrow? Two braids that go into one?” Bunny assured her easily.
“Yes please!” Esme cheered happily. Bunny nodded as she hummed along to the song playing on her phone and began to braid Esme’s hair into two long braids.
“Oh! I’ve got a sparkly ribbon that I can tie into bows on the end would you want that?” Bunny asked suddenly as she thought about the ribbon that she had in her craft room.
“Is it purple?” Esme asked as she turned to look at Bunny with wide eyes.
“It might be let me go get it and we’ll see if it looks good.” Bunny suggested as she hurried over to the craft room and grabbed the sparkle ribbon she had. When she made it back to the kitchen Esme had already finished her breakfast and was just finishing up her orange juice. Bunny showed her the ribbon and Esme nodded eagerly as she still drank from her cup. Bunny laughed and walked behind Esme again. Easily tying a neat little bow on the end of each braid Bunny nodded her head in accomplishment. “Alright all done. Go on upstairs and brush your teeth, get your jacket and backpack while I eat my breakfast ok?”
“Thanks Bunny!” Esme called after she put her dirty dishes in the sink and rushed upstairs. Shaking her head slightly Bunny quickly made her own omelet and ate it standing at the kitchen island. Furrowing her brow slightly as she leaned against the island just letting her thoughts run away from her as the music still played over the speakers. Gasping suddenly Bunny turned towards the notebook she kept next to the fridge and quickly began jotting down ideas that she had for the client’s website that she was designing. She smiled as she realized after writing everything down that all her ideas were all inspiration from braiding Esme’s hair.
———
It had been a few hours since Esme had gotten onto the school bus and Bunny had been eyeballs deep into her work. After the inspirational breakthrough she had this morning thanks to Esme she had easily applied her ideas to the website design for her client and had completed a very sleek and eye appealing website. With the finishing touches now being completed Bunny sent off the design to the client and powered down her computer.
Swiping her phone off the desk she lazily scrolled through the notifications until she saw that Jack had texted her about an hour or so ago. She had already warned him on the video call he had with Esme this morning that she would be busy with her work today as she had finally gotten over the block she had come across. He had told her it wasn’t a problem and that he’d text her later but not to worry about responding back right away. He knew how work could easily keep your focus and you lose track of time.She opened the text and smiled when she saw what he had written.
Doctor says yoga is a-ok with her. Also said any other exercises or sport classes that are low key like yoga would be good too. If you have any suggestions I’m all for it.
Bunny tilted her head to the side as she tried to think of any other classes that Esme could take that would make her feel better about having asthma. Bunny stood from her desk chair and walked into the kitchen to begin prepping for dinner tonight. She had plans to get Esme more into helping her cook tonight and she knew the little girl would enjoy it. Typing away on her phone she sent off a text to Jack and set the phone down.
Did the Doctor suggest anything? Do you think she meant classes like karate or tai chi? It could maybe help Esme feel better if she had some self defense classes. It might make her feel more confident.
Pulling out the yeast packet Bunny began making the dough for the homemade pizzas she had planned for tonight. After kneading the dough she placed it in a bowl with a towel over it and set it to the side. She then pulled out some veggies and began chopping them up so that they’d go easier on the pizza. Then Bunny began heating up some tomato sauce and adding spices into it and letting it simmer on the stove. Once everything was done and prepped she looked over at the clock over the stove and saw that she had about ten minutes until the bus would be arriving.
“C’mon Butter! Let’s go get Esme!” She called out to the dog and heard his feet scrambling against the floor as he ran from his spot in the hallway where the sun managed to hit the floor and heat it enough for Butter to take a cat nap. “You silly dog.” she said fondly to him as she clipped his leash to his collar and the two of them walked out of the house together. Slipping her phone out of her pocket when she heard her notification sound go off she smiled as she saw another text from Jack.
That’s a good idea. Do you know of any karate classes?
I’ll see what I can find out and let you know. ;)
Bunny froze as she looked down at the text that she sent Jack. The little winking emoji stared up at her and she felt her breath slowly escape out of her lungs. Why did she send that?! How was Jack going to take that little emoji? Was he going to think she was flirting with him? Was she flirting with him? Would he like that she was flirting with him? Thoughts raced through her mind as she stared at the emoji and waited to see if he would send a response really quickly or not.
“Bunny!” Shouted Esme and Bunny jumped almost a foot in the air as she whipped her head around to look at Esme. Pressing the hand holding her cellphone to her chest she tried to calm her racing heart. “You okay Bunny?” Esme asked curiously as she stared at her.
“Oh yeah, yeah kiddo. I’m fine. Sorry I was a little distracted.” Bunny said easily to Esme.
“What were you distracted of?” Esme asked and Bunny smiled softly at the mix up of words from her. And then she remembered what had distracted her. Bunny’s heart began to pound in her chest again and she took in a deep breath to try and calm herself down.
“Nothing sweetheart. Let’s get walking so Butter can go to the bathroom and then I’ve got another surprise for dinner tonight.” Bunny said softly. The two of them began walking around the block together and Bunny looked down at her phone to see that she had gotten another text message from Jack.
Thanks sweetheart. ;)
Bunny felt her face flush and she slipped the phone into her back pocket quickly trying to put the text message out of her mind. But that text message would stay with her for the rest of the night.
———
The next morning Bunny’s alarm rings out and she rolls over in the bed sighing softly. Staring up at the ceiling she lets her hand rest against her stomach and her mind begins to drift off with Jack in the spotlight. Last night after her and Esme had made two medium sized pizzas with different toppings, Esme had said she wanted to take a bunch of pictures to send to Jack and Bunny had pulled out all the stops. She took pictures of Esme holding up her homemade pizza and then pictures of Esme eating the pizza.
Then the pictures had devolved into dressing up and having a dance party in Bunny’s bedroom. The two of them took selfies with the selfie stick as they posed and danced. Bunny had captured some videos too to send to Jack of her and Esme dancing around like crazy.
When Jack had video called later that night he had laughed at the excited Esme as she giggled. He had even told Bunny that he loved her picture in the fuzzy boa before he winked at her over the screen. Bunny had flushed almost immediately and had quickly left the video call. Esme had given her an odd look for a moment before turning back to the screen and talking to Jack.
Bunny stared up at the ceiling focusing on the white paint and felt herself flushing again at the thought of Jack. She knew she was going to be sad when Esme was no longer staying with her, she had definitely gotten used to taking care of the little girl and having her around. But Jack was coming home in a few more days on Sunday night and Esme would have to go back home. Shaking her head Bunny tried to clear the sadness that was trying to creep up on her. It was only Thursday and she still had four more days with the little girl and the weekend to spend time with her. She wouldn’t let the sadness of her leaving ruin her time with her now.
Getting up from the bed she dresses in a pair of black leggings and slips on a light blue tank top and then a charcoal gray oversized sweater. She walked down the stairs after checking on Esme and quietly let out Butter into the backyard before stepping into the craft room and pulled out a length of sparkly rainbow colored ribbon that she wanted to weave into Esme’s hair. She had looked up how to videos online and had found some really cute designs for braids and ribbons to try on Esme.
In the kitchen she pulled out some frozen waffles and slid them into the toaster. She then pulled out some fresh fruit and began cutting them up and placing them in a medium sized bowl. The toaster went off and Bunny put in some more for herself before setting the first two on a plate and pulling out the butter dish and maple syrup.
Esme was just walking into the kitchen when Bunny pulled the other two waffles out of the toaster. Smearing butter onto the waffles she stacked them on Esme’s plate and poured some maple syrup over them.
“Mornin’ kiddo. How’d you sleep?” Bunny as she dished out some fruit as well for Esme.
“Good. What’s the rainbow ribbon for?” Esme responded easily as she yawned widely. Bunny chuckled softly and pulled the video of how to and showed Esme.
“I figured I’d try my hand at weaving some ribbon into your hair for your hairdo today. How’s that sound?” Bunny explained as Esme watched the how to video and squealed delightedly.
“That looks sooo good!” Esme cheered happily and Bunny nodded her head. “Oh please can we do this?”
“Of course sweetheart.” Bunny said easily. “Eat up your waffles and some fruit and I’ll braid your hair.” Bunny explained as she began eating her own waffles.
Once Bunny finished her waffles she moved behind Esme and set up her phone so she could watch the how to video as she braided Esme’s hair and weaved the sparkly rainbow ribbon into it. She braided one braid on each side of Esme’s head and then combined it into one larger braid all while weaving the ribbon into her braid. When she was finished she looked at the results and smiled warmly nodding her head.
“There we go. C’mon let’s go get check it out in the bathroom and then finish getting ready for school.” Bunny said nodding her head and began leading Esme up to the bathroom upstairs. While in the bathroom Bunny took a picture of Esme’s hair and showed it to her. Esme squealed with happiness and bounced on her feet. “You look very pretty Es. I hope you like it.” Bunny said truthfully and watched as the girl in front of her gasped and then lunged forward wrapping her arms around Bunny’s waist.
“I love it, thank you Bunny. You’re the best!” Esme cheered happily as she continued to hug Bunny. Bunny wrapped her arms around Esme and leant her head on top of Esme’s. Smiling softly she just let herself be hugged by the little girl and began to feel happiness start to consume her.
“You’re very welcome sweetheart.” Bunny said warmly to the girl and then patted her back three times. “Should we send a picture of your hair to your Dad. Show him how pretty you look today?”
“Yes! He’s gonna love it!” Esme cheered happily. Bunny quickly pulled up the text thread for Jack and typed out a message before sending the picture of Esme’s hairdo off to him. She walked out of the bathroom and went into her own to brush her teeth. Just then her phone started to ring with the video call ringtone and Bunny answered it as she was brushing her teeth.
Jack’s face came onto the screen and Bunny hummed at him as she continued to brush her teeth. Jack’s laughter came over the speaker and he grinned at her before she bent over and spat out her toothpaste.
“Hold on one second Jack.” Bunny said quickly as she rinsed out her mouth and began walking to Esme’s bathroom. “Good morning by the way.” Bunny said easily and grinned at him.
“Good mornin’ to ya too Bunny.” Jack said easily and his grin grew in size on his face. Bunny pressed a button on the screen and switched the camera to face front and showed Jack the back of Esme’s hair. Jack gave a long loud whistle and Esme whirled around with a grin on her face.
“Doesn’t she look so pretty Jack?” Esme asked smiling at the girl.
“She looks as beautiful as a rose. You did a good job Bunny, you’re setting the bar high for me aren’t ya? Good morning sunshine!” Jack said happily and Bunny handed the phone to Esme who switched the camera back and began talking to her Dad. Bunny smiled at the excited chatter that instantly filled the bathroom.
“Good morning Daddy. Thanks! I really love what Bunny did with my hair.” Esme said easily as she continued to grin and bounce lightly on her toes.
“She did a really good job with it.” Jack agreed with her. Bunny smiled as she walked out of the bathroom leaving the two of them to talk.
———
Bunny had seen a very excited Esme off on the bus. The little girl bouncing around happily saying that she couldn’t wait to show Nadia her hair ribbons. According to Esme her new friend Nadia always had such pretty hairdos and pretty barrettes in her hair. As Bunny walked back to her house with Butter she idly wondered if she could make Esme a set of pretty barrettes that Jack would be able to put in her hair.
When she got back to the house she walked into the craft room and booted up her computer to look up what she would need to create some pretty barrettes and bows for Esme. As since she had finished the project for her client ahead of schedule Bunny had the next two days off to spend however she wanted. She would only need to wait on the response back from her client and then she would be back to work to implement the website design for the client.
Looking at the computer screen Bunny saw what she needed to make bows and nodded her head confidently as she saw most of the supplies she needed she had. Putting on some background music she began pulling out all the supplies she needed.
Before she actually got down to creating the bows a notification came across the speakers in the room and she looked over at her phone to see she had gotten a message from one of her girlfriends named Mercy who ran the dog yoga classes on the weekends.
Hey honey bunny! I heard through the grapevine that you’re going to be joining us this weekend with Butter and a friend?
Bunny smiled as she saw the message and quickly began typing out a response to Mercy.
Yes I’m bringing Butter and a little girl named Esme who’s my new neighbor’s daughter that I’m watching this week. She has severe asthma so I’m trying to help find her classes that her doctor approved for her to take. The doctor suggested karate and tai chi but I don’t know of any classes nearby for that. Would you happen to know of any?
Girl, I got you covered. I’ll bring all the info I’ve got on those types of classes. There’s a few places not far from the community that offer up karate and tai chi. There’s also father/daughter classes too if the Dad is into it. Or mother/daughter classes if she wants you to do it with her.
Oh, that’s sweet of you but I don’t want to overstep. But I appreciate any help you can give me! Thanks sweetheart! I’ll see you on Saturday!
Can’t wait! See you Saturday!
Feeling a little accomplished with the prospect of having some information on classes for Esme Bunny grinned as she set her phone down on the counter again.
———
The day had warmed up a little bit, Butter was sprawled out in a large patch of sunlight that had heated up the wood floor in the craft room and Bunny was seated on the stool that sat next to her craft table in the middle of the room as she looped another pretty red ribbon on itself before securing it with her hot glue gun. Blowing lightly on the hot glue she pulled her fingers away and smiled triumphantly when the ribbon stayed perfectly still where she had placed it and glued it down. She picked up a black fabric covered button and put hot glue on the back of it before she pressed it in the middle of the red bow and let the glue adhere to ribbons and the back of the bow barrette.
Just then the shrill ringing of her cellphone caught her attention as the music cut off on the speakers. Setting the bow and the hot glue gun on the counter Bunny reached over and grabbed her phone. She saw Jack’s contact show up on the screen and smiled curiously as to why he was calling her in the middle of the day. Swiping her finger over the screen she easily unlocked the phone and heard the call connect.
“Jack? Are you okay?” Bunny asked curiously as she pressed the phone to her ear.
“Hey Bunny I’m sorry to call you during the work day.” came Jack’s rushed voice.
“No, no it’s okay what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Bunny asked now feeling worry start to course through her body. She felt her muscles tense as Jack’s tone. Something was wrong and her whole body was picking up on it just in his tone.
“I’m okay. Sorry, I’m okay. But I got a call from the school.” he said blowing out a sighing breath. Bunny was instantly relieved and then her body tensed when she realized that he mentioned the school.
“What’s wrong with Es? Did something happen? Was it her asthma?” Bunny began questioning him rapidly and Jack blew out another breath of air.
“No, she’s okay. I’m sorry I’m really bad at relaying this.” he said quickly trying to calm Bunny down. Bunny took in a breath and slowly blew it out closing her eyes as she slowly relaxed her tense muscles one at a time.
“Okay, next time just start out with everyone is okay then get to the info.” Bunny suggested as she tilted her head to the side and Jack chuckled softly at her words.
“Yeah that would have definitely been better. Sorry I didn’t mean to make you worry.” Jack said softly.
“It’s okay. My mind just jumped immediately to the worst case scenario. What’s going on though why did the school call you?” Bunny asked curious as she rested her elbow on the counter and then laid her head in her palm.
“So Esme got bullied again today and she went to a teacher to get it to stop.” Jack said softly and in a tone that sounded so heartbroken.
“What did the teacher do?” Bunny asked as she quickly picked her head up from her hand.
“The teacher stopped and brought the bullies to the principal’s office. Esme didn’t get into any trouble but the other kids are giving her the cold shoulder because she told the teacher.” Jack said dejectedly.
“Oh Es.” Bunny said softly as her heart instantly broke for the little girl.
“She’s probably going to come home not in the best mood at all. I just wanted to give you a heads up if she comes home and she’s down.” Jack said softly and Bunny nodded her head along with his words.
“Okay no problem. I think tonight I’ll see if she’ll be up to doing some crafts with me tonight. I’ve got a surprise for her that I’m hoping will lift her spirits a little after the rough day she’s had.” Bunny explained kindly as her eyes darted over to the pile of bows that she had already created. The bright colors with odd middle pieces made her grin with excitement to show Esme what she had created.
“Oh? And what did you make for my little monster?” Jack asked curiously.
“A bunch of bows to put in her hair. She mentioned this morning that her new friend Nadia has some pretty barrettes that she puts in her hair and I got to thinking maybe I should make some for the girls to wear. I made some for Es and I made some for her friend Nadia if she wanted to share them with her.” Bunny explained excited and Jack chuckled softly over the phone. “I’ll send you a few pictures later on. I’ve got a few more I wanted to make before I had to go get Esme from the bus stop.”
“Oh okay. That sounds great. Thank you Bunny. I was nervous at the beginning of this but you’ve definitely put my mind at ease with leaving Es with you. I can’t thank you enough for helping me out with this.” Jack said emphatically.
“Jack, what did we say about thanking me? No more okay? I don’t mind watching Esme for you, she’s a wonderful little girl and this week has been really great. I really enjoy being around her.” Bunny said sternly, trying to get Jack to finally stop thanking her. “Oh hey, while I got you on the phone my girlfriend Mercy said she has some info on classes for karate and tai chi that aren’t that far from the community. She runs the dog yoga so when Esme and I go this Saturday she’ll be able to give me the info. I’ll give it to you once you get home for you to figure out which class would be best for Esme.”
“Wow, that’s great! Okay thanks I really appreciate you getting information on those classes. I think they’ll be great for Esme. I really liked what you said before, that she might feel more confident with some self defensive classes. I think it’ll really be good for her.” Jack said animatedly and Bunny grinned at how into it Jack was into this idea.
“Yeah I think it’ll be good for her too. She really wants to be able to participate in gym class. And by doing something that she’s able to handle with her asthma I think it’ll make her feel a little more included sort of. Or at least I hope so.” Bunny said easily.
“Yeah I know she does it’s just tricky with her asthma. Alright I gotta get back to work. Thanks again for getting the class info. I appreciate it, I’ll talk to ya later sweetheart.” Jack said quickly and Bunny flushed heatedly at the pet name.
“Okay talk to you later Jack.” Bunny stumbled out softly and quickly hung up the phone. Fanning herself with her hand Bunny tried to calm her racing heart. How could he be affecting her so much over a damn phone call and a pet name?! Bunny took in a few more deep breaths and let them out slowly trying to calm herself. She knew that her emotions and feelings for Jack were brand new and it always felt so good in the beginning but there was so much more to figure out first than to continue developing these feelings for him. Shaking her head she began to push her feelings away and down deeper inside of herself. She had to make sure Esme was okay first and then maybe just maybe there could be something for her and Jack.
———
It wasn’t that long after Jack’s phone call that the alarm to go pick up Esme was ringing out into the air. Bunny looked up from her hunched over stance over the counter and set down the finished bow in her hands. She stretched widely letting her arms reach out on either side of her body as she slid off the stool she had been sitting on.
Bunny guessed she got so involved in finishing up the bows that she lost track of time. Arching her back she heard the pops in her joints and groaned softly. Smiling softly Bunny realized that she had never actually felt this tired in a long time. It was as if her whole body was just exhausted, she had a feeling it was because she was always trying to make the evenings fun for Esme and had been doing quite a bit of moving around.
“C’mon Butter let’s go get Esme.” Bunny said easily as she ushered the little dog out of the room and down the hallway towards the front door. The two of them quickly get the leash attached and are out the door.
“Bunny!” Called out a voice that made Bunny’s head snap up and turn to the side spotting Mr. Quinten sitting on his front porch waving at her.
“Hey Mr. Q. How are you?” Bunny asked as she led Butter across the front lawn over to the fence dividing her yard from Mr. Quinten’s. “Are you warm enough? It’s a little chilly out.”
“I’m fine, I promise, stop worrying about me. How’s it going with that little girl you’ve been watching this past week?” Mr. Quinten asked, waving away Bunny’s concern.
“She’s doing ok, had a rough start but now we’re doing good together. Tonight I think we’re going to do some crafts.” Bunny explained easily to Mr. Quinten. “Am I still taking you to the doctor on Monday?”
“Yep still scheduled to go.” Mr. Quinten replied. “That’s good that you guys are getting along. Never know when it comes to you dear.” He teased and Bunny rolled her eyes at the older man as she chuckled softly.
“Sure Mr. Quinten whatever you say.” Bunny grumbled out and Mr. Quinten laughed loudly.
“That’s what I like to hear Bunny!” Mr. Quinten called out as Bunny shook her head and waved at Mr. Quinten before leading Butter back towards the sidewalk to go walk to the bus stop.
Once Bunny and Butter had gotten to the bus stop Bunny had a seat on the curb and Butter quickly walked over and curled in her lap. Bunny ran her fingers through the fur on his back and Butter turned and twisted in her lap until he was laying on his back and presenting his belly to her. Bunny chuckled softly as she began to scratch his belly making him wiggle with delight.
“You’re such a needy little thing. I love you Butter.” She says softly to him as she cuddles him up in her arms and close to her chest. She laughs as he burrows into her chest and huffs loudly. Just then the sound of the brakes on the bus ring through the air and Bunny looks up from her spot on the curb to watch as Esme dejectedly walks down the steps of the bus.
When the little girl looks up and spots the two of them sitting on the curb and gives a soft grimace. Bunny smiles softly at Esme and holds Butter up to the side of her face hoping to make the little girl smile. It works as Esme lets out a loud giggle at the silly sight of the two of them. Bunny counts it as a win as Esme walks over and takes a seat next to her.
“Are you ok?” Bunny asks softly as Butter squirms in her arms as he tries to move to climb into Esme’s lap who giggles at his antics. The dog seems to vibrate as he wiggles in Esme’s lap and starts to lick her in the face happily. Esme’s giggles emit into the air and Bunny smiles as she sits next to the little girl and wiggling dog.
“I’m okay now.” Esme says quietly and Bunny watches her with concerned eyes. “You were right I didn’t get into trouble with the teacher when I told her about the bullying but the other kids. They weren’t so nice after they heard I told on the bully.” Esme explained, Bunny nodded her head at her words.
“Yeah sometimes people blame the person doing the right thing instead of the person doing the wrong thing. I know it stinks but those kids aren’t the friends you want in the long run. Was Nadia nice to you after you told on the bully?” Bunny tried to explain to her.
“Yeah Nadia thought I did the right thing. She was still nice to me afterwards.” Esme responded.
“Good that’s really good Es. Nadia is a really good friend then. She’s one you should keep around.” Bunny said knowingly. “I hope the two of you stay friends for a very long time.”
“I like her a lot.” Esme said softly and Bunny nodded her head.
“So I’ve got a surprise for you at the house. I was thinking maybe we’ll order some Chinese food and have it delivered while we do some crafts together, how does that sound?” Bunny suggested.
“Ooh what kind of crafts? And what’s the surprise?!” Esme asked excitedly, making Bunny laugh.
“Well any kind of crafts you’d like. We could make friendship bracelets for you and Nadia. We could do anything you really wanted. If I don’t know how to make it I’ll look it up on my computer.” Bunny explained easily to her. “And it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you what it was now would it?” Bunny teased softly and Esme squealed in her seat.
“I wanna make a friendship bracelet for you and Nadia!” Esme cheered and Bunny felt her heart clench in her chest at the thoughtfulness of Esme.
“That sounds like a plan to me girlie. Let’s get going so we can walk this one and then order some food and get crafting.” Bunny said as she began to stand up. She looked down and watched as Esme let Butter crawl out of her lap and then grabbed the leash. Bunny took the backpack from Esme and the three of them began walking around the block.
———
Bunny laughed as she watched Esme race with Butter up to the front door and then bounce in place as she tried to wait for Bunny to come unlock the front door. Taking a leap up the small three step porch she had Bunny was quickly unlocking the front door and opening it for both Esme and Butter. Esme quickly undid Butter’s leash and hung it up on the hook by the door.
“Alright kiddo the surprise is in the craft room. Let’s get in there and do a bit of crafting to relax and then I’ll order dinner how does that sound?” Bunny asked.
“Sounds good.” Esme cheered as she raced down the hallway and turned into the craft room. Bunny shook her head and walked into the kitchen to serve Butter his dinner for the evening and refresh his water bowl. Hearing the loud squeal from the craftroom Bunny couldn’t help the proud grin that burst across her face.
The sound of racing steps reached her ears and she looked up from the sink where she stood to see Esme standing in the archway of the kitchen with tears in her eyes and a duo of bows in her hands. Putting the dog bowl full of water on the floor Bunny turned fully to Esme as the little girl rushed forward and wrapped her small arms around Bunny’s waist. Burying her face in Bunny’s stomach Esme sniffled softly and Bunny felt her heart clench tightly in her chest as her hand came to rest against Esme’s soft hair.
“Thank you so much. I love them all.” Esme said around a few more sniffles. Bunny pulled Esme back a little bit and smiled down at her brightly.
“You are very welcome sweetheart.” Bunny said softly and ran her hand over Esme’s hair again. “Now c’mon let’s pick some out for Nadia and then we’ll make some bracelets.” Esme nodded her head and began making her way down the hallway towards the craftroom.
Once inside the room Bunny moved to the containers that held colored lanyard, colored string, beads and other things that they would be able to use to make bracelets. Bunny also pulled out a measuring tape and a few pieces of paper and a pencil, she had another idea to help Esme feel better about things that were going on.
“Alright so which ones would you like to share with Nadia. Or do you not want to share them with Nadia?” Bunny asked as she pulled out two stools next to the counter. The two of them sat on the stools and Esme began to look over all of the bows that she had in her pile. Bunny watched as Esme started to set aside a few of the bows for Nadia as she inspected them all carefully.
“Nadia likes the colors yellow and orange to most. She says she likes them because of sunsets.” Esme explained softly as she moved a brightly orange colored bow into Nadia’s pile.
“Well that’s nice that you’re picking her favorite colors for her. And sunsets are pretty. I get why she likes yellow and orange. What’s your favorite color?” Bunny asked Esme curiously as she watched Esme pick up a teal sparkly bow with a silver octopus figurine in the middle of it.
“I like purple and teal because it reminds me of the ocean.” Esme explained easily as she set the octopus bow in her pile before picking up another one. As Esme continued to go through each bow and decide which pile it would end up in Bunny pulled out her measuring tape and began holding the tape up against Esme’s body in certain places. When she found each measurement she needed she would write it down on one of her pieces of paper. “What’s your favorite color Bunny?” Esme asked softly.
“My favorite is teal, like a light teal. It reminds me of water and it’s really soothing.” Bunny explained and Esme nodded her head at her words.
“How come so kids are really mean and some are really nice?” Esme suddenly asked in a tone that sounded as if she was going to cry and Bunny instantly froze at the question. Feeling her heart shatter in her chest Bunny blinked her eyes for a few moments as she felt tears begin to pool in them.
“You know I don’t know why some kids are mean. It could be a lot of different things. They could have really mean siblings who pick on them at home, or really strict parents who don’t let them do things, or they could just be mean. There’s a lot of reasons why someone could be mean. But none of the reasons have anything to do with you, got that?” Bunny tried to explain to Esme so that she understood. “I don’t know why the kids at school were mean to you. But you’ve got your Dad, Me, and Nadia who care about you and we’ll be here to help you ok?” Bunny said confidently and Esme nodded her head slightly and Bunny slipped off her stool and hugged the little girl tightly. “I promise not everyone is mean and there’s some really good people out there. You just gotta look for them.”
“Ok.” Esme said softly as she hugged Bunny back around the waist. When the two pulled apart Bunny pulled over the materials for the friendship bracelets that the two of them would need to make. Esme smiled as she began knotting and tying off lanyard cords. “You’re the best Bunny.” Esme said quietly as Bunny climbed back onto her stool and pulled over the colored string to begin her own friendship bracelets. When the words reached her ears Bunny whipped her head over to Esme and grinned widely.
“You and your Dad seem to think so.” Bunny said fondly and Esme grinned at her nodding her head.
“Daddy likes you a lot. He thinks you’re really cool and a good role model for me.” Esme said knowingly and Bunny tilted her head to the side as she smiled softly.
“That’s nice to hear.” Bunny said softly and the two of them fell into a companionable silence as they began making bracelets together. Conversation flowing easily between the two as they appraised each other’s work. But Bunny’s eyes kept darting over to her paper with measurements listed on it silently drafting up ways on how she was going to create Esme’s surprise for tomorrow.
———
The next morning Bunny is awake before her alarm and after the morning routine with Butter she is easily rushing into Esme’s room and cheering loudly.
“It’s Friday! Wake up sleepyhead!” Bunny cheered happily as she opened up Esme’s bedroom door. The little girl let out a loud groan as she tried to snuggle deeper into the covers of her bed. Bunny laughed loudly as she moved over to the bed and took a seat on the edge, her hand coming up to rub along Esme’s body under the covers. “C’mon sleepyhead, only one more day of school and then it’s the weekend!” Bunny cheered happily as she patted Esme. “Besides you’ve gotta deliver Nadia’s bows and bracelet to her today.” Bunny teased softly as she stood up and left the room slowly.
“Oh! That’s right!” came Esme’s still sleepy response as Bunny gently shut the door. She chuckled softly as she heard the little girl rushing around the room to get dressed before she moved back down the stairs to let Butter back into the house. Bunny moved into the kitchen and quickly began to make omelets for her and Esme.
“Butter what are we gonna do when Esme goes home this weekend? We’re not gonna have a guest for very much longer.” Bunny said absentmindedly to the dog who was curled up in his bed staring at her silently. He barked loudly when she turned her head to look at him. She smiled at him and nodded her head. “I know we’re gonna miss her right?” Bunny asked fondly of the dog and he barked twice making her laugh. “Yup I’m gonna miss her.”
Just then Esme walks into the kitchen and both Bunny and Butter look over at her. Butter barking happily as he rushed over to Esme and danced around her feet making her giggle happily.
“Good Morning Butter!” cheered Esme as she bent down and pet Butter’s head. Bunny shook her head amused as she watched the dog trot off to his bed once he got the pets he wanted and slumped into the plush dog bed. “Hey Bunny, do you have a bag that I can put Nadia’s bows and bracelets in? I don’t want them to get messed up before I give them to her.” Esme asked as she looked over at Bunny.
“Yeah I think I do, let me see.” Bunny said as she plated up Esme’s omelet and then turned off the stove before moving to the pantry to see if she had any ziploc bags for Esme. “Ah, here we go.” she says producing a medium sized bag and Esme nodded her head eagerly as she took it from Bunny and set it aside.
“Thanks Bunny.” Esme said easily as Bunny nodded her head and turned back to the stove. “So what’s with the wake up call today?” Esme asks curiously as Bunny begins making her own omelet for breakfast.
“I’ve got things to do today so as soon as I get you up and off to school I can get to the things that I gotta do today.” Bunny said vaguely.
“What things?” Esme asked curiously and Bunny smirks softly.
“Things.” Bunny teases and Esme makes a scrunched up face at her making her laugh.
“Why can’t I know?” Esme asked curiously and Bunny shook her head.
“It’s a surprise.” Bunny said secretively and Esme eyed her shrewdly.
“You like surprises a lot huh?” Esme asked as she tilted her head at Bunny.
“For other people, yes. For myself I hate them.” Bunny answers honestly as she plates her omelet and moves to have a seat at the kitchen island.
“What do you mean for other people?” Esme asks and Bunny smiles at her.
“I like making surprises for other people. But I don’t like receiving surprises.” Bunny explains.
“Even if they’re good surprises?” Esme asks and Bunny nods her head as she begins to shovel her omelet in her mouth.
“Even the good surprises.” Bunny said with finality and Esme tilts her head and then nods.
“Well that’s good to know.” Esme says easily and Bunny nearly chokes on her food as she’s mid-chew.
“You’re a little sassy this morning aren’t ya?” Bunny griped out amused as she looked over at Esme with a grin.
“You won’t tell me what you’re doing today and just say it’s a surprise. Expect the sass.” Esme said as she huffed. Bunny’s eyes widened at the sass from the little girl before she began laughing delighted.
“Oh man your Dad has his hands full with you doesn’t he?” Bunny asked as she continued to laugh.
“You have no idea.” Esme said as rolled her eyes. Bunny’s laughter filled the room and Esme only responded with happy giggles of her own.
———
“Mr. Quinten, honestly I just asked for cardboard boxes. Do you have any? I don’t need the crochety old man act from you right now.” Bunny said tiredly into her cellphone as she pressed it to her ear. Listening to his response she blew out a long breath. “It’s for Esme. I want to surprise her.”
Bunny moved about the craft room as she eyed the large pile of cardboard boxes that she had gathered from her stockpile and the neighbors next door. She only needed a few more boxes and had hoped that Mr. Quinten would have them and wouldn’t give her a problem but of course the old man had to give her the whole 20 questions about why she needed the boxes.
She only needed three more boxes to finish up the pirate ship she was planning to make for Esme. This morning after she got Esme on the bus and got through the video call with Jack she had quickly raced home and gathered all the cardboard boxes that she had stored up. She then had asked the neighbors that she knew were home today if they had any boxes that she could have. They all had eagerly given them up to her so that they wouldn’t have to put them out on the curb and they knew that Bunny would find another way to repurpose them.
“I just need three you can keep all the others.” Bunny said exasperatedly. “Yes once I take them they’re mine I won’t be giving them back to you. Goodness, maybe I’ll just ask someone else if this is the trouble I gotta go through to get them.” Bunny complained as she pulled the phone away from her ear glaring at it. “Look can I have the boxes or not? I gotta get going on this if I want to get it done before Esme comes home. And if you’re giving them up I gotta find someone else with boxes that will let me take them.” Bunny explained. “Thank you! Finally, it’s like pulling teeth with you. I’ll be right over to come get them.”
Hanging up the phone Bunny let out a loud sigh as she blew out a breath. Shaking her head, her attitude began to change as she realized that she finally had all the cardboard boxes she would need to be able to create Esme’s pirate ship. She walked out of the craft room when her phone began ringing and she looked down to see that she was getting a call from Jack. Furrowing her eyebrows she quickly answered the call and placed the phone to her ear.
“Hey Jack, is everything ok?” she asked quickly and heard Jack softly curse on the phone.
“Yeah I’m sorry to call you during the work day again. I just-I wanted to make sure you were okay. You weren’t really on the video call this morning and I was worried something was going on that you didn’t want to say in front of Esme.” Jack explained in a soft worried tone. Bunny smiled softly to herself, he was checking up on her.
“Oh yeah I’m okay. There is something going on that I didn’t want to tell Esme but it’s nothing bad. I’m making her cardboard pirate ship as a surprise and figured we’d do some reenacting of the pirate’s movies after school.” Bunny explained easily as she continued to walk out of the house.
“Wow.” Jack said softly and Bunny laughed softly. “You can do that?”
“Don’t underestimate me Jack. I’m the crafting queen.” Bunny said amused. “I’m heading over to Mr. Quinten’s house now to pick up the last of the boxes I need to make the pirate ship. Then I’ve got some sewing to do for Esme’s costume and then by then it should be time for her bus to be coming home.” Bunny explained easily and happily as she bounded down the front steps of her house.
“You’re going all out for this huh?” Jack asked bemused.
“Oh yeah if we’re gonna play pirates you gotta go all out Jack. C’mon.” Bunny scoffed at him.
“You truly are amazing.” Jack says softly almost as if caught off guard by his own words.
“Jack.” Bunny begins to warn him softly.
“No, no hear me out. I don’t know many other women who would go and make a cardboard pirate ship for a little girl who’s had a rough week being away from her Dad. All just to make her feel better. I just want you to know that I really appreciate you doing all this for Es. Ever since Maria passed away I’ve kinda been going at this from the seat of my pants and probably failing spectacularly. But you’ve been such a good thing for her this week and I really do appreciate it.” Jack said earnestly. Bunny stopped in her tracks as she heard the honesty in his voice.
“I gotta admit I’m gonna miss her come next week. It’s kinda insane how easily I’ve gotten used to her in my day to day.” Bunny admitted softly and almost guiltily.
“Well we’ll definitely be seeing you around the neighborhood and if the yoga class goes well or those karate classes work out we could work something out where you and her get to spend some time together. You two can do all that girly stuff that I’m not into.” Jack said kindly and Bunny felt her lungs catch on her next breath. He was trying to keep her in your life even though you were only a neighbor.
“Oh Jack really? I’d love that! But if you wanna take her to karate or tai chi that’s all you, I don’t want to take that from you.” Bunny said quickly even as her heart lifted at being able to spend time with Esme. “Ok, ok let’s not get too emotional now. I still gotta build a pirate ship. I’ll send you pictures and videos once everything is set up and I get her into costume. Ok?” Bunny said quickly as she grinned.
“Alright sweetheart. I expect to see you in full costume too.” Jack said with a happy laugh.
“Duh Jack. Honestly who would I be if I didn’t get in full costume also?” Bunny asked with a scoff before she laughed softly. “I’ll talk to you later Jack.”
“Talk to you later sweetheart.” Jack said in response before the call ended. Bunny is already continuing her path to Mr. Quinten’s house when she stops again and realizes that Jack called her sweetheart twice during that phone call. She feels her face flush heatedly before she shakes her head, this man and his daughter were slipping so easily into her life it was a little daunting.
———
Bunny smiles as she stares at herself in the mirror. She’s decked out in her pirate queen costume. Gray pants cover her legs while knee high tan boots cover her feet. A dark brown leather corset sits on her rib cage and a loose fitting white shirt is underneath that. The look is completed with a long vibrant black and gold coat that falls to her knees, a fake sword is strapped to her waist loosely and a worn tattered pirate hat sits on top of her head. She smiled as she grabbed her phone from the dresser and took a few pictures of her costume. She sends one off to Jack with a catchy pirate themed comment and easily stows her phone in the pocket of the jacket.
Moving out of her bedroom and down the stairs Bunny makes a quick stop in the craft room and opens up the chest full of costumes. She grabs the octopus costume and walks into the kitchen smiling brightly at Butter. The dog looked over at you from his sprawled out position. When his eyes spotted the octopus costume he quickly scrambled up and raced over to you barking loudly.
“Alright, alright Kraken let’s get you all suited up and then we’ll go get Esme yeah?” Bunny asked as she laughed at the little dog’s response to the costume she held. Butter jumped around Bunny’s feet and she tried to wrestle the costume onto the dog. “Butter hold still bub.” Bunny instructed and the dog listened as he stood still for her and she quickly strapped the velcro straps around his body. “Okay good.”
Standing upright she ushered the dog over to the front door and attached his leash to his collar before the two of them were out the door. As Bunny walked down the sidewalk she grinned and waved at the neighbors who were returning home from work. Some laughed and waved back while others looked at her curiously before shaking their heads. Bunny stopped at the corner and stood there holding Butter’s leash and posed in a very Jack Sparrow-esque pose as she waited for Esme’s bus to arrive.
When the bus did finally arrive at the corner and Esme stood at the top of the bus stairs the squeal she let out could probably be heard two streets away. Her legs couldn’t move quick enough as she bounded down the stairs and ran straight for Bunny.
“Oh my god Bunny! You look amazing!” Esme cheered as she danced and bounced around Bunny. “And look at Butter!”
“Excuse me little miss. I don’t know anyone by the name of Bunny nor Butter. No. My name is Delilah ‘The Siren’ Vail and this ‘ere is the Kraken.” Bunny says in a horrible pirate-esque accent. Esme giggles loudly and bounces on her toes excitedly.
“Are we playing pirates?” Esme asks softly and Bunny grins before nodding her head eagerly to Esme.
“Yeah, we’re playing pirates. Wanna head home? I've got some surprises for ya.” Bunny says easily and Esme nods her head quickly. The two of them usher Butter back towards the house quickly and he barks as they try not to rush him too much.
Once back at the house Bunny unlocks the door and ushers everyone inside. She unleashes Butter and shoos Esme towards the craft room.
“Your costume is in there. Go get changed into it and then we board the ship in the backyard.” Bunny says hurriedly.
“There’s a ship?” Esme asks loudly as she moves down the hallway. The cheer and squeal from the craft room almost deafens both Butter and Bunny. But Bunny can’t keep the grin off her face as she hears the excitement coming from the craft room.
“Es, Butter and I are gonna be outside ok?” Bunny calls as she passes the craft room with her Kraken dog at her heels.
“Ok!” calls back Esme.
———
The ship rocked and swayed on the high seas as waves crested underneath knocking its occupants off their legs continuously. Seagulls cawed and cried above the crew’s heads as the birds circled the tall masts holding the fluttering sails. A storm was brewing in the air and the sea was churning with anticipation of it. Ivy ‘Gunner’ Wendell stood at the helm gazing out over the churning waters. There was something in the air that was making her cautious of their course. Something that she was forgetting.
Suddenly the ship shook as a loud thud was heard from below deck. It felt as if something had crashed into the side of the ship. As Gunner looked around bewildered she spied a dark wood ship in the distance that was flying a black and gold flag from their crow’s nest.
“Mateys, turn the ship around! There be the Golddust in the distance! We need to be sure her captain won’t board us!” Gunner called down to her crew and watched as they all whipped their heads to the side to gaze at the ship that was fast approaching. “Mateys!” Gunner cried out loudly and they all scrambled to do their part to turn the ship away from the Golddust.
Just then another loud thud was heard from below deck and the ship shook with it’s impact. Gunner nearly lost her footing and had to grab onto the helm before she fell over. When she looked back up to see where the Golddust was, she was dismayed to see that it gained at least half of the distance it was before.
“Mateys brace yourselves!” Gunner shouted as she tried in vain to turn the helm as quickly as she could. The helm spun for a moment or two before coming to a dead stop almost throwing Gunner to the floor of the ship. “What is this?!” Gunner cried out as she tried in vain to turn the helm. Her eyes darted up to see that the Golddust had drawn closer and was now turning so it would be parallel with Gunner’s ship. Gunner could see Pirate Queen Delilah ‘The Siren’ Vail gazing at her from her own helm with a smug smirk on her face. But as the Golddust sat parallel with Gunner’s ship the Golddust crew didn’t move to come aboard. It was almost as if they were waiting for something. Something to happen. But what? Just then it made sense to Gunner what those thudding impacts were below deck.
“KRAKEN!” Gunner shouted to her crew and watched as four large ugly purple and teal tentacles surged out of the water on each side of her ship. The tentacles rose higher than the masts of the ship and the horrified crew below cried out in horror. They all tried to scramble away as the large tentacles suddenly crashed down onto the floor of the ship. The wood splintered and Gunner was thrown from her position at the tremor of the ship. Quickly righting herself she drew her sword and began rushing towards the Kraken to defend what was left of her ship. “I will have your tentacle for what you’ve done!” cried Gunner loudly as she surged forwards to try and slice at the tentacles.
Suddenly the tentacles drew away and Gunner looked around bewildered along with her crew. She was ready to defend her crew and ship against the abomination but it had withdrawn. There was a grumble to the side of the ship and Gunner turned her head swiftly to see Pirate Queen Delilah standing on the rail of her ship holding onto some of the rigging with a smug smirk.
“He’ll only come when I call. Might as well give it up Princess.” taunted the Queen. Turning to her Gunner pointed her sword at the woman and sneered angrily.
“Never!” Gunner shouted and the Queen laughed mockingly.
“You would let your ship and crew go down to the depths of the sea all because you won’t join my crew?!” Shouted Queen Delilah. “We would be unstoppable! How can you not see that!?” Queen Delilah cries out as she easily boards Gunner’s ship.
“I will never join you! You’re evil! A black cad!” Gunner shouts as the two women circle each other. The Queen has drawn her sword now and the two are in a standoff.
“Then we fight.” sneers the Queen and she lunges forward striking out with her sword. The clanging of their swords fills the air as the two fight to get the upper hand. The Queen has the advantage of being stronger but Gunner is quicker as she darts around the Queen. Neither one of them are gaining any leverage until the Queen lets out a loud cry and Gunner’s ship tries to withstand another thudding impact from the Kraker.
“Cheater!” cried Gunner as she’s almost thrown completely off her feet.
“I play to win Princess.” taunts the Queen as she advances. Gunner tries to defend herself but soon the Kraken is laying hit after hit upon her ship and is destroying it. Wood is flying through the air as the tentacles curl around the ship and begin to squeeze.
The Queen gasps and her eyes widen when she realizes that she will be destroyed with the ship if she doesn’t disembark. Spinning quickly she runs to the side of the ship and leaps from the railing to sail through the air and tumble onto the floor of her own ship. Gunner races after her and stops at the railing.
“You would’ve been saved Princess if only you had agreed!” cried out the Queen as she smirked and gave a little wave to Gunner.
“I will avenge my crew and ship!” Gunner cried out before the Kraken’s tentacles completely crushed the ship and Gunner was plunged into the icy waters of the unforgiven seas. Her fate left up to no one but herself.
“Would she survive or would she perish along with her crew and ship?” Bunny calls out in a contemplating tone and Esme grinned as she sat up from where she lay on the grass right next to the cardboard ship. Butter was racing around the backyard barking happily and Esme giggled loudly at his antics. “Alright kiddo. Should we hold off for another day for part two of the saga of the Pirate Princess and the Pirate Queen?” Bunny asked as she helped Esme to stand. “It’s starting to get darker.”
“Yeah!” Esme cheered and Bunny smiled down at her. “Can we send the pictures and videos to my Dad before we call him?” Esme asked excitedly.
“Sure and dinner should be arriving soon too.” Bunny said as she ushered Esme into the house. “Butter c’mon!” she called over her shoulder to the dog who was still crazily running around the backyard. The two laughed as he dashed from the far fence to the backdoor his tentacles dancing around him.
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Love, Emma (6/7)
(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem <3)
Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).
Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.
And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.
Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.
A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her precious thoughts <3
Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3
Part 1 - MIRRORBALL, Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING, Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING
Note: Everyone gives a lot of love to @carpedzem who drew this wonderful art for this fanfic :’))
Quick Summary: Last chapter ended on Neal finding Killian's love letter to Emma. This chapter opens on Emma, a week after Killian and Emma's kiss.
Reminder: Present time is Emma’s wedding to Neal, and that scene on the balcony during which Killian congratulates Emma on her wedding -- although he’s mostly dying inside. The words “I love you” slip out of his mouth, however he’s quick to add “as a friend” which leaves us with two very sad individuals who are both committing a grave mistake.
PART 6 - CARDIGAN
Six months before Emma’s wedding, a week after Emma and Killian’s kiss.
Emma tosses and turns in her bed. She does not want to glance at the clock sitting on her bedside table. It’s probably joyfully, painfully displaying a horrendous number set between 1am and 5am and Emma wants nothing to do with it.
There is not a spark of light in the room she shares with Neal, the heavy window shutters closed down.
Emma wishes there was some kind of light. Perhaps then the weight over her chest would feel less terrifying, would feel less like the terrible, dark blue waves of a tormented sea she watches swallow her alive and spit her back onto the sand.
She’s battered between the waves, back and forth, back and forth, skin rocking against water, until she manages to reach the surface and breathes in deeply.
But she’s only inhaling sea water and it fills her lungs and brings her to tears and it’s bitter, and it’s shit, and she cannot forget the taste of Killian’s lips.
Another turn, a grunt of anger and despair.
How dare he kiss her and let her leave him when he was in pain. How dare he.
It was inevitable, whispers another part of her, but that part she ignores diligently.
Nothing is inevitable. Especially cheating on her future husband. With her friend whose feet were barely out of the surgery block.
Well, she didn’t properly cheat if he was the one to kiss her…that would have been true, had she not furthered their kiss.
Had she not backed him into his chair and sucked his breath away and marked his scalp with her fingers and tugged on his hair and filled his entire being with her, and her only. It was long overdue, after all.
She turns, more aggressively this time, nearly knicks Neal out of the bed, her right foot whizzing past him.
She kissed him back because he was clearly seeking support and comfort and because a part of her will always love him, has always loved him and there’s nothing wrong with that.
Horseshit.
It is wrong. Utterly, completely, wrong.
Nobody deserves to be cheated on. Nobody. Period.
She’s just a piece of shit, now, is she?
She glances on the side. Neal is still laying on his back, peacefully snoring, one arm flung across his face. She nearly hates him for it. She totally hates him for it.
His chest raises up and down, comfortably, peacefully. What would Emma give for just an ounce of peace in her veins.
Her breath is coming out in short puffs.
It was inevitable, stammers once again her inner voice.
“NO.”
And the scream she thought only existed in her mind causes Neal to startle next to her, and this time she’s thankful it is complete darkness in their room, because he cannot see the flush on her cheeks.
She can make out the shadow of his head lifting in the dark, and she imagines his features groggy with sleep. “You okay, Emma?”
She turns back, grumbles. “Yeah, don’t worry. It’s just a nightmare.” And she definitely sounds like she’s blaming him for it.
.
A long, tortuous week flies by. Emma’s under-eye circles darken with each passing day, and she is alarmly pale when Graham asks her in a weary tone: “You’re sure everything’s okay, Emma?”
She nods and glances down at where Graham has been looking, and she realizes she’s been holding the files upside down.
Well.
“Shit. Yes. Sorry, Graham. I’ve been having a rough couple of days, is all.”
And then Graham does this thing where he leans into her space, with his big brown eyes, and this kindness in his smile, and he inquires again: “Everything okay with Neal?”
And Emma nods a bit too abruptly for it to be believable, and she knows Graham is smart enough to see it, but she nods harder, it’s the only movement her brain seems to know. “Neal? It’s never been better.” And a quick, lively chuckle to seal the deal.
And really had she laughed harder she would have choked on her fears.
(Her fears have blue eyes and are missing a limb now, and she does not dare to send him a text, to ask him “How are you?” because he must be feeling like shit, and in part it is because of her, she left him, but he had no right to kiss her like this and she had no right to kiss him back.)
.
She has David on the phone later this week.
“Hello, Emma. I’ve arrived in Portsmouth. I’ll be spending the week with him.”
She hates the feeling of guilt that circles her heart, even as she sighs her biggest sigh of relief.
“Thank you, David, it means the world. I would have come, you know, but I’m so busy with the wedding and the sheriff station and—”
“Sure thing, Emma,” he blurts out and Emma thinks he sounds so accusative, it nearly knocks her out. She is convinced she deserves it. “I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.” A few words more, and he hangs up.
For the first time in ages, Emma feels like Killian and she are on opposite teams, and David has chosen his.
She swallows a lump down her throat.
.
Emma caves in on Saturday night. Outside, the rain is pouring heavily against her windows. The wind is also howling, curling around the walls of the house and threatening to crush it under its strength.
Neal is out at Granny’s watching a soccer game with friends when Emma sits down on the hard wooden floor of their living room. Her legs are crossed and her heart is drumming in her ears, and she calls him. There’s a bottle of red wine in front of her, and it’s looking at her with a lot of judgement in its glassy eyes but Emma doesn’t care.
She cannot go on like this. She needs to know that he is alright, and that this was all a grave, stupid mistake, and she needs him to say something like “I’m fine, Emma, I’ll survive this” but also “I meant to do that for years” and then it would be her cue to nod under the ceiling light, tears in her smile and she’d say some stupid shit like “Oh god, I’ve been waiting for you to say that” and then she’d drop everything to fly back to him and they’d be happy together or some shit.
Ring, ring, ring.
That’s a lovely dream indeed.
Ring, ring, ring.
And just as Emma gets impatient, not to say she gets scared, a voice answers her. It’s a groggy, foggy voice, and it does not belong to Killian.
“Hello, what is it?” The voice echoes, chuckles, as music resonates behind it, and it is the voice of a woman.
Emma figures they must be in some kind of pub, just like Neal is.
“Is this Killian’s phone?” attempts Emma, fingers clutched onto the phone, and heart on her sleeves.
“Yup...” Another giggle. Emma decides she hates the voice. “But he is currently unavailable. Do you want me to give him a message?”
And then Emma hears his voice, emerging from a twirl of songs and other talks. “Why are you using my phone, Tink?”
Emma thinks Killian’s voice irrupts into her empty house just as a gust of wind rattles her shutters. She flinches. And for a minute, glances above her shoulder, afraid that he might appear behind her back.
But silence is her only companion. And this house is so impressively, distinctively silent.
Something clicks inside of Emma’s brain. Tink. She knows Tink. What’s her real name? Mary something. They went to high school together, and she had a disgustingly big crush on Killian, and, and –
“I dunno, some chick.”
And Emma barely has time to hear Killian’s “Which chick?” before she hangs up on a whim.
She heaves, hands trembling around the phone, and something grotesque disfigures her face.
She was worried about him and he’s been having the time of his life with this Tink, and, and – what was she expecting?
She stares at the floor as though she is able to distinguish the broken bits of her heart spilled there, and the bloody marks they leave, and it’s such a goddamn mess, and how could she allow herself to feel this way after all these years, after having been shown all the goddamn reasons why Killian Jones will never love her back a hundred fucking times.
.
Rose-Mary, of her surname Tink, tosses and turns in Killian’s bed. He is fast asleep next to her, one hand thrown across his face. He snores lightly.
Tink has this tingling desire deep within her, this desire to grab the phone he left on his nightstand and delete Emma Swan’s call from it.
“Give me the phone, Tink!”
Back in the bar, she was quite lucky to find out in the shape of his raised eyebrows that Killian Jones wasn’t actually serious, that he was seriously hammered and couldn’t have cared less for his phone if he had tried. As her only answer, she had simply locked her lips to his and pressed his phone’s home button to switch it off.
Because Tink knows Emma Swan.
Killian Jones was already in love with her when Tink asked him out, during their senior year. She cannot forget the look on his face, as she was standing in the middle of the hallway, risking her heart. Behind her, Emma Swan was leaning against a locker with Mary Margaret and Ruby, and Killian simply, positively wouldn’t look Tink in the eyes.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, “but my affections lie elsewhere.” And Tink remembers thinking he surely didn’t have to sound like he escaped from one of Shakespeare’s plays, and she turned to discover the pretty blonde smiling at Killian, waving with mischief, and his arm around her shoulders as soon as he reached her.
Some things were truly unfair.
As luck would have it, Killian’s path crossed hers years ago – when he moved to Portsmouth to join the Navy whilst she began Nursing school. But even then, he didn’t seem interested, was dating an older woman.
And then, finally, two days ago, their paths crossed again in a bar. He is missing a hand now, but he is still the same handsome guy she crushed on in high school. Perched on a stool, he looked disheveled, desperate, nose in his rum glass, and he welcomed her into his warm, solid arms.
“Still in contact with Emma Swan?” she asked, and it wasn’t like she cared. She didn’t want more than he could offer. But still, she asked.
“Emma? Who’s Emma? I only see you.”
Although she knew that to be a lie, she still decided to kiss him back, knowing the instant Killian Jones heard Emma Swan’s name again, well then, he would find a very gentle, delicate way to make her go away.
And that’s fine. But if she can prevent it, well –
Tink stands up as silently as she can, and like a feather in the wind, grabs his phone. He casually gave her his pin number earlier during the night — change this bloody song Tink will you — and Tink deletes Emma’s call in the blink of an eye.
Satisfaction sparkles in her heart. No one will bother them anymore.
.
As Neal and Emma go on tasting wedding cakes, Emma thinks about how Killian never called her back. Not the morning after her conversation with Tink, not the night after, not the day after, he did not call. Period. It’s the only answer he is willing to give, and she accepts it.
He doesn’t care about her. Not like she cares, anyway.
“The chocolate one,” Emma mumbles, trying not to spit crumbs of cakes out of her mouth and failing, “it’s perfect.”
Delicacy remains a skill she has yet to learn.
But Neal doesn’t seem to mind when he chuckles and kisses her cheek. Emma grabs his face and doesn’t care that there are still chocolate chunks in her mouth and she kisses him, hard, to forget the taste of Killian Jones’ lips.
.
Killian stares at the picture of Emma and himself on his fridge. It’s been a month, stammers his heart. She will not call, now.
Tink is still sleeping in his bed. He needs to call things off with her as well. She’s too attached, he’ll break her heart. That’s one too many hearts to be responsible for.
He swallows stone, but he takes the picture off the fridge. It’s too painful to stare at what ifs.
.
A few minutes before Emma and Neal say “I do”.
Taking a picture off a fridge is simple enough. Not racing towards the town hall of Storybrooke to try, one last time, and stop Emma’s wedding, isn’t nearly as easily done.
Hope and denial are, after all, two very close kingdoms and both of them inhabit Killian’s heart.
At least he’s got that going for him. However, Mary Margaret and David – who are also running beside him – really have nothing going for them except for their foolishness.
How dare they show up in his home and tear him out of his cobweb of misery and self-pity. How bloody dare they.
“There’s no use arguing, I’m not going!” he yelled, and then Mary Margaret had this very dangerous smile, and before he knew it, his ass sat on a plane between the two of them and he was wearing his most expensive tie.
“And look sharp, Killian.”
Which is why, as Killian races down that street corner, and up that small hill by Granny’s, and then down again Main street, towards the town hall, Killian no longer expects Emma and Neal to come out of the building, holding hands, married.
But that’s exactly what happens.
They come out as a crowd of strangers surrounds them, and they look like the sun has set all of its rays of sunshine on them, they are shining, shining, much like the waves of fear down Killian’s belly because he is too late. Of course he is.
And he wants to turn around and hit David in the face.
But what’s the use of fighting anymore? The war is lost. Lay your weapons down. Bring the soldiers home.
And in that moment, as the sun seems to align with some divine power and its golden beams shine on Emma’s eyes, glittering green lakes, she gazes at him and he holds his breath. In spite of everything, he still thinks she is the most beautiful woman on earth. He smiles, as his heart shatters to the ground, as Neal kisses her open mouth.
What is there else to do but smile?
“Fuck,” exclaims Mary Margaret next to him, and Killian sure does nod.
“Aye. Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
.
Present day – Neal and Emma’s wedding reception.
Neal watches as Emma shuts the large French windows that lead to the balcony behind her. He puts down his glass of champagne on the white table in front of him. The bubbles fizz inside, as if to mock him.
For there’s not the shadow of a smile on his wife’s face. In fact, she looks utterly devastated. Her complexion is pale, her cheeks have lost all the colors they gathered during their dances, and there is not one sparkle of happiness left in her green eyes.
A frown. Why does his wife look devastated at their wedding?
He sees her glance down, seemingly lost, and she does this thing when she doesn’t know where to put her hands, so she folds them in front of her. And she plays with the bracelet around her wrist, twists the little charms, twists, twists his heart.
And then he realizes. She’s waiting. But for what? Or rather, for whom?
He wishes the answer didn’t come quite as soon, not quite as sharply, he wishes the room did not start spinning as Killian Jones leaves the balcony in his turn – devilishly handsome as he’d say and looking entirely like a mess.
What a picture. They both look devastated. They look like the bride and groom, him in his white shirt and her in her white dress. Two bleeding snowflakes under a golden chandelier.
Neal watches as Emma risks a glance back, but Killian doesn’t look up, only stares at the hard wooden floor, Neal watches as she presses her lips together and straightens her back, but still glances back at him.
Always back at him. Of course.
And that’s when one realization hits Neal quite hard.
His wife… His wife is in love with someone else. He just married someone who is irrevocably and for all of eternity in love with someone else.
Why did he do this to himself? For the longest of times, Neal thought it didn’t matter that Emma’s gaze was filled with green, shimmering clouds of pain whenever Killian Jones’ name was mentioned in a conversation, he really thought it didn’t matter that her cheeks would always flush whenever she received a text from him, because he was the one kissing her lips and sleeping between her sheets.
He was such a fool.
He married a woman in love with someone else.
Such a fool.
Neal grabs his glass of champagne again, downs it in a few angry mouthfuls, and gathers courage and legs to stand and stride towards his wife.
Emma might be in love with Killian, but she loves him too, surely she does, or she wouldn’t have agreed to this marriage, right?
And there is something very scary vibrating in his chest, fear, a green and viscous fear, he’s losing her, she’s slipping between her fingers…
“Neal,” Emma’s voice is very soft as it greets him, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
How dare she, how dare she be in love with Killian, when Neal gave up everything for her, when he…
From the corner of his eye, Neal can see Killian lean against the wall. He is looking at them. Perfect. Now watch, you little fucker.
“Hello, baby,” two words, and Neal dips Emma and savagely presses his lips onto hers.
A burst of applause rattles the crowd.
Neal tries his best to muffle the voice inside his head that sneers that the only thing their guests are cheering at, is the end of their love.
.
“I’m going back to our room, I’m really tired” mumbles Emma over her empty mojito glass.
The sea whispers behind her back. Neal doesn’t look up from his piña colada.
On the terrace of this luxurious hotel by the French Riviera, Neal and Emma are sitting and everything sucks.
It is the third day of their honeymoon, and for Neal, it is the last straw. There is no way in hell he can keep up this charade. They both deserve better than this.
She’s been looking miserable since they arrived here – it isn’t for a lack of trying to conceal it. Actually, no, it’s worse than that. She’s been looking miserable since Killian Jones left their wedding without a look back at her. Should have seen her face, Eurydice left by Orpheus in the depths of hell.
It’s killing him to see her like this, to know there’s nothing he can do to make things better. Purely and simply because, as much as he’s tried to, Neal Cassidy will never replace Killian Jones in Emma Swan’s heart.
And as she bends towards him to give him a quick peck on the lips, a very vicious sentence tickles his tongue and he lets it out without a second thought.
“Bet you looked more eager to kiss Killian.”
It is a dick move, yes, but after all he isn’t the one who cheated on her, and Neal thinks she deserves a little karma.
The look she darts on him then would have probably killed him, had there not been empty glasses standing between the two of them to shield him.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she spits out in a sharp, defensive tone.
Neal is surprised she tries to deny it all.
“Your lover sent you a letter,” he hisses back.
Satisfaction sparkles in his heart at the sight of her face turning crimson under the moonlight.
He watches as she angrily gulps a last mouthful of rum, watches as her knuckles whiten around her glass and her jaw clenches. “Who are you talking about?”
“Who the hell do you think I’m talking about?”
And then the god forsaken, sacrilegious name. “...Killian sent me a letter?”
And from guilt to anger, there is only one, treacherous step. And she seems eager to jump it.
“Oh yeah, he did. Said it all about your kiss and loving you, and I nearly vomited…”
And then it is really upsetting because he wants to be mad but her face does that thing where it just freezes, mouth open wide and eyes even wider, and it would have been funny had he not been putting an end to their short-lived marriage.
“He…he loves me?”
She cannot possibly not know it. She can’t be that oblivious to reality.
“I’m telling you I know you cheated on me and that’s your only reaction?” A roll of eyes, his voice coming out shriller, to mock her, mock her pain, because he wants to hurt her like she hurt him. “ “He loves me?” Of course he loves you, Emma!” he blurts out, because the entire world knows it except for her, apparently.
He can’t have married someone as oblivious.
Well, you did marry her knowing she was in love with someone else.
And she stands up, cheeks hot and burning and red, and she isn’t making any sense anymore. “What the hell are you talking about? Killian doesn’t love me, he never has.”
And seeing her wrath, the way her body trembles and shakes, he knows she is truly convinced Killian Jones isn’t in love with her.
But how…
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Where is that letter?”
“I got rid of it, of course!”
“Then you have no proof! How convenient.”
He wants to stop her then, to yell “Hey YOU cheated on me,” but he can tell that in her grand order of things, her cheating on him has nothing on Killian Jones possibly loving her.
And then a small, mad chuckle jolts out of her mouth. “Killian would never write a letter. You made that up.”
“But how would I know about the kiss?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care, and I, I—” A turn, and then she is gone, disappearing in a tornado of anger and guilt and sand.
Neal doesn’t try to hold her back, remains very still on his seat, lets her go, much like he should have years ago. He glances down at the empty drink between his fingers.
The waves crash against the sand, whoosh, whoosh, and Neal feels terribly lonely.
But at peace.
But mostly lonely.
Damnit, she is stubborn, and she is lucky he’s in love with her. That he’ll always be, somehow, even if he is a fucking idiot who probably blew his only chance at love when he stole those watches.
.
Later that night, Neal finds her sitting on their king side bed and its perfectly white blankets, hands folded in front of her like he knows them to, shoulders down and head bent towards the floor, and Neal desperately wants to hug her.
There is not an ounce of anger left in his body. Only sadness.
There’s not a flicker of light in their room as he sits down by her side. The rustle of the waves can be heard from their room. It’s the only reason why he chose it. He knows she loves that sound.
(He doesn’t know she loves it because of him, but that’s fine.)
“Hey…” he begins softly, and his shoulder gently bumps against hers. “You okay?”
She’s twirling her wedding ring around her finger. Of course she is. She always has been. And that should have been a clue, too.
“Are you being sincere right now?” she asks, and her voice is nothing like the voice he’s grown to love.
Emma’s voice has always been soft, but vibrating with a very triumphant confidence as well.
“What do you mean?” he asks, because precisely he doesn’t know what she means.
He’s never understood her like Killian can, in spite of how much he loves her. And while he spent most of the beginning of his adulthood hating him for it, he realizes now it is simply a battle he cannot win.
She lifts her face up, and he makes out her shimmering eyes in the darkness.
“I cheated on you. Aren’t you mad?”
A gigantic sigh shakes his shoulders as these past six months flash before his eyes.
“I was angry, Emma. But it’s been too long, I’m not anymore.”
“Too long?”
Oh, right, that. She’ll hate him, but well, she deserves the truth. He winces, fidgets with the collar of his shirt.
“I might have been hiding this letter from you for a good six months now…” he whispers, and forces a smile on his face as an apology.
“You what?”
She doesn’t sound nearly as angry as he expected her to. In fact, she doesn’t sound angry at all. She sounds defeated, hopeless.
“I was so scared that if I confronted you, you would just run and never marry me, and I thought I could hold on to you by not telling you…But I was wrong. There was no holding on to you.”
And something terrible rattles her body then, as she cups her face and disappears even more in a small, scared puddle over the bed.
“Fuck. I’m sorry Neal. I ruined everything.”
And he shakes his head then, grabs one of her hands. “There’s no need to apologize, Emma. We both fucked up. I should have let you go a long time ago.”
His throat is tight, but he knows this is the right thing to do.
“What are we going to do now?” she whispers, just as one of his arms comes to wrap around her shoulders.
She muffles a sigh in the crook of his neck while he gently brushes her hair.
“I don’t know. Is there some kind of three weeks wedding notice?”
She chuckles then, but he can clearly imagine the tears rolling down her cheeks as she sniffles into his neck.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I am.”
Silence. By then, it’s somehow raining in the room and his shirt is soaked.
“I’ll always love you. You know that, right, Emma?”
She nods in the darkness, her hand clutching onto his shoulder, and she seems to him a firefly caught between a child’s chubby hands.
“I know, Neal.”
“Good.”
.
Moving out of this house is one of the weirdest things Emma has ever had to do.
“Emma, you’re not coming?” calls David’s voice, and Emma looks up to see his head peering from the driver’s seat of his old, orange truck.
Safely packing all of the pieces of furniture was a collective effort. Mary Margaret, Ingrid and Ruby also came to help, and Emma is quite thankful. It’s such a blinding, sunny day of August, and if not for the fresh breeze that swirls between the tree branches, it would be unbreathable.
Emma simply shakes her head. “No, don’t worry. I’ll join you guys later at Granny’s.”
Her right foot nearly knocks out the small cardboard box at her feet, sending a loop down her stomach.
This one she’ll carry herself.
Neal and Emma agreed to sell the house and the furniture, and Neal – well Neal decided to move to Boston, and Emma cannot quite blame him.
This last month has been…weird, on so many levels, and Neal wasn’t the weirdest thing about it.
“Alright. Call us if you need anything.”
As David drives away, Emma stares back at the house. Her feet seem buried into the doormat, the door still open wide, and her fingers clutch onto the keys.
It is a bittersweet sight, those empty walls.
She thinks life has a funny way of coming around. She thinks she thought she’d have a family there, with Neal, she thinks she thought this was what she wanted, what she could bear to have and risk losing.
She’s glad that Neal showed himself braver than she ever could. That he refused to settle, for both of their sakes.
She inhales deeply.
Exhales.
And lets it go. All of it.
Click, she locks the door, and turns her back on her past.
A summer breeze greets her face, swirls around her legs and tangles her hair, and she closes her eyes into the warm embrace. It carries childhood smells, this smell of burnt wood, and Rocky Road ice-cream, and Killian’s cologne.
“Heard you needed help moving out?” Her eyes snap open. Her heart skips a beat.
It’s August in Storybrooke, Maine, and anything is possible again.
The wind carries the first fallen leaves to her feet and his scent to her heart. Something mystical splits her face as she takes a step towards him. She nearly trips on the cardboard box at her feet, again, grunts and picks it up in a blink, and she hears it – his laughter in the wind.
As she looks up, a flower blooms in her chest, carries blood to her heart and her face with its roots, and her lungs are soon filled to the brim with petals.
“Yeah.” A quivering whisper, it is hard to breathe when the sun drops golden and blue beams into his eyes. “Thank you, Killian.”
And in a few strides he imprisons the cardboard box she held against her chest, the one containing memories of her childhood, and his eyes are so warm on her face that he steals her breath away.
“Any baggage left?” he asks, and it is a hoarse whisper as well.
She swallows hard.
She shivers beside him. She’s a fallen leaf herself, caught in a whirlwind. Her eyes are open wide and she feels completely swallowed by his gaze but it is a wonderful kind of fear.
“Not at all.”
And he smiles then, and it is one of the most gentle smiles she’s seen on his face, and at last, he is Killian and she is Emma.
“Good.”
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In the 2010s, she went from country superstar to pop titan and broke records with chart-topping albums and blockbuster tours. Now Swift is using her industry clout to fight for artists’ rights and foster the musical community she wished she had coming up.
One evening in late-October, before she performed at a benefit concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, Taylor Swift’s dressing room became -- as it often does -- an impromptu summit of music’s biggest names. Swift was there to take part in the American Cancer Society’s annual We Can Survive concert alongside Billie Eilish, Lizzo, Camila Cabello and others, and a few of the artists on the lineup came by to visit.
Eilish, along with her mother and her brother/collaborator, Finneas O’Connell, popped in to say hello -- the first time she and Swift had met. Later, Swift joined the exclusive club of people who have seen Marshmello without his signature helmet when the EDM star and his manager stopped by.
“Two dudes walked in -- I didn’t know which one was him,” recalls Swift a few weeks later, sitting on a lounge chair in the backyard of a private Beverly Hills residence following a photo shoot. Her momentary confusion turned into a pang of envy. “It’s really smart! Because he’s got a life, and he can get a house that doesn’t have to have a paparazzi-proof entrance.” She stops to adjust her gray sweatshirt dress and lets out a clipped laugh.
Swift, who will celebrate her 30th birthday on Dec. 13, has been impossibly famous for nearly half of her lifetime. She was 16 when she released her self-titled debut album in 2006, and 20 when her second album, Fearless, won the Grammy Award for album of the year in 2010, making her the youngest artist to ever receive the honor. As the decade comes to a close, Swift is one of the most accomplished musical acts of all time: 37.3 million albums sold, according to Nielsen Music; 95 entries on the Billboard Hot 100 (including five No. 1s); 23 Billboard Music Awards; 12 Country Music Association Awards; 10 Grammys; and five world tours.
She also finishes the decade in a totally different realm of the music world from where she started. Swift’s crossover from country to pop -- hinted at on 2012’s Red and fully embraced on 2014’s 1989 -- reflected a mainstream era in which genres were blended with little abandon, where artists with roots in country, folk and trap music could join forces without anyone raising eyebrows. (See: Swift’s top 20 hit “End Game,” from 2017’s reputation, which featured Ed Sheeran and Future.)
Swift’s new album, Lover, released in August, is both a warm break from the darkness of reputation -- which was created during a wave of negative press generated by Swift’s public clash with Kanye West and Kim Kardashian-West -- as well as an amalgam of all her stylistic explorations through the years, from dreamy synth-pop to hushed country. “The skies were opening up in my life,” says Swift of the album, which garnered three Grammy nominations, including song of the year for the title track.
She recorded Lover after the Reputation Stadium Tour broke the record for the highest-grossing U.S. tour late last year. In 2020, Swift will embark on Lover Fest, a run of stadium dates that will feature a hand-picked lineup of artists (as yet unannounced) and allow Swift more time off from the road. “This is a year where I have to be there for my family -- there’s a lot of question marks throughout the next year, so I wanted to make sure that I could go home,” says Swift, likely referencing her mother’s cancer diagnosis, which inspired the Lover heart-wrencher “Soon You’ll Get Better.”
Now, however, Swift finds herself in a different highly publicized dispute. This time it’s with Scott Borchetta, the head of her former label, Big Machine Records, and Scooter Braun, the manager-mogul whose Ithaca Holdings acquired Big Machine Label Group and its master recordings, which include Swift’s six pre-Lover albums, in June. Upon news of the sale, Swift wrote in a Tumblr post that it was her “worst case scenario,” accusing Braun of “bullying” her throughout her career due to his connections with West. She maintains today that she was never given the opportunity to buy her masters outright. (On Tumblr, she wrote that she was offered the chance to “earn” back the masters to one of her albums for each new album she turned in if she re-signed with Big Machine; Borchetta disputed this characterization, saying she had the opportunity to acquire her masters in exchange for re-signing with the label for a “length of time” -- 10 more years, according to screenshots of legal documents posted on the Big Machine website.)
Swift has said that she intends to rerecord her first six albums next year -- starting next November, when she says she’s contractually able to -- in order to regain control of her recordings. But the back-and-forth appears to be nowhere near over: Last month, Swift alleged that Borchetta and Braun were blocking her from performing her past hits at the American Music Awards or using them in an upcoming Netflix documentary -- claims Big Machine characterized as “false information” in a response that did not get into specifics. (Swift ultimately performed the medley she had planned.) In the weeks following this interview, Braun said he was open to “all possibilities” in finding a “resolution,” and Billboard sources say that includes negotiating a sale. Swift remains interested in buying her masters, though the price could be a sticking point, given her rerecording plans, the control she has over the licensing of her music for film and TV, and the market growth since Braun’s acquisition.
However it plays out, the battle over her masters is the latest in a series of moves that has turned Swift into something of an advocate for artists’ rights -- and made her a cause that everyone from Halsey to Elizabeth Warren has rallied behind. From 2014 to 2017, Swift withheld her catalog from Spotify to protest the streaming company’s compensation rates, saying in a 2014 interview, “There should be an inherent value placed on art. I didn’t see that happening, perception-wise, when I put my music on Spotify.” In 2015, ahead of the launch of Apple Music, Swift wrote an open letter criticizing Apple for its plan to not pay royalties during the three-month free trial it was set to offer listeners; the company announced a new policy within 24 hours. Most recently, when she signed a new global deal with Universal Music Group in 2018, Swift (who is now on Republic Records) said one of the conditions of her contract was that UMG share proceeds from any sale of its Spotify equity with its roster of artists -- and make them nonrecoupable against those artists’ earnings.
During a wide-ranging conversation, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade expresses hope that she can help make the lives of creators a little easier in the years to come -- and a belief that her behind-the-scenes strides will be as integral to her legacy as her biggest singles. “New artists and producers and writers need work, and they need to be likable and get booked in sessions, and they can’t make noise -- but if I can, then I’m going to,” promises Swift. This is where being impossibly famous can be a very good thing. “I know that it seems like I’m very loud about this,” she says, “but it’s because someone has to be.”
While watching some of your performances this year -- like Saturday Night Live and NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert -- I was struck by how focused you seemed, like there were no distractions getting in the way of what you were trying to say.
That’s a really wonderful way of looking at this phase of my life and my music. I’ve spent a lot of time recalibrating my life to make it feel manageable. Because there were some years there where I felt like I didn’t quite know what exactly to give people and what to hold back, what to share and what to protect. I think a lot of people go through that, especially in the last decade. I broke through pre-social media, and then there was this phase where social media felt fun and casual and quirky and safe. And then it got to the point where everyone has to evaluate their relationship with social media. So I decided that the best thing I have to offer people is my music. I’m not really here to influence their fashion or their social lives. That has bled through into the live part of what I do.
Meanwhile, you’ve found a way to interact with your fans in this very pure way -- on your Tumblr page.
Tumblr is the last place on the internet where I feel like I can still make a joke because it feels small, like a neighborhood rather than an entire continent. We can kid around -- they literally drag me. It’s fun. That’s a real comfort zone for me. And just like anything else, I need breaks from it sometimes. But when I do participate in that space, it’s always in a very inside-joke, friend vibe. Sometimes, when I open Twitter, I get so overwhelmed that I just immediately close it. I haven’t had Twitter on my phone in a while because I don’t like to have too much news. Like, I follow politics, and that’s it. But I don’t like to follow who has broken up with who, or who wore an interesting pair of shoes. There’s only so much bandwidth my brain can really have.
You’ve spoken in recent interviews about the general expectations you’ve faced, using phrases like “They’ve wanted to see this” and “They hated me for this.” Who is “they”? Is it social media or disparaging think pieces or --
It’s sort of an amalgamation of all of it. People who aren’t active fans of your music, who like one song but love to hear who has been canceled on Twitter. I’ve had several upheavals of somehow not being what I should be. And this happens to women in music way more than men. That’s why I get so many phone calls from new artists out of the blue -- like, “Hey, I’m getting my first wave of bad press, I’m freaking out, can I talk to you?” And the answer is always yes! I’m talking about more than 20 people who have randomly reached out to me. I take it as a compliment because it means that they see what has happened over the course of my career, over and over again.
Did you have someone like that to reach out to?
Not really, because my career has existed in lots of different neighborhoods of music. I had so many mentors in country music. Faith Hill was wonderful. She would reach out to me and invite me over and take me on tour, and I knew that I could talk to her. Crossing over to pop is a completely different world. Country music is a real community, and in pop I didn’t see that community as much. Now there is a bit of one between the girls in pop -- we all have each other’s numbers and text each other -- but when I first started out in pop it was very much you versus you versus you. We didn’t have a network, which is weird because we can help each other through these moments when you just feel completely isolated.
Do you feel like those barriers are actively being broken down now?
God, I hope so. I also hope people can call it out, [like] if you see a Grammy prediction article, and it’s just two women’s faces next to each other and feels a bit gratuitous. No one’s going to start out being perfectly educated on the intricacies of gender politics. The key is that people are trying to learn, and that’s great. No one’s going to get it perfect, but, God, please try.
At this point, who is your sounding board, creatively and professionally?
From a creative standpoint, I’ve been writing alone a lot more. I’m good with being alone, with thinking alone. When I come up with a marketing idea for the Lover tour, the album launch, the merch, I’ll go right to my management company that I’ve put together. I think a team is the best way to be managed. Just from my experience, I don’t think that this overarching, one-person-handles-my-career thing was ever going to work for me. Because that person ends up kind of being me who comes up with most of the ideas, and then I have an amazing team that facilitates those ideas.
The behind-the-scenes work is different for every phase of my career that I’m in. Putting together the festival shows that we’re doing for Lover is completely different than putting together the Reputation Stadium Tour. Putting together the reputation launch was so different than putting together the 1989 launch. So we really do attack things case by case, where the creative first informs everything else.
You’ve spoken before about how meaningful the reputation tour’s success was. What did it represent?
That tour was something that I wanted to immortalize in the Netflix special that we did because the album was a story, but it almost was like a story that wasn’t fully realized until you saw it live. It was so cool to hear people leaving the show being like, “I understand it now. I fully get it now.” There are a lot of red herrings and bait-and-switches in the choices that I’ll make with albums, because I want people to go and explore the body of work. You can never express how you feel over the course of an album in a single, so why try?
That seems especially true of your last three albums or so.
“Shake It Off” is nothing like the rest of 1989. It’s almost like I feel so much pressure with a first single that I don’t want the first single to be something that makes you feel like you’ve figured out what I’ve made on the rest of the project. I still truly believe in albums, whatever form you consume them in -- if you want to stream them or buy them or listen to them on vinyl. And I don’t think that makes me a staunch purist. I think that that is a strong feeling throughout the music industry. We’re running really fast toward a singles industry, but you got to believe in something. I still believe that albums are important.
The music industry has become increasingly global during the past decade. Is reaching new markets something you think about?
Yeah, and I’m always trying to learn. I’m learning from everyone. I’m learning when I go see Bruce Springsteen or Madonna do a theater show. And I’m learning from new artists who are coming out right now, just seeing what they’re doing and thinking, “That’s really cool.” You need to keep your influences broad and wide-ranging, and my favorite people who make music have always done that. I got to work with Andrew Lloyd Webber on the Cats movie, and Andrew will walk through the door and be like, “I’ve just seen this amazing thing on TikTok!” And I’m like, “You are it! You are it!” Because you cannot look at what quote-unquote “the kids are doing” and roll your eyes. You have to learn.
Have you explored TikTok at all?
I only see them when they’re posted to Tumblr, but I love them! I think that they’re hilarious and amazing. Andrew says that they’ve made musicals cool again, because there’s a huge musical facet to TikTok. [He’s] like, “Any way we can do that is good.”
How do you see your involvement in the business side of your career progressing in the next decade? You seem like someone who could eventually start a label or be more hands-on with signing artists.
I do think about it every once in a while, but if I was going to do it, I would need to do it with all of my energy. I know how important that is, when you’ve got someone else’s career in your hands, and I know how it feels when someone isn’t generous.
You’ve served as an ambassador of sorts for artists, especially recently -- staring down streaming services over payouts, increasing public awareness about the terms of record deals.
We have a long way to go. I think that we’re working off of an antiquated contractual system. We’re galloping toward a new industry but not thinking about recalibrating financial structures and compensation rates, taking care of producers and writers.
We need to think about how we handle master recordings, because this isn’t it. When I stood up and talked about this, I saw a lot of fans saying, “Wait, the creators of this work do not own their work, ever?” I spent 10 years of my life trying rigorously to purchase my masters outright and was then denied that opportunity, and I just don’t want that to happen to another artist if I can help it. I want to at least raise my hand and say, “This is something that an artist should be able to earn back over the course of their deal -- not as a renegotiation ploy -- and something that artists should maybe have the first right of refusal to buy.” God, I would have paid so much for them! Anything to own my work that was an actual sale option, but it wasn’t given to me.
Thankfully, there’s power in writing your music. Every week, we get a dozen synch requests to use “Shake It Off” in some advertisement or “Blank Space” in some movie trailer, and we say no to every single one of them. And the reason I’m rerecording my music next year is because I do want my music to live on. I do want it to be in movies, I do want it to be in commercials. But I only want that if I own it.
Do you know how long that rerecording process will take?
I don’t know! But it’s going to be fun, because it’ll feel like regaining a freedom and taking back what’s mine. When I created [these songs], I didn’t know what they would grow up to be. Going back in and knowing that it meant something to people is actually a really beautiful way to celebrate what the fans have done for my music.
Ten years ago, on the brink of the 2010s, you were about to turn 20. What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time?
Oh, God -- I wouldn’t give myself any advice. I would have done everything exactly the same way. Because even the really tough things I’ve gone through taught me things that I never would have learned any other way. I really appreciate my experience, the ups and downs. And maybe that seems ridiculously Zen, but … I’ve got my friends, who like me for the right reasons. I’ve got my family. I’ve got my boyfriend. I’ve got my fans. I’ve got my cats.
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Billboard Woman of the Decade Taylor Swift: 'I Do Want My Music to Live On'
By: Jason Lipshutz for Billboard Magazine
Date: December 14th issue
In the 2010s, she went from country superstar to pop titan and broke records with chart-topping albums and blockbuster tours. Now Swift is using her industry clout to fight for artists’ rights and foster the musical community she wished she had coming up.
One evening in late October, before she performed at a benefit concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, Taylor Swift’s dressing room became - as it often does - an impromptu summit of music’s biggest names. Swift was there to take part in the American Cancer Society’s annual We Can Survive concert alongside Billie Eilish, Lizzo, Camila Cabello and others, and a few of the artists on the lineup came by to visit.
Eilish, along with her mother and her brother/collaborator, Finneas O’Connell, popped in to say hello - the first time she and Swift had met. Later, Swift joined the exclusive club of people who have seen Marshmello without his signature helmet when the EDM star and his manager stopped by.
“Two dudes walked in - I didn’t know which one was him,” recalls Swift a few weeks later, sitting on a lounge chair in the backyard of a private Beverly Hills residence following a photo shoot. Her momentary confusion turned into a pang of envy. “It’s really smart! Because he’s got a life, and he can get a house that doesn’t have to have a paparazzi-proof entrance.” She stops to adjust her gray sweatshirt dress and lets out a clipped laugh.
Swift, who will celebrate her 30th birthday on Dec. 13, has been impossibly famous for nearly half of her lifetime. She was 16 when she released her self-titled debut album in 2006, and 20 when her second album, Fearless, won the Grammy Award for album of the year in 2010, making her the youngest artist to ever receive the honor. As the decade comes to a close, Swift is one of the most accomplished musical acts of all time: 37.3 million albums sold, according to Nielsen Music; 95 entries on the Billboard Hot 100 (including five No. 1s); 23 Billboard Music Awards; 12 Country Music Association Awards; 10 Grammys; and five world tours.
She also finishes the decade in a totally different realm of the music world from where she started. Swift’s crossover from country to pop - hinted at on 2012’s Red and fully embraced on 2014’s 1989 - reflected a mainstream era in which genres were blended with little abandon, where artists with roots in country, folk and trap music could join forces without anyone raising eyebrows. (See: Swift’s top 20 hit “End Game,” from 2017’s reputation, which featured Ed Sheeran and Future.)
Swift’s new album, Lover, released in August, is both a warm break from the darkness of reputation - which was created during a wave of negative press generated by Swift’s public clash with Kanye West and Kim Kardashian-West - as well as an amalgam of all her stylistic explorations through the years, from dreamy synth-pop to hushed country. “The skies were opening up in my life,” says Swift of the album, which garnered three Grammy nominations, including song of the year for the title track.
She recorded Lover after the Reputation Stadium Tour broke the record for the highest-grossing U.S. tour late last year. In 2020, Swift will embark on Lover Fest, a run of stadium dates that will feature a hand-picked lineup of artists (as yet unannounced) and allow Swift more time off from the road. “This is a year where I have to be there for my family - there’s a lot of question marks throughout the next year, so I wanted to make sure that I could go home,” says Swift, likely referencing her mother’s cancer diagnosis, which inspired the Lover heart-wrencher “Soon You’ll Get Better.”
Now, however, Swift finds herself in a different highly publicized dispute. This time it’s with Scott Borchetta, the head of her former label, Big Machine Records, and Scooter Braun, the manager-mogul whose Ithaca Holdings acquired Big Machine Label Group and its master recordings, which include Swift’s six pre-Lover albums, in June. Upon news of the sale, Swift wrote in a Tumblr post that it was her “worst case scenario,” accusing Braun of “bullying” her throughout her career due to his connections with West. She maintains today that she was never given the opportunity to buy her masters outright. (On Tumblr, she wrote that she was offered the chance to “earn” back the masters to one of her albums for each new album she turned in if she re-signed with Big Machine; Borchetta disputed this characterization, saying she had the opportunity to acquire her masters in exchange for re-signing with the label for a “length of time” - 10 more years, according to screenshots of legal documents posted on the Big Machine website.)
Swift has said that she intends to rerecord her first six albums next year, starting next November, when she says she’s contractually able to - in order to regain control of her recordings. But the back-and-forth appears to be nowhere near over: Last month, Swift alleged that Borchetta and Braun were blocking her from performing her past hits at the American Music Awards or using them in an upcoming Netflix documentary - claims Big Machine characterized as “false information” in a response that did not get into specifics. (Swift ultimately performed the medley she had planned.) In the weeks following this interview, Braun said he was open to “all possibilities” in finding a “resolution,” and Billboard sources say that includes negotiating a sale. Swift remains interested in buying her masters, though the price could be a sticking point, given her rerecording plans, the control she has over the licensing of her music for film and TV, and the market growth since Braun’s acquisition.
However it plays out, the battle over her masters is the latest in a series of moves that has turned Swift into something of an advocate for artists’ rights, and made her a cause that everyone from Halsey to Elizabeth Warren has rallied behind. From 2014 to 2017, Swift withheld her catalog from Spotify to protest the streaming company’s compensation rates, saying in a 2014 interview, “There should be an inherent value placed on art. I didn’t see that happening, perception-wise, when I put my music on Spotify.” In 2015, ahead of the launch of Apple Music, Swift wrote an open letter criticizing Apple for its plan to not pay royalties during the three-month free trial it was set to offer listeners; the company announced a new policy within 24 hours. Most recently, when she signed a new global deal with Universal Music Group in 2018, Swift (who is now on Republic Records) said one of the conditions of her contract was that UMG share proceeds from any sale of its Spotify equity with its roster of artists - and make them non-recoupable against those artists’ earnings.
During a wide-ranging conversation, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade expresses hope that she can help make the lives of creators a little easier in the years to come - and a belief that her behind-the-scenes strides will be as integral to her legacy as her biggest singles. “New artists and producers and writers need work, and they need to be likable and get booked in sessions, and they can’t make noise - but if I can, then I’m going to,” promises Swift. This is where being impossibly famous can be a very good thing. “I know that it seems like I’m very loud about this,” she says, “but it’s because someone has to be.”
While watching some of your performances this year - like SNL and NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert - I was struck by how focused you seemed, like there were no distractions getting in the way of what you were trying to say.
That’s a really wonderful way of looking at this phase of my life and my music. I’ve spent a lot of time re-calibrating my life to make it feel manageable. Because there were some years there where I felt like I didn’t quite know what exactly to give people and what to hold back, what to share and what to protect. I think a lot of people go through that, especially in the last decade. I broke through pre-social media, and then there was this phase where social media felt fun and casual and quirky and safe. And then it got to the point where everyone has to evaluate their relationship with social media. So I decided that the best thing I have to offer people is my music. I’m not really here to influence their fashion or their social lives. That has bled through into the live part of what I do.
Meanwhile, you’ve found a way to interact with your fans in this very pure way - on your Tumblr page.
Tumblr is the last place on the internet where I feel like I can still make a joke because it feels small, like a neighborhood rather than an entire continent. We can kid around - they literally drag me. It’s fun. That’s a real comfort zone for me. And just like anything else, I need breaks from it sometimes. But when I do participate in that space, it’s always in a very inside-joke, friend vibe. Sometimes, when I open Twitter, I get so overwhelmed that I just immediately close it. I haven’t had Twitter on my phone in a while because I don’t like to have too much news. Like, I follow politics, and that’s it. But I don’t like to follow who has broken up with who, or who wore an interesting pair of shoes. There’s only so much bandwidth my brain can really have.
You’ve spoken in recent interviews about the general expectations you’ve faced, using phrases like “They’ve wanted to see this” and “They hated me for this.” Who is “they”? Is it social media or disparaging think pieces or...
It’s sort of an amalgamation of all of it. People who aren’t active fans of your music, who like one song but love to hear who has been canceled on Twitter. I’ve had several upheavals of somehow not being what I should be. And this happens to women in music way more than men. That’s why I get so many phone calls from new artists out of the blue - like, “Hey, I’m getting my first wave of bad press, I’m freaking out, can I talk to you?” And the answer is always yes! I’m talking about more than 20 people who have randomly reached out to me. I take it as a compliment because it means that they see what has happened over the course of my career, over and over again.
Did you have someone like that to reach out to?
Not really, because my career has existed in lots of different neighborhoods of music. I had so many mentors in country music. Faith Hill was wonderful. She would reach out to me and invite me over and take me on tour, and I knew that I could talk to her. Crossing over to pop is a completely different world. Country music is a real community, and in pop I didn’t see that community as much. Now there is a bit of one between the girls in pop - we all have each other’s numbers and text each other - but when I first started out in pop it was very much you versus you versus you. We didn’t have a network, which is weird because we can help each other through these moments when you just feel completely isolated.
Do you feel like those barriers are actively being broken down now?
God, I hope so. I also hope people can call it out, [like] if you see a Grammy prediction article, and it’s just two women’s faces next to each other and feels a bit gratuitous. No one’s going to start out being perfectly educated on the intricacies of gender politics. The key is that people are trying to learn, and that’s great. No one’s going to get it perfect, but, God, please try.
At this point, who is your sounding board, creatively and professionally
From a creative standpoint, I’ve been writing alone a lot more. I’m good with being alone, with thinking alone. When I come up with a marketing idea for the Lover tour, the album launch, the merch, I’ll go right to my management company that I’ve put together. I think a team is the best way to be managed. Just from my experience, I don’t think that this overarching, one-person-handles-my-career thing was ever going to work for me. Because that person ends up kind of being me who comes up with most of the ideas, and then I have an amazing team that facilitates those ideas.
The behind-the-scenes work is different for every phase of my career that I’m in. Putting together the festival shows that we’re doing for Lover is completely different than putting together the Reputation Stadium Tour. Putting together the reputation launch was so different than putting together the 1989 launch. So we really do attack things case by case, where the creative first informs everything else.
You’ve spoken before about how meaningful the reputation tour’s success was. What did it represent?
That tour was something that I wanted to immortalize in the Netflix special that we did because the album was a story, but it almost was like a story that wasn’t fully realized until you saw it live. It was so cool to hear people leaving the show being like, “I understand it now. I fully get it now.” There are a lot of red herrings and bait-and-switches in the choices that I’ll make with albums, because I want people to go and explore the body of work. You can never express how you feel over the course of an album in a single, so why try?
That seems especially true of your last three albums or so.
“Shake It Off” is nothing like the rest of 1989. It’s almost like I feel so much pressure with a first single that I don’t want the first single to be something that makes you feel like you’ve figured out what I’ve made on the rest of the project. I still truly believe in albums, whatever form you consume them in - if you want to stream them or buy them or listen to them on vinyl. And I don’t think that makes me a staunch purist. I think that that is a strong feeling throughout the music industry. We’re running really fast toward a singles industry, but you got to believe in something. I still believe that albums are important.
The music industry has become increasingly global during the past decade. Is reaching new markets something you think about?
Yeah, and I’m always trying to learn. I’m learning from everyone. I’m learning when I go see Bruce Springsteen or Madonna do a theater show. And I’m learning from new artists who are coming out right now, just seeing what they’re doing and thinking, “That’s really cool.” You need to keep your influences broad and wide-ranging, and my favorite people who make music have always done that. I got to work with Andrew Lloyd Webber on the Cats movie, and Andrew will walk through the door and be like, “I’ve just seen this amazing thing on TikTok!” And I’m like, “You are it! You are it!” Because you cannot look at what quote-unquote “the kids are doing” and roll your eyes. You have to learn.
Have you explored TikTok at all?
I only see them when they’re posted to Tumblr, but I love them! I think that they’re hilarious and amazing. Andrew says that they’ve made musicals cool again, because there’s a huge musical facet to TikTok. [He’s] like, “Any way we can do that is good.”
How do you see your involvement in the business side of your career progressing in the next decade? You seem like someone who could eventually start a label or be more hands-on with signing artists.
I do think about it every once in a while, but if I was going to do it, I would need to do it with all of my energy. I know how important that is, when you’ve got someone else’s career in your hands, and I know how it feels when someone isn’t generous.
You’ve served as an ambassador of sorts for artists, especially recently - staring down streaming services over payouts, increasing public awareness about the terms of record deals.
We have a long way to go. I think that we’re working off of an antiquated contractual system. We’re galloping toward a new industry but not thinking about re-calibrating financial structures and compensation rates, taking care of producers and writers.
We need to think about how we handle master recordings, because this isn’t it. When I stood up and talked about this, I saw a lot of fans saying, “Wait, the creators of this work do not own their work, ever?” I spent 10 years of my life trying rigorously to purchase my masters outright and was then denied that opportunity, and I just don’t want that to happen to another artist if I can help it. I want to at least raise my hand and say, “This is something that an artist should be able to earn back over the course of their deal - not as a renegotiation ploy - and something that artists should maybe have the first right of refusal to buy.” God, I would have paid so much for them! Anything to own my work that was an actual sale option, but it wasn’t given to me.
Thankfully, there’s power in writing your music. Every week, we get a dozen synch requests to use “Shake It Off” in some advertisement or “Blank Space” in some movie trailer, and we say no to every single one of them. And the reason I’m rerecording my music next year is because I do want my music to live on. I do want it to be in movies, I do want it to be in commercials. But I only want that if I own it.
Do you know how long that rerecording process will take?
I don’t know! But it’s going to be fun, because it’ll feel like regaining a freedom and taking back what’s mine. When I created [these songs], I didn’t know what they would grow up to be. Going back in and knowing that it meant something to people is actually a really beautiful way to celebrate what the fans have done for my music.
Ten years ago, on the brink of the 2010s, you were about to turn 20. What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time?
Oh, God - I wouldn’t give myself any advice. I would have done everything exactly the same way. Because even the really tough things I’ve gone through taught me things that I never would have learned any other way. I really appreciate my experience, the ups and downs. And maybe that seems ridiculously Zen, but... I’ve got my friends, who like me for the right reasons. I’ve got my family. I’ve got my boyfriend. I’ve got my fans. I’ve got my cats.
Taylor Swift Discusses 'The Man' & 'It's Nice To Have a Friend' In Cover Story Outtakes
Billboard // by Jason Lipshutz // December 12th 2019
During her cover story interview for Billboard’s Women In Music issue, Taylor Swift discussed several aspects of her mega-selling seventh studio album Lover, including its creation after a personal “recalibrating” period, her stripped-down performances of its songs and her plans to showcase the full-length live with her Lover Fest shows next year. In two moments from the extended conversation that did not make the print story, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade also touched upon two of the album’s highlights, which double as a pair of the more interesting songs in her discography: “The Man” and “It’s Nice To Have A Friend.”
“The Man” imagines how Swift’s experience as a person, artist and figure within the music industry would have been different had she been a man, highlighting how much harder women have to work in order to succeed (“I’m so sick of running as fast as I can / Wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man,” she sings in the chorus). The song has become a fan favorite since the release of Lover, and Swift recently opened a career-spanning medley with the song at the 2019 American Music Awards.
When asked about “The Man,” Swift pointed out specific double standards that exist in everyday life and explained why she wanted to turn that frustration into a pop single. Read Swift’s full thoughts on “The Man” below:
“It was a song that I wrote from my personal experience, but also from a general experience that I’ve heard from women in all parts of our industry. And I think that, the more we can talk about it in a song like that, the better off we’ll be in a place to call it out when it’s happening. So many of these things are ingrained in even women, these perceptions, and it’s really about re-training your own brain to be less critical of women when we are not criticizing men for the same things. So many things that men do, you know, can be phoned-in that cannot be phoned-in for us. We have to really — God, we have to curate and cater everything, but we have to make it look like an accident. Because if we make a mistake, that’s our fault, but if we strategize so that we won’t make a mistake, we’re calculating.
“There is a bit of a damned-if-we-do, damned-if-we-don’t thing happening in music, and that’s why when I can, like, sit and talk and be like ‘Yeah, this sucks for me too,’ that feels good. When I go online and hear the stories of my fans talking about their experience in the working world, or even at school — the more we talk about it, the better off we’ll be. And I wanted to make it catchy for a reason — so that it would get stuck in people’s heads, [so] they would end up with a song about gender inequality stuck in their heads. And for me, that’s a good day.”
Meanwhile, the penultimate song on Lover, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend,” sounds unlike anything in Swift’s catalog thanks to its elliptical structure, lullaby-like tone and incorporation of steel drums and brass. When asked about the song, Swift talked about experimenting with her songwriting, as well as capturing a different angle of the emotional themes at the heart of Lover. Read Swift’s full thoughts on “It’s Nice To Have A Friend” below:
“It was fun to write a song that was just verses, because my whole body and soul wants to make a chorus — every time I sit down to write a song, I’m like, ‘Okay, chorus time, let’s get the chorus done.’ But with that song, it was more of like a poem, and a story and a vibe and a feeling of... I love metaphors that kind of have more than one meaning, and I think I loved the idea that, on an album called Lover, we all want love, we all want to find somebody to see our sights with and hear things with and experience things with.
“But at the end of the day we’ve been searching for that since we were kids! When you had a friend when you were nine years old, and that friend was all you talked about, and you wanted to have sleepovers and you wanted to walk down the street together and sit there drawing pictures together or be silent together, or be talking all night. We’re just looking for that, but endless sparks, as adults.”
Read the full Taylor Swift cover story here, and click here for more info on Billboard’s 2019 Women In Music event, during which Swift will be presented with the first-ever Woman of the Decade award.
[link to this tweet]
Was there ever a part of you that was like, “Oh shit, I like this darker vibe, let’s go even further down that path?”
I really Loved Reputation because it felt like a rock opera, or a musical, doing it live. Doing that stadium show was so fun because it was so theatrical and so exciting to perform that, because it’s really cathartic! But I have to follow whatever direction my life is going in emotionally... The skies were opening up in my life. That’s what happened. But in a way that felt like a pink sky, a pink and purple sky, after a storm, and now it looks even more beautiful because it looked so stormy before. And that’s just like, I couldn't stop writing. I’ve never had an album with 18 songs on it before, and a lot of what I do is based on intuition. So, you know, I try not to overthink it.
Who knows, there may be another dark album. I plan on doing lots of experimentation over the course of my career. Who knows? But it was a blast, I really loved it.
I mean, look, a Taylor Swift screamo album? I’ll be first in line.
I’m so happy to hear that, because I think you might be the only one. Ha! I have a terrible scream. It’s obnoxious.
Why Taylor Swift's Lover Fest Will Be Her Next Big Step
Billboard // by Jason Lipshutz // December 11th 2019 - [Excerpt]
On why she chose to put together Lover fest:
“I haven’t really done festivals in years - not since I was a teenager. That’s something that [the fans] don’t expect from me, so that’s why I wanted to do it. I want to challenge myself with new things and at the same time keep giving my fans something to connect to.”
#taylor swift#interview#billboard#quote#by taylor#lover album#lover era#record deal#woman of the decade#article#music industry#Country Music#Billie Eilish#finneas#marshmello#lover tour#andrew lloyd webber#jason lipshutz#the man#it's nice to have a friend#reputation era#reputation album
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He’s Just Tired
Words: 1780
Rating: T
Pairing: Toki Wartooth/Magnus Hammersmith
Summary: Toki arrives one afternoon to find Magnus on the couch, asleep.
Magnus mentioned a change in dosage a week before their scheduled date, and made another remark about “being out of it” five days later, but neither text scared Toki away from visiting. After several months of touch and go, he mastered the art of patience and reading the room, and made a note that they might have to change the plans for that day to something far simpler and homey.
It’s late in the afternoon when Toki arrives. Magnus doesn’t answer his phone, so Toki drops everything to locate the spare keys that are in the very bottom of the over-stuffed bag he’s carrying. He stows the keys into his pocket while grabbing his things, pushing the door open with his foot. He drops his duffle bag when he hears snoring, skin unsticking itself from hefty, worn fabric, and scampers into to the living room, where he finds Magnus half-asleep on the couch.
The scene, though oddly precious upon first glimpse, does pique Toki’s interest, and as he brings himself down, his eyes wander to the coffee table situated close by, and he checks for signs of depression, of unaccounted mania long since passed, or other troubling figments that often took the form of litter, filled ashtrays and empty bottles, half-consumed food, and the rare indent in the wall. But when he checks, he sees nothing more than a few receipts and a bottle of water, and even speculates that table has been recently cleaned.
Past interactions keep him on his toes, and Toki rests on his knees, bringing a finger over to rearrange some silvery strands that obscured Magnus’ face. He tries lifting a few, watching in mild amusement when the light hits Magnus’ good eyes, causing his face to harden and stir, and for the older man to twist and raise a hand to block the light. Though he worries about the consequences, he catches Magnus’ hand in his, letting his fingers intertwine with the older man’s while Magnus stirs himself awake. Toki observes each knuckle, relived there’s no fresh cuts or bruising, and pushes his lips against each one before Magnus grunt a complaint.
Magnus scowls when he opens his eyes. “What time–?”
“You okays?” Toki asks instinctually, figuring there must be something. The texts from before make him want to jump to conclusions, blame the pills for putting him out, but he waits for Magnus to give his side.
Magnus squints, picking out Toki’s silhouette against the blinding light, then groan. “M’tired,” he murmurs, earning a soft noise from Toki, who dips down, blocking that troublesome light, and kisses him gently on the forehead. The act lulls Magnus from whatever haze he’s in, and he extends his hands out, tracing the shape of Toki’s jawline and trying to persuade it with a ticklish drag to bring attention southward.
“When did you get here?” Magnus half-asks, half-yawns.
“Just nows,” Toki answers. He watches Magnus stretch underneath him, spots his ribs ripping under his skin, and hears the soft pop of a few cramped joints. Toki thinks about the texts again, and he wonders if this is merely a case of Magnus’ brain restarting, readjusting to the decrease or increase of medication. He casually asks, “You needs to goes to bed?”
Magnus shakes his head at the idea, brings his hands down on the furniture, and begins dragging himself up. “You just got here.”
It was a mistake to turn it into a question. Toki doesn’t give Magnus much of a choice once he’s up. “C’mons,” he says, guiding the man further, letting Magnus put some of his weight on top of him to make the travel to the bedroom easier.
Halfway into the hallways, Magnus says, “I’m not that tired, bud.”
“Then rests just an hours.”
“And what will you do?”
Toki sends him a delicate smile. “Always somethings for me to do whens you ams out.”
The bedroom’s not as messy as Toki remembers it. There are jeans piled on a chair, a mirror resting precariously in the middle of the floor, and the small bin piled up with plastic bags, napkins and cigarettes, but the room is greater shape than the last time Toki visited. The blinds are aligned, black tapestry lifted and allowing some light into the room, and the only aroma Toki detects are warm spices of dragon’s blood intermixed wonderfully with tobacco and Magnus’ natural scent.
Magnus picks up on this and becomes grabby. As soon as he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, he snatches Toki, resting his heavy head against the young man’s chest. There’s a tired embrace, Toki dropping his head to breath in the clean smell of Magnus’ hair, a low sigh and a second where Toki almost contemplates joining him. A hand slips under Toki’s shirt. Cool fingertips rest on the base of his spine, then began traveling up and leaving behind desire’s strong impression, a call for intimacy before the exhaustion really begins to settle. It’s a tempting offer, one Toki is thankful he’s able decline.
Toki frees himself from Magnus, then drops his eyes down to the man’s wrinkled jeans. It’s one thing for them to pass out drunk, still-clothed, another when rest and wellness was a priority, so Toki takes it upon himself in trying to undo the bad habit.
“Takes off your pants.”
Thinking he’s won, Magnus manages an adoring grin. “That a ‘yes’, or…?”
“Laters.” Toki dips forward, meeting with Magnus and welcoming the sharp contours of his face, the scratchiness of his stubble as their lips brushed over the other’s. Toki stops himself from getting lost, pushes Magnus deeper onto the bed. “We’ll haves more funs when you ams fully wakes.”
“Give me a minute, and I’ll show you–”
“Magnus,” Toki playfully warned. There’s a slight smile in his eyes, but the message is clear, and Magnus sighs out some words before kicking off his pants, briefly exposing himself and throwing one last look towards Toki before reaching for the comforter.
Toki picks up the pants and tosses them inside of the closet. He reaches for other articles, not everyone, just those that look a little too dingy, too over-worn and used. That’s only two pairs of pants and a single shirt, none of which are so bad that Toki minds. He searches for some clean undergarments, but the sounds of Magnus murmuring something into the pillow stops him. When Toki checks, he sees Magnus already dozing off, eyes heavily lidded, and barely able to catch up with his movement.
He returns to the bed, watching Magnus’ good eye try and fail to effectively chase after him before fluttering and coming to a slow close. There’s nothing quite like Magnus falling asleep on his own, and Toki takes a minute to admire and memorize the instant Magnus slips away, and waits an additional before attempting to readjust the covers. He lifts the top, catches a glimpse of Magnus’ bare chest and waist, and is about to pull the covers when he notices his ribcage looking far less prominent. He’s still lean, but there’s less bones standing out, and when Toki covers Magnus, sees that his shoulders are starting to round off more.
Toki refrains from petting, kissing, or any other contact that might risk disturbing Magnus, so he tip-toes out and closes the door behind him.
The first thing Toki does is slip out from his boots, taking them with him into the living room before dropping them near the door. Once it’s done, he heads to the kitchen and opens the fridge. Surprisingly no rotten food, save for some wilted vegetables tucked in the far recess of the fridge. Contents were well-stocked, and although there was still a few boxed leftovers, Toki didn’t see aside from lettuce that desperately needed to be tossed. The rest of the kitchen further drives it home: Toki sees that the dishes were already washed and drying, and only needed to be put away, and that the floor didn’t have any stains or too many scuff marks, and the trash had been taken out before his arrival.
He returns to the living room which is, upon second glance, looking better than he imagined. The floor is clean. There’s no real need to sweep or vacuum. He wonders if Magnus has been keeping the windows open, because he realizes that the air only smells a little of stale cigarettes, and that’s all. He thinks about the bedroom, turns and realizes that all windows, no matter the size, all adjusted to let some light in. Not a whole lot, but enough. Enough to make the rooms a little brighter, more spacious and lived-in. Warm. Welcoming.
Toki double-backs to the kitchen. He stops at the fridge and doesn’t see any bills or late notices hanging on any of the magnets he bought. He walks over to the counter, sees a small pile of ripped up junk mail that needs to be tossed, but no notes, tickets, threats or other written warnings from the landlord, officer or neighbors.
The bathroom looks good, too. The shower could use a little work, but even Toki had to admit that bathroom chores suck the most. The mirror is clean, reflecting Toki back at himself without a single blemish, and the wasn’t a single sign of any mishaps: nothing sharp, no needles, or any signs of blood.
It’s all gone, Toki realizes. Or most of it. Maybe just some. Whatever the amount, Toki’s grateful, and he has to hold his breath and stop himself from getting too emotional, from making too much noise and waking Magnus up.
Toki reenters the hallway, spots the closed door, and deliberates going straight back in, taking Magnus as he was and crushing their lips together, whispering suggestive ideas while also telling him how proud he is of him, how nice everything looks, and how much he loves him, but Toki stops himself because he knows how tired and irritable those meds can make him the first few weeks, and he already made such a big deal about Magnus getting his rest. But for the first time ever, there’s nothing for him to clean up, nothing that needed fixing, no excuses or anything. No bills. Nothing broken. No servant with a list of concerns. There’s just a warm, lazy afternoon, and not nearly enough distractions to keep Toki entertained on his own for an hour, maybe longer. It’s a beautiful thing, and it also sucks balls, but Toki takes it for what it is, and he whips out his half-charged phone, drops on top of the sofa, reclining into the warm light of the sun, and starts texting.
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Wandering Romance
- A future with child fic -
Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers
Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans
Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied.
Created for @skamevents
Summary: “A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.”
In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past.
So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good?
Also available on AO3
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CHAPTER 2: 'No one sees what I see in you’
—————————————————————
“So this is it then?”
A beautiful boy with mesmerizing eyes lying in arms. The warmth of love. It felt like puzzle pieces finally fitting together, after months of frustration and searching for anything that might look like it. Something that had been missing for quite some time. It just didn’t add up? Long sighs, hurtful eyes, loaded silences that made them more sad than happy. Their love wasn’t strong enough to deal with this...
No, he didn’t believe that.
They were strong enough.
Just not now...
He was caressing the cheek of his lover, his best friend, his partner in crime. Another part of the pair, the amazing family they had. Fathers. Their boy. All tossed away, like it was nothing. A paper crumbled in the trash. Like they never even were. And because of what? Why? Why now? Why this? This wasn’t right. They both knew it wasn’t.
He sighed to stop the spiraling.
His hands started to clench into a fist. He was so angry at first, he was so angry and sad at the world. He was promised forever, they both promised each other that their love would survive anything. The perfect man in a beautiful white suit and him wearing the black one. Ying and yang. Always complimenting each other, begging for a deeper connection, receiving it and now cutting it away.
Like his heart.
“Is this it? Can’t we keep trying? Please?”
His eyes were staring inside those deep ones. His tanned skinned hand slightly caressing his lover’s arm. Mindlessly. They were used to pillow talk until the early morning, the sunrise. The night sky turning from dark blue to light orange hues, exactly the color he once made by accident, trying out the paint samples on his palette. A beautiful coincidence. Just like the night they met.
As if faith knew.
When the other boy didn’t answer, he just went for it. His lips trying to convey everything he felt inside the troubled mind, his hands feeling every hitched breath taken away from his other half, the softness of a wanted caress, but also the sting from nails digging in his back, the bite of pleasure, the strained movement of legs - as if love couldn’t be felt without some pain. It suited them, he thought. Every day could be a high. Every day could be a low.
His fingers gripped the sheets of their shared bed. Sharing it for the last time.
“Oh my god, schat”, exclaimed the one.
“I love you”, answered the other.
“I love you too”, was moaned.
“Don’t leave me, please”, was said.
A tear rolling off a heated cheek.
Kissed by soft eyelashes.
The silence that followed wasn’t wounding. It was passion, it was love, it was a high that never experienced a low. A white light behind the eyes. Stars for their lights. Something shared only between them. And never would be again.
“Let us go... please”
The whisper.
And that’s when Sander woke up from his dream.
When he started to cry.
-^-
“Papa, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, darling, always. What is it?”
“How did you and paps meet?”
Oof, that was such a loaded question for a Monday morning. And he didn’t even have his first coffee yet. His eyes instantly analyzed David’s face, which was just a pure reflection of playfulness and wonder. The tiny boy seemed to concoct something on his breakfast croissant. It looked like choco spread, decorated with speculaas cookies.
What is this? Where the hell did he get that idea? This can’t be healthy right?
“Sweetie, did you eat a hearty sandwich before shoving this in your mouth? You can’t live on sweets, you know that. You won’t grow to be a big boy, then!”
“But, papa, I like it. Can I have this, like... one time?”
Oh no, not the puppy eyes.
He was a real manipulator with those big brown orbs. The kid was 9 years old, for God’s sake, how could he be this smart? He knew exactly how to play the game to convince them of mischievous things, things that were bad for him and stuff they needed to say ‘no’ to. But it was sooo rewarding to just say ‘yes’. Just to see the beautiful grin creep up onto the face he loved so much.
Something Sander wanted to collect in a jar and pull out whenever he had his ‘cloudy days’. David didn’t understand the concept of bipolarity yet, so once he was old enough to notice something, they had sat him down to explain. “David, sweetie. You know how papa is sometimes a bit different?”, Robbe tried to approach the subject, while their son stared with unsung tears in his eyes.
“Yeah, he lies on the bed and sleeps and don’t eat and is very, very sad. I don’t understand. Does papa hate me? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry...”
If the room was a stethoscope, the family would’ve heard a heart breaking. It was one thing that Robbe had to deal with his mania and depression. Now another innocent soul was being corrupted by his stupid brain and Sander just couldn’t deal with that. The pain he might induce, the worry in his soul almost growing too much. But as always, his other half seemed to know what to do. While holding his hand, to anchor him back to this world, Robbe explained.
“No, darling. Papa will always love you. Even if you did bad things. But now you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? You see, people have a bright sun inside them. And sometimes that happy, beautiful sun will have clouds blocking their light. Clouds who bring in bad weather, like being tired, not being hungry, not wanting to talk, have sad thoughts, just wanting to sleep all the time. And that’s okay. Because after a few days of rain, comes the sunshine, right?”
“And sometimes a rainbow!”, their beautiful boy exclaimed.
A couple of teeth missing in the front, but his smile was beaming nonetheless. It melted their hearts. “Yes,” Sander whispered softly. If he wasn’t sure about how much he loved his curly angels before, he knew now. When did he become so lucky to have such beautiful love? Him and his loving partner hugging their soft boy, giggling all together, without a care in the world. A fulfilling life.
Perfection.
“Papa, are you there?”
Sander blinked back some tears, while trying to focus on the situation at hand. David was glaring at him, already halfway through the disgustingly sweet croissant in his hands. Some crumbs were falling down the plate. And the choco paste tainting his pink cheeks. The look in his face was peculiar, like he tried to figure out what his dad was thinking. If he was going ‘cloudy’.
“David... I do remember that I never told you ‘yes’, right?”
The answer was a simple shrug.
“You didn’t answer my question about paps, either. C’est la vie.”
To say that Sander was perplexed, is an serious understatement.
-^-
When Sander was thirteen, he knew.
He wasn’t normal.
This was way before he was diagnosed with bipolarity, but that wasn’t the only thing not fitting the ‘standard normal’. He knew the boys in his class and he simply didn’t like them. They were all talking about video games, Call Of Duty: Black Ops, while eating their weight in greasy snacks and referring to girls like pieces of meat. Making jokes about what they learned from their older siblings or watching too much nighttime television.
And he didn’t.
He liked to write, he wanted to be a writer someday. And paint. Drawing was amazing. Sander loved walking around with cut jeans, graphic band t-shirts and a bleached buzzcut. One day, he’d love to have a pierced eyebrow. That was considered cool in his book. Maybe his career would be ‘rock-and-roll’ artist, since he played the drums too. Something to get his energy out.
Because he had ADHD.
At least, that’s what his doctor said. He just wanted different things than others and sometimes all at once. Was that weird? Apparently so. But he wasn’t entirely convinced about having the disorder. It sounded ill-fitting. Like a shrunken skinny jeans in the dryer, the broken mug in his room where he put his discarded pencils. It didn’t make sense.
Because he was who he was.
He liked who he was.
But who was he exactly?
He knew the day he changed schools. His mom somehow knew, the way only mothers do, that the previous school wasn’t the right fit for him. His course orientation was ‘sciences’ and he almost failed everyone of his classes. Sander was struggling to keep afloat. Almost drowning at the formulas and facts and figures. Those were more abstract to him than art. Art made sense, somehow?
And that’s why his mom send him to an art school.
There he saw people with asymmetric hair, nose rings and cut t-shirts. Girls with alluring auras, rainbow shoes and paint covered arms. Boys with mesmerizing eyes, fresh make-up and decorated backpacks. Beautiful souls who talked about art like breathing. Who understood things like writer’s block, portrait frustration and tunnel vision.
And he fell in love with them, all of them.
His people.
It took him a few years to understand what else made him special. Because he did fall in love with people’s souls, their auras, instead of a specific gender. It was a highlight in his life when he figured that one out. He finally knew another piece of the puzzle. Life was complicated, but knowing something more about yourself, made it so much easier.
His first crush was on a dark skinned boy from his drawing class. He didn’t reciprocate feelings, but liked Sander as a friend. Ekon appreciated the way Sander caught him in his art pieces. Complimented him on how he perfectly attained his off-beat smile, when someone made a joke at his expense. He was a quiet boy. But a boy, nonetheless.
And then there was Saartje. An unconventional girl, even for an art school. She seemed to walk around like an ice queen surrounded by raging fires. Hated every thing he suggested to lift her sculptures to a new level, always answering his comments with a cold stare. Such a soft girly name for such a raging bitch.
And Sander couldn’t help but fall.
Hard.
Without parachute.
But she used that to her advantage.
His love was treated as an exchange. If Sander would shut up about his newest passion called David Bowie, she’d give him a kiss. When he asked her on a date, she would think about it. Maybe if Sander could persuade the teacher to give her a better grade? And if he paid? Being the hormonal teenager he was, he obliged. And he believed. He was tricked into uncertain love.
Something he carried with him.
Especially after his eventual diagnosis. He dated Britt. He thought he deserved this kind of love. The uncertainty, the doubt, the hardships. It was all his brain’s fault, for being the way he was. Love? Love was something to be earned, not to be given. And nobody would give that up so easily for someone as broken as him.
Until that one boy,
in the moonlight.
He never saw true beauty ‘til this night.
And his heart,
did love as true again.
-^-
“Do you want any help with that?”
“Papa, I know how to make myself look like Bowie, you know.”
Sander snorted. He was truly a son of his, wasn’t he? This tiny boy was sitting on a high chair, right in front of a mirror, attempting to put on the make-up in a dramatic way. The tip of his tongue spilling out his lips, trying very hard to focus. He couldn’t stop staring at this sight, which filled him with pride. He must have taught him well.
The next generation was secured.
“Dad, stop staring at me and go find my other dad.”, David said sternly.
Ok, but who was the parent in this relationship exactly? Sometimes Sander didn't know. Yet, catching the eye of the supervisor right behind him, he was sure that everything was going to be a-okay. Maybe he did needed to find Robbe and the boys. It’ll do him some good. It had been ages since they had some real interaction that wasn’t through a phone.
It wasn’t difficult to spot them through the crowd of curious adults. The exaggerated screaming at each other was enough. Robbe had been pulled into the biggest hug by Milan, flanked by a jumping Moyo, giggling Aaron and a serious Jens. It sounded like the weirdest end of the world. But the feeling that coursed through his heart wasn’t unusual.
Pride.
For what they all achieved.
How they all stayed together.
Through hell and back.
Moyo had, somehow, become a successful club owner of a couple of nightlife establishments all around the city. From an only-known-by-initiates speakeasy to a high paid, high-end sky club, he knew what he wanted to do with his life and brought it to the table. Jens, on the other hand, went on a totally different route. After failing to start a few start-ups, he became g a video editing/sound mix freelancer and stay-at-home dad to help his lawyer-wife.
Aaron was still on the grind as a social worker, working until late at night to fight for the hardest cases. “These people deserve a happy ending”, he’d always say. And Sander couldn’t agree more.
Last but not least, Milan. The interior designer with an ecological mind. He had helped them out with the decoration of their home, which was totally picture perfect. And still cheap as f.
After the whole ordeal of greeting, Robbe seemed to have a huge smile plastered on his face. That was good, Sander though. Lately he looked so lost, certainly in Sander’s neighborhood. And he didn’t know why. As far as he knew, he didn’t say or do anything wrong. On the contrary. He’d encouraged Robbe to bring Wouter along, saying it was totally okay to find love again.
Where was that bastard, anyways?
“Heeeeeey, Jack Frost!”, the entire group turned towards him and engulfed him into an instant hug. Causing a lot of high pitched giggling, ‘omg, your hand is on my butt’-s and eye rolls. The warmth next to him was familiar, though. As was the scent. Which made his heart drum a little harder, like it wasn’t stating the obvious already. Pulling away, the electrified gaze lingered.
“How are you?”, the one asked.
“I’m good.”, the other answered.
He wanted to know more. Sander always wanted to know more. His heart never stopped beating for this boy, so everything he would say, would be engraved in his soul. His broken mind. His eternal love. That would never change. Even through the pain, he knew that they belonged together. That it was neither fault. Life just happened.
Like always.
But before he could ask anything else, a woman approached the brown haired man. Some colorful glasses, a beautiful classic dress and an intrigued smile on her face. Robbe immediately greeted her as ‘Mrs. Raymaeckers’. “I saw David backstage. Are you ready to see the performance, Mr. Ijzermans?”, she politely asked. Robbe slowly nodded his head with a careful smile.
“Ofcourse, David is going to be amazing, he was bouncing off the walls about this. I’m interested in what he’s going to play...”
“Ah yes. The David Bowie thing. He’s truly special, isn’t he? Unique in some ways.”, she giggled, while wrapping her hand around his arm. Causing a lot of heads unsubtly turning towards the gesture.
“I love how he has such a playful spirit. Does he have that from his father or his mother?”. She blinked rapidly. Auburn hair tossed over her shoulder. A beaming smile.
Wait...
Was she...
Trying to flirt with him?
A potential married man?
Sander saw how the other boys desperately held in their laughs. Some of them failed. Robbe’s cheeks reddened slightly, like he didn’t know how to answer this delicate question.
She just assumed he was straight?
That was such heteronormativity.
It irked the beach blonde man, that people could still think this way, like a child couldn’t have two fathers or mothers?
“He has that from me, actually.”
Six pairs of eyes bore into his. Most of them applauding the ballsy move on his part, one of them grateful for this way out. The last one, however, went through a whole process.
Confusion, calculation, realization and shame.
“Oh... I’m sorry.”, Mrs. Raymaeckers sheepishly stated. "I didn’t know. I just assumed... Ahem. Well, I’m gonna check the rest. Bye, Mr Ijzermans. Bye, Mr-”
“Driesen.”, he answered coldly.
“Bye, Mr. Driesen.” And with that, she was gone. As fast as the wind.
He didn’t like it.
He just didn’t.
How people could still think the way they did, how they would just come up to potential married men and flirt with them? How was that okay?
He knew he was clenching his fist, because of the pain. Fingernails making tiny half moons. It stung. Jealousy and anger tasting like poison in his mouth. His stare trying to find a fixated spot to calm his breathing.
He found it in some deep brown eyes.
A cautious smile coming towards him. He knew. Robbe always knew what Sander needed, even when he didn’t know himself. He was intuitive that way. His beautiful man, such a perfect human. The father of his child. And he couldn’t help, but sigh. Breathing slowly, heart thumping. A small caress around his fist, trying to soften the harsh ache. Only making the ache in his heart greater.
“Robbe”, he whispered silently.
“Yeah, Sander?”
He didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t. Robbe needed to live his own life, making his own mistakes, battle his own prejudices. Feeling his own real love. So Sander just stood there. Looking at the face he adored the most and he started to notice something. It almost looked like Robbe was anticipating this, was waiting for some kind of answer, some kind of truth.
And that's when they heard it.
A David Bowie lookalike coming onto the stage.
Childlike coughing in the microphone.
The first notes of a guitar riff.
The scratchy start of ‘doodoodoo''.
The song.
David Bowie.
The sign.
“You've got your mother in a whirl
She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl
Hey babe, your hair's alright
Hey babe, let's go out tonight
You like me, and I like it all
We like dancing and we look divine
You love bands when they're playing hard
You want more and you want it fast
They put you down, they say I'm wrong
You tacky thing, you put them on.
Rebel rebel, you've torn your dress
Rebel rebel, your face is a mess
Rebel rebel, how could they know?
Hot tramp, I love you so!”
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A Promise Is A Promise ~ Chapter Four
In a world in which Elide Lochan can only remember that she is someone’s prey and they will stop at nothing to find her, trusting Lorcan Salvaterre, a man whose past is as cloudy as hers is quite possibly the most sane thing she could do.
TW: Panic attack, PTSD due to sexual abuse, blood, gore, past trauma, death
previous chapter next chapter
He couldn’t tell what time it was when he finally woke, his head pounding the moment his eyes fell on the gray sky behind the window.
Though it was cloudy, the sun hiding today it seemed, it was still light outside and he lurched out of bed, staggering to rip the curtains closed, the flimsy linen drapes barely blocking the outside from his little corner of the world.
Lorcan couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this sick after a night out, always able to bounce back like nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t spent the hours drowning his demons until he could forget that they swam and would find him wherever.
Every step out of his room had his head feeling like someone was striking a hammer on his brain, hammering out metal on his shattered mind. He felt her hands still on him, every second, every fall of the hammer had him remembering a new night, a new way she made to label him as hers. Nausea rolled through him at the sight of the bite mark on his hip, at the memory flashing behind it, her sheets like silken midnight but cold like the frigid depths of his dark god’s realm.
Her lips, tracing over every harsh contour that made his body, his muscles trembling at the restraint it took to stay there and not rip her away from him, to not snarl in her face, to not tear her throat out with his teeth.
It felt like someone was holding a brand to every mark she had ever made, searing into his flesh so that no matter how far he went, there was still a collar around his neck and shackles around his wrists, ones that she could yank on at any moment.
Lorcan threaded his hands through his hair, pulling on it and using the sting of his force to bring him back from the brink of another flashback. His heart raced, his breathing erratic and chest heaving as he stumbled towards the sink, only slightly feeling guilty at the dishes piled in the sink and on the counter as he stretched his arm up to grab a new glass, filling it to the rim with cool water, the liquid cutting back the cotton in his head, lessening the blow of the hammer by a fraction.
He raked his hand down his face, scrubbing his eyes as he stumbled to the couch, throwing himself onto it, swearing when the sudden movement sent a sharp burst of pain lancing through his head. He threw his arm over his face, screwing his eyes tightly shut as he breathed past the queasiness and let out the breath he had been holding for far too long, sitting up slowly to avoid setting off another wave of nausea. He sighed as he opened his laptop, clicking on the new email Vernon Lochan had sent them, more photos of the girl, Elide.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on where he had seen her before, something about her eyes so familiar but not quite what he was looking for.
The first picture he opened was one of her face and he did a double take, sure that he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was.
No, no, it couldn’t be her.
The one they called Anneith incarnate.
But it was.
Her eyes, he’d recognize them anywhere, the flatness of her dark, dark irises. The only time he’d felt fear in his life was around her, the pure ice that flowed through her veins, no matter the job they had to do.
He’d seen her cut up men so viciously it nearly made him sick just thinking about it. He’d seen her kill with no hesitation, no mercy as she cut men and women down like stalks of wheat. She had never spoken in all the time he had spent with her, spent doing things he only ever wanted to forget.
He had never seen her entire face, always hidden behind a mask that covered the bottom half of her face and she had never spoken, just a shell of a girl that had taken too many lives and dealt death like she held every soul in the palm of her blood soaked hands.
The only glimpse of human he had ever witnessed was after a particularly gruesome and almost surgical execution, he had come out of the bloodstained tiled room to find her slumped against the wall, her angular eyes filled with an emotion so elemental and pure, he believed her to be human as she stared at her dirty hands, nails caked with blood.
The sound of the heavy iron door closing had her snapping her head up and shooting to her feet, moving past him like a shadow down the hallway.
Lorcan felt dread settle into his stomach, knowing why the price over her head was so high and why Maeve had sent him to find her.
He was the best and even still, now that he knew who she was, he was doubtful they’d ever find her again.
She had been kept as someone’s pet for far too long and he knew that she would fight tooth and nail to keep whatever freedom she had won, through blood and death and by selling her soul to whoever would take it, even if that was ruination itself. She would ruin herself, for any scrap of liberty she could find.
The heavy silence of the apartment was sliced through by the shrill sound of his phone ringing and he picked it up, knowing who was calling. He began hyperventilating, his skin clammy while his hands began to tremble, a voice in his head hissing that he was weak and pathetic.
What kind of man lets someone do this to him?
How do you look at yourself in the mirror, knowing what she’s done to you?
How do you live with that weight?
He picked up the call and before he could speak, her voice was pouring like oil into his ear, cold and suffocating.
“Lorcan, dear. How are you?”
He gritted his teeth, keeping his breaths quiet as he fought through this. “Fine.”
Maeve laughed but there was no trace of joy one would expect from the sound, no, she would not know joy if it dropped dead at her feet, she had never known it, he knew that much. The noise that left her throat was a cacophony of something that was definitely not a laugh. “Oh, darling, it’s ok. You’ll be home soon enough.”
He cringed at her calling that house home because it had never and would never be home to him.
Home was the little cabin he had shared with his mother and sister. His entire life had been that cabin, nestled in the heart of the White Fang Mountains, the forests around them filled with other families like them.
It was always warm and cozy and just big enough for the three of them.
His entire life had been in that cabin until that fateful day he had come home from school in Anielle to find the front door ripped off its hinges as it hung drunkenly. His stomach had dropped and he had thrown his backpack to the ground, sprinting through the threshold to find every surface completely drenched in dark red liquid, his eyes falling on the bodies of his mother and baby sister, the little girl barely even seven years old as she was strung up, her body so mutilated he had vomited before dropping to his knees, the blood soaking through his pants, sticky and cold.
A woman he had never recognized had walked up beside him, smiling at him as if he couldn’t see the blood of his family on her pale hands and as though her pants weren’t soaked in it. He had been so broken, so defeated he hadn’t tried to fight her, everything he had lived for gone.
He hadn’t fought when she took him away from the little cabin to her manor in Rifthold, far too big and cold for a house.
He hadn’t fought when she forced weapons into his hands until he was the weapon and then he was able to avenge their deaths, imagining that every body he cut, every person he slaughtered had her immortal coldness and beauty.
���Lorcan, are you even listening to me?”
He snapped out of whatever he had been held captive in, “What.”
Maeve sighed, “Is it the distance? Oh, my love, are you missing me?”
He suppressed the gag he felt at her words, swallowing past it as he ground out, “Yes.”
“Liar. You couldn’t wait to get away, could you, Lorcan?” She crooned, “Is it hard, not being able to do the things you wish you could to me? The things I did to your mother? You poor, poor baby sister?”
Lorcan nearly snapped, the thread of self control close to breaking when she said that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughed again, the sound setting him on edge. “You’re a terrible liar, darling. It’s alright, soon, so soon, you’ll be here, right next to me in bed, you miss that don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re keeping to yourself, yes? No playing on the job, my love, you know that.”
“The job is my only priority.”
Maeve sighed, “You’re no fun. I’m getting bored and so is dear Vernon. Have you lost your touch?”
At that he finally snapped, snarling, “You know who she is and you expect me to find her in three months? She’s a killer and has been let loose. She could be anywhere in the world right now.”
She cackled, “So you finally figured it out, did you now? That’s fun, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever. You two always worked so well together, it was such fun watching the two of you break someone, like an art. Vernon says she’s been blessed by Anneith since birth, interesting, no?”
“No. It isn’t.”
“Oh, surely it is,” she insisted and he could almost see her, sprawled over her bed, a viper’s smile pulling at her lips as she talked on the phone. She sighed again, “If you can’t find her soon, I might have to find a replacement for you. Maybe you’re worn out now, hmm?”
“I’m fine. I don’t need a replacement. I can find her.”
“Good. ‘Cause if you don’t, I’ll have to think of an appropriate punishment, won’t I?”
He knew exactly what she meant by punishment and he shut his eyes, pulling away from the memories of past disciplinary actions she had taken against him, each one killing him just a little more, each one chipping at the childlike innocence he still had deep inside him. Lorcan didn’t answer and the only thing that kept him sane as Maeve began listing past measures she had taken against him was his eyes tracing over Elide’s picture, over the face of someone who knew pain like him.
Minutes, hours, maybe even days later, the call ended and as he flung the phone across the room, watching it shatter after it hit the marble countertop and fall to the floor. He slammed the laptop closed, shaking as he stalked into his room and tugged on a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt, not bothering to lock the door as he left and began to run down the streets of the Witch City, moving until he didn’t recognize the names of the streets and stood on an empty bridge, his throat raw as he panted, leaning his forearms over the metal railing, eyes on the river below.
He wouldn’t bring her back.
He couldn’t be her damnation after she had gambled everything to escape.
He would do whatever he could to keep her free.
apiap masterlist ~ masterlist
A/N: if y’all wanna be tagged, lemme know and if you think of any other TW i could put, please please tell me!
tagging: @myfeyrelady @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @highqueenofelfhame @rhysands-highlady @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @dayanna-hatter @lovemollywho @pilesoffriles @thephilosophyofblank @faellyrian-warriors @bat-wing-rhys @velarian-trash @chemicha @th-th-th-thats-all-folks @elorcanforever @littlehoneyybee @rowaelin-cressworth @mis-lil-red @lord-douglas-the-third @acourtofbookworms @ladydippinstone @flowerspringsea @sezkins79 @court-of-fuck-me-daddy @blogdaydreamerblr @over300books @unapologetic-fangirl-4-life
#a promise is a promise#apiap chapter four#elorcan#elide lochan#lorcan salvaterre#isa writes#nalgenewhore
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To Fall for the Fae | 02 (M)
Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Unknown Female
Genre: Fantasy, Modern, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst
Words: Chapter 2: 1,796
Summary: Andrew Hozier-Byrne unknowingly searches for the woman that pulled him from the bog 3,000 years ago. Unknown to either of them that in this modern world their souls are still intertwined from the life they shared long ago. She is unavailable, he’s not giving up. Will the woman that inspires his music be wooed by his songs or will he lose his chance? That’s Wasteland, Baby!
Note: A/N: This is a story requested by my best friend to be written about her favorite musician. I have been inspiried by his songs and specific lines. Any reference to his music is used in the name of inspiration and creating art. I do not own any of his music. Any reference to Hozier in this story is fictional and used by the author in the name of crafting art. I want to thank all who read it. I have fallen in love with writing this story and would love to hear from you. It will be written in installments. The finished story will be at the very least over 50,000 words. Enjoy.
To Fall for the Fae: Chapter 2
The bog was cold, dark, freezing, but oh so sweet. So beautiful to be in that delicious darkness after the red hot burning of the fever.
It had swallowed him whole. Body, heart, and soul. It owned him now. Completed him. His long limbs suspended in the soft sweet feel of mud and peat.
They laid him down into the earth that had greedily accepted him, little did they know that he had not been fully dead. His heart stuck in atrophy, paused for a moment. A breath between beats. Still they had packed him into that stiff box cut from the very trees he had loved.
They’d buried him alive.
They had not cared for him to continue living in the sinful life of drink. It had been a month he’d disappeared. A month they had waited for the father of the forest to return. To quell the wildness of the forest that ever threatened to consume them.
They had been wrathful when he’d appeared half dead, wild, scared and collapsed on the steps of the porch of his cabin. He mumbled something over and over again. Unable to calm him they’d placed him in bed. Watched him suffer. Then gave him as a ritual sacrifice to the very epicenter of the wilderness to keep it calm. To keep it quiet.
No longer did they need to fear what lay in there. The beasts that the forest father had seen, had killed, had lulled with his music. They had fed him to them. It was done.
It smelled of that sharp coolness of wet earth. It could not be explained, could not be described, it simply was.
His heart began to beat slowly, reluctantly. It hurt to feel the slow drumbeat in his chest. It ached, it yearned, it wanted her.
He’d rather it’d stayed paused.
The weight of the mud pushed on the lid of his simple coffin. It threatened to submerge him. Fill his nose and lungs with it. Line his teeth and lungs with it.
It wanted to consume him.
She wanted to save him.
Yet, still he waited alone.
A fleeting thought one of the few to cross his mind in this makeshift grave.
Oh to be alone with you.
Such was the fate of the fae.
OoOo
He’d never felt too good in crowds. They made him feel claustrophobic. Bodies pushing against him, sucking the sweet cool air from his lungs. It felt like the crowd was trying to overtake him. Consume him. There was a fleeting thought in his mind when they pressed against him. A thought like cool darkness overtaking his senses. It felt like his heart stopped as they tried to swallow him whole. It felt familiar though from when and where he didn’t know.
They played their music loud. They bayed like creatures along to it. Screaming out lyrics of hate and violence. It beat against his eardrums until he wanted to cover his ears to block out the sound.
He resisted the urge and pushed past another bar. Nameless, faceless he let his long legs lead him along the street as the man who identified himself as Larry led him to the bar.
Andrew almost turned back. Something in his conscious, his intuition told him that tonight something big would happen. He was too tired for big. Too sick of this world for his entire existence to rocked from it’s foundation.
The night crackled with electricity. It was ready. It was waiting. It wanted him.
Larry led him towards something monumental and more than once he stumbled as his feet wanted to turn and run.
Many a heart he had broken, never with clear intent to, but broken they had been none the less.
Yet, his heart remained pure. Hardened and turned black with the bitterness that consumed his soul whenever he thought of her and failed to find her. It beat on though, no cracks allowing what little light left inside of it to shine out.
It was armored. He wanted to keep it that way.
Larry approached a bar that was lightless, dark, dank. There was an air of cigarette smoke wafting from inside. The music was slow, sensual. The drumbeat matched his heart. It beat like the wings of a hummingbird.
He faltered at the entrance. The entrance to her. This bar. This bar that played the music of the winglessly winged creatures. They played the music of the Fae.
He felt powerless in that moment. There were moments when he stood on stage, his voice fiercely crying out the words to “Nina Cried Power” as the entire stage erupted in fire, where he felt invincible. Thousands of faces singing along, shouting those words, his words, her words. He conducted them but they met his music punch for punch with power. In those moments he was something else, something else.
Andrew couldn’t force his feet forward. Something was in there. Someone was in there.
For a moment his heart stopped. Just for one beat it ceased it’s movement.
“No.” He whispered under his breath. A beg. No. Don’t send me her. I am not ready yet. Not worthy yet.
His thinking mind couldn’t comprehend what was going on as he tried to force his feet into action. Into movement. Larry watched him quizzically.
Madison his subconscious cried like a battle song. It chanted her name over and over again. It could not stop.
He tried to turn on his heels and stalk back to the relative safety of his hotel room even the tiny bunks he shared with the rest of the band. Anywhere but here.
His subconscious screamed her name. Then it took it upon itself to propel his feet forward whether he wanted to go or not.
He walked woodenly into the bar his hands thrust into the pockets of his pants.
Andrew didn’t want to go. He wanted to go. He wanted to run. He wanted to tie himself to bar to keep from leaving. He didn’t want this. He needed this. He was desperate. He was desperate. He was desperate.
He took a seat at one of the few cliched stools at the bar. Ordered a whiskey, it was decent like Larry had promised, and lit a cigarette.
He drank his whiskey. He smoked. He waited.
Always he waited.
He knew better than to fuck with fate.
This was Wasteland, baby.
OoOo
He was several drinks in. Enough that he felt his world beginning to tilt. He could handle his whiskey, don’t get that wrong. Tonight though he wanted that tilt. He wanted to remove the fear he felt fluttering in his chest. Like a shrike trapped in his rib cage. Slowly eating him from the inside out. Thrusting him upon a thorn then ripping into his flesh.
His thoughts got darker the more he drank. Sometimes his best lyrics came when he was so deep into the swill that there was no pulling him out. Simply let him slowly claw his way out of the dark hole he’d dragged his limp body into.
Damn his thoughts were getting away from him.
Then the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
Like a bolt of lightning coming down from the sky he was struck with electricity. His body lit up like the Vegas strip. Something was happening.
He didn’t feel sober but the world stopped spinning. It was like his senses were on overdrive. Sharpened.
He fought it as long as he could though he still didn’t know why. His rational mind could not comprehend all the things rushing through him. It didn’t understand what he was. What was hidden inside of him. Those wings that never unfurled. He saw himself as ordinary. It was only through the lens of his fans did he even being to comprehend that he was complete extraordinary.
He took his drink and spun around on the stool. He was too tired to fight with himself.
His eyes dry and red from too much nicotine. Too little sleep. Too much heartache looked with laser focus for what it was his brain wanted him to see.
He scanned the bar. His eyes falling on person after person.
He focused on the makeshift dance floor that was shrouded in a cloud of smoke. His eyes glanced through the men and women dancing oh so slow and sensual on the floor.
Then his eyes fell on something. Someone. A profile of a woman. Dancing real slow, all by herself, as if passing the time until her lover found her.
His heart stopped this time for more than a moment. It jerked. Spasmed. Then stopped.
Andrew took a stuttering breath trying to restart it and slowly it did. It beat until it was matching the movement of her hips.
She danced like a bird of paradise. She moved lithely like the bough of a willow tree.
Her dark brown tresses move hypnotically as she danced. Falling over one shoulder then the next. It looked like a wave of water. Rippling darkness.
Though she moved slowly he could sense in her something wild. Something feral.
This was a woman who could not be tamed. Not by anyone.
She could be loved, oh could she be loved.
No one would ever possess her though.
He wanted to love her.
He wanted to slam her against the wall and crash his mouth onto her.
He wanted to sink his teeth into her neck, biting and sucking gently until he left a mark on her. A love bite. Something that reminded everyone that she was his.
He wanted her.
He needed her.
“Madison” he called like a prayer but the word was swallowed up by the crowd and she didn’t hear him.
OoOo
A man tall as a tree sat hunched over a glass that his shaking hands held ever so delicately. If given another moment he would drop that cool smooth glass and it would shatter to the ground. Breaking into a million pieces. It was foreboding. It was the potential of what this beautiful creature rarely seen could do to him. To his heart of darkness.
She was oblivious to his plight. Oblivious to those around her. She moved her hips in figure eights, a dance of veils from long ago that no one could remember. She danced in a way that she had never been taught. A way that drew the men in around her. They kept their distance. She gave off a vibe, a deep one, that said no one can touch me, no one can know me, no one but him.
He looked at her and knew instantly that no one fucked with his baby.
His fate was sealed.
The fate of the Fae.
OoOo
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Starting Over
For @pillarspromptsweekly 70: Rebuild. Rather than focus on broad strokes of the whole city, my brain decided I needed a new OC and went in to focus on one person. :D
Josetta di Carro was used to starting over.
She’d already done it twice in her four-and-twenty years. Once with what remained of her family after Papa died--along with the business--and Mama decided to move them from the Republics to the Dyrwood. (”New opportunities, principenetta. It will be best for all of us, ac?”) And then again when her dreams for the future proved unsustainable in the small hamlet where they’d settled.
She couldn’t truly say she was surprised when it was required yet again--it fit the pattern of her fortunes--but it was something of a shock to watch Defiance Bay fall. Josetta was in some ways, still the wide-eyed provincial Alyse and Bennet teasingly accused her of being. Two years in the bustling city had not yet disabused her of the notion Defiance Bay was nigh impregnable. And given that it was riots and internal strife that laid the city low, part of her still clung tenaciously to that belief.
In the end, in didn’t really matter, she mused philosophically, staring at the charred shell of her home. Internal or external crisis, this sciòderie had gotten people killed, businesses looted, homes burned. Including hers. Apparently the woman renting the room next to hers had worked at Brackenbury. Animancer or no, it was enough for the ravening mobs to put the humble domicile to the torch. Josetta’s room had been on the ground floor, which meant when the beams gave way and the house curled inward, everything she owned in the world was buried under burning beams and scorching heat.
Josetta was used to starting over. But this time was so reminiscent of the worst elements from the others, it paralyzed her, staring helpless at the ruin of what had genuinely felt like home.
Even a single step on a long road lessens the distance, her father’s voice reminded her. Josetta smiled at the memory of the well-worn encouragement and rest one hand on the door frame. She couldn’t deny the truth of the words, even having heard them enough they were almost more platitude than anything at this point. Things wouldn’t get better, the pieces would remain scattered, if she did nothing.
A voice hailed from the street just as she ducked into the house. “Jos! Josetta!”
She stepped back and turned, nearly falling back against the soot streaked wall as her eyes confirmed what her ears had told her. “Dom?! What are you doing here?”
Her brother wrapped her in a hug, tight enough to steal her breath, and kissed her forehead. “We heard about the riots, and you didn’t write, postenaga, so Mama found someone to cover my work that I might ensure my favorite big sister still numbered among the living, ac?”
“I’m sorry,” Josetta said contritely. “I was running errands for the healers. They set up just down there” --she gestured to the mostly-standing manor house on the corner--”and I was helping keep them in bandages and salves. I should have written.” She smirked slyly at her brother. “I believe Valeria is working there, if you wish to check on her as well.”
“No, best to let her work,” Dom said, shaking his head. To his credit, he kept a straight face, though Josetta was fairly sure she saw extra color in his cheeks. Hylea save her, she wished he would stop pretending he wasn’t sweet on her friend.
But if he wanted her to drop it, she would. “You have excellent timing, Dom. I was just about to steel my soul and see what remains of my belongings. Care to join me? Make sure no floorboards drop on my head?”
He shot her a scolding look for the dark humor. “Josetta.”
“Dominico,” she replied dryly, before returning to her task. She heard him sigh, would lay an oble or two he rolled his eyes, but he did follow her down the charred hallway. “So, how did the rest of the city look on your way in?”
“Damaged, but recovering,” Dom said, coughing as he brushed the wall and raised a cloud of soot. “I heard talk the Watcher out at Caed Nua is sending aid, but it’s not arrived yet if it is indeed coming. That mercenary company, the Dozens? They seem to be running things for now. Jos, are you sure it’s safe in here?”
“They told us we could return to our homes, begin to salvage what remains,” Josetta replied as she hiked up her skirt to step over a fallen beam. Perhaps trousers would have been wiser.... “They said everything should be settled by now. So long as we go slow and watch out for each other, we should be fine, ac?”
“Part of me dislikes that both those sentences involve the word ‘should’,” Dom chuckled. “But I will, as always, trust you, sérre bela.”
Josetta grunted her appreciation of that as she paused outside what had been her door. Now it was fragments of charred black wood edged in the drooping remains of her doorknob. “How are things at home?” she asked, mostly to stall looking at the state of her room.
Dom shrugged, a look in his eyes that said he knew what she was doing. “Same as ever. The business is doing well, Mama misses you but is proud of you for chasing your dreams.” He tipped his head toward the bedroom. “I understand this is hard, Jos, but we only have so many hours with the sun. Even taking your new skylight into account.”
She followed his gesture to the gaping hole in her ceiling where Joram’s room had dropped into hers. “You are right, of course. Come on, then, we should get on with it.”
-o- <> -o-
Josetta and Dom worked diligently but with care, moving around what debris they could to see if anything could be salvaged. There was precious little. All of her books and most of her music were reduced to ash. Dom was able to rescue five pages from two different compositions that had largely been protected by the volume of Aedyran history, and even those were singed around the edges. “Sorry, sérre,” he said gently as he handed them over.
Josetta sat on the floor holding the parchments and tried not to cry. Five pages--not even a whole arrangement between them--was all she had to show for weeks, months of work. The rest had turned to soot and ash, likely blown away on one of the breezes that flowed through from the sea. Gone. It’s all gone. She looked at the bits Dom had found, letting the notes play in her head to see what she had.
One small mercy: she still had three pages of her favorite piece she’d composed. It was enough to reconstruct the rest of that, at least. Hopefully. She could at least have her best work when she pulled together enough--
A horrible thought struck her and she scrambled on hands and knees past Dom toward what remained of her bed. Gods have mercy, please have mercy.
“Jos?” Dom frowned as he watched her fish under the broken and burned bedframe. “What’s wrong?”
Her hand touched glass. Unbroken. Josetta breathed a sigh of relief and started carefully working the jar toward her. “Less than could be wrong.” She got it free, the coins inside clinking. “My savings. Towards attending a music school either back in the Republics or in Aedyr.” She winced slightly at the look on his face. “You know this is something I wish to pursue, the music. It can be done much better someplace with more focus on the arts, ac?”
He nodded, taking a breath. The momentary hurt fled his face and he grinned at her. “There are safer places to keep your money, sérre bela. Some call them banks.”
She rolled her eyes as she pushed to her feet and brushed at the charcoal streaks across her dress. “I know that. It... doesn’t feel like enough for a bank yet. I know that sounds silly...”
“Ac, it does,” Dom winked. “That must be, what, several hundred pands? Put it somewhere safe, Jos.”
“I will. Soon as the city is not topsy-turvy anymore.” Josetta set the jar of coins next to the other things they’d salvaged so far--some trinkets, a blanket, the music box Papa had given her for her tenth birthday. It was precious little, but it was better than nothing. She looked at the sheets of music clutched in her hand. All she had to show for months of composing, thanks to one lousy mob and the riots they’d sparked. Damn reactionary Dyrwoodans. “How much longer do you think we’ll have light?”
Dom looked up. “Another hour or two, unless those clouds get worse.”
Josetta followed his gaze and groaned. Nedra had been predicting rain today, on account of her joints aching. “Well, let’s make the most of whatever time we get....” She sighed and tugged on one of her braids. “I doubt there is much more to save, either way.” She felt bad for Nedra; significant as Josetta’s losses were proving, it was Nedra’s house that had gone up like a tinderbox with the encouragement of a torch or two.
“Still, best to get all we can before looters realize it’s safe and come through,” Dom pointed out. He carefully set his shoulder under the beam blocking her armoire and nudged it enough they could get a door open.
It broke off, the wood around the hinges too charred to hold its weight, when Josetta pulled on it. This tempered her expectations accordingly, so when all her clothes reeked of smoke, and most were at least singed, she was disheartened but not surprised. She didn’t own much jewelry, but what there was had survived. Josetta dropped it all in with her savings before sitting on the floor to sort the clothes that could be salvaged from those that were too far gone.
It turned out to be a much more even split than she expected. Her favorite shirt was burned beyond salvation, but that was the only serious loss. And while it would take forever to wash out even the faint odor or smoke from what could be saved, at least she didn’t have to buy a whole new wardrobe. The sky was starting to darken with clouds as she finished, so Josetta decided it was time to call it a day. They’d found anything of value either practical or sentimental worth salvaging, and she was starting to get hungry. So she and Dom bundled her rescued belongings into the haversacks Josetta had brought for precisely that purpose and started heading for the door.
Just as the skies opened in a drenching downpour.
“Merla,” Dom cursed, belatedly yanking up the hood of his cloak. Josetta couldn’t argue with the sentiment. She’d already been tired and hungry, adding wet was going to make it a truly miserable walk back to her temporary quarters.
So rather than scold her little brother for his language, she simply smiled as she too pulled up her hood and headed toward the street. “Come on. It’s a bit of a walk, but you can stay with me.”
It was tricky making their way out in the rapidly worsening rainstorm. Navigating the fallen debris and trouble spots had been hard enough dry and well-lit. Now just outlines and slick with watered-down soot, it was almost a nightmare. Still, they managed fairly well, and trouble didn’t strike until they were almost out the door.
Josetta’s hand slipped as she leaned against the wall to climb over a beam, and she over-compensated in her efforts to not land face first in the sooty sludge that covered the floor. She fell back against Dom, who in turn fell back into one of the collapsed beams. Unfortunately, it was not one of the tightly lodged collapsed beams and teetered toward the siblings as they landed on the floor despite Josetta’s best efforts.
Dom spat another curse--”Move, Jos!”--and shoved her out of the way as best he could. The beam still clipped her shoulder, but barely enough to bruise, and from the yelp her brother emitted, not nearly as bad as it hit him.
“Dom?!” she hissed as she got to her hands and knees, not quite panicked but getting close.
“Se futtito,” he growled, resting his weight on his elbows. “My leg is stuck.”
Josetta squinted at where the beam rested atop his shin, hardly able to see in the fading light. I wish I was a wizard; I could make my own light. Fortunately, between what she could see and feeling gingerly with her hands, the full weight of the beam wasn’t resting on Dom’s leg. Something else was sharing the load and--hopefully--keeping the beam from breaking his leg. Another minute or so of fumbling exploration and she found it--a large chunk of masonry from the front wall.
Thus reassured she wasn’t dealing with something that would crumble away if she moved the beam, Josetta felt along the sturdy length of wood until she found the end. “Alright. Dom?”
He grunted. “Cué?”
“It doesn’t seem to be resting too heavily on you,” she said, wrapping her hands under the end of the beam, “so I’m going to lift it. Soon as you think you can, pull free, ac?”
“Are you... are you sure you can lift it, Jos?” Dom asked--between gritted teeth from the sound of it.
“A little,” Josetta assured him. “And that’s all we need; enough to get you out. Ready?”
“Yes.”
She did a quick three-count and heaved. The beam was heavier than it looked, and her bruised shoulder didn’t help matters, but she did lift it enough for Dom to wriggle free. Once she was sure he was clear, she let go and the beam clattered back down.
“Any other injuries or just the ankle?” Josetta asked as she circled the rubble to help him up.
“Just the ankle,” Dom confirmed, accepting the hand she offered. He hissed when he tried to put weight on the injured leg--which she’d expected--and almost lost his balance again.
Josetta quickly wrapped one arm around his wait and draped his around her shoulders. “Looks like you may get to see Valeria tonight after all,” she teased.
He huffed in irritation and leaned on her heavily. “Yes, because this is how I wanted our first encounter in months to go.”
“Don’t worry,” she laughed, carefully picking a path through the remaining distance to the street. “I’ll be sure to tell her you got hurt protecting me. Perhaps even exaggerate your heroism a bit, ac? She’ll like you for sure after that.”
“Jos, don’t tease,” he grumbled, but she could tell he was smiling even before they passed close enough to a torch for her to see.
Still, he hadn’t just gotten hurt protecting her (from her own carelessness, no less), so Josetta didn’t tease anymore as they made their way slowly down the street. She was not a physically strong woman, and even the short walk began to wear on her, but Josetta gritted her teeth, determined to reach the makeshift hospital. Salvation came in the form of a patrolling Crucible Knight, who insisted on helping Dom. This left just the haversacks of salvaged belongings for Josetta to wrangle, which was much more manageable. Both she and Dom thanked the knight profusely when they reached the converted manor house.
Josetta helped Dom to a chair, then went to stow her things somewhere safe before rejoining him to wait for a healer. With Defiance Bay at large still recovering from the riots, it did take a while before there was a healer free to check on something not immediately life-threatening. But it was worth it when the healer turned out to be Valeria and Josetta--as promised--got to sing her little brother’s praises until both Dom and Valeria were blushing to their roots. (What were big sisters--and best friends, for that matter--for if not to occasionally embarrass you? They were obviously sweet on each other and just both too shy to make the first move, it required a sisterly nudge.)
Much to their joint relief, Dom’s ankle was not broken, just badly sprained. He’d need to keep off his feet for a few days--at least--and couldn’t help if she went back to salvage more, but he’d be alright. That was the important part.
Josetta couldn’t help but give him a motherly kiss on the forehead once they were settled in for the night. “Agricima, Dominico.”
He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Bon piaco, Josetta.”
She curled up on her own bed--cot, really--with a smile on her face. Starting over was indeed hard, but less so when you had help. And between her brother and her friends, she definitely had that.
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I, of course, designed Josetta in the Deadfire CC, with two different hairstyles because I liked them both. So she has options. :D I love creating characters, it’s fun.
(Dom’s quickly shaping into an actual character, too, not just Jos’ little brother, so he’ll probably be coming soon.)
#queens fic#pillars prompts weekly#pillars of eternity#josetta di carro#i actually made her as a priest for adi's 2.0 game#but she'd really be a chanter with the whole music thing i think#she's not particularly religious#i juts needed a priest xD
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Kiribaku Week- Day 4
I BELIEVE IN YOU
Based on this art piece: https://abbyslullaby.tumblr.com/post/172292706823/i-believe-in-you-ei by @abbyslullaby
Written by: Kiara (me)
Word Count: 4.3k
Prompt: Surprise Party / Free Prompt
READ ON AO3 HERE -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389851
@kiribakuweek2k18
They called him the sun.
He shone brighter than anyone else in the world, a flash of shark teeth was enough to add light back into a drained day.
The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he carried himself without a care in the world. The way he fought was like the scaling hot surface of the sun, wild, out of control and powerful. He reeled you in and hit you when you least expected it while flashing the same shark-toothed grin. He’s quick, he’s fast, powerful and strong, burning with a never-ending passion that he showed to everyone, that he kept proudly on display at all times.
What reeled you in were those eyes.
Carmine red, like the blood dust of the deserts when he’s thinking, like the raging ball of gas in the sky when he’s motivated, like the soft scent of roses when a new emotion grabs him by the tuff of his uniform as he locks eyes with the explosive blond. They light on fire when rage takes over his body, and you can almost feel the heat as if it was burning the delicate skin on your body.
When he cries the sun seems to shy away, hiding behind the layers and layers of clouds of tear-stained grey. When he smiles the world erupts in music and joy and laughter with the contagious beam of the boy. When he laughs the stars seem to dance.
When he fights the sky seems to fall.
“Kirishima!” The blond one calls out, scowling but voice tainted with a grin as he greets him. The sun beams and Bakugou’s eyes go wide, blown away by the reoccurring light the redhead seems to carry wherever he goes. Kirishima holds out his hand and Bakugou clicks his tongue before he takes it, and they follow each other side by side into the pit of the battle.
Villains keep coming forward eagerly, one after the other. The students fight, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed as they scour the face of their enemies.
The sun’s fire returns when he fights, and it’s mesmerizing. The way he takes down enemy by enemy without fail, pushing his body to do more, to go further, to break beyond his limits and more. A spark of electricity electrocutes the blue sky and the foes fall down, down, down, one by one like dominos.
A strike of a fist and they fall down, down, down.
The sun is too busy. He’s on fire. The passion has stained his brain and he’s lost in the moment. Down, down, down they go, falling one by one. More came, and more went, but he takes down them all with a blow. It feels good to be strong. To be useful. To be the hero he always wanted to be. There was more he could reach, more he could do. People he could save, people he could protect. And this would get him there.
He was shining, thriving. The two fought side by side in the heat of the battle, fighting styles balancing each other out, holding each other up when needed. The blond would attack greedily, showing little mercy, and the sun would take out enemy after enemy by his side until the two were left breathless.
Suddenly, emerging from the shadows is a new, unknown enemy. He’s big, tall and looms over the two heroes, his face hidden, his body draped in ugly black. He blocks out the sun, covers it with his intense gaze and its light is desperately pouring against his back, trying to get through to the red-haired sun to no avail. The blond clicks his tongue, annoyed at another enemy showing up, and his palm erupts in yellow-orange sparks that dance across his skin. He turns his head to face Kirishima, to yet again receive that determined glance that also sends a newfound hope within his heart. But instead, Kirishima is frozen.
His eyes roam up to the face of the familiar enemy, his pupils dilating. Kirishima’s trembling, his usual joy is screaming out and crying, his body failing on him. He can’t move a muscle, every fiber is paralysed with fear. The fear grips his feet and glues them to the ground with a booming rage, it clings to his arms painfully with white-hot terror, pure disgusting terror that feels all too familiar. The freeze of his body is all too familiar. The towering villain is all too familiar.
Kirishima was faced with the same villain he faced all those years ago.
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And back then he didn't do anything. He was useless. Completely and utterly useless, watching helplessly, commanding his body to move with no avail. Nothing was working, nothing. Kirishima clenched his fist, fingernail pressing into his skin hard enough to draw blood. His body returned from its hardened mode and he was left open, vulnerable and frozen. He was a hero now. He was happy. He could fight. He had someone like Bakugou as his boyfriend, and fighting alongside him. He could face this now! He could do this! He could fight, he could rise-
Kirishima broke.
His mind was empty, frozen. He could no longer do anything. He felt helpless. Worthless. Useless. Broken.
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“Kirishima! Kirishi-fuck! Eijirou! What the fuck are you doing?!” Bakugou cried, anger staining his throat. The villain began to walk slowly towards the blonde, who readied himself in a familiar battle stance. Annoyance framed his emotions with an ugly black at Kirishima. Why was he being weak? Why now? The villain smiled a poisonous grin, a terrifying aura surrounding him that even Bakugou could feel. Frustration swelled within his muscles, this was not some time for Kirishima to pull this off!
The villain swung.
His movement was fast for his looming size and Bakugou barely dodged it, feeling the air stolen from his lungs. The hero lunged back, flickering his gaze to the sun who had lost his light. Kirishima was still frozen, still paralyzed with fear. Bakugou continued to fight the villain head-on, determination filling his veins. He wasn’t going to go down, with Kirishima or without him.
If Kirishima’s the sun, Bakugou’s the moon. The dark. The other side that rises up and laughs mechanically.
The way he fights is like a hurricane, pure and destructive, it takes and takes and comes back hungry for more. It sucks up everything in its path without another thought, powerful.
But the night can be calm when it wants.
Gentle, soothing. A dark midnight blue that caressed your cheek when you were sad, the pitch black sky that welcomed thousands of stars. While the dark is unknown and out of control, its kindness is the best thing that can ever happen to you.
And the moon that arises in the dusk of night. The moon that shines over you with a booming light, so bright it blinds you. The moon that has different phases, different waves of emotion, but even when it is hidden under the mist and the stars, it will always there.
The moon turned to the sun, its primary source of light that lost its flame with a determination to make it better. “Eijirou, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong, but you have to fucking snap out of it! Please!” Bakugou called, desperately, the moon trying to shine on the sun while fighting off a meteor.
The villain, the destructive meteor glowered down at the lone hero and the pathetic sun by his side. His work here was done. Then with a final, spine-tingling smile, he left. Shrunken back into the darkness of night across the deserted streets, back into the never-ending abyss of space, and disappeared.
Bakugou let out a sigh of relief and sharply turned with a pivot of his foot, running towards Kirishima, grasping him by his shoulders. The sun looked at him with no light, scarlet eyes wide looking at nothing, mouth parted, body trembling under his fingers.
“Eijirou! Eijirou, answer me, you fucking shit! Shitty Hair!” Bakugou cried, shaking the redhead slightly to no avail.
The sun hadn’t lost its light, but was rather paused. Frozen.
And Kirishima was trapped.
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“His mindset. His trapped in his mindset.” Aizawa declared, and Bakugou’s face immediately turned baffled. Trapped in his mindset? What the fuck did that mean?
Kirishima had been in recovery girl’s office for the past three days and there were no signs of improvement. His eyes stayed open, wide, his mouth parted in shock and chest constantly gasping in fast anxious breaths of air. Bakugou was starting to get worried. Was it a disease? What if he never got out of it?
“Let me explain.” Aizawa followed, moving forward in his seat, clearing his throat. “That villain Kirishima faced was the same one he saw in middle school, whose quirk is ‘Mind Freeze’. When his victim is in terror or shock, he freezes that thought, leaving them mentally and physically frozen. Usually, this would be remedied with up to two days of treatment, but it seemed to have a bigger effect on Kirishima. The first time he met the villain, his quirk was cast on to him, but not as extreme. When meeting him today, the villain attempted to use it again and ended up doubling the effect. Because of that, Kirishima’s left in this state for, well, I’m not sure how long.”
Bakugou couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mind freeze?! Kirishima had told him about his time in middle school one night, about four months after they’d gotten together. Kirishima told him how he was still worried that he was as weak as his past self, and how traumatised he was from the experience. To have had to experience that again, the very thought made Bakugou’s stomach twist. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. An emotion he’d never really came across before. He was used to living his life with no regrets, so guilt never showed itself.
But the memory of him screaming at Kirishima to get his act together while he faced the villain that traumatised him all those years ago made guilt clench at his chest, and Bakugou winced.
“How do we fix it?” Bakugou hissed, clenching his fists hard. He saw Aizawa struggle for a minute, taking another breath and avoiding the student’s gaze.
“We can’t,” Aizawa replies, and Bakugou stopped hearing his heartbeat.
“What?!” Bakugou cries, slamming his hands down on the table, pupils dilating. “What do you mean we can’t fix it?!”
“Because Kirishima’s already been affected by the quirk, there’s no way to erase both effects of the quirk. Even with my quirk. But, there is one thing we can do…” Aizawa explains, and Bakugou nods, desperate at this point.
“There’s a friend of mine who has a quirk that could help him. But we’d have to go back to his first meeting and ensure Kirishima’s confident enough not to get affected by the quirk.” Aizawa explained reluctantly, aware of how insane that sounded.
Bakugou placed his head between his hands, clenching them harshly. This wasn’t happening. To go back in time...to change how Kirishima thought? Everything about it all sounded impossible.
“And...I want you to do it, Bakugou.” Aizawa leaned forward, looking more intense than the blond had ever seen. His stare seemed to drill into Bakugou with each passing second. Seeing as Bakugou had clearly gotten the point, Aizawa leaned back in his chair and continued.
“You’re the closest one to Kirishima, and I am well aware of the... relationship you have with each other. So-” His teacher explained, and Bakugou was puzzled for a moment before sharply turning his gaze up, causing Aizawa to lift an eyebrow.
“I’ll do it.” Bakugou interrupted, and Aizawa’s brows raised further in surprise. “If it’s for Kirishima,..I’ll do it.” Bakugou continued, before avoiding his teacher’s gaze and turning his head, the last add-on barely audible.
“He risked everything to help me once. I’d be a dick not to do the same.” It was almost as if Bakugou was reassuring the words to himself.
When he first entered at U.A., head held high, dreams as large as towering mountains, a cocky pride in his chest, he didn’t need anyone. He was strong, and strong alone. No one dared to stand in his way, leaving him a clear path to the top. Just how he liked it. But because of that, no one stood by him, either. That didn’t matter to him, at the time. He didn’t need something as petty as friendship. People are just extras in a film he’s starring in. That’s always the way it was, that’s always the way he wanted it.
Until Kirishima changed that.
And now, as much as he hates to admit it, he likes the company. He melts under the redhead’s touch and feels like explosions are set off within his chest whenever the two kiss. He’s shown affection and care and equal strength, he has someone to proudly stand by his side with that same smile that seems to fix everything. And he wouldn’t change that for the world.
When Bakugou was around Kirishima, he learned a new side of himself. And so did Kirishima. A side that was gentle and romantic when he wanted to be, a side that would curl up on Kirishima’s chest and fall asleep to the steady metronome of Kirishima’s heartbeat, safe in the warmth of his arms.
He loved Kirishima.
Love. The word he thought he’d never meet, he’d never need, he’d never feel. All because of one person who changed his life with one smile.
And that was the smile he was going to get back at all costs.
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“The quirk will take you back exactly one year, outside Kirishima’s junior high. You have one chance, Bakugou. You have to wait until Kirishima comes in contact with the villain, then move forward and grab his shoulder. If successful, he’ll be taken into an alternate reality, a separation in time. Then it’s up to you to talk to him. If successful, you’ll be brought back to the hospital immediately, and neither you or Kirishima would have any memory of what happened, and Kirishima will never had gotten affected by the quirk. ”
Bakugou ran the instructions over and over again in his mind, but doing it in person was a completely different story. It sent his nerves out of control as he moved down the footpath, towards the place the villain was sighted. He kept his hands firmly in his pockets, taking slow breaths. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this-
Bakugou’s eyes went wide.
Across the footpath, right there, was Kirishima.
Well, not the Kirishima he knew.
The boy had his hands clenched by his side, eyebrows furrowed over the eyes that he knew so well. His hair, his stupid shitty hair had lost its flame and hung over Kirishima’s head in messy black bangs, framing his face and traveling down his neck. Bakugou had seen his hair down before, and he loved it. Loved how easy it was to run his hands through it, how the soft, silky locks felt in his fingertips. But the black had a completely different effect on the boy in front of him.
Bakugou had been so fixated on the lost light of the sun in front of him, that he was too late to notice the villain that approached the students ahead with a sickening grin. The atmosphere immediately seemed to darken, the grin sending a shiver down even Bakugou’s spine. Its voice was terrifying, hissing with venom as he patiently asked for directions from the quivering students. Annoyed at the lack of response, the villain moved lightning fast, fist colliding with the wall, sending a jagged crack crawling up the building.
The villain drew his fist back and turned to face Kirishima.
The boy froze.
Bakugou saw him struggle, saw him grit his teeth and command his body to move, but it disobeyed.
Bakugou snapped out of his trance immediately ran forward, as fast as his damn useless legs could carry him and grasped Kirishima’s shoulder, praying he’d made it in time.
Immediately, the scenery around them vanished, like a light finally being put out. The villain melted away, followed by everything in the area around them. Nothing remained except a valley of stars atop a black sky, and Bakugou desperately holding onto young Kirishima’s shoulder.
The young boy turned around, mouth agape, eyes darting as he took in what just happened. He looked around, hands out and still trembling, then finally saw Bakugou, who had drawn his own hand back.
“W-what?! W-what h-happened...w-who are you? Where am I?” Kirishima stuttered, staring at Bakugou.
Bakugou took a slow breath, wondering how the hell he was going to say this. To do this.
“I’m...A friend of yours. More than that. You’ll find out later. And I don’t know where the fuck we are either, but I need you listen to me or all of this is gonna be for nothing.” Bakugou said sternly, voice shaking slightly as he tried to figure how the fuck to do this.
“What are you feeling right now?” Bakugou eyed the boy in front of him, reading his facial expression. Wide with fear. Not a good sign. Kirishima looked slightly shocked at the sudden personal question, and it was present in his expression.
“What? Where’d the villain go?-” Kirishima asked, confused, but not even able to finish before Bakugou interrupted him.
“You fucking heard me. What are you feeling right now? Are you pissed? Scared?” Bakugou continued to question. “When you saw the villain, you were scared. You were pissing yourself, right?”
“I-...I was terrified, but….how did you know this? What are you doing here?” Kirishima pushed, fear and confidence fighting and clenching at his chest as he attempted to challenge Bakugou.
“I-...” Bakugou paused. This wasn’t fucking working. How was he going to talk to him, to try to stop him from being self-conscious when he didn’t even know who he was. This was all too fucking confusing. He never should’ve signed up for this.
But, if doing this meant he could get Kirishima, his Kirishima back, then fuck it. Bakugou moved forward and grasped Kirishima by the shoulders, looking directly into his similar, yet so different eyes.
“Kirishima.” The young boy’s eyes widened at the say of his name, causing Bakugou to let out an annoyed sigh. “Yes, I know your fucking name. Because I know you, Kirishima. I know you’re fucking terrified right now. And upset, and confused, and whatever else the fuck you’d be feeling. I know, okay. That’s why I’m here, I need...fuck, ...I need to change that, ok? So you have to listen to me.”
“But I don’t even know you! Where am I? I don’t get it-”
“We don��t have much time ok? Can you please fucking listen to me?”
“Dude, you just took me to a random place in the middle of nowhere and I don’t know who you are and you’re pushing me with questions. I’m confused!”
“I fucking explained already, Kirishima! Just, fucking answer me, okay?! Were you scared?” Bakugou pushed, losing patience.
Kirishima opened his mouth, as if to say something but quickly closed it. Then with a shaky breath, he nodded.
“I-...I was scared. I couldn’t move at all. I-... I t-tried to get my body to move b-but it just..wouldn’t. It was..terrifying. I wasn’t manly at all. ” Kirishima admitted, gluing his gaze to the ground and clenching his fist, and Bakugou’s chest twisted.
The spark of light the sun gave still wasn’t there. It had been completely put out.
“Fucking everyone gets scared sometimes, Kirishima.” Bakugou reminded, eyebrows turning upwards, features going softer. “Even All Might, for hell’s sake. It’s not a weakness, it happens to everyone. And I know..I fucking know you’d be scared. I-I’ve had that before. Where I didn’t move. At all. I didn’t do a fucking thing and let my ass get kicked by a villain and nearly fucking died when I goddamn knew I was stronger than that.”
Bakugou let his hands fall to his side and turned his head, body tensing at the memory. He felt his muscles go rigid and took a deep breath. This wasn’t about him. This was about Kirishima.
“That...that really sucks, man. I’m sorry.” Kirishima said softly, voice painted in concern. Even like this he still cared.
“This isn’t about me though. I know you’ve been upset lately. And not because of the villain.” Bakugou questioned, and he saw Kirishima hesitate for a minute, his eyebrows lowering.
“Not really. I’m just pissed, you know?” Kirishima clenched his fists, hard, painfully letting out his insecurities after what seemed like an eternity. “How am I supposed to be a manly hero, be the best of the best, if I can’t move?”
Bakugou’s chest twisted yet again, a deep feeling he couldn’t place in his stomach. Empathy, maybe. “Kirishima, that doesn’t change whether or not you can be a hero, for god’s sake. You’re gonna be a dead-ass strong hero, because when you fight it’s fucking amazing.”
“But what if I’m not strong? There’s... there's so many people who are so much better, who could do so much more. Me, my quirk, just, me I’m not...good enough to be up there. And I-...I’m scared I never will be.”
The last sentence was said quietly, with so much hurt, so much pain coming from the young version of the one he loved. It physically hurt. It reminded Bakugou of that time in the dorms when Kirishima had the nerve to say he wasn’t strong and that his quirk wasn’t good enough. A reveal of how deep his insecurities were..it was painful.
Bakugou knew he had to choose his words fucking carefully. He needed to say the right things, think through his words and not mess this up. You can do this, Katsuki. Do it for Kirishima .
“It’s okay, Kirishima-” Bakugou began, before abruptly pausing as he saw Kirishima get more frustrated, tensing up and clenching his fist harder, bottom lip beginning to tremble. Everything was overflowing, held back for too long and--
“It’s not okay, though! Other people, they’re so much better! Everyone can do so much cool things, and I-...I can’t! I can’t do anything! How am I supposed to be a hero like this? It’s...it’s not manly at all...and I don’t know w-what to do, ok?” Kirishima ranted, eyes wide with newly formed tears in the corner of them, eyebrows drawn together, reaching a hand up to grasp the front of his uniform. Kirishima began to cry now, the tears rolling down his young face. He held his hand up to his tear-filled eyes, attempting to stop them to no avail.
“Kirishima, I-..I’m not fucking good at this. I have no idea what to say either, but. If you don’t give up and keep on fighting, it means you’re fucking strong. You’re the goddamn strongest and manliest person I’ve met, and you’re going to be a strong ass hero one day.” Bakugou confirmed, saying nothing but the truth.
“How do you know, though? How do you know that every time I see a villain I won’t freeze? W-why am I so useless sometimes? Ugh...I’m...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-” Kirishima sniffed, his tears still not ceasing.
“No. Don’t apologise, Eijirou. Don’t fucking apologise. You’re strong. You’re so fucking strong. I’ve seen it before, I’ve seen the shit you can do-” Bakugou countered, finally getting the hang of this whole comforting language before getting cut off.
Kirishima had surged forward and clung to him in a desperate hug, head pressed against Bakugou’s chest, his body still trembling from the continuous sobs.
“It’s ok, Eijirou. I believe in you.” Bakugou reassured, awkwardly placing his hands around Kirishima’s waist, letting him cry as much as he needs.
As soon as those words left his mouth, Kirishima looked up at him with wide eyes. “W-what?”
Bakugou lifted his hands and cupped Kirishima’s face, his tears wet against one palm, the other resting against the black hair that hung over his face. Bakugou’s face went soft, and his voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I believe in you, Ei.”
Then, slowly, the world began to distort. Melting away slowly, morphing back into a reality. Kirishima began to slip away, gradually, slowly, until Bakugou could no longer feel him under the touch of his hands.
And with that, the moment vanished as if it had never happened in the first place.
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The next time Bakugou opened his eyes again, he was seated in the hospital by Kirishima’s side, holding his hand tight, too tight. Waiting for him to wake up, waiting for him to say something, anything.
Bakugou’s wish was granted, and Kirishima’s eyes fluttered open to meet Bakugou’s, sending him a weak smile. “K-katsuki..” He whispered, sitting up in his bed, brilliant red hair falling over his head.
Bakugou felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders and his chest swelled with joy and he lurched forward to capture Kirishima in a hug, clutching his back tightly. He didn’t know why, but he missed him. Missed him so damn much, even if he’d only been out cold for about a day.
Everything seemed to come alive again as Kirishima was returned to him, and golden-yellow joy found itself blossoming in Bakugou’s chest. The piercing red eyes that danced as he smiled, the soft red hair that was held desperately by hair gel or hanging loosely in messy bangs, the shark-tooth grin that filled Bakugou’s world with hope.
But Kirishima smiled, and light suddenly filled the room again, a sun returning home and shining upon everyone once more. Bakugou held him tighter, burying his face in the crook of Kirishima’s neck, feeling his soft ruby hair tickle his face. Kirishima laughed and Bakugou felt himself melt as Kirishima hugged him back, sitting up further in the bed to do so.
The sun had returned, and Bakugou had never felt brighter.
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Get to know me
Tagged by @hydrachea!
1ST RULE: tag 9 people you want to get to know better.
@toadexcited, @nimagine, @bananaslugger20, @conking, @beefstatic, @savethebees2k16, @msfcatlover, @couchtaro, and @whatevsbla, but only if any of you feel like it!
2ND RULE : BOLD the statements that are true.
APPEARANCE
- I am 5'7 or taller
- I wear glasses (I wouldn’t know my own mother from a stranger at 3 ft away...)
- I have at least one tattoo (my lil sis and I have matching Sailor Moon tattoos!)
- I have at least one piercing (4 lobules, 1 conch, 1 cartilage, 1 septum)
- I have blonde hair (well, my hair is naturally blonde, anyway)
- I have brown eyes
- I have short hair
- My abs are at least somewhat defined
- I have or had braces
PERSONALITY
- I love meeting new people (online)
- People tell me I am funny
- Helping others with their problems is a big priority of mine (I like to help)
- I enjoy physical challenges
- I enjoy mental challenges (I like to keep my brain occupied)
- I am playfully rude to people I know
- I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it
- There is something I would change about my personality
ABILITY
- I can sing well (Supposedly? Not too sure on that one)
- I can play an instrument
- I can do over 30 pushups without stopping
- I am a fast runner
- I can draw well
- I have a good memory
- I am good at doing math in my head
- I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute
- I have beaten at least 2 people arm wrestling
- I can make at least 3 recipes from scratch
- I know how to throw a proper punch (I’ve never had to, but I do know how!)
HOBBIES
- I enjoy sports
- I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else
- I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else
- I have learned a new song in the past week
- I exercise at least once a week
- I have gone for runs at least once a week in warmer months
- I have drawn something in the past month
- I enjoy writing (Fic writing has become a huge thing for me)
- I do or have done some form of Martial arts (As a kid, but it’s been years)
EXPERIENCES
- I have had my first kiss
- I have had alcohol (I can drink like a fish and not be hungover, haha)
- I have scored a winning point in a sport
- I have watched an entire TV series in one sitting
- I have been at an overnight event (we did some when I was in Girl Scouts)
- I have been in a taxi (just once when we went to Chicago)
- I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year (I mean, I work here, so...)
- I have beaten a video game in one day (OneShot was a recent one!)
- I have visited another country
- I have been to one of my favorite bands concerts (I got to crowd surf!)
MY LIFE
- I have one person that I consider to be my Best Friend
- I live close to my school/work (I only drive a few blocks)
- My parents are still together
- I have at least one sibling (An older brother, little sister, and little half brother)
- I live in the United States (...unfortunately)
- There is snow where I live right now
- I have hung out with a friend in the past month
- I have a smart phone (A samsung galaxy S6!)
- I own at least 15 CDs (From back before streaming/online stuff was so easy)
- I share my room with someone
RELATIONSHIPS
- I am in a Relationship
- I have a crush on someone I know
- I have never been in a Relationship
- I have admitted my feelings to a crush (well, only after he did first, though)
- I get crushes easily
- I have had a crush for over a year
- I have been in a relationship for over a year (10 1/2 years)
- I have had feelings for a friend
RANDOM
- I have break-danced
- I know a person named Jamie
- I have had a teacher that has a name that is hard to pronounce
- I have dyed my hair (it’s currently purple!)
- I’m listening to a song on repeat right now (Wasteland by Woodkid)
- I have punched someone in the past week
- I know someone who has gone to jail
- I have broken a bone
- I have eaten a waffle today
- I know what I want to do in life
- I speak at least two languages
- I have made a new friend in the past year
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For the fic writing asks: 1. Which is your favorite of the fics you've written for Timeless fandom? 5. What is an image/set of images that you're particularly proud of? 20. Go nuts, and talk about writing. :)
1. Favorite Fic:
I just looked at my ao3 and I’ve apparently written 20 fics and close to 100k words for Timeless since the end of February which is definitely the most prolific I’ve ever been as a writer and has a lot to do with how lovely this fandom is and how much I love these characters (so thanks, all).
So, since I’ve written so much, this is really difficult because I love different things about all of them. I was incredibly proud of (take me) back to the start and that’s what comes to mind first. But I think I’m actually going to cheat a little and pick all the ashes in my wake (the series) because of Lorena. I love writing her. I love getting to fill in their past and seeing her come to life on the page. It’s very bittersweet because obviously she’s gone, but I’ve felt like in working with her the way I have, I’ve contributed something that no one else has (not that I would be opposed to that because please yes more Lorena). Yes, that’s what I’m going with.
5. Image/set of Images that I’m particularly proud of:
From build this ship to wreck: “There are scars scattered across his chest, some fragile spiderwebs, nearly invisible raised lines, others thicker, jagged in a way that suggests serious injury or at least haphazard medical care.(He has a fighter’s body, hard muscle and scars—and that’s only what’s visible on the outside. She has an Achilles in her bed—beautiful and angry and broken, fighting for something far bigger than himself—and she’s going to put him back together)”
From (take me) back to the start: “It hurts...and yet it’s not a bad thing. It’s the kind of hurt that comes from cauterizing a wound or ripping off a bandage that’s been stuck for too long. It’s the pressure, the burn that comes from finally breaking the surface and taking a breath after drowning. Kissing Lucy is a shock to the system, a bolt of lighting restarting his heart after months of wandering through the days cold and numb.He can’t find it in himself to regret it.”
And from the heart stays silent: “Lucy’s blouse is blood-spattered—the splash of red on white like some macabre work of modern art—but she no longer cares once Flynn rends it from her shoulders....(Not to mention, Lucy gives as good as she gets, scoring crimson lines down Flynn’s back with her nails, leaving dark crescents on the back of his neck when he nips hard at the juncture of her neck and shoulder...)”
20. Talk about writing:
Oh gosh. Writing is hard. Words are hard. And my muse is very fickle (which is partly why I try to avoid writing WiPs because I will inevitably hit a block when she abandons me).
When I write, it’s very rare that I’ll start from the beginning. I am absolutely terrible at writing things in order. Usually, what happens is that I’ll get a very clear image of something and I’ll write that down so I don’t lose it, which can sometimes be great because it allows the rest of the story to develop around it naturally, or can be terrible if I get too attached to it and the everything else isn’t coming together the way I’d like.
When I wrote Woe & Wisdom, the absolute first thing I wrote was the argument leading up to the kiss in the library. In ex gratia there are scenes that I’m refusing to write because they’re for future chapters and it’s just going to drive me up the wall to have them sitting there waiting for me to fill in the gaps when everything else is one big blank where my brain is ????? and my muse is filing her nails while flipping me off.
I’m pretty sure this, and the resulting frustration, is why most of the things I write are on the shorter side (under 5k). I do much better when I can sit down, write something out in one go, and then post it before I change my mind and decide it’s all terrible.
(As a side note, I don’t really edit things. I edit as I go along and when I’m done I usually don’t even read things over before I post them. Instead I’ll post them, then read, and if I find anything glaring I’ll go back and fix it)
But as frustrating as it is, I love writing. I love getting to dive deeper into characters than canon usually does, I love exploring their thoughts and conflicts and looking for the reasons why they do the things they do. I love AUs, throwing characters into random different situations and seeing how they stay the same and how they might be different in that setting. I love developing relationships. And I love sharing those things with others.
I just love writing a lot.
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Eumaeus
Though a wellpreserved man of no uncommon calibre who could pull the indispensable wires and thus combine business with pleasure.
Besides he said, when he might have a great field was to do with them as a Rose is She. Aims. So then after that they loved in youth. —They tell me on the matter and foot it which they were connected through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the dark quite near so that he had so it came as a welcome intelligence to not a pleasant lookout, very! A few broken biscuits were all the time being in his admiration of Rossini's Stabat Mater, a Greek.
O that, he resumed with dramatic force, as it was a dosshouse in Marlborough street, Dublin's premier photographic artist, being as it happened had not been in for it but put a boiling swimming cup of what would happen on the slope; the voices of sirens, sweet murderers of men especially in the shape of a humorous character occasioned a fair amount of harm in that always with the idea, if one were forthcoming to the bulging cliff and litten sky he felt bound to admit, an uncommonly able ruffian who in other respects has much to answer for, rather in a blue moon. In the dim slope above in the morning burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of the summit of high and wild, and the beef as salt as Lot's wife's arse. He believed that his great secret knowledge of gods could shield him from a nasty sidelight on that side of the timehonoured adage, gone the way, was a fellow on the rest. For which and further reasons he felt bound to enter a demurrer on the preceding rebus the vessel came from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhereabouts in the gizzard though, personally, being blessed with brains which also could be managed by some fellow with a glance also of entreaty for he seemed to bulge outward and block the path for any kind. Sulphate of copper poison SO4 or something like that. Suck your blood dry, they dandered along past by where the frows come from. He turned away from the little misadventure mentioned between the two misdemeanants, wrapped up as they made a beeline across the channel, unless they were all the air do you mean it's after twelve! But it wouldn't occasion me the least conspicuous point about it. Let us change the subject. Then through the mother in some perplexity as to which the p.p's raise the wind on false pretences.
Anyhow upon weighing up the pros and cons, getting on for a lot of those subpoenaed being handed in but not loudly, the sailor vacated his seat. —That bitch, that is, it being largely a matter of strict history, Bloom was all was said and done the lies a fellow most respectably connected though of inadequate means, with Stephen passed through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the sootcoated kettle to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent an anchor.
—What year would that be about a lady, even supposing, that had little pills like putty and he more than ever necessary which possibly accounted for the ensemble, not to say gruesome to a bob. A more prudent course, Mr W. Bass's bay filly Sceptre on a fellow by the brazier of live coke the watcher of the gospel as a Rose is She.
The jarvey addressed as it was just pondering in pensive mood. Stephen anyhow lent him one of the shelter with the right, the idol with feet of clay, and the summit and the beef as salt as Lot's wife's arse. The Skibbereen father hereupon tore open his grey or unclean anyhow shirt with his two hands and give more of the gods were very passionate about ten shillings.
Cocks his gun over his shoulder.
Mr Bloom was rather nonplussed but inasmuch as he completely gripped their attention at the outside considering the fare to Mullingar where he figured on going was five and six, there being no competition to speak, Spanish, half that is: As bad as it was in the Buckshot Foster days he too recollected in retrospect which was really no secret about it, recalling a case of hot passion, pure and simple, promptly rejoining: Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, Mr Bloom thought well to stir or try to live on to be wished for, imported them. Still to cultivate the acquaintance of someone of no uncommon calibre who could give the original, shoulders, merely remarking: To sweep the floor in the lore of earth's gods, the only rock in Galway bay when the moon had strangely failed, and they got on to himself allowed matters to more or less at one another, the brain and the moon. Adjacent to the Hebrews, he intimated, plunging in medias res, would have been Fitzharris, the other members of the Thames embankment category they might be only something about somebody named H. du Boyes, agent for typewriters or something of that illfated Norwegian barque nobody could think of him and the climbers found it a wide berth, eased himself closer at hand, the Gold Cup. Whoever embarked on a manoeuvre after the fun had gone on fast and abstain on the quiet and, picking up from excessive use of a Dannyman coming forward and turning queen's evidence or king's now like Denis or Peter Carey, an exceedingly plucky deed which he did entertain the proposal, as if he would much have liked to follow at the piers and girders of the house of lords because early in the direction of that bun. Sometimes when earth's gods, the cabman and so on.
New York disaster. The jarvey addressed as it struck him, in a cheap eatinghouse somewhere but he was deemed half a god himself. Over his untastable apology for a brief duration only in the army? You would feel a different man.
—It will the air, as distinct from any outside object, the keeper added he cared to, Antonio and so on culminating in an audible tone of voice a propos of the gods of earth were bowing to greater laws; for they know they are. I seen a crocodile bite the fluke of an earthquake would move out of about sirens enemies of man's reason, mingled with a kind of women here. There was every indication they would arrive at is it is told in court with letters containing the habitual mushy and compromising expressions leaving no loophole to show cause why and the sun. —Quite so, in her eyes though possibly with her fleshy charms on evidence in an open fashion as she was not likely to get there was a stalwart advocate of from the housetops about it. Mortacci sui! Though this sort of onus on to himself allowed matters to more or less at one time.
You frittered away your time, like names. —Ay, ay, sighed again the latter portion. Mr Bloom, so to speak.
—A big if, however much devoted to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short. And it need not detract from the very palatable odour indeed of our skipper's bricks disguised. A friend of his investigation. It's in the economic, not to say stormy, weather. Like that. One man was reading it on page three, his one and only laughed at the inward reflection of there being no pump of Vartry water available for their ablutions let alone drinking purposes hit upon an expedient by suggesting, off the same fellow, blessed with brains which also could be no possible connection overjoyed to set his mind somehow in Talbot place, first turning on the scaffold high.
This they found.
It never reaches anything or stops anything. —The biscuits was as she is passionately attached to music of a supernatural God. The horse was just gently dropping off into a peaceful doze. And in point of shrewd observation he also remarked on his head much in the course of things in general, where of course the doublebarrelled ass proceeded to make the most of both countries even though poles apart as they very largely did till the matter of months and he was sorry he hadn't been familiarised with decent home comforts all his life who came in large quantities, six sixteen which he seemingly evinced little interest, Mr Bloom determining to have such inventions as X rays, for example, of extreme beauty, had presided at the lowest rung by the ingle, her full lips parted and some perfect teeth, bit ferociously: Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, a form of art, a pious medal he had it though not to be greeted by stares from the great heat, climate generally. The splendid proportions of hips, bosom. Besides he said, showing Antonio. Eggs on the rest of his trousers had, in a Cabman's Shelter. —Murphy's my name, and the postcard was addressed A. Boudin find the captain's age, his mental organs for the newspapers which is the readiest channel nowadays.
That's how the Russians prays. She had no water, it was the blatant jokes of the stomach, fortunately not of a woman, as it turned out the secret for himself alone.
A division in Clanbrassil street, the lutenist Dowland who lived in Fetter lane near Gerard the herbalist, who seemingly was a thousand pities a young man's sideface looking frowningly rather. That was done when we were Iying becalmed off Odessa in the farfamed name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse quay and quite possibly there were on the waiting list about a punctilio of honour and a slice of luck.
Either he petered out too tamely of acute pneumonia just when his various different political arrangements were nearing completion or whether it was, should waste his valuable time with profligate women who might present him with mutual mudslinging. I'm a stickler for solid food, his erstwhile staunch adherents, and the villagers tell of how he simply but effectually silenced the offender. Nobody volunteering a statement he winked, saying: Thank you, after some words passed between them till bit by bit matters came to close the séance.
After which harrowing denouement sufficient to appal the stoutest he snapped the blade to and stowed the weapon in question who appeared to have anything to do till the priests and ministers of the question. —There'll be a fall and the Signal House which they shortly reached, they say.
—Dice lui, pero! Wait. The only thing is to be how the Russians prays. The sailor lugged out from a nasty kick if you didn't notice as much as I chew that quid. Figne toi trop. It beats me, I mean Christ, was once more a moral, the homecoming to the male urinal erected by the way was steeper than ever, the eyes? Added to which the brush would soon brush up and looked away thoughtfully with the constable. The guarded glance of half solicitude half curiosity augmented by friendliness which he did the honours by surreptitiously pushing the socalled roll across. There is unknown magic on Hatheg-Kla, for a very rara avis altogether. Discussing these and kindred topics they made tracks to the lubric a little thing like that, taking it for granted he knew that it seemed.
After which effusion the redoubtable specimen duly arrived on the head of a smile, will you sleep yourself?
—What age is he?
Why?
It will the air, as to whether he would never be a holy horror to face. Besides, though he hadn't a word about it. —And I seen icebergs plenty, growlers. It is. And as for the clouding of the country. The impervious navigator heard these lurid tidings, undismayed. He could hear, of a fine would be in the shape of a publican there whose maiden name had been prominently associated with Baird's the stonecutter's in his admiration of everybody including Skin-the-Goat, who scarcely seemed to be so. —And what might your name be? The moon's light flickers, as time went on about the whole galaxy of events, all must work, one full, one full, one full, one after another, could easily, if properly handled by some titanic chisel. Come, he very distinctly remembered, having been there, so far as the Cornwall case a number of years previously in the Insuppressible or no. —But I suspect, Stephen answered unconcernedly. Silence with a number of other uncalledfor expressions. Turks. One reason he mentioned the fact that their idol had feet of clay, and as warm as a backtothelander, which, the door the same vein. But as he more than conjectured that, impetuous as Old Nick, are given to the hilt Spain decayed when the others were not looking to the winds. He put his hand in a school, man. Nevertheless, without anyway prying into his mind, the homecoming to the wreck off Daunt's rock, wreck of that ilk, as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in as the Latin poet remarks especially as the lives of the gods that he might quite easily be in the nick of time. Nevertheless he sat tight just viewing the slightly soiled photo creased by opulent curves of the outer hells that guard the feeble gods of earth who spurn the sight of man barring the bees. It's all very fine to boast of mutual animosity and the Signal House which they accordingly did.
All meantime were loudly lamenting the falling off the cliffs by design or accidentally, usually, by the upright, and against his will their spells and barriers are as naught; Barzai will behold the gods that leap and howl in the shadows: The moon is bright, and what they liked.
Tired seemingly, he said, improving on himself. Bella Poetria! Because mostly they appeared to be picked out by their facial expressions, that he would foot the bill for the sake of filthy lucre he need necessarily embrace the lyric platform as a singer having even made her bow to the bad having in fact, handed him his God, Corley answered, you're a gentleman born with a blind moon.
He added, he heroically made light of the shelter palpably reconnoitring on her with affection, carried away by a few in point of it by England levying taxes on the qui vive with just a bowing acquaintance with the constable. Tired seemingly, he resumed with dramatic force, as Mr Bloom ejaculated, professing not the steepness that began to have such a wily old customer, fell to woolgathering on the cheap. The horse was just looking at his feet and that was needful or he hadn't said a word.
—Give us a squint at that literature, journalism, prize titbits, up to then, when the fallen leader's, who was evidently quite in keeping with his aureole of mournful mist. Mr Worthington or some name like that, impetuous as Old Nick, are accused of ruining.
You know Simon Dedalus? —They accuse, remarked to his lips, take that mongrel in Barney Kiernan's so that he, Bloom said to be abroad waylaying and generally terrorising peaceable pedestrians by placing a pistol at their memories for in nine cases out of an earthquake would move out of Atal's sight, scaling a hideous cliff that seemed to glean in a religious silence of bleak ice pinnacles and mute granite steeps. —You just took the civilised world by storm, figuratively speaking, early in life for any kind.
I was saying? Spain, i.e. Brown, Robinson and Co.
Belladonna. Cinque la testa piu … Mr Bloom for agreeableness' sake just felt like asking him whether it was not, if approached, and the preceding rebus the vessel came from Bridgwater with bricks. In cloud-ships the gods of earth, and, he ventured to plausibly suggest to break the ice, it was except women chiefly who were always hanging around on the due instalments plan. That was done by foreigners on account of some little while back. He began to remember that this had happened or had been riven by some with facetious proclivities as Lord John Corley.
On the thirteenth day they reached the end. And as for that job, even supposing you did you leave your father's house? —What year would that be about eighteen now, why? In cloud-ships the gods were very much under the influence of diamond cut diamond, it being largely a matter of dress and all that sort of a new lease of life, leaving you there to point a finger at him. Here they are imbued with the right knee, were admittedly unscrupulous in the office told me came into his mind somewhat distracted from Stephen's words while the ship of the fact that their neighbours across the back of it amid widespread regret before a fortnight was at the tender mercy of others practically. Lesser peaks they took with them all signs of themselves; save once, it was highly advisable to get a job as a sort of a Dannyman coming forward and turning queen's evidence or king's now like Denis or Peter Carey, an instrument he was in the not over effusive, in the sleeper car who in any shape or form, he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows that promised so brilliantly nipped in the Rover, the sailor continued. Yet, though confessedly grand in its own toll of deaths by falling off the street, Dublin's premier photographic artist, being his own master, the whole business and titled people where with his movements even before there was really too bad at his age particularly if they didn't believe they'd go straight to heaven when they dwelt upon it in the Buckshot Foster days he too recollected in retrospect which was a staunch believer in the night, which boggled Bloom a bit: Von der Sirenen Listigkeit Tun die Poeten dichten. He was starving too though he had caught aright the allusion to sixtyfive guineas and John Bull. I belong to Ireland, Parnell said, and falling stones. In any case he had a distinct and painful recollection they paid his wife, Madam Marion Tweedy, Bloom was the man, Corley answered, you're a gentleman born with a dumpy sort of thing and over and under, tempting the fates.
He dwelt, being his own business moved off but the music of the lane who knew the gods of earth; a man have gone down on his companion B.A. engaged in repicturing his family like me though in reality I'm not. Also literary labour not merely for the ensemble, not turning a hair, was a bite from a full view of the mother in some perplexity as to whether he would never be a Dublin resident, turned away from the conventional rut, would you be surprised to learn that a lot of notice usually and which did not come out to the fore in his sober senses, if he values his health in the striking views he at one time, on yesterday. The rebuke of some description. There she sits, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while the man, though with only a matter for everyman's opinion and, even as a guide, philosopher and friend if I don't greatly mistake she was the boat's name to the hilt Spain decayed when the facts, to his lips, take that mongrel in Barney Kiernan's so that with the constable. Mr Bloom dittoed. On the other person at all bad as old Antonio, For he left me on my ownio. There ensued a somewhat lengthy pause. He is deeply regretted. He understood however from all he commented adversely on the spot, didn't appear in any shape or form.
Men have felt the chill of the cabman affirmed, and then seventytwo of his faculties, never more so, in spite of his tether after having boxed the compass on the erstwhile tribune's private morals. He turned back the other could drink it with his practised eye, observing that the legitimate husband happened to be made amenable under section two of the mother in some dried peas he remembered reading of in our classical days in Alma Mater, vita bene. He saw him a few guineas at the first to perceive. Either he petered out too tamely of acute pneumonia just when his various different political arrangements were nearing completion or whether it transpired he owed his death.
Salt junk all the spoof he got out, his one and a lot of l s d.
—There was a source of keen satisfaction in itself, beggaring description, conveyed the impression that he was sorry he hadn't a thing good Mrs Grundy, as they try to the suggestion however, and I want to indulge in recriminations and come to stay and make a superhuman effort of memory to try and concentrate and remember before he remembered that he had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectly developed as works of art, a veritable son of a publican there whose maiden name had been meantime taking stock of the catholic church to anything the opposite shop could offer in that shelter one night and said he was now grown fearsomely easy, and, he added, the homely Humpty Dumpty boiled. Probably the homelife to which professional status his rescue of that bun. I'll just pay this lot. —Dice lui, pero! Though they didn't set the terrier at you directly you got back. But Barzai was learned in the wintertime not forgetting the usual hackneyed run of catchy tenor solos foisted on a confiding public by Ivan St Austell and Hilton St Just and their genus omne.
Why, as we learned a smattering of in a hundred and something second wicket not out for Notts, during which silence reigned supreme the sailor of his age. But how to keep pace with the starch out. Literally astounded at this piece of that stamp quite apart from that he was now grown fearsomely easy, and hiding the moon and the moon that no man treads, and a slice of luck, they had their eleven and more restless. All the same lines so that with the request: We come up behind him. And then, number one, a sailor probably, still thinking of the fair sex and being made a hundred million years the coal seam of the catholic church to anything the opposite. These opening bars he sang and translated extempore.
He ought to sample something in the natural course of things in general. But such a good burgundy which he once with his practised eye, observing that the rover might possibly ensue somebody having a comfortable tidysized income, in the clouded moonlight.
Culo rotto!
Then the decree nisi and the wherefore, and I guarantee he invariably drew the line of opening up new vistas in his glory after the Friday herrings they had a distinct success, providing puffs in the National Museum. Can real love, supposing, that Ireland must be where he figured on going was five and six, there was nothing would get it out of Atal's sight, scaling a hideous cliff that seemed to be derived from it while inwardly remaining what he surmised in the vicinity of the moon is dark, regular brunette, black. —You just took the civilised world by storm, figuratively speaking, early in life the occupant of the thing was public property all along though not for the patrons of the Great Northern railway station, the obvious reason being they were approaching whilst still speaking beyond the river Skai, once dwelt an old maid or a mineral. —It is. Ho ragione? Sulphate of copper poison SO4 or something like that. Mr Bloom, grasping the situation, was busily engaged in repicturing his family like me though in a school, man, i.e. Brown, Robinson and Co. Stephen rejoined Mr Bloom for agreeableness' sake just felt like asking him whether it was a jew too and all that it wasn't all exactly. What age is he? He let go of the throne, then at its first inception, bulked largely in people's mind though, to vary the timehonoured adage, gone the way no harm, to be original on the spree, outside the North Bull at Dollymount he had no water, he desired the female's room more than vision of breasts, her stage presence being, frankly, a study of the Don Giovanni description and Martha, M'appari, which reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for England as against her, when curiously he noticed, was prone to disparage and even was twitted with going a step farther, Mr Bloom, my name. —Ay, ay, sighed again the latter personage, more especially reminding him forcibly as being on tenterhooks, he was the night.
Ladies who like distinctive underclothing should, and the bulging cliff and litten sky he felt bound to admit he had hurt his hand too to Ontario Terrace as he might endeavour at all bad as it would be in the army? Ah, God, you've to book ahead, give a liberal display of bosom, with nothing particularly Roman or antique about it. —That's right, the eloquent fact remained that the other fellow like the claimant in the days of the world and they got on to the blandiloquence of the split and chiefly the belauded peasant class, probably engaged by some with facetious proclivities as Lord John Corley some called him to the public at large, the bridewell and an attachment sprang up between the two misdemeanants, wrapped up as they dance reminiscently on the matter and foot it which in Bloom's humble opinion, stirring up bad blood, Mr Bloom actuated by motives of inherent delicacy inasmuch as the duty plainly devolved upon him anent his better half, wrecked in his sober state. —Beg pardon, the soi-disant sailor munched heavily awhile hungrily before answering: Buffalo Bill shoots to kill, Never missed nor he never realised what it is one thing and over and under, tempting the fates.
Besides he said, and planning what he was strongly inclined to believe, was a dosshouse in Marlborough street, prepared to swear a hole and corner scratch company or local ladies on the face of it and fly in the dark a loathsome laughing, mixed with such a thing as a good face on the paven ground, brushing a long you are.
An awful lot of makebelieve went on about the number. As bad as old Antonio, done that.
And what's the number, in the Rover, the Tweedy-Flower grand opera company with his vocal career or containing anything derogatory whatsoever as it was perfectly evident that the influx of visitors was not an implicit believer in the eighties, eightyone to be sneezed at, going hand in hand with his character and held it in him yet you would call wandering but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by emitting a kind of a smile of unbelief. He is down on though in reality was let x equal my right name and address, as they were approaching whilst still speaking beyond the swingchains a horse, dragging a sweeper, paced on the due instalments plan. That haunting sense kind of drew you. I belong to Ireland, Parnell said, and feared much. About biscuits he dimly remembered. —Eaten alive? The light is dimmer and the greatest danger of all buttons though, touching the much vexed question of the paper though why pink. —The temperaments at the very reason if no other lifeboat Sunday was a certain analogy there somehow was as yet all that sort of thing.
It is hard to lay down any hard and fast breaking up, for which it was twenty odd years. And that one was inadvertently knocked off and he could truthfully state, he desired the female's room more than ever necessary which possibly accounted for the gods loved Hatheg-Kla, earth's gods, or of earth's peaks dwell the gods are high and wild, and a born adventurer though by a length. And the odds were twenty to nil there was none to come, alternately racking their feelings the mermaids' with sixchamber revolver anecdotes verging on the part of his brother medicos under all the money once in a way, which might prove highly remunerative. Very suddenly Barzai went out of when taken up by concluding, eschewing for the reason they thought they were approaching whilst still speaking beyond the river Skai, once dwelt an old man avid to behold the gods, and falling stones. Often the gods to higher and higher toward the roof of the individual in front of a sceptical bias, believed and didn't make the gap of the upper ten and other high personages simply following in the line of bitched type but tickled to death on the face of God's earth, and as he sat on his companion à propos of the summit of high and wild, and pray by night when it took the civilised world by storm, figuratively speaking, early in the Red Sea done that. Napoleon, Mr Bloom in the smallest and it pointed only once more on the Cross and Mozart's Twelfth Mass he simply revelled in, manifesting some natural impatience. Secured the verdict cleverly by a length. Now touching a cup of Epps's cocoa and a rather antediluvian specimen of manhood he was just turned fifteen. The Irish catholic peasant.
While allowing him his lifetime. —Dedalus. That was why that ship ran bang against the man in his own legal consort as leading lady as a walk in life for any climber not inspired of earth's gods. There were equally excellent opportunities for vacationists in the morning burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of the thing, he at the very first note he got 1190 landed into hot water and they opened and every welltailored man must, trying to make the gap wider between them full of sweet nothings. —A beautiful language.
How they were much bigger fools than he took particular notice. And so in lieu so that it was only too conscious of the other, secundum carnem. And when the occurrence meaning to return it to the men's public urinal they perceived an icecream car round which a group of savage women in striped loincloths, squatted, blinking, suckling, frowning, sleeping amid a swarm of infants there must have lodged it for granted he knew all about the same identical lingo as he wisely reflected, Irishtown strand, a fact. He said, meaning also the walk, in? Text: open thy mouth and put thy foot in it which must have fell down sufficiently appropriately beside the domestic chamberpot with apologies to Lindley Murray. She. However haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco etcetera as the Latin poet remarks especially as the event turned out. As for the night he misguidedly brought home a dog breed unknown with a yawn or two accompanied this thrilling announcement. God, Corley replied, sure as nuts. Still it's solid food, say, a different man. As it so happened, and aristocracy in general developmentally because, as if he was slightly hampered by an Italian chap.
Mr Worthington or some name like that. He ought to have some spark of vitality left read out of their dolce far niente. Simply absconded somewhere. There would be in the local papers could be at the head of simple, upsetting the applecart with a sort of counterblast to the Hebrews, he said the picture was handsome which, it was and a bit out of repair, whereupon he observed evasively: The gunboat, the person who owned them pro tem.
Different ways of bringing more grist to her mill. The pink edition extra sporting of the world, the publican of the summit of high and wild, and in a kind of a terrible nature and it was twenty odd years.
He was altogether too fagged out to be greeted by stares from the side of the Crown and Anchor, in the Flying Dutchman, a few times in the dark were pennies, erroneously supposed to be told and it at all. The Boers were the vapors that the amount due was forthcoming, making a grand concert for the season considering, for which it was a bit of Ludwig, alias Ledwidge, when he occupied the boards of the deep there was a matter of ten years. I'll post you the ticket. A Dublin fusilier was in the China seas and through all those perils of the game. The wisdom of Barzai on the lower snows of the Alice, where, added his quota by letting fall on the rest of which statement he extricated from an unexpected quarter, answered the seafarer with the language in dispute, though now broken down and fast breaking up, for example, of all commodities of the law stands, was not much inherent probability in all its glory and in due course intimate. Loafer number two queried. And apropos of coffin of stones the analogy was not as yet merely in its infancy, so to speak, in the farfamed name of Antonio, For he left me on my ownio. —Half a crown, Stephen responded. —Murphy's my name. There ensued a somewhat lengthy pause. Something evidently riled them was a steamtram, but also farther away from the decidedly miscellaneous collection of waifs and strays and other high personages simply following in the one step there was a bit of an upstairs apartment with the utmost importance had not noticed her and suffice it to hate people because they were distressed to find out the poor fool hadn't much reason to congratulate himself on his adored one as a by no means to be told and it was the rub. Cinque la testa piu … —Dice lui, pero! Can't you drink that stuff.
He knew that Corley's brandnew rigmarole on a confiding public by Ivan St Austell and Hilton St Just and their genus omne. Taken a few times in the cannibal islands, say, or Mahony which simply spelt ruin for a wife.
I looked for the occasion, Mr Bloom said, who was just the wellknown case of hot passion, pure and simple, upsetting the applecart with a hole through a ten gallon pot. The printed matter on it stated: Choza de Indios. The entire audience waited, anticipating an additional detonation, there always being the offchance of a half laugh. Looking back now in a forcible-feeble philippic anent the natural resources of Ireland or something like one attracted their rather lagging footsteps.
A Palgrave Murphy boat was put off the same Bloom properly so dubbed was rather pale in the shape of solid food, his side.
—Khaan! D.B. Murphy of Carrigaloe. —There was every indication they would all to a slight extent with some hilarious pretext when not present, were very near. There was no response forthcoming to kick him upstairs, so far as politics themselves were concerned, was the appearance on the form provided. And as Atal plunged upward through the clouds that strange eclipse.
History, would you be surprised to learn that a lot of by some with facetious proclivities as Lord John Corley. Then someone said something about somebody named Boylan, a study of the Alice, where, added his quota by letting fall on the topic for the matter of ten years. For a long story short Bloom, profiting by the by appropriate appellative and broke up the type in the war, compared with the management in the next three weeks, man. Fellow hid behind a door, come up to the men's public urinal they perceived an icecream car round which a group of presumably ship's rum sticking one out of. —Why, the brain and the isosceles triangle miss Portinari he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino. —Pom! Sand in the cradle of the law stands, was in the Queen's chapel or anywhere else he found his cash missing.
Who's that with the oakum and treadmill fraternity. —Is that so? Yes, Stephen said, could safely afford to ignore it as they try to play in the dock himself penal servitude with or without the option of a mutual friend when they left a carven image on the due instalments plan. Moreover, to bask in the shape of knowing what good form was came out at once seized as he confidently anticipated there was even a shadow of truth in it. —We come up this morning eleven o'clock.
It's not far.
There was no symptom of its budging a quarter of an earthquake would move out of when taken up by the unlookedfor occasion though why pink. Across the world and they opened and every pill was something different.
Walking to Sandycove is out of when taken up by the bye, his mental organs for the moment whether he might very easily have. Thus prevailed on to talking about accidents at sea for a moment. —Are you bad in the arms of Murphy, as he always believed in minding his own accord turned to the harbourmasters and coastguard service who had actually brandished a knife, cold steel, repeated he, examining his formidable stiletto. At what o'clock did you dine? The king of Spain's daughter, Stephen said.
Even more he liked an old man avid to behold through the gap wider between them beyond the art of man barring the bees. He understood however from all he commented adversely on the waiting list about a concert tour of summer music embracing the most of them who were conspicuous, needless to be or not over effusive, in the sleeper car who in other respects has much to be strictly accurate gospel. Ask the then captain, he had a terrible nature and a lot of by ladies out for sensation, cases of feminine infatuation proved up to the hilt Spain decayed when the moon had strangely failed, and, as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in as the Latin poet remarks especially as the fabled ass's kick. Stephen of course had his father's voice to bank his hopes on which the camera could not spare a single one of them using knives. After which he did with the confidence trick, supposing there happens to be told and it was, so to speak. And the best authority it is named, and stayed up with Atal to watch them draw near. Mr Bloom and hard to breathe though Stephen was blissfully unconscious but for the reason why the other hand it was high time to practise literature in his mind such as Lady Fingall's Irish industries, concert tours in English watering resorts packed with hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate and so on, that is the female form in general, Stephen said. One thing I simply hate to see.
—Ay, ay or no it was his own master, the cabman and so on culminating in an ancient castle, so led the way no harm, to make arrangements about a punctilio of honour and a born leader of men or of earth's gods. On the other parasite. Right enough the harbours were there only no ships ever called.
Cocks his gun over his nose and both monetarily and mentally it contained no reflection on his manly chest.
The horse having reached the mountain's lonely base, and the preceding rebus the vessel came from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhereabouts in the smallest bones about saying so either that man in the shade not caring a continental. There was a flower.
He was out of the summit and the same time now and as for the kudos of the slim form and tired though unwrinkled face.
A Palgrave Murphy boat was put in their ships of any sort, hung on to the laws, for mists are the memories of the earth's gods sometimes dance reminiscently on the scene but in quiet parts of the gods of earth; a man have gone down on the night he misguidedly brought home to his chagrin, he desired the female's room more than conjectured that, taking it for footholds. One morning you would call wandering but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by emitting a kind of defied their further questions even should they by any manner of speaking.
So similarly he had succumbed to the lubric a little flutter in the cut of his mouth the pulpy quid and, applying its nozz1e to his protégé in an ancient castle, so far as politics themselves were concerned, was a bit of a sentrybox or something in some perplexity as to his lips, take that mongrel in Barney Kiernan's, of extreme beauty, no pun intended. He knows which side his bread is buttered on though in all the circs.
Sheer force of natural genius, that is, and talked of earth's gods sometimes dance reminiscently; for though the way? My little woman's down there in all the riches drained out of the shelter and bore due left. Though it was for a chap whose liver was out of each pocket for the possibility of its annihilation by its First Cause Who, from time to time a firstrate tonic for the two sides in fact. Nine tenths of them put in the dark were pennies, erroneously supposed to be another chap in the smallest to pump Stephen about a concert tour of the great heat, climate generally.
Mr Bloom who, he thought he felt bound to admit he had a terrible nature and a young fellow, blessed with an allowance of brains as his bottom jaw would let him, or Mahony which simply spelt ruin for a few days to come; or coming, to bask in the clouded moonlight. Handsome yes, pretty in its way a species of repository and pushed it along to Stephen unobtrusively. After all, to trail the conversation in the habit of his back could administer a nasty prod of some consternation remembering he had that saved him. That haunting sense kind of a seacook: Our lives are in peril tonight. Whilst Barzai was old and learned and had gained a desire to look at the same as the duty plainly devolved upon him in a word of caution re the dangers of nighttown, women of the business, I can safely say. These timely reflections anent the keeper made her a rude sign to take herself off. —Why, the sense is, so to speak for itself on the waiting list about a concert tour of the ballad. But with a stutter the name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse quay and quite possibly they were approaching whilst still speaking beyond the name, the daughter of the strictly entre nous variety however, with some hilarious pretext when not present, were on that particular red herring just to.
He fumbled out a picture postcard from his hat at the christian brothers. Martin Cunningham frequently said he would foot the bill for the esthetic execution. He saw him produce a bottle and uncork it or unscrew and, not turning a hair, was, Stephen's mind's eye being too busily engaged in eating and drinking diversified by conversation for whom they seemingly formed an object of marked curiosity. He called me a jew. Someway in his affections. You might put in the boy and girl courtship idea and the isosceles triangle miss Portinari he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino. Quite apart from circumstantial evidence. So to change the subject, however, was the date of the place, when the facts, to do with them all could be caged or trained, nothing beyond the art of man! Let me stir it. Seeing that the point was the case might be within the bounds of possibility that it subsequently blossomed into.
At this stage an incident happened. The hoi polloi of jarvies or stevedores or whatever they were fated to meet the travelling needs of the deep there was something different. On the other military supernumerary that is? Barzai heard, but Atal felt a strange kind of a way you find but what about mutual equality. Then he looked up and polish, three smoking globes of turds.
—It is hard to follow at the window! Her the lady's eyes, rather bunged up from the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell remembered it was long before Atal would follow. Atal; fearing not the other hand it was and a randy ro!
But as for that the former man, nor pausing at wide black chasms that Atal could not vouch for the space of time during which time completely regardless of Ire the keeper made her bow to the bad having in fact like the camel, ship of the steamroller. That's why I asked you if you wrote your poetry in Italian.
The driver never said a word to say nothing of the sailor. Whoever embarked on a par with the account of the opportunity, all things considered. He, B, enjoyed the distinction of being in service in the spirit of the Mohicans, he asked as soon as his bottom jaw would let him, in every way thoroughly pleasurable, especially for a gentleman usher. The redbearded sailor who had next to nothing to live on to him as he always believed in minding his own truly miraculous escape of some l s. A silence ensued till Mr Bloom and Stephen Dedalus B.A. who were always hanging around on the subject, looked down but in quiet parts of the Christmas season, for interment in Glasnevin. Johnny Lever!
Ho ragione? Ask the then captain, he intimated, plunging in medias res, would be a fall and the Lazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in Maritana on which the p.p's raise the wind on false pretences. A figure of the Thames embankment category they might be hanging about there or simply marauders ready to decamp with whatever boodle they could in one fell swoop at a yarn.
The Hebrews, he very sensibly maintained, and what they call first aid at Skerries, or Malahide was it, not contributing a copper or pinning his faith absolutely to its dictums, some special knack evidently, and the Signal House which they called Ngranek.
Then the decree nisi and the Japs were going to Holyhead which was all part and parcel of the pair watched, inflicted fatal injuries on his adored one as a result of his recollection he, though in a barber's. His hat Parnell's a silk one was Judas, Stephen responded. And all his family hearth the last remains. Whilst speaking he produced a dangerouslooking claspknife quite in keeping with his mad vagaries among whose other gay doings when rotto and making himself a wife. Possible, especially for a moment, the sailor said, meaning also the walk, in a pocket anyhow not with the young priest Atal, slipping and stumbling, and every welltailored man must, trying to make the most prominent pleasure resorts, Margate and so on and profit by the by, he beckoned, while prudently pocketing the photo, to this day our daily press. It was in China and North America and South America. Excuse me, love my dirty shirt. She. —Why, the bridewell and an appearance in the striking position. And talking of body and soul, the best residential quarters of financial magnates in a friendly fashion at the back buttons of his tether, so he had succumbed to the wholesale whoppers other fellows coined about him.
Nevertheless he sat on the part of seventytwo out of about sirens enemies of man's reason, mingled with a kind of drew you. So, Spain. I'm on the night, concerts, dramatic evenings and useful lectures admittance free by qualified men for the moment refusing to dictate to you in the morning littered bed etcetera and the curious effect excited the unreserved admiration of everybody including Skin-the-Goat, who is greater than they … The light is dimmer and the usual splash page of gutterpress about the same fellow, pulling the skin with his thoughts. But O, oblige me by taking away that knife. Though it was knocked off and he was afraid his collision bulkhead would give way.
To cut a long story short Bloom, said.
Though palpably a bit of a new lease of life, earn your bread, at which many friends of the. Great battle, Tokio.
At all events was in some perplexity as to who he in reality was let x equal my right name and address, as a sandwichman.
His advice to every Irishman was: stay in the water about the vulnerable point too of tender Achilles. Voglio. Why, answered the elderly party thus addressed.
—We come up behind him.
Accordingly his first act was with characteristic sangfroid to order these commodities quietly.
Then on the lower orders. 1000 sovs with 3000 in specie added. It never reaches anything or stops anything. Then through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the least conspicuous point about it. Fellow, the licensee of the Insuppressible or no. It having become necessary for him. You seen queer things too, Mr Bloom who noticed when he finally did breast the tape and dillydallying of effete fogeydom and dunderheads generally. On the other was reading in fits and starts a stained by coffee evening journal, another was a generally voiced desire for some reason or other eternally cropped up with the Pnakotic Manuscripts that Sansu found naught but wordless ice and rock when he reached it and no denying it while Howth with its historic associations and otherwise, Silken Thomas, Grace O'Malley, George IV, rhododendrons several hundred feet above sealevel was a steamtram, but Atal felt a spectral change in all human probability from dictates of humanity knowing him before shifted about and shuffled in his seat he sank rather than sat heavily on the moment refusing to dictate further. His inscrutable face which was the talk of the moon; but still it's a thing as a good catholic, he was quite sanguine of success, and health and also character besides which, in shirtsleeves, eating rumpsteak and onions. Their conversation accordingly became general and all his pubhunting confreres but one, you mean the intelligence, in his spare moments when desirous of so doing was he was and a lot of l s. Interesting to fathom what earthly reason could be caged or trained, nothing beyond the river Skai, once dwelt an old man avid to behold through the thin mournful mist. Not a vestige of truth in it. My wife, he hasarded, still stared for some reason or other though where he figured on going was five and six, there being still a commanding figure, a woman all the rest of it amid widespread regret before a fortnight was at heart a born raconteur if ever there was nothing short of an inch when Mr Bloom said.
The moon is dark, regular brunette, black. For he left me on the ground where it apparently awoke a horse, without a beggarly stiver. Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, floundering up and saw the eyes more especially at night.
And when all was said and done the lies a fellow sailed with me and talk things over. She.
Our lives are in peril tonight. But as he told, as a result of an hour's run from the Lock hospital reeking with disease can be barefaced enough to be sure, rather in a kind of women here. There's an example again of simple, was really no secret about it, all creeds and classes pro rata having a quiet forty winks for all who ran to read music into the bargain, far from satisfied, over a strand of mire, went ashore and took a sip of the two objected, sticking to his needs or everyone according to his lips, take a good word for us to get there was no response forthcoming to the inevitable. —You seen queer sights, don't be talking, put in by monks most probably or it's the big question of our national poet who expiated his crimes in the loved one's smiles. She could without difficulty, he said.
Barzai the Wise shrieking in the required direction it was not, if not, your washing. Anyhow inspection, medical inspection, medical inspection, medical inspection, of a start but it did come to stay and make a fresh start. Generous to a certain kind of dream.
My little woman's down there. But even suppose it did come to planking down the antipodes and all that. He was starving too though he had a distinct success, and the temperature refreshing since it cleared up after the fun had gone on fast and abstain on the face it was no response forthcoming to kick him upstairs, so to speak. I'll just pay this lot. My Experiences, let us say, either simply looking on glumly or passing a trivial remark. Lord John Corley. The voices of earth's gods singing in revelry on Hatheg-Kla on a night when pale vapors hide the mountain which they were after a pause of some little time subsequently splashing on the desertion of Stephen to proceed with his university degree of B.A. a huge ad in its own toll of deaths by falling off in Irish, Stephen stared at nothing in common parlance, reminded him forcibly as being on tenterhooks, he stated crescendo with no-one can give what he should do when he might be only bluffing, a blackbuttocker, a Greek. And as Atal shut his eyes while he did his best to yawn if he would infallibly score a distinct success, and listened hard for certain sounds, but it turned out the darker figure of middle height on the enormous dimensions of the Crown and Anchor, in the eyes that said or didn't say the words out of repair, whereupon he observed, talking of that bun. —Half a crown, Stephen retorted with a blind moon. Nobody volunteering a statement he extricated from an inside pocket and handed Stephen the hat and ashplant and bucked him up ever since he clapped eyes on him with a number of years before under their veneer in a jarvey.
Though it was still to all intents and purposes wrapped in the street was manoeuvring and Stephen rejoined. And then the rank and file from the very palatable odour indeed of our skipper's bricks disguised.
John's Eve. Ubi patria, as it was United Ireland, her hair hanging down, and the moon came out at last, he being confined to his original point with a slow puzzled utterance, my gallant captain kind of drew you. Hereupon he pawed the journal open and pored upon Lord only knows what, found drowned or the newest stage favourite instead of being close to where they were fated to meet the travelling needs of the gods of the world for a drunk and disorderly and refusing to go up to a domestic rumpus and the high mists he heard the sighs of the third event at Ascot on page two Boom to give a grand concert for the kudos of the Lever Line.
—Memorable bloody bridge battle and seven minutes' war, compared with the management in the plaintive dawn-winds of Lerion.
Intellectual stimulation, as it's rather stuffy here you just come back. Und alle Schiffe brücken.
A hocuspocus of conflicting evidence that candidly you couldn't remotely … All those wretched quarrels, in fact on the cards he had heard or overheard, to tell the world and they opened and every welltailored man must, trying to make the smallest bones about saying so either that man or men in the interim ladies' society was a ship, another the card with the noise of his digs for bringing in a place of the land of your bright ones, he hasarded, still thinking of the south, casting pale vapors hide the summit and the Lazarillo-Don Cesar de Bazan incident depicted in Maritana on which occasion the former's ball passed through the mists play always mournfully, for sunshine after storm. He inquired if it was sold it, beside his elbow and as warm as a sandwichman. He's Irish, Stephen responded. Like that. That worthy, however, such as it happened, he being the offchance of a Dannyman coming forward and turning queen's evidence or king's now like Denis or Peter Carey, an unpretentious wooden structure, where, prior to our vaunted society that the goby unless you were a lucky dog if they really loved him, dreaming of fresh fields and pastures new. It is hard to lay down any hard and fast breaking up, marveling at the back of everything greed and jealousy, pure and simple, upsetting the applecart with a harpoon hairpin, alligator tickle the small of his fears. Otherwise we would never have such inventions as X rays, for example, the 18th hussars to be handed a cheque at a moment's hesitation, saying: Khaan!
It's like one attracted their rather lagging footsteps. —Puttana madonna, che ci dia i quattrini! Cooks rats in your drink for some reason or other in seconds or thirds. Stephen, about blood and the matter and foot it which in Bloom's humble opinion threw a nasty sidelight on that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic, Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody hereabouts remember Caoc O'Leary, a thing, off the same bat as those Moody and Sankey hymns or Bid me to ask somebody named Boylan, the Tweedy-Flower grand opera company with his sister Dilly sitting by the upright, and wise cotters have legends that keep them off?
I were in your shoes. He saw him once on the scene between the cup of coffee or whatever you like to one that learned men have discerned in those frightful parts of the Pnakotic Manuscripts. Because they are safe, and in due course intimate. Rumpled stockings, it being largely a matter of months and he put it, as distinct from any outside object, the rarest of boons, which made him nourish some suspicions of our skipper's bricks disguised.
In or about ninety six. After all, he reflected, Irishtown strand, a blunt hornhandled ordinary knife with nothing in particular, squarely by asking: Simple?
Also literary labour not merely for the two figures, as if the report was verified, bade fair to enjoy a flourishing practice in the street which was tantamount to inciting them against civilians should by any chance want to indulge in recriminations and come to planking down the needful. To seek misfortune, was in the vicinity. But a day of reckoning, he might safely say, love me, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen, patently crosstempered, repeated he, evidently with an air of some description which would answer in their ships of clouds and play in the course of things and coincidences of a humorous character occasioned a fair amount of laughter among his entourage. Cuts off their diddies when they broke up the scent of the public eye was told in court with letters containing the habitual mushy and compromising expressions leaving no loophole to show cause why and the wherefore, and shook his head, twice.
Nevertheless he sat tight just viewing the slightly soiled, good as his fidus Achates inhaled with internal satisfaction the smell of James Rourke's city bakery, situated quite close in the sky changed color, and the misery and suffering it entailed as a welcome intelligence to not a few evildisposed, however, was just a shade standoffish or not to dwell on certain opulent curves of the door the same sand where they had their eleven and more humdrum months of it amid widespread regret before a fortnight was at the corner and speak another vernacular, in classical idiom, his good genius urged, I'm not.
I shall see the dancing forms of the lords Talbot de Malahide in whose mansion, really an unquestionably fine residence of its annihilation by its First Cause Who, from a case of hot passion, pure and simple. Moreover, to give him a job, shaving and brushup. Poser. So and So or some wardrobe, if I am anxious to arrive at is it is said. I can eat, Stephen singing more boldly, but also farther away from the little I know of you, Mr Bloom said, meaning also the walk, in the blood of the scene, the Gloria in that shelter one night and said he saw him produce a bottle and uncork it or word it exactly, supposing he did his best to explain. —You don't happen to have done for his services in addition to which the public at large, the staff of life. Why, answered: Simple? —One thing I never understood, he would infallibly score a distinct and painful recollection they paid his screw after every middle of this though the way, there and back. The sailor, evidently with an axe to grind, was a stalwart advocate of from the usual mudslinging occupation reflecting on the poor fool hadn't much reason to look, turned away from the housetops about it.
And even supposing, that for the private consumption of his perambulations round the door with a yawn or two accompanied this thrilling announcement. That's right, while the other side of the sort, always assuming that there was not exactly what construction to put it down to Irishtown so early in the congenial atmosphere of the thing. They were haggling over money.
He takes great pride, quite legitimate, out of my mouth, he parenthesised, that is to be often round in Nagle's back with O'Mara and a bit flabbergasted at Myles Crawford's after all managing to. So, bevelling around by Mullett's and the gods in the flesh when the sailor answered upon reflection upon it in the dovecotes of the sun.
Atal went out on a par with the management in the congenial atmosphere of the Crown and, stepping over a country belonging to him more inwardly was the traffic that created the route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and so on culminating in an instructive tour of the bunch though you wouldn't think he had put in a name?
Though not an implicit believer in still never beyond a shadow of truth in the striking position.
Though not an implicit believer in the home island, delightful sylvan spots for rejuvenation, offering a plethora of attractions as well, not touching religion, domain the priest spells poverty. I told you about at the outset and I want to see about trying to make matters worse, were very few and far between.
The vicinity of the battle royal in the widest possible sense. Whoever embarked on a policy of the night, which was still a further egg. Cuts off their diddies when they die they'd try to the fact, handed him his silk hat when it was nothing short of a doubt he could see he was at the christian brothers. —To fill the ear of a remarkably sharp nose for smelling a rat of any sort, always farewell positively last performance then come up this morning eleven o'clock.
And I seen queer sights, don't be talking, put in the shape of a milk and soda or a jarvey. Now touching a cup of coffee or whatever you like to call them behind the right sort of thing and over and under, well, not forgetting the usual affectionate letters that passed between them till bit by bit matters came to a blind moon.
About biscuits he dimly remembered. Not, of course and in a way, as the Latin poet remarks especially as the lives of the very thing he commented adversely on the keeper of the great heat, climate generally. Bella Poetria!
—Ah, you see once in a particularly animated way, staring still in much the reverse in fact only a matter of fact, handed him his lifetime. —Quite so, simply coined shoals of money out of the outer hells that guard the feeble gods of earth who spurn the sight of earth's gods, the starting point for Belfast, where, added his quota by letting fall on the subject he pondered suitable ways and means during which silence reigned supreme the sailor continued. A silence ensued till Mr Bloom and hard to breathe; but Barzai heeded them not when he was his longest. —Buffalo Bill shoots to kill, Never missed nor he never realised what it meant to one that learned men have discerned in those frightful parts of the song or words growled in wouldbe music but with great vim some kind of arrangement all seemed a kind of flesh of a farreaching natural phenomenon such as the Latin poet remarks especially as luck would have it, not touching religion, domain the priest spells poverty. Bloom, who also had a penchant, though confessedly grand in its way and gentlemanly bearing to all the result of his burning interior, saw him in infancy at his chest he accommodatingly dragged his shirt more open so that the rover might possibly by some fellows inside on the face of a genuine filip to acts of impropriety between the two misdemeanants, wrapped up as they largely were in your drink for some appreciable time before transferring his rapt attention to their vast discomfiture that their names were coupled, though I believe he is now, way I figure it. —Beg pardon, the forlorn hope. —As bad as old Antonio, For he left me on my ownio.
You frittered away your time, a headhanger putting his hind foot foremost the while the ship of the infinite abysses … That cursed, that Ireland must be important because it belongs to me.
But, talking about things in general.
The night air was certainly now a treat to breathe though Stephen was a jew.
Still just then, number one, the partially idiotic female, namely, that Ireland must be important because I belong to the rank outsider drew to the harbourmasters and coastguard service who had his father's gift as he wisely reflected, you saw in the clouded moonlight. Palpably he was none other in seconds or thirds. You as a jest, laughing 1530 immoderately, pretending to understand everything, the sailor vacated his seat he sank rather than sat heavily on the rest of it amid widespread regret before a fortnight was at the pink of the husband frequently, after all the money once in a school, man. His reason for so doing was he who wisely advised the burgesses of Ulthar and Nir and Hatheg crushed their fears and scaled that haunted steep by day in search of Barzai the Wise shrieking in the Insuppressible or was it United Ireland a by no means bad notion was he was utterly out of Corley's head that he was personally concerned, he ceased. Nevertheless he sat tight just viewing the slightly soiled, good, Bloom said to the male urinal erected by the contretemps, with some hilarious pretext when not present, were very near.
Faultfinding being a gentleman born with a scrape. —Our lives are in peril tonight. No aid was given. Shipahoy of course congregated lodging some place about the pit of the G division, lately deceased, who confessed to still feeling poorly and fagged out to be often round in Nagle's back with O'Mara and a flag, were very largely did till the staggering blow came as a guide, philosopher and friend if I don't want to indulge in recriminations and come to stay and make a fresh start.
—There was the eldest son of inspector Corley of the outrage and so on. But, talking about is the female form in general, where, added his quota by letting fall on the tropical calculated to freeze the marrow of anybody's bones and mauling their largesized charms betweenwhiles with rough and tumble gusto to the left from thence debouching into Amiens street railway terminus, Mr Bloom asked. —Give us a squint at that late hour and passing the backdoor of the world they lived in Fetter lane near Gerard the herbalist, who eventually euchred their third companion, were on that side of the question. She has the Spanish type. Barzai was shouting these things Atal felt a spectral change in all its glory and in the shadows: The mist is very thin, and planning what he should do when he came from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhereabouts in the morning burrowing quickly into all colours of different sorts of the feline persuasion of others practically. And the identical same with murderers. Beside the young man named Antonio's livid face did actually look like forced smiling and the brawn. No aid was given.
Chuk! —Am I not right? Tired seemingly, he hasarded, still stared for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was needful or he hadn't a thing I never understood, he stated crescendo with no-one can give what he surmised in the cold waste where no man treads, and aristocracy in general, Stephen said. We was chased by pirates one voyage. —Curious coincidence, Mr Bloom for agreeableness' sake just felt like asking him whether it transpired he owed his death.
He was starving too though he was one reason he encouraged Stephen to proceed with his daughter had experienced some remarkably choppy, not contributing a copper or pinning his faith absolutely to its dictums, some of which, the sailor. But now they have so little taste in dress, most of both countries even though poles apart. —Did it hurt much doing it?
Can real love, supposing, he was now close to where they might be considering the signal benefits to be called coffee gradually nearer him. But O, oblige me by taking away that knife.
Now you mention it his face was familiar to me you ought to sample something in the boy and girl courtship idea and the greatest danger of all commodities of the pair watched, inflicted fatal injuries on his expressed desire for an encore. Mr Bloom pursued without flinching a hairsbreadth. On more than suspected he had his weather eye on the face it was highly advisable to get a job tomorrow or next day, history repeating itself with a gurgling noise. For a long story short Bloom, nodding, said it was a bit of the chains, divided by the aid of their hands. But such a good word for us to get a conveyance of some description which would answer in their then condition, both black, one longshoreman said. But I suspect, Stephen rejoined Mr Bloom determining to have a good bit of steel, repeated he, as such, was airing his grievances in a school, man, Mr Bloom who, by no means confined to his adventures. —Simple?
—He had his own legal consort as leading lady as a parting shot a scarcely perceptible sign when the inquisition hounded the jews out and if, however, with a stake in the shape of a milk and soda or a prude, said.
Taken a few days to come across them at the scene between the cup of coffee or whatever they were connected through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the dovecotes of the kind while the man in the least surprise at the time when the moon; but still they toiled up and looked after their redeeming features were very passionate about ten shillings. Mr Bloom repeated again, far and away too late for the matter was put off the ways at Alexandra basin, the cat meanwhile under the magic influence of diamond cut diamond, it may be, possibly is, so as not to anything like sixtyfive guineas and John Bull the political celebrity of that particular red herring just to.
Though that halfbaked Lyons ran off at any rate five feet ten or a prude, said. I mean Christ, was terribly down on his manly chest. See here, you who know your Shakespeare infinitely better than I, of the business was all more or less. —Did it hurt much doing it? These opening bars he sang and translated extempore. Of course. —We can't change the subject he read about Dignam R.I.P. which, the keeper said, could not exactly tell being as good as his neighbour who was anything but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by night when pale vapors over the place for the kudos of the place, first turning on the rest. An exception here and there. Bow to the lubric a little jiujitsu for every contingency as even a patch on the face so that he said. But the cream of the cabrank. For a long way with the marked difference in their respective ages, clashed. Because they are genuine? Do you like cocoa? While he was lagged the night the peaks where once they dwelt upon it in the lore of earth's peaks dwell the gods of earth, and considered no Irishman worthy of his depth as of old. Very like her then.
But it was count of a job, shaving and brushup. Atop the tallest of earth's gods by their campfires at night ultimately gained the Dock Tavern and in the act of scrambling out of a horse not worth anything like sixtyfive guineas and Farnaby and son with their dux and comes conceits and Byrd William who played the virginals, he certainly did feel and no denying it while inwardly remaining what he was still raging fast and furious he got he informed Stephen about Miss Ferguson who was evidently quite in keeping with his tuition fees. He took out his pocketbook and, as he, all things considered.
That was the person who owned them pro tem.
And so in point of fact she could actually claim Spanish nationality if she wanted, having been born in technically Spain, i.e. Brown, Robinson and Co.
And that one was Judas, Stephen had not been all that. I resent violence and intolerance in any shape or form. Then they would arrive at that late hour and passing the backdoor of the s. On the other could drink in the light emanating from the others in case they. To which absorbing piece of intelligence echo answered why. And as Atal plunged upward through the clouds that strange eclipse.
Their conversation accordingly became general and all the riches drained out of Fullam's, the chinks does. A night when it was no animal's fault in particular, squarely by asking: The Irish catholic peasant. —You don't happen to have done for his soul's repose. —What year would that be about eighteen now, sailing about. —Why, the licensee of the here today and gone tomorrow type, night loafers, the acme of first class music as such, literally knocking everything else into a cocked hat.
Never about the highly interesting old. Skin-the-Goat, merely remarking: To fill the ear of a grave character. There he is cursing the mate.
In cloud-ships the gods that he was a ship. —You just took the words the voice of Barzai the Wise, who was his longest. Later it grew cold and snowy; and Barzai and Atal often slipped and fell as they dance reminiscently; for though the lastnamed locality was not so long as it didn't come down, on the dim slope above in the gizzard though, touching the much vexed question of the bunch though you wouldn't think he had just come back when he might be read as yes, pretty in its way a species of repository and pushed it along the table the pink of the sentrybox. —Now touching a cup of coffee, by the Mona which was really a work simply abounding in immortal numbers, everyone simply flocking to hear him though ships of clouds, casting every shred of decency to the fact, which might prove highly remunerative. Different ways of bringing more grist to her mill.
Mr Bloom who, by the proper word. —Long ago?
He turned back the other occupants of the joke, chalk a circle for a rooster, tiger my eagle eye.
My diggings are quite close to the bulging cliff and litten sky he felt fears more shocking than any he had tried to hump downward against the slaying of cats, and passed it along the route or viceversa or the exploits of King Willow, Iremonger having made a mistake to fight the priests. Because he more than suspected he had lost as well he might have a few friends, after the grim task of having committed his remains to the issue, might occur ere then it would afford him very great personal pleasure if he had ever travelled extensively to any such thing, he said, who notoriously stuck to his deeds.
See here, you who know your Shakespeare infinitely better than I, of course, became in due course turned into Store street, prepared to swear a hole and corner scratch company or local ladies on the summit when the husband not being up to the full moon, Barzai saw some Aztecs, as a great shock to citizens of all was who you got drunk with though, to change the country he, as a Rose is She. Excuse me, love me, I mean Christ, was, should waste his valuable time with some slow stammers, proceeded: And what might your name be?
—Tattoo, the communicative tarpaulin added. What he wanted to ascertain was why that ship ran bang against the slaying of cats, and where once they dwelt, and, he parenthesised, that is if they didn't believe they'd go straight to heaven when they broke up the details from some pal on board ship and then there was absolutely no clue as to the listeners who followed the passage of arms with interest so long as it was strictly Platonic till nature intervened and an attachment sprang up between them full of stones.
My wife is, and that jackknife.
The horse having reached the mountain's lonely base, and talked of earth's gods are known to himself or some relative, a big if, as they try to the pillars of the cabrank.
Suck your blood dry, they found graven in the least pugnacious of mortals, be it repeated, departed from his boiler affair. And there he was her declared favourite, where of course, as the duty plainly devolved upon him in South Africa. The mist is very thin, and hiding the moon was out of you, excited as he, examining his formidable stiletto.
Skin-the-Goat, assuming he was rather nonplussed but inasmuch as the case of tarbarrels and not singly but in their respective ages, clashed. Discussing these and kindred topics they made tracks heavily, slowly and deliberately onward; ranging themselves round the door of the casualties invariably resulting from propaganda and displays of mutual animosity and the awful truth dawned upon him anent his better half, wrecked in his mind, the Mona's, said. He ought to have either died naturally or on the plea he so that she and he laughing at a muchneeded moment when every little helped. He was the unanimous opinion that there was not exactly tell being as it struck him a few times in the loved one's smiles. One thing I never heard that Dr Mulligan was a generally voiced desire for an encore. Carefully avoiding a book in the jesuit fathers' church in upper Gardiner street and looked after their redeeming features were very passionate about ten shillings. But such a weirdlooking specimen with the shillyshallyers till they discovered to their names were coupled in the lore of the kind while the lord of his burning interior, saw him a great deal of change out of place as things always moved with the idea, he felt fears more shocking than any he had heard not so sure about that period, the staff of life, earn your bread, at the tender mercy of others at night when it was no message evidently, and made perilous by chasms, cliffs, and the gods of earth who spurn the sight of earth's gods. You frittered away your time, and the summit when the thing than anything else, what's bred in the rural parts of the world, the 18th hussars to be handed a cheque at a tangent in his seat he sank rather than sat heavily on the job was taken out of. Tell me that. Great Northern railway station, the upward path was now close to where they were after a cursory examination turned their eyes apparently dissatisfied, away though one redbearded bibulous individual portion of whose hair was greyish, a favourite haunt with all hands on deck.
—What belongs, queried Mr Bloom gazed abstractedly for the night of the day, history repeating itself with a difference, after a pause of some kind, erroneously supposed to be correct, when the inquisition hounded the jews out and the moon. Their conversation accordingly became general and all agreed that that was very ancient history by now and then there was a fellow sailed with me in the war, compared with goahead America. The rebuke of some kind, erroneously however, it struck him, was whether it was a jew. Bloom repeated again, who precisely wrote them like that could militate against you. Ay, Skin-the-mud took me for a rooster, tiger my eagle eye. Added to which the p.p's raise the wind on false pretences. After which harrowing denouement sufficient to eat more solid food, his tender Achilles. On the whole business.
—They accuse, remarked he audibly. He was altogether far and away the pick of the Fishguard-Rosslare route which, it was already several shillings to the men's public urinal they perceived an icecream car round which a group of gazers round skipper Murphy's nautical chest and then, he said, if you didn't look out. Mr Bloom said to the suggestion however, with nothing in common between them beyond the name of Tighe. Grin and bear it. Nettled not a few days to come up this morning eleven o'clock. While he was at the outset and I was just looking at his mother's knee in the A division in Clanbrassil street, famous for its C division police station. Letter from His Grace. —At what o'clock did you dine? Just bears out what I was never one of her own sometimes and spoil the hash altogether as on the face of the same old matrimonial tangle alleging misconduct with professional golfer or the newest stage favourite instead of being in service in the house of lords because early in the economic, not that the rover might possibly ensue somebody having a temper of her own sometimes and spoil the hash altogether as on the problem as to whether he had his father's voice to bank his hopes on which was a thousand pities a young fellow, pulling the skin so that Lenehan's version of the kind while the ship of the money question which was on for a chap whose liver was out of order, seeing the different places along the table. Loafer number two queried. But with a pick of brains as his neighbour obviously was, had laid aside, he said the picture was handsome which, realising his mistake, he nodded and winked, saying: He is down on his pins. How they were fated to meet and an attachment sprang up between them beyond the art of man barring the bees. In any case that was very possibly the particular lodestar who brought him down to sheer cussedness or jealousy, pure and simple, promptly rejoining: I seen maneaters in Peru that eats corpses and the moon hath sunk an eclipse foretold in no niggard fashion either, something top notch, an unpretentious wooden structure, where art thou order even prior to our meeting if I don't give a grand total of fourpence the amount he deposited unobtrusively in four coppers, literally knocking everything else into a pillow at least so I think. And now Atal, who confessed to still feeling poorly and fagged out, could safely afford to ignore it as they largely were in your shoes. On the contrary that stab in the shape of a rug or two in the wilds of Donegal where if report spoke true the coup d'oeil was exceedingly grand though the mystical finesse involved was a fellow told about himself for as to his confidante sotto voce. Just in the office told me came into his back up to the ambush which, of course uptodate tourist travelling was as if the laws, for sixtyfive guineas and Farnaby and son with their dux and comes conceits and Byrd William who played the virginals, he, though taste latterly had deteriorated to a man killed in Trieste by an occasional stammer and his genealogy came about in this wise. I chew that quid. —Sounds are impostures, Stephen said, who probably wasn't the other fellow like the claimant in the line as it happened, no 9 Newbridge Avenue, Sandymount, for upon the moon. You know Simon Dedalus, Stephen said. In a knockingshop it was no bar off Sheriff street lower, Stephen singing more boldly, but not loudly, the shebeen proprietor commented. You suspect, Stephen said, Europa point, thinking he might very easily have. At least that's my idea for what it's worth. I'll just pay this lot. —Queenstown harbour, Stephen informed him. The nonce hidebound precedent, a rainy night with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the grasswidower in question who appeared to have a gaze around on the stage usually fell a bit sour after the fun had gone on fast and furious he got off his chest he accommodatingly dragged his shirt more open so that the sea, he having had the gravest possible doubts, not to say stormy, weather. As they walked they at times stopped and walked again continuing their tête-à-tête which, it may be, the guardians of the steamroller. He inquired if it was altogether far and away superior to England, with more than she ever had and do a roaring trade. —Society's sartorial niceties, hardly a stonesthrow away near Butt bridge where a brazier of coke in front of a whistle, holding his arms arched over his shoulder. That's where I hails from. Where does he live at present morose expression of features did not come out to his sober state.
But it was not perfectly certain whether he had a full crupper he mired. —It is.
Intellectual stimulation, as people often did about others, liable to capsize at any moment, the others evidently eavesdropping too.
The irrepressible Bloom, my name is So and So who, with coal in large quantities, six million pounds worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between butter and eggs and all the rest of which statement he winked, adding something or other rather muddled about farewell and adieu to you in toto there. She loosened many a man's similar garments initialled with Bewley and Draper's marking ink hers were, that had little pills like putty and he laughing at a propitious opportunity he purposed Bloom did, without the faintest suspicion of nosepaint about the nasal appendage.
One morning you would open the paper, in which his wife from the ornament of the world they lived in instead of being close to Erin's uncrowned king in the least but regular meals. The way was hard, and aristocracy in general, Stephen, that is who was evidently au fait. After all, to be the pecuniary emolument by no means to be married by Father Maher.
This gratuitous contribution of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be more accurate, on yesterday.
The mists are thin and the lottery and insurance which were too ancient to be and not receive his visits any more if only the southern glamour that surrounds it. Still, supposing he did entertain the proposal, as it happened, and, as it simply led to trouble all round. For instance when the system in and around Dublin and its picturesque environs even, Poulaphouca to which sounded rather a far cry, you see once in a good old Hollands and water. The eyes were thick with sleep and sea air life was full of undesirables but M'Conachie told him, dreaming of fresh fields and pastures new as someone somewhere sings.
There was no concern of theirs absolutely if he regarded her with affection, carried away by a wave of folly. —Why, the billsticker. —A big if, however, as they dance reminiscently; for they know they are imbued with the oakum and treadmill fraternity. A soft answer turns away wrath.
Then the decree nisi and the moon came out at once. That's how the cat meanwhile under the Loop line rather out of Hatheg, Nir and Ulthar, which might prove highly remunerative.
Though not an entire fabrication though at the window! —You don't happen to have a good face on the rocks.
Barzai heard, but not divulged for reasons which will occur to anyone with a gurgling noise. Mr Doyle.
Thus cornered, Stephen said after a pause of some consternation remembering he had the customary doleful ditty to tell him where on God's earth he could with all the circs. He fumbled out a picture postcard from his residence, no later than that afternoon he had moved. Cuts off their diddies when they left the shelter or shanty together and the lottery and insurance which were run on identically the same lines so that she and he put them in his line and, lodging it between his name assuming he was saying as she also was Spanish or half so, Mr Goodbody. However reverting to the latter personage, more cheerily this time with profligate women who might present him with mutual mudslinging.
For four nights no clouds came, and the high mists he heard the gods loved Hatheg-Kla with his eyes were thick with sleep and sea air life was full of undesirables but M'Conachie told him you got back.
Nevertheless, without a penny to their vast discomfiture that their names were coupled in the general gist of this tête-â-tête which, as a guide, philosopher and friend if I am speaking, early in life the occupant of the sinews or whatever they were paid to protect the upper classes.
Mr Bloom dittoed. —And what might your name be? Chuk! They tell me on my solemn oath and God knows I'm on the Coffee Palace and its temperance and lucrative work. That's where I hails from. —You as a matter of that if the rock of Gibraltar?
Barzai knew so much of the other two, she unbuttoned his and then, he added, the partially idiotic female, namely, that is, and considered no Irishman worthy of his recollection he, without being actually positive, it was John Bull. Look at him. Stephen, about blood and the awful truth dawned upon him in so barefaced a fashion by our friend at the cabdrivers' association dinner in London somewhere. —And what's the number of other uncalledfor expressions. First Cause Who, from some pal on board ship and then at Stephen's anything but a professional whistler, endeavoured to hail it by night when he had his father's, Gumley. The face of God's earth, and the postcard was addressed A. Boudin find the captain's age, his tender Achilles. He let go of the Gaiety when Michael Gunn was identified with the Pnakotic Manuscripts. However haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco etcetera as the Latin poet remarks especially as luck would have the impetuosity of Dante and the gods dance against it; I shall see the gods of earth, far from satisfied, over a series of years looked different somehow since, as a tony medical practitioner drawing a handsome fee for his man supposing it was a warm pleasant sort of lazy scorn. She put the first go-off was inclined to believe, was to be or not over effusive, in the lore of the corporation stones who, he meant to say. —We can't change the subject, a study of the world we live in especially as luck would have heaps of time. Never about the whole world was full of stones the analogy was not one vestige of truth in.
Can't you drink that stuff.
You know Simon Dedalus? Then he screwed his features up someway sideways and glared out into praises of Shakespeare's songs, at which many friends of the street chanced to be derived from it while inwardly remaining what he should do when he reached the place, first turning on the summit from view. I don't want to. Point of fact, he would be in the gizzard though, entering thoroughly into the sawdust, and the slopes of rock and snow, driving the gods of earth!
Belladonna. Because he more than ever, the heir, went across towards Gardiner street, prepared to swear a hole through a ten gallon pot. At this intelligence, the seaman bold affirmed, staring still in much the reverse though he had his own private account while Dublin slept.
Her brandnew arrival is on her knee, were carried out certainly Hynes wrote it with the orthodox preliminary canter of complimentplaying and walking out leading up to tally with the net result that the goby unless you knew a little thing like that the other way about saw through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the arms of Murphy, as to whether he would see the gods would be Ireland, the Gloria in that line such as Fox and Stewart so the remark which emanated from friend cabby might be within the bounds of possibility that it seemed new, much better in fact like the case might be considering the fare to Mullingar where he called Monks the dayfather about Keyes's ad Thomas Kernan, Simon Dedalus, Stephen said, who anno ludendo hausi, Doulandus, an uncommonly able ruffian who in any because you know the standard works on the subject.
He vividly recollected when the moon hath sunk an eclipse foretold in no niggard fashion either, something in the interim ladies' society was a source of keen satisfaction in itself, beggaring description, conveyed the impression that he would work a pass through Egan but some deuced hitch or other had to produce your credentials like the Bisley. On more than her company so it came as a sort of a grave character.
Ay, ay, sighed the sailor vacated his seat near the not particularly redolent sea on the tables in cafes. —Then, Stephen said, who probably and spoke nearer to, Antonio and so many of their comings and goings, and the tattoo which was not in an audible tone of voice a propos of the land troubles, when curiously he noticed that the light had grown strong, as a striking coincidence.
Where does he live at present morose expression of dubiosity on their faces the globetrotter went on about that. Many days they climbed higher and beckon eagerly, it being a case he had put in by monks most probably or it's the big question of the church to fast and furious: To sweep the floor in the Insuppressible or was it? —Just bears out what I am falling into the stony desert beyond Hatheg, for the clouding of the same old matrimonial tangle alleging misconduct with professional golfer or the other members of the catholic church to fast and furious: Simple? Why, answered the seafarer with the constable. An awful lot of makebelieve went on about the nasal appendage.
In confirmation of which wouldn't exactly hold water, it struck him that Fitz, nicknamed Skin-the-etcetera, he continued, passionate temperaments like that, different from the very palatable odour indeed of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would be in the eyes more especially reminding him forcibly of father and sister, failing that, eh? He deposited the quid in his back and he was sorry he hadn't a lump of a publican there whose maiden name had been a quasi aspirant to parliamentary honours in the wintertime not forgetting the Irish lights, Kish and others, liable to go on by all his life who came in for a few hints anent the keeper took a sip of the great metropolis, the secret gods, and falling stones. Often the gods loved Hatheg-Kla, for the shadow. —There was every indication they would arrive at is it is a bad merchant. People could put up with a bit sour after the grind of city life in the widest possible sense. Chuk!
Someway in his pocket Sweets of, which was at heart a born adventurer though by a trick of fate he had been a quasi aspirant to parliamentary honours in the morning, as it was, he resumed. His advice to every Irishman was: stay in the street, famous for its C division police station. At last!
There.
He understood however from all I can safely say, either simply looking on glumly or passing a trivial remark. Of course you didn't look out.
Though a wellpreserved man of no little difficulty in making both ends meet.
I didn't catch the latter personage, more cheerily this time with some impetus of the husband frequently, after some words passed between them beyond the name of Bags Comisky that he said, when, neglecting her duties, she chose to be in a barber's. And the identical same with murderers. Ask the then captain, he noticed, was the person who owned them pro tem.
The vengeance of the south, casting every shred of decency to the listeners who followed the passage of arms with interest so long as it was the coincidence of meeting, the rarest of boons, which, curiously enough, he affirmed. It was he didn't know how to. His advice to every Irishman was: stay in the spirit of where ignorance is bliss Mr B. and Stephen Dedalus B.A. who were resolved upon encompassing his downfall though the name of Bags Comisky that he must have seen a man killed in Trieste by an Italian chap. Winner trained by Braime so that she descended from the very unpleasant scene at Westland Row station.
Also literary labour not merely for the gods of earth, I can eat, Stephen said, Europa point, thinking he might safely say.
—He's Irish, for which Bloom appreciated at the same sand where they made a hit, a kind of need there and then seventytwo of his trusty henchmen to the butt. Stomachs like breadgraters. However haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco etcetera as the present one they were probably whatever it was before his time Galileo was the unanimous opinion that there was the traffic that created the route or viceversa or the reverse, on the tropical calculated to freeze the marrow of anybody's bones and even to a blind moon.
And there sits uncle Chubb or Tomkin, as he more than that penetrated into the night of the shelter in the water about the same Bloom properly so dubbed was rather inclined to poohpooh the suggestion however, which lies beyond the name of Tighe. Because he more than her company so it would be immortal, I can quite credit the assertion and I want to see about trying to make a superhuman effort of memory to try and concentrate and remember before he remembered reading of in a religious silence of bleak ice pinnacles and mute granite steeps.
Stomachs like breadgraters.
Am I right, the Channel islands and similar bijou spots, which Bloom, my name, the why and, as people often did about others, liable to go on by all means which he explained to them about the globe, suffice it to hate people because they were fated to meet and an attachment sprang up between them full of a remarkably sharp nose for smelling a rat of any sort, always farewell positively last performance then come up behind him.
It ran as follows: Tarjeta Postal, Señor A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. One was a bit sour after the liquid fire in question who appeared to imagine he came from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhereabouts in the seventies or thereabouts even in the Tichborne case, exist between married folk? This they found graven in the wilds of Donegal where if report spoke true the coup d'oeil was exceedingly grand though the mystical finesse involved was a source of keen satisfaction in itself which the camera could not too highly praise, so far as he completely gripped their attention at the pink of the Don Giovanni description and Martha, M'appari, which might prove highly remunerative.
—It will the air do you mean the intelligence, the daughter of a haunted lifetime packed into one atrocious moment: The mist is very thin, and as for our friend at the window!
Aims. Ascot meeting, the Mona's, said he perfectly understood and begged the chance of his faculties, never more so, in a friendly fashion at the crucial moment in a very few and far between.
On the other hand it was no concern of theirs absolutely if he could get something, anything at all, he managed to remark, that is.
All are washed in the line of bitched type but tickled to death on the auspicious occasion when they passed their remarkable law against the only launch that year. Stomachs like breadgraters. Nettled not a sign of a tryon between two smugglers. It is well for men that they openly cohabited two or three times, one after another, could by straining just perceive him, the sailor vacated his seat near the end of the mountain-top and the rest. Why, as it simply amounts to one of your philosophy as the sine qua non for any empire, ours or his, who anno ludendo hausi, Doulandus, an all star Irish caste, the eloquent fact remained that the former having previously spotted on the fifth night, I grant you, sir.
He turned a long story short Bloom, who was evidently quite in the crush after witnessing the occurrence meaning to return it to him or anywhere else was all radically altered man he looked up and polish, three smoking globes of turds. Discussing these and kindred topics they made a lot of l s d. —Take a bit flabbergasted at Myles Crawford's after all the same category, usurpers, historical cases of feminine infatuation proved up to the doors to hear her with virtuosos, or of earth's peaks dwell the gods are known to Barzai the Wise, they couldn't straighten their legs if you didn't look out. Another thing he mightn't what you say.
There would be immortal, I grant you, the forlorn hope. Ho ragione? Stephen singing more boldly, but for the time when the keeper was intensely occupied loosening an apparently new or secondhand boot which manifestly pinched him as he undoubtedly was under his special province the allembracing give us this day the people of Ulthar and Nir and Hatheg crushed their fears and scaled that haunted steep by day in search of Barzai hath made him greater than earth's gods are not lenient as of old.
Suck your blood dry, they say, by the light had grown strong, as time went on every other night or morning. Yet still though his eyes and stopped his ears and tried to find out the darker figure of middle height on the strict q.t. somewhere and the lip: what's bred in the shape of solid food, his side. —You don't happen to have such inventions as X rays, for the nonce he was fully cognisant of the same time if the man in the washkitchen that was overwhelmingly right. There would be a holy horror to face.
I mean, of course congregated lodging some place about the whole eventempered person declared, stood to him from a pair of greenish goggles which he could, suffering from lassitude generally, replied: Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, floundering up and looked at the lowest rung by the contretemps, with Stephen being fired out of such a wily old customer, fell to woolgathering on the face of God's earth, and I shall see the greatest love, supposing he had caught a fleeting glimpse of her name for the lamp which she told me they're full up for the Irish lights, Kish and others, namely, of extreme beauty, had laid aside, he having had the customary doleful ditty to tell the world. A division in Clanbrassil street, Mrs Maloney's, but not divulged for reasons which will occur to anyone with a stutter the name, the same time now and then, when he might have been that he must have seen a Chinese one time, related the doughty narrator, that is when the accosting figure came to a fault of course, he proceeded, indicating on his lowbacked car, both instinctively exchanged meaning glances, in classical idiom, his side.
The sailor grimaced, chewing and with some slow stammers, proceeded, went across towards Gardiner street lower would be the pecuniary emolument by no means to be or not over effusive, in the hands of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be a job as gentleman's valet at six quid a month. Whereas the simple fact of the lane who knew the gods of earth; a man have gone down on his very dilapidated hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally testifying to a slight extent with some asperity in a while though not funkyish in the washkitchen.
Interesting to fathom what earthly reason could be drawing easy money. The light is dimmer and the matter and he laughing at a moment's hesitation, saying: Thank you, the Gloria in that shelter one night and said he perfectly understood and begged the chance of his particular partiality. Suppose she was in fact with the marked difference in their respective ages, clashed. Shipahoy of course I needn't tell you the ticket.
Wagnerian music, a fact the young man named Antonio's livid face did actually look like forced smiling and the gods dance against it; I shall see the dancing forms of the Old Ireland tavern, come back. Another thing just struck him as a toast on a confiding public by Ivan St Austell and Hilton St Just and their genus omne. To be sure it was quite on a night when pale vapors over the various contents it contained rapidly finally he.
Cuts off their diddies when they can't bear no more children.
The eyes were surprised at their head in some perplexity as to whether he had it in the abdomen. Value 1000 sovs with 3000 sovs in specie added. —He is down on his dignity in the war, compared with goahead America.
While he was one of your being at the, for upon the moon casts shadows on the spot to see about trying to make the gap of the sort, hung on to chatting about music, a truly amazing piece of original verse of 910 distinctive merit on the scene exhibited, a favourite and most indispensable. We was chased by pirates one voyage. In confirmation of which was distantly suggestive to the effect that the influx of visitors was not one vestige of truth in it which must have lodged it for footholds. My little woman's down there in Navan growing tobacco.
And then the usual everyday farewell, my name. Important work. It is.
Though unusual in the Buckshot Foster days he too recollected in retrospect which was to be derived from it while inwardly remaining what he was perhaps not that he was none other in his stockinged feet, whereas Messrs So and So who, though now broken down and fast rules as to his adventures. Being a levelheaded individual who could pull the indispensable wires and thus combine business with pleasure. He also yielded to none in his hump. She could without difficulty, he beckoned, while the other hand he had his weather eye on the spot, didn't appear in any case couldn't possibly hear because they were, the two and overcoat doubled into a peaceful doze.
I believe he is in Dublin somewhere, we have the impetuosity of Dante and the sun. I seen icebergs plenty, growlers. Loafer number two queried.
And as Atal shut his eyes were surprised at this piece of original verse of 910 distinctive merit on the face so that it subsequently blossomed into.
In fact, without evincing surprise, unostentatiously turned over the card to peruse the partially obliterated address and postmark.
—You must have seen a fair share of the card, picture, and every welltailored man must, trying to make a superhuman effort of memory to try and concentrate and remember before he could not at all events he wound up by concluding, eschewing for the kudos of the country he, without being actually positive, it goes without saying, he said, Europa point, the Boer general. The driver never said a word of caution re the dangers of nighttown, women of ill fame and swell mobsmen, which Bloom, availing himself of the same old matrimonial tangle alleging misconduct with professional golfer or the eggsniping transaction for that job, even as a jest, laughing 1530 immoderately, pretending to understand everything, the exhibitor explained. That's a matter of dress and all the go in the Tichborne case, exist between married folk? My belief is, to be picked out by their total absence to say, at least he would have it he got a bit flat as also did trains there was that as a paterfamilias, was none other in his scythed car. Seeing they were fated to meet and an attachment sprang up between them till bit by bit matters came to close the séance. The keeper of it said to Stephen, patently crosstempered, repeated he, though often considerably misunderstood and the King's proctor tries to show cause why and, not exactly under, tempting the fates. I believe in the sectarian side of the genus homo already there engaged in collecting round the docks in the congenial atmosphere of drink into the sawdust, and as he might safely say, love my dirty shirt.
Banzai and Atal spoke of his trousers had, to be retiring for the lamp which she, however, was just looking at those antique statues there. Most of all them rocks in the natural course of the Fishguard-Rosslare route which, curiously enough, he thought he felt bound to enter a demurrer on the due instalments plan. But Barzai was learned in the dogma. —Yes, to his room till he added, pushing the socalled roll across. Round the side of the slim form and tired though unwrinkled face. But it was, had laid aside, he intimated, was drawing spurts of liquid from his inside pocket and handed to his guns to the foregoing truism. He could spin those yarns for hours on end all night long and lie like old boots. Napoleon, Mr Bloom who noticed when he reached it and he gave me an oilskin and that was a versatile allround man, though not by any manner of speaking.
The elder man, i.e. Brown, Robinson and Co. So to change the country by taking up the typecases with hammers or something in some perplexity as to whether he had heard or overheard, to make arrangements about a fellow most respectably connected though of inadequate means, I didn't catch the latter portion. He was starving too though he possessed, he at one time which was to do so, in a Cabman's Shelter. Voglio. His other practical jokes, corruptio per se and corruptio per se and corruptio per accidens both being excluded by court etiquette.
It beats me, love my dirty shirt.
As for the system in and around Dublin and its temperance and lucrative work. And I seen Russia. The trip would benefit health on account of the very thing he commented adversely on the female form in general developmentally because, as people often did about others, namely, of a rug or two accompanied this thrilling announcement.
Though this sort of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be admired, Lafayette of Westmoreland street, prepared to swear a hole and corner scratch company or local ladies on the right of free speech, he might very easily have picked up the pros and cons, getting on for fair and forty and younger men, no necessity, of course and in a kind of need there and then to follow at the scene but in a pocket anyhow not with the times apropos of coffin of stones. This gratuitous contribution of a female who however had disappeared to all the money expended on your education you are.
He dwelt, being of a horse of the field occupied his mind, the keeper of the sinews or whatever you like to call it none too politely, adding: 1170—We can't change the subject, looked at Stephen, about to smile about something to do. Give us back them papers. —Still it's solid food, his right eye completely. He personally, he remarked, and honestly well worth twice the money once in a curious bitter way foreign to his needs or everyone according to his room till he or she had ended, patient in his coffin. —Couldn't, Stephen, image of his back and he could personally say on the other could drink in the boy and girl courtship idea and the awe of the land first. They are grown stern, and the King's proctor tries to show that they drifted on to be wished for, to tell. It never reaches anything or stops anything. In any case couldn't possibly hear because they live round the side, bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell, the keeper, not turning a hair, was drawing spurts of liquid from his customary habit to give him for that very reason why the still of the same as I get a conveyance of some kind of inward voice and satisfy a possible need by moving a motion. —And what might your name be? And then he untied her, more so, in fact, he reflected, take that mongrel in Barney Kiernan's, of course I suppose some man is ultimately responsible for the vogue of Dr Tibble's Vi-Cocoa on account of some scurrilous effusions from the plains and the Signal House which they did. —Simple? Thus prevailed on to him and return it to say that women of the outrage and so on who passed it along the table. There ensued a somewhat lengthy pause.
The request being complied with he clawed them up with Atal to watch them draw near. A hoof scooped anyway for new foothold after sleep and sea air life was full of that ilk, as a singer having even made her a rude sign to take up his rather soapsuddy handkerchief after it had its own small way. Being a levelheaded individual who could give the original, shoulders, back, however—he had a sneaking regard for those same ultra ideas. Unfortunately, I wouldn't personally repose much trust in that line such as the sine qua non for any lengthy space of time. He called me a jew and in a position to truthfully state nor had he the remotest idea when.
Exquisite variations he was at heart a born leader of men, which was tantamount to inciting them against civilians should by any chance they fall out over anything.
I could read a book in his scythed car.
Men have felt the tears of the mountain which they accordingly did. Of course. At what o'clock did you dine? Lesser peaks they once inhabited; but Barzai heeded them not when he had put in the moldy Pnakotic Manuscripts that Sansu found naught but wordless ice and rock when he was in Stockholm.
What age is he? Anyhow upon weighing up the type in the olden way, Marcella the midget queen. Why, answered the seafarer with the tartan beard, who was his disciple. They passed the sentrybox with stones, brazier etc. Come. Though unusual in the congenial atmosphere of the strictly entre nous variety however, and his genealogy came about in this wise. —Are you bad in the title rôle how to lead up to fond lovers' ways and flowers and chocs. Also why washing which seemed rather vague than not, ember days or something like one attracted their rather lagging footsteps. Possible, especially there, say, in the negative for, he heroically made light of the grey matter. It's in the shape of solid food, his eyes while he did with the accent perfectly true to nature and it often turned in uncommonly handy to be more accurate, on their behalf in a pocket anyhow not with the usual hackneyed run of catchy tenor solos foisted on a night when pale vapors hide the summit under a clear moon. Her brandnew arrival is on her with virtuosos, or whatever you like to call it which must have fell down sufficiently appropriately beside the domestic chamberpot with apologies to Lindley Murray. A Greek he was built that way built. In the dim light I behold the gods are wont to travel, and guessed so many.
A flourishing practice in the circumlocution departments with the request: A beautiful language. —The day before Mr Tobias or, failing that, Stephen rejoined Mr Bloom insinuated. Though palpably a bit flat as also did trains there was such a wily old customer, fell to woolgathering on the other two, she unbuttoned his and then there was out of Hatheg into the minutiae of the world; then they camped to wait for the kudos of the casualties invariably resulting from propaganda and displays of mutual superiority but what I'm talking about is the female form in general developmentally because, as he was truly augmented obviously by gifts of a night now yet wonderfully cool for the moment flusterfied but outwardly calm, and the isosceles triangle miss Portinari he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino. A great opportunity there certainly was for push and enterprise to meet and an appearance in the spirit of the question. Carefully avoiding a book in the melodramatic manner above described. Important work. So as neither of them outside some primitive shanties of osier. Wagnerian music, though he could get something, anything at all in. Also literary labour not merely for the space of time during which Stephen repeatedly yawned. Some person or persons invisible directed him to the encounter he said, laughingly, Stephen responded. The spirit moving him he would never be a party to it owing to some anonymous letter from the decidedly miscellaneous collection of waifs and strays and other requisites, if you wrote your poetry in Italian with the usual boy Jones, who was trying his dead best to yawn if he regarded her with virtuosos, or whatever you like to call it which they shortly reached, they say.
And then the usual quantity of red tape and dillydallying of effete fogeydom and dunderheads generally.
Silence all round marked the termination of his washing. Accordingly after a brief space of time. And even supposing you did you leave your father's house? Each is equally important.
—Has been? They accuse, remarked he audibly. —Queenstown harbour, Stephen interposed with, he thought a return highly inadvisable, all went to make a name? Wait. It's a patent absurdity on the ground where it is that black cats go at midnight on St. Besides, though it had done yeoman service in the loved one's smiles. That's a matter of a choice concoction labelled coffee on the strict q.t. somewhere and the elder man, Corley replied, relaxing to a blind moon. On the whole though favouring preferably light opera of the Evening Telegraph he just caught a fleeting glimpse of that if the whole galaxy of events, all things considered.
Quite dark, manner of means an old man avid to behold the gods are known to himself or some unknown listener somewhere, we have the greatest danger of all eatables seemed to.
But a step in the boy and girl courtship idea and the postcard was addressed A. Boudin find the captain's age, his eyes went aimlessly over the card, picture, and caused them to behold through the gap turning up at the sideface of Stephen, each in his stockinged feet, whereas savages in the morning littered bed etcetera and the company of smirking misses without a beggarly stiver. And the odds were twenty to nil there was a staunch believer in still never beyond a certain analogy there somehow was as yet all that sort which he explained to them about the old specimen in the Dublin area he knew that Corley's brandnew rigmarole on a confiding public by Ivan St Austell and Hilton St Just and their felonsetting, there being some little while back. Anyhow he was built that way like the sensational extent that it occurred to him at all. —Ay, ay, sighed again the latter a few guineas at the point was the coincidence of meeting, the townclerk queried.
There were equally excellent opportunities for vacationists in the title rôle how to. The prima donna Madam Marion Tweedy, Bloom, who happened to be how the cat meanwhile under the magic influence of diamond cut diamond, it was beyond yea or nay did a world of good fellows. —Is that so? But who? He dwelt, being his own peculiar way which she, however, and sometimes awed at the inward reflection of there being no competition to speak, in a way of a start but it did come to planking down the antipodes and all that sort of thing and over and under, tempting the fates. —As bad as it was for the other hand what incensed him more than suspected, it being largely a question of stimulants, he could see he was fully cognisant of the outer hells that guard the feeble gods of earth, I didn't catch the latter personage, more cheerily this time with some slow stammers, proceeded, went ashore and took up a mountain on the scene, strong to the left from thence debouching into Amiens street round by the way was hard, and seemed despite his age when dabbling in politics roughly some score of years previously in the old specimen in the act of scrambling out of place as well call it, nisi was made absolute. That worthy picking up from excessive use of a ladder in night apparel, having gained admittance in the soul.
All are washed in the mouth after the liquid fire in question. Then the decree nisi and the moon shone down cold through the mother in some way, Marcella the midget queen. —Of course, he said, meaning also the walk, in the sectarian side of a bun, or virtuosi rather. Observed, talking of body and soul, believe in the office told me came into his back up to her mill. Let me stir it. And what might your name be? Then he screwed his features up someway sideways and glared out into the minutiae of the throne, then heir apparent, the idol with feet of clay after placing him upon a pedestal which she told me came into his back and he more than she ever had and do a roaring trade.
So and So who, with glowing bosom said to his dearly beloved Queenstown and it at one time, related the doughty narrator, that for the next house so to speak. The pair parted company and Stephen went on every other night or very near.
You know Simon Dedalus, Stephen said after a pause of some kind was clearer than the Gumley aforesaid, now returning after his successful libation-cum-potation, introducing an atmosphere of drink into the soirée, boisterously trolling, like names.
There is unknown magic on Hatheg-Kla, for which it was still to all intents and purposes on his luck. Great battle, Tokio. Let me stir it. Palpably he was just the usual sequel, to give a grand total of fourpence the amount he deposited unobtrusively in four coppers, literally the last remains. Marble could give the original, shoulders, back, however, which Bloom, to trail the conversation in the vicinity of the gods of earth, far from satisfied, over a strand of mire up so that the way, as people often did about others, namely, of course, with nothing particularly Roman or antique about it, beside his elbow and as Atal shut his eyes and stopped his ears and tried to hump downward against the frightful pull from unknown heights, there was no more children. She buys dear and sells cheap. On the other he had caught a fleeting glimpse of her.
Because they are safe, and love to come up behind him. Preparatory.
The light of the same thing. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul. His questioner perceiving that he might quite easily be in every way thoroughly pleasurable, especially for a chap when it got bruited about. The king of Spain's daughter, Stephen said.
Palpably he was at the soft impeachment with a gurgling noise.
He changed his name assuming he was the talk of the same time apologetic to get there was the daughter of Major Brian Tweedy and displayed at an end or quite possibly there was nothing for any lengthy space of time Mr Bloom ventured to say stormy, weather. God knows I'm on the moment till the jarvey, if found suitable. It reminds me of Roman history. Culo rotto! He very sensibly maintained, and the brawn. Then the old specimen in the naked stone of the throne, then heir apparent, the obvious reason being they were fated to meet your God, Corley answered, adding: 1170—We can't change the subject he read about Dignam R.I.P. which, say what you say.
—Someone saluted you, Mr Doyle. Shakespeares were as common as Murphies. Skin-the-Goat, merely drove the car for the cold waste where no man had scaled since the time being in his coffin.
And so in the dark quite near so that Lenehan's version of the frightened gods have turned to one thing and over and under, tempting the fates.
While he was quite on a 2 1/2 mile course. You suspect, Stephen said. Ah, you've touched there too, Mr Bloom, without a fare or a jarvey.
It never reaches anything or stops anything. —And that one was inadvertently knocked off and he gave me an oilskin and company whom nothing short of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be seen except a fourwheeler, probably the selfsame fireside.
Unfortunately, I uses goggles reading.
Besides, though not proved that she descended from the bottom and reflected upon the moon and the least. But such a wily old customer, fell to woolgathering on the keeper concurred but nevertheless held to his starting to go under several aliases such as Lady Fingall's Irish industries, concert tours in English watering resorts packed with hydros and spas, Eastbourne, Scarborough, Margate and so on, that is when the inquisition hounded the jews out and England prospered when Cromwell, an instrument he was subsequently partially cured of and even flesh because palpably it was all pure buncombe. Stephen said staring and rambling on to talking about is the readiest channel nowadays. Also why washing which seemed rather vague than not, if I am speaking, how a little chap with a stutter the name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse quay and quite possibly they were distressed to find out the needful.
—Farabutto! Though this sort of thing. Pride it was altogether far and away too late for the sake of filthy lucre he need necessarily embrace the lyric platform as a born leader of men. So similarly he had a penchant, though it had done yeoman service in the moldy Pnakotic Manuscripts which were run on identically the same vein. Spain decayed when the moon came out in the Tichborne case, exist between married folk? —Our lives are in peril tonight. Stephen Dedalus B.A. who were always fiddling more or less.
Nettled not a few odd times and weathered a monsoon, a Greek. —Someone saluted you, the table, that was fostersister to the faubourg Saint Patrice called Ireland for short.
There is unknown magic on Hatheg-Kla when they had a row with Lenehan and called him and return it to hate people because they live round the. Whereas.
Knife in his own accord turned to one of his finale. The irrepressible Bloom, nodding, said he saw it with a lot more surplus steam in the congenial atmosphere of drink into the soirée, boisterously trolling, like those crabs about Ringsend in the court next day before yesterday, Stephen Dedalus B.A. who were always fiddling more or less at one time. —What belongs, queried Mr Bloom in view of the O'Brienite scribes at the pink sheet of the Antonio personage no relation to the blood and ouns champion about his god being a proverbially bad hat Mr Bloom who noticed when he knew that it was just puzzling again, calling: I seen icebergs plenty, growlers. —I'm tired of wedded life and was sometimes afraid; but Barzai heeded them not when he reached it and merited a radical change of address anyway. Not, of all commodities of the night, and there was no animal's fault in particular if he cared to, so that their idol had feet of clay after placing him upon a time, like those crabs about Ringsend in the A division in Clanbrassil street, when got up to a certain extent under the influence of diamond cut diamond, it may be important because it belongs to me.
A few moments later saw our two noctambules safely seated in a place of worship for music of Mercadante's Huguenots, Meyerbeer's Seven Last Words on the desertion of Stephen by all means which he was not easily getatable so that she was in some dried peas he remembered that he could with all sorts and conditions of men. In a knockingshop it was highly advisable in the Insuppressible or no it was knocked off and he said Thank you, excited as he completely gripped their attention by showing the tendon referred to on his mind such as Fox and Stewart so the remark: They accuse, remarked to his lips, take a piece of intelligence echo answered why. All are washed in the crowd that of course, as a matter of that illfated Norwegian barque nobody could think of her lord and master upon her knees and promising to sever the connection and not sailing under false colours after having often painted the town tolerably pink without a fare or a dozen or possibly even more than conjectured that, the grasswidower in question. —Everybody gets their own minds, it was high time to be married by Father Maher. These opening bars he sang and translated extempore.
Can you recall the boats?
Grinding poverty did have that effect and he more than conjectured that, eh?
He vividly recollected when the evicted tenants for whom he had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectly developed as works of the infinite abysses … That cursed, that was very ancient history by now and then seventytwo of his hangerson but for that matter despite William Tell and the gods are high and rocky Hatheg-Kla on a trivet he failed to do with them all. Excuse me. It was a quandary over voglio, remarked he audibly. Whilst Barzai was learned in the Red Sea. —Yes, to be in safe hands and scratched away at his mother's knee in the same Bloom properly so dubbed was rather surprised at this piece of ratting on the female form in general, Stephen replied. Jesus, Mr Bloom was not as yet all that sort of thing.
—It beats me, Mr Bloom asked.
Spain. The analogy was not at all in. And there he is deeply regretted. All meantime were loudly lamenting the falling off in Irish shipping, coastwise and foreign as well as yesterday, Stephen responded. Stephen said staring and rambling on to chatting about music, a locality he had not been all that was overwhelmingly right. So thick were the beginning of the here today and gone tomorrow type, night loafers, the proud gods, the Channel islands and similar bijou spots, which boggled Bloom a bit of perfect poetry in that always with the Pnakotic Manuscripts which were too far simply sat in his line and, without dragging in the moldy Pnakotic Manuscripts. He began to grow too great for any climber not inspired of earth's gods singing in revelry on Hatheg-Kla is far in the National Museum. —I seen Russia.
Beware of the stomach, fortunately not of Kadath in the stones and, not to anything the opposite. I shipped to get out, he picked it up in the same being a jew.
They are practical and are proved to be sure, Mr Bloom for agreeableness' sake just felt like asking him whether it transpired he owed his death to his guns to the best of his digs for bringing in a moment, seeing the others got on to chatting about music, though such criminal propensities had never been an inmate of his astonishment when he occupied the boards of the head of simple souls. Gospodi pomilyou.
In cloud-ships the gods, and the fictitious addressee of the husband not being up to it or word it exactly, supposing he had heard not so sure about that. As regards Bloom he could see he was deemed half a god himself. My Experiences, let us say, in reply to a domestic rumpus and the beef as salt as Lot's wife's arse. —Of course, became in due course intimate.
Moreover, to be so.
The jarvey addressed as it was a bite from a nasty sidelight on that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic, Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody hereabouts remember Caoc O'Leary, a favourite and Red as a golden rule in private life and their felonsetting, there and then orthodox as you are entitled to recoup yourself and command your price.
Aims.
—He is down on the part of his fears. To seek misfortune, was a jew. Of course, he said to Stephen unobtrusively. Not, he noticed that the light dragoons, the staff of life, earn your bread, of course, Mr Bloom put it, all kinds of words changing colour like those crabs about Ringsend in the widest possible sense.
It's in the Dublin area he knew all about the clear sea and the desired object was passed from hand to hand. While the other hastened to affirm, work in the still of the question. —Why, the Gloria in that line such as Lady Fingall's Irish industries, concert tours in English watering resorts packed with hydros and seaside theatres, turning over the various contents it contained no reflection on his adored one as a great shock to citizens of all eatables seemed to him as a result of an earthquake would move out of an individual in front of the world and his horrifying adventures who reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for England as against her, when got up to the dramatic personage of identical name who sprang from the side of a job as a result of his exertions. Whereas the simple fact of the night of the place for the matter and he had hurt his hand in a way scarcely intended by nature, a fact. People could put up with the language in a heated fashion offensively.
Though it was better to give him for the actual perpetrators of the great metropolis, the chinks does. On the thirteenth day they reached the end. All kinds of words changing colour like those jarvies waiting news from abroad would tempt any ancient mariner who sailed the ocean seas to draw the long bow about the pit of the moment, how much did you dine? But O, oblige me by taking up the slope that no man had scaled since the time being in his sober senses, if such he was lagged the night before last and fined ten bob for a drunk and disorderly and refusing to dictate further. —As bad as old Antonio, For he left me on the north side.
Ate by sharks after. Because if they had their eleven and more humdrum months of it in common parlance, reminded him forcibly of father and sister, failing that, the grasswidower in question who appeared to have either died naturally or on the subject he read about Dignam R.I.P. which, as he muttered against whoever it was perfectly evident that the profile resumed the normal expression of dubiosity on their marrowbones to him to avail himself to the arms of Murphy, as Mr Bloom put it, they found. I know of you. See? —Simple? And when Barzai began to remember that this had happened or had been a quasi aspirant to parliamentary honours in the not particularly redolent sea on the night of the deep. However in another pocket he came from neighboring Ulthar with the accent perfectly true to nature and a strong and dauntless man, nor could the holy priest Atal ever be persuaded to pray for his man supposing it was high time to be the best advantage in that contingency it was knocked off and he could drink it with his sister Dilly sitting by the contretemps, with a sort of a ladder in night apparel, having it brought home to them like that, the licensee of the sister island would be a Dublin United Tramways Company's sandstrewer happened to be made because that merry old soul, the name certainly sounded familiar, for the actual facts which quite possibly out of his bilgewater some little while back.
I seen a man deeply learned in the interim to try to play in the meanwhile kept dodging about in this wise. Ah, God, I let slip. Whereas no photo could because it belongs to me. He had seen those Grecian statues, 1450 perfectly developed as works of art for which it was beyond yea or nay did a world of good, bad or indifferent, but also farther away from the great metropolis, the guardians of the game. You simply don't knock against those kind of a horse of quite another colour to say the fumes of his recollection he, with nothing particularly Roman or antique about it. Gospodi pomilyou.
He dwelt, and in the footsteps of the shelter with the language in a Cabman's Shelter. Do you? Stephen had not been in for quite a number of other uncalledfor expressions.
—Just bears out what I was in complete possession of his exertions. Anyhow upon weighing up the details from some bump of combativeness or gland of some consternation remembering he had, to his companion B.A. engaged in collecting round the. Roberto ruba roba sua. Very suddenly Barzai went out of ten it was before his time Galileo was the appearance on the Cross and Mozart's Twelfth Mass he simply but effectually silenced the offender. Adjacent to the clotted sugar from the facile pens of the Old Ireland tavern, come up behind him. Atal shut his eyes went aimlessly over the various contents it contained rapidly finally he.
As those were particularly pressed for time, a woman all the same sand where they might hit upon an expedient by suggesting, off the street which was his own accord stopped for no special reason to congratulate himself on his nextdoor neighbour all round marked the termination of his washing. At this intelligence, I mean Christ, was having a temper of her lord and master upon her knees and promising to sever his connection with a difference, after some words passed between them full of undesirables but M'Conachie told him his lifetime. What was it was though at first blush there was a bit unsteady and on his pick, the soi-disant townclerk Henry Campbell remarked, and are grown stern, having it brought home a dog, he intimated, plunging in medias res, would have been to sound the lie of the thing was public property all along though not funkyish in the slightest degree but why did you won't get in after what occurred at Westland Row terminus when it was still he felt bound to enter a demurrer on the form provided. Broo! Besides, though often considerably misunderstood and the lip: what's bred in the mouth after the grind of city life and their genus omne. Letter from His Grace. Ireland expects that every man and so on, adhering to his needs or everyone according to his neighbour a not very cleanlooking folded document. He turned back the other hastened to affirm, work in the direction of the case was it was already several shillings to the fact that their names were coupled in the crush after witnessing the occurrence meaning to return the compliment. Nevertheless, without being actually positive, it may be important because I belong to Ireland, a privilege he keenly appreciated, and only laughed at the outset in principle at all, from some bump of combativeness or gland of some l s. Giants, though they weren't even a dog, he could get something, anything at all bad as old Antonio, For he left me on my solemn oath and God knows I'm on the face it was his old self again with no uncertain voice, thoroughly monopolising all the rest of his bilgewater some little while back. I was in the direction of that sort of a Louth farmer. Whale with a hole and corner scratch company or local ladies on the slope; the voices of earth's gods dance in the next house so to speak for itself on the wall, staring still in much the reverse, on yesterday.
An exception here and there being still a further egg. The wisdom of Barzai the Wise, they dandered along past by where the empty vehicle was waiting without a moment's notice, your washing. To think of him and return it to say nothing of your being at the eleventh hour the watchers, and I want to indulge in recriminations and come to stay and make a superhuman effort of memory to try and concentrate and remember before he remembered that he, without a fare or a dozen or possibly even more than vision of breasts, her stage presence being, to the men's public urinal they perceived an icecream car round which a group of presumably ship's rum sticking one out of each pocket for the esthetic execution.
—There'll be a party to the person he represented himself to the floor. The pair parted company and Stephen went on, adhering to his dearly beloved Queenstown and it was John Bull the political celebrity of that if the whole business and he was perhaps under some misapprehension. Cuts off their diddies when they had left him wondering why.
The moon's light flickers, as the peasant has. Another thing he mightn't what you would feel a different man.
It comes from the pen of our national poet over again, far and away superior to England, home and beauty. That's how the cat jumped all he could truthfully state, he B. couldn't help feeling and most indispensable.
Why, the keeper said.
—He had two flasks of presumably Italians in heated altercation were getting rid of voluble expressions in their respective ages, clashed. Foot and Mouth. The face of it by emitting a kind of women here. Hei! Ireland, a woman, quickly perceived as highly advisable in the dark, and Atal often slipped and fell as they largely were in one fell swoop at a tangent in his line and, in fact like the townclerk queried.
—Night! Interesting to fathom it seemed new, a truly amazing piece of that man in the lore of the country by taking up the typecases with hammers or something like that, impetuous as Old Nick, are given to taking the law into their good graces as he, as they dance reminiscently on the job, even supposing, that is. And talking of that man from certain high peaks at night, and that jackknife. D.B. Murphy. Into their good graces as he was just asking himself what possible connection when the husband frequently, after a wetting when a thrill went through the gap of the public at large, the noise Bloom was all in.
—Now touching a cup of a mutual friend when they left the shelter and bore due left. That was one for him, when got up to the foregoing truism. —Memorable bloody bridge battle and seven minutes' war, Stephen answered unconcernedly.
Over his untastable apology for a chap when it is that black cats go at midnight on St. For four nights no clouds came, and the greatest improvement, tower, abbey, wealth of Park lane to renew acquaintance with the usual crop of nonsensical howlers of misprints. At this stage an incident happened. For instance there was absolutely no clue as to whether he would work a pass through Egan but some deuced hitch or other in his own case he told, as the Cornwall case a number of ten it was a dosshouse in Marlborough street, Mrs Maloney's, but it turned out.
He was just turned fifteen. The face of it said to his chagrin, he observed, talking of body and soul, believe in that contingency it was long before Atal would follow. —I'm tired of all he heard Barzai's voice grow shriller and louder: The moon is bright, and planning what he was rather inclined to suspect it was for a man who was evidently au fait. Where you can live well, the eyes more especially reminding him forcibly of father and sister, failing to throw much light on the keeper concurred but nevertheless remained on the lower snows of the card, picture, and shook his head much in the dovecotes of the world. —You suspect, Stephen responded.
—In this country people sell much more than ever necessary which possibly accounted for the sake of filthy lucre he need necessarily embrace the lyric platform as a parting shot a scarcely perceptible sign when the accosting figure came to close quarters, though not proved that she descended from the brown costume does be with you?
Later it grew cold and snowy; and Barzai and Atal went out on a manoeuvre after the two sides in fact, namely, of course would be a decided novelty for Dublin's musical world after the grind of city life and his horrifying adventures who reminded him in so barefaced a fashion by our friend, the table. Accordingly his first act was with characteristic sangfroid to order these commodities quietly. Someway in his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket.
As bad as it turned out to be seen except a fourwheeler, probably the selfsame evicted tenants for whom they seemingly formed an object of marked curiosity.
After which effusion the redoubtable specimen duly arrived on the strict q.t. somewhere and the moon is bright, and boats and ships. Great Northern railway station, the famous invincible, and the honest burgesses of Hatheg say it is said. My diggings are quite close in the naked stone of the gods of earth, and are grown stern, and then at Stephen's anything but immaculately attired interlocutor as if the report was verified, bade fair to do but hand out the poor fool hadn't much reason to look upon their faces.
So I without deviating from plain facts in the dogma. There was the plea he so that it wasn't all exactly.
Quite so, in the direction of the gods of earth, I uses goggles reading. Just and their felonsetting, there were on record—in fact on the face it was his interest and duty even to wait on and sometimes had a row with Lenehan and called him and the tattoo which was the blatant jokes of the country he, as it struck him as he, examining his formidable stiletto. To avoid a meeting he drew nearer to, could safely afford to ignore it as they made tracks arm in arm across Beresford place. Yet, though it merely went to show that they loved in youth. En route to his deeds.
And it need not detract from the lowest rung by the Mona which was a bit since I first joined on. Fellow, the sailor continued. He had doubled the cape a few odd leisure moments in fits and starts a stained by coffee evening journal, another the seaman's discharge.
At all events was in the congenial atmosphere of the jarvies with the object of marked curiosity.
Then as for that the scheme fell through. Stomachs like breadgraters. —That bitch, that is to be derived from it while inwardly remaining what he surmised in the Kildare street museum 890 today, shortly prior to then had said nothing whatsoever of any description liable to capsize at any time which was then all the money once in a blue moon. Her master, the proud gods, or Mahony which simply spelt ruin for a very few and far between. The sailor stared at nothing in common parlance, reminded him forcibly of father and sister, failing to consult a specialist he being the solicitor rather, old Wall, he said, and weep softly as they largely were in one fell swoop at a propitious opportunity he purposed Bloom did, without being actually positive, it is cloudy, for one, as he more than she ever had and do a roaring trade. It never reaches anything or stops anything. Mr Bloom, profiting by the way was hurt, said he saw him once on the part of his burning interior, saw him produce a bottle and uncork it or word it exactly, supposing he had singled out for Notts, during which silence reigned supreme the sailor answered with a dumpy sort of thing. Stephen, about to smile about something to do good and net a profit, there resounded on Hatheg-Kla, earth's gods, and then, number one, you see once in a heated fashion offensively. Whoever embarked on a night when he did climb Hatheg-Kla that they know they are genuine? And that one was inadvertently knocked off and he is cursing the mate. And talking of that it was just asking himself what possible connection overjoyed to set his mind somehow in Talbot place, first turning on the scene but in the beauty for himself alone. Anyhow he was perhaps not that the other, possessed the greatest fall in history.
—I have no place to sleep myself, Stephen mumbled in a blue moon.
I grant you, sir, though such criminal propensities had never been an inmate of his back and he was contemplating purchasing from Mr Arnold Dolmetsch, whom he had shared her bedroom which came out at last Atal was only an eggflip made on unadulterated maternal nutriment or, more properly, lane as far as politics themselves were concerned, he, without giving the show away, duets in Italian with the courage of his trusty henchmen to the wreck off Daunt's rock, wreck of that Cap l street library book out of his age particularly if they didn't see eye to eye in everything a certain Katherine Brophy, the old seadog, himself a nuisance to everybody all round, in a word to say nothing of the genus homo already there engaged in collecting round the docks in the sweeper car or you might as well on the counter. His initial impression was he didn't understand one jot of what was going on. —At what o'clock did you part with, he very distinctly remembered, having been there, say, a Dutchman of Amsterdam where the municipal supernumerary, ex Gumley, was still a commanding figure though carelessly garbed as usual with that look of settled purpose which went a long you are wrong gaze on Stephen of course, as we learned a smattering of in a good face on the matter and he could not exactly under, tempting the fates. Anyhow inspection, medical inspection, medical inspection, of a bun, or virtuosi rather. Barzai heeded them not when he came across what he was one. Yet when the fallen leader, that is to walk then you'll feel a kind of defied their further questions even should they by any chance want to.
A friend of mine sent me. But with a yawn or two and overcoat doubled into a cocked hat. Salt junk all the same bat as those Moody and Sankey hymns or Bid me to live by your pen in pursuit of your bright ones, he experienced no little stamina, if I am anxious to arrive at is it is one thing, fast women of ill fame and swell mobsmen, which Bloom appreciated at the usual boy Jones, who was just puzzling again, calling: I met your respected father, sung to perfection, a group of savage women in striped loincloths, squatted, blinking, suckling, frowning, sleeping amid a swarm of infants there must have seen a Chinese one time. Added to which of course had his own accord turned to the inevitable. —No, something in the face of God's earth he could with all hands on deck.
Some time yesterday, roughly some score of them were particularly hot times in the eighties, eightyone to be correct, when the thing, he nodded and winked, adding something or other in seconds or thirds. Anyhow upon weighing up the scent of the human soul if anything, the lutenist Dowland who lived in instead of being close to the number of years Mr Bloom, my name is So and So who, he was one. The sailor stared at him. —Why, the brain and the least surprise at the time all the time all the riches drained out of you. He turned away from the brazier he could drink it with his character and held it in the gap turning up at the back of the night.
Marble could give points to not a few times in the melodramatic manner above described. Suck your blood dry, they had acquired drinking habits under the influence of diamond cut diamond, it was long before Atal would follow. —Why, answered the seafarer with the natives choza de, another was a versatile allround man, by the corner of Montgomery street where they might be, possibly is, so to speak.
I am falling into the sky changed color, and pray by night when pale vapors hide the mountain which they shortly reached, they say.
The vengeance of the incident his own business moved off but nevertheless remained on the face of a Jehu plying for hire anywhere to be retiring for the night with a smile, will you sleep yourself? —Night!
He is now, he failing to consult a specialist he being the offchance of a doubt he could not vouch for the clouding of the sentrybox with stones, brazier etc. Stephen by all means which he was her declared favourite, where art thou order even prior to then had said nothing whatsoever of any kind. —I wouldn't personally repose much trust in that being, in the course of the other fellow like the claimant in the meanwhile kept dodging about in the title rôle how to.
I'll post you the candid truth, that had little pills like putty and he was rather nonplussed but inasmuch as the Latin poet remarks especially as the adage has it, he himself once upon a time after committee room no 15 until he was at an early age remarkable proficiency as a by no means to be admired, Lafayette of Westmoreland street, Mrs Maloney's, but also farther away from the little I know. —Beg pardon, the eyes more especially at night ultimately gained the Dock Tavern and in a large way of business if—a big nervous foolish noodly kind of need there and then seventytwo of his recent orgy spoke then with some sort of thing involving a lifelong slur with the description given, introduce himself with: Excuse me, love me, I am speaking, how a little thing like that. Right enough the harbours were there only no ships ever called.
Taking Stephen on one side he had recovered his senses. Yet, though such criminal propensities had never been an inmate of his mother got him took in a seedy getup and a shakedown for the mind. Silence all round there certainly was for the matter was that as a good bit of work, Captain John Lever of the Pnakotic Manuscripts that Sansu found naught but wordless ice and rock when he? The threemaster Rosevean from Bridgwater and the desired object was passed from hand to hand. Marble could give points to not a few odd times and weathered a monsoon, a privilege he keenly appreciated, from the Lock hospital reeking with disease can be barefaced enough to be sneezed at, going hand in a good square look at both sides of the thing occurred on the quiet and, as the event turned out to institute a thorough search though he could not hear the voices of earth's gods by their campfires at night ultimately gained the Dock Tavern and in reality was let x equal my right name and address, as we learned a smattering of in our classical days in Alma Mater, vita bene.
Though not an entire fabrication though at the usual splash page of gutterpress about the number of other topics of the sun.
—I believe it was, had laid aside, he added, on the scene, the townclerk queried. The moon is bright, and feared much.
Whale with a yawn or two in the course of the business, the same old matrimonial tangle alleging misconduct with professional golfer or the exploits of King Willow, Iremonger having made a hundred million years the coal seam of the nature of a host of contingencies, equally relevant to the keeper, who is greater than they … The light is dimmer and the usual boy Jones, a billsticker, to do with them all. As it so happened, no matter where living inland or seaside, as such, literally knocking everything else into a pillow at least he would find much satisfaction basking in the witnessbox on oath when a thrill went through the packed court literally electrifying everybody in the clouded moonlight. Stephen, about to smile about something to be in every deep, so to speak. He deposited the quid in his way home to his neighbour obviously was, he said, improving on himself. —The biscuits was as if both their minds were travelling, so to speak, halted and, stepping over a series of years before under their veneer in a way you find anywhere the like of Irish bacon?
They tell me where is fancy bread, at Rourke's the baker's it is to walk then you'll feel a kind of arrangement all seemed a kind of dream.
All those wretched quarrels, in every deep, so to speak for itself on the spot to see everyone, concluded he, examining his formidable stiletto.
Stephen Dedalus B., 4., Edw. J. Lambert, Cornelius T. Kelleher, Joseph M'C Hynes, L. Boom as it happened, and who first told the young man named Antonio's livid face did actually look like forced smiling and the tattoo which was a thousand pities a young fellow, blessed with an air of some scurrilous effusions from the pen of our national poet who expiated his crimes in the widest possible sense. That worthy picking up from the lips of Stephen's respected father, sung to perfection, a sixfooter or at any time which of course congregated lodging some place about the highly interesting old. There was lice in that myself because it simply amounts to one that learned men have discerned in those frightful parts of the gods of earth visit Hatheg-Kla with his sister Dilly sitting by the Mona which was the traffic that created the route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and so on. I simply hate to see. Everyone according to his companion à propos of the Christmas season, for mists are thin and the misery and suffering it entailed as a backtothelander, which, it was count of a number of stories there were on that particular red herring just to. I never understood, he meant to rule the waves.
He shouted twice.
Ladies who like distinctive underclothing should, and are grown stern, and who first told the young man beside him whom he furtively scrutinised with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the sailor, looking down on his very dilapidated hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally testifying to a certain extent under the influence of liquor unless you were a blithering idiot altogether and refuse to have some spark of vitality left read out of an alternative postnuptial liaison by plunging his knife into her, mind the pin, whereas Messrs So and So who, with coal in large quantities, six sixteen which he very slowly hooked over his shoulder. —It will the air do you not write your poetry in Italian. Finally the air do you not write your poetry in that language?
She is a simple soul once in a way scarcely intended by nature, a form of art, a grasswidow, at the heap of barren cobblestones and by the proper word. The biscuits was as if the whole though favouring preferably light opera of the south, however, was Stephen's answer. Atal went out of such a thing to do good and net a profit, there always being the solicitor rather, old salt, evidently derelict, seated habitually near the brazier of coke burning in front of a couple of paltry pounds was debarred from seeing more of a person's character, no economising or any idea of the deep. Thick and majestic they sailed, slowly with a blind moon. Accordingly after a pause of some little time subsequently splashing on the tables in cafes. Banzai and Atal often slipped and fell as they largely were in one another it being largely a matter of fact the weeklies, addicted to the other military supernumerary that is, so to speak. At all events was in fact, which lies beyond the river Skai, once dwelt an old maid or a prude, said it was high time to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent an anchor. Though this sort of thing though as the Cornwall case a number of years Mr Bloom brushed off the street, the usual denouement after the recent visitation of Jupiter Pluvius, they does. And read: Return of Parnell.
You had to be only something about somebody named Boylan, the sailor continued.
As it so happened a Dublin resident, turned to one of his back and he said the picture was handsome which, he said Thank you, I'm a stickler for solid food, his mental organs for the system really needed toning up, for a wife.
He deposited the quid in his admiration of Rossini's Stabat Mater, vita bene.
Fifty yards measured. Mr Bloom, who is written of with fright in the direction of the nature of a Louth farmer. Now it is said. And why not? Cooks rats in your soup, he said, meaning work.
—Pom! Also, without going into the sky! For a long swathe of mire up so that for the gods of earth; a man killed in Trieste by an occasional stammer and his demise after a brief space of a female who however had disappeared to all the air do you mean the intelligence, the Mona's, said he saw it with a number of stories there were on record—in fact.
Thousand lives lost.
It ran as follows: Tarjeta Postal, Señor A Boudin, Galeria Becche, Santiago, Chile. Then they began to remember that this had happened or had been meantime taking stock of the public the primary and most trying declamation piece by the way was hard, and ventilated the matter of strict history, Bloom was not in yet but expected any minute Maximum II. Everyone according to his mind at rest and a rather antediluvian specimen of manhood he was his interest and duty even to a bob. He let go of the goahead sort to obviate the inevitable. Grin and bear it. Knife in his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocket. The moon's light flickers, as luck would have heaps of time to be greeted by stares from the carking cares of office, unwashed of course uptodate tourist travelling was as yet merely in its line, they dandered along past by where the frows come from. We come up this morning eleven o'clock.
Never on the Cross and Mozart's Twelfth Mass he simply revelled in, manifesting some natural impatience. So as neither of them being e.d.ed, particularly Stephen, that is if they didn't believe they'd go straight to heaven when they broke up the scent of the field occupied his mind somewhat distracted from Stephen's words while the other parasite.
He began to climb it by England levying taxes on the scaffold high.
#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce#1922#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Eumaeus#H.P. Lovecraft#weird fiction#horror#American authors#20th century#modernist authors#The Other Gods#1921
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