#The same horses go lame over and over or the same owners keep having horses go lame when they buy horse after horse

[isthehorsevideocute]

If I see one more walk/trot adult ammy fly around the country/go overseas to go horse shopping I'm going to have a fucking aneurysm.....

[damn-stark]

The Trouble- Jesse Imagine Pt.2

Jesse x Fem!reader (Not my gif)

A/N- finally got this up!! I hope you all like it! Leave your thoughts?!

Warning- angst, swearing, violence, fluff, LOONNG CHAPTER.

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

———-

Why were you even coming to this party?

Oh right because Maria was forcing you to. Now usually their would’ve been a little bit of excitement when coming to events such as these, but lately it just hasn’t felt that way.

Their was usually no one to dance with because apparently people were scared to even talk to you when Tommy or Maria were close by—Which was all the time in dances such as this one.

Mostly all you would do was stand with Ellie in the far corner with a drink in hand. Something that was probably going to happen tonight too. Gosh how—

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” You say after feeling your body stupidly collide with someone else.

“No, it’s okay. It was my fault.”

Your eyes flutter away from the spilled drink to focus on the owner of the familiar voice....Jesse.

A smile appears on both of your faces,“I’m really sorry, Jesse. I wasn’t paying attention where I was going.” You apologize again as you let him down the small flight of stairs to later climb them yourself with intentions to go in the building.

“It’s nothing.” He quickly dismissed, attempting to turn away but before he could adding something else. “And I wouldn’t. It’s lame.”

“Comes from the guy that hates these things.” You chuckle.

Jesse shrugs, “I only go for one thing.” He lifts his now empty cup, making you cringe.

“Sorry, really, I didn’t mean to.”

“I told you it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

You look back at the buzzing party, hearing the music play from the inside and the commotion from the people, gaining some confidence to say the next thing. “I know you just walked out, but come inside with me, that way we can get you another drink. It would be a shame that you left without the one thing you came here for.” You grin.

Jesse looks at his empty cup and then at you for moment before he smiles and somehow agrees; “fine, only because you owe me.”

He walks up behind you and just as you were going to open the door, it flies open with Dina and Ellie rushing out.

“Everything okay?” Jesse questions the pair after noticing their off behavior.

Dina and Ellie go down the small flight of stairs and Dina simply dismisses his worry. “Not now Jesse.”

The first thing you noticed though wasn’t their weird behavior, but Ellie and Dina holding hands. 

You look to your best friend and quirk your eyebrow. Ellie simply answers with a shrug before she’s pulled away by Dina.

“That was weird.” Jesse commented.

“Agreed.” You nodded. The both of you continue inside, swiping drinks that were already on the bar, both quietly standing to the side and watching the people dance in the center.

“You sure Maria cleared you for patrol tomorrow?” Jesse queried as he turned to face you.

You nod in agreement, “always with much hesitance, but she did.”

“That’s good.” He comments, watching you admire the people dancing in the middle even if you were turned facing him. In that moment without you realizing finally admitting something to himself about you.

“Yeah, you would miss me too much if I didn’t go. Who would tell you all those funny jokes?” You laugh, taking a sip of your drink and sliding your eyes to focus on him.

Jesse nods with a smile on his lips, holding your gaze as he set his drink down. A song he recognized and liked playing finally making his eyes shift to the the middle before he quickly looked back to you. “Want to dance?”

You quirk one eyebrow and laugh nervously, “are you sure? I thought you hated these things.”

He shrugs all nonchalant, “least I could do for the girl that’s always making me laugh.”

You smile shyly at his comment, feeling the warmth on your cheeks turn hotter. “I would love to dance.” You take his hand and let him take you to the dance floor, carefully placing your hands on his shoulders and letting him place his hands on your waist. The warmth on your cheeks burning hotter.

As the music softly played and Jesse and you swayed along to the beat, you couldn’t help but grin. “You’ve got some moves on you, who knew?”

“You think Tommy would shoot me if he saw us dancing?” Jesse wondered nervously.

You chuckle and shake your head, “is that why no one asks me to dance? Because they’re scared of Tommy?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well you shouldn’t worry about him. The person you should worry about is Maria.” You both laugh, moments later calming down and holding each other’s gaze that created a thick tension. One he partially broke when he spoke.

“You know I don’t think I could go on patrol with anyone else.”

“Why is that?” You asked. 

Jesse holds onto you tighter, leaning in closer to respond, “because you’re the best. And I’m not only talking you being the best doctor in this town, but at patrolling, taking down those infected like it’s no ones business.” He smiles, “you’re always leaving me impressed.”

“Is that so?” You lean in closer to the point your noses are brushing against each other’s, your eyes like his flickering below to your lips.

“It is.”

“I think you’re great too.” You compliment, “more than great actually. I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else either.”

Jesse then follows by moving his hand to cup your cheek, not caring if anyone else was watching or caring if the couple he was nervous about earlier watched or happened to be around either. He just pulled you in for a kiss. One you don’t hesitate to return or deepen. A smile felt through said action.

And if neither you remembered where you were, then you both would have let the kiss continue without question—however you couldn’t do such a thing.

Instead you smiled up at him, pressing one last kiss on his soft lips before you leaned your head on his shoulder and continued dancing along to the music.

******

SEATTLE DAY 2

What was their to say about Seattle, beside it being wet, cold, bombed and WET.

How could anyone stay dry in this city? 

Who knew.

Jesse hops off the horse and walks into a part of a destroyed building while you wait...and....wait for him to come back, something he never does. So you too get off the horse and carefully walked to where Jesse had disappeared to—at first you were hesitant since he never said it was clear, or that it was fine for you to follow but you did anyway. Slowly.

“Jesse?” Before you could poke your head to check, said man walks out, somewhat surprised you being so close already.

Regardless he gestures you to follow, “come, I found something.”

This time without hesitation you follow after him, noticing the used campfire on the ground.

“Do you think it was one of them?” You ask.

He places his hands on his hips and continues to examine the campfire before answering. “Most likely.”

Seattle seemed like a big place, Jesse and you had barely arrived and have only seen a small percent of it. Downtown Seattle more specifically—you had seen a dead horse under a overpass, it was Tommy’s that much you knew. How long ago did it happen? That was up to debate. The only semi answer you did get was this clue now. But that too set you back. It could be Ellie’s or Tommy’s.

The only thing you were certain of was that you were tired.

“Maybe we should take a break here.” You suggest to your boyfriend. “Theirs wood.” You walk to pick up the log but shortly groan at the disappointment, “wet wood. Never mind.”

Jesse looks outside for a brief moment before glancing back to you, his eyes seeming to be concentrated on you for a minute. Looking deep in thought before he nodded. “Yeah you’re right. We can’t stay long though.”

“I know.” You shrugged your backpack off your shoulders before falling to the floor and letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Do you think we’ll find them soon?”

Jesse takes a seat next to you and shrugs, “I hope so. I keep seeing more and more WLF around.”

“I just hope they’re okay.” You muse before taking out a snack.

“All of them?” Jesse smirks.

You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder with your own; “Yes everyone. Dina might be your ex but she’s still from Jackson. She’s family.” You smirk and meet his gaze, “it’s like you want me to be jealous.”

Maybe you were a little. But you didn’t want to feed his ego.

“Of course not.” Jesse grins as he takes some of your food, shifting himself so he’s laying his head on your lap.

At the memory of something you needed to tell him your grin widens. “Do you want to hear a joke Ellie told me?”

“Okay, shoot.”

Already feeling like lauhing you try and calm down to ask him first, “What is the downside of eating a clock?”

Jesse stays quiet for a moment, his gaze focused on some part of the building as he thinks. “Uhh,” he glances up at you and shrugs, “I don’t know, what?”

“It’s time consuming.”

Jesse shifts up and looks at you with a smile. A laugh shared between the both of you a couple moments after. “That.” He begins after calming down, “that was funny, I got to give it to ya.”

You nod and unintentionally begin to play with his hair—a habit you now figured out you picked up in your down times while traveling over here. And the thing you liked was that he didn’t complain, or protest against it, he just let you. He let you do whatever hairstyle you could on his hair.

Like now for example. He let you carefully braid his hair without fussing or moving. In fact you think he might like it.

“This setting,” you sigh while taking a strand of his in between your fingers to then cross it with another, “makes me want to start a fire and play my guitar.”

“That would be nice.” Jesse agreed, “tell stories, laugh and drink with friends.”

You hum softly and repeat the same action as before except starting on his second braid; “maybe after we get back?”

“No.”

You stop and feel your eyebrows knot together, “no?”

“I just mean, I owe you that date first. A real first date.”

You smile and continue. “You dont. We already had our date.”

“But I want to make it special. My own way, not rushed. Or having to look out for infected.” He argued.

“It was still special.” You finish the braids and rest your chin on his shoulder to continue with his unnecessary argument. “It was rushed, yes, but it was still special. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Plus I don’t think we’re going to have a date in Idaho again.”

“I guess you’re right.”

You place a kiss on his cheek and your smile turns into a mischievous one. “Can we take a picture?”

Jesse looks back at you with a serious face, “no.”

“Come on,” You stifle your giggle as you saw how he looked with his hair picked up. “You look cute and your braids are going to fall out soon. Plus we took a picture in Idaho and Oregon, we need one for Washington too.” You pout your lip and bat your eyelashes. That action winning him over with much hesitance.

And before he could change his mind you take your Polaroid camera and take a picture of the both of you. “Love it.” You whisper once it fully develops.

“Can I see that?” Jesse asks about the camera.

You quirk your eyebrow and put the picture away, debating if letting him grab it was a right choice; “why?”

“I want to take a picture.”

Narrowing your gaze on him you hesitantly let him take it, watching him carefully, a shy smile soon tugging at the corner of your lips when he pointed the camera at you.

“See. Now,” he continues after snapping said picture, “I’ll have one of you,” he smiles as he places the picture inside a pocket of his jacket, “everywhere I go.”

Feeling the warmth on your cheeks you grin before leaning and pressing a soft kiss on his lips, an action he easily returns with more passion. Slowly you cup his cheeks to deepen said kiss, resting your knees on either side of him.

Before things could go any further, distant voices pulls you both away to quickly hide behind the wall—Jesse peeks his head out, letting you do the same seconds after, noticing right away the WLF patches on their jackets. Jesse noticing the same thing grabbed your backpack from the ground and handed to you so you could put it on. Him doing the same with his before taking your hand and tugging you through a hole that was out of sight from WLF soldiers.

“We left the horse.” You whisper as you look over your shoulder when you hear the soldiers find said animal.

“We can’t go back,” he responds in the same whisper whilst he picks up his pace, “we have to leave now that we’re undetected.”

“But—”

“We get caught and we won’t find Tommy, Ellie or Dina.” Jesse Interrupted. “We have to keep going.”

You nod, “okay.”

——

“Where are we?” Your eyes wonder the neighborhood, not only to keep watch for any WLF’S or infected, but route your exits since this man doesn’t want to admit he’s now lost.

“A neighborhood called Hillcrest.” He retorted.

You sighed deeply and watched him from the corner of your eye, “really? I thought we were in the city.”

“We are not lost if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You snorted, “never was.”

Jesse cocked his head to the side, flashing you a charming grin, “good.”

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips thereafter.

“I heard from some WLF soldiers we snuck by that Tommy passed—” the sound of gunshots cuts Jesse off immediately, not sparing another second to pull you down with him and hide behind a wooden fence.

“What the hell?!” You whispered sharply as you snatched your pistol from your holster.

“Trespassers, behind that fence!

“No time, let’s go.” Jesse quickly searched around, having no choice but to sneak in the empty house next to you. The both of you climbed over the broken window to get inside, your eyes frantically searching for a way out, but only finding that the stairs were the only unblocked area. It wasn’t a really smart choice, but it was one you had to take.

Jesse walked ahead of you, quietly checking each room was clear—which it surprisingly was.

Regardless you couldn’t risk yourselves, not in a place swarmed by WLF’S. “We need to find a way out.” You whispered, poking your head out the window to spot four WLF’S entering the same house. “Shit. We got four coming inside.”

Before Jesse could say his idea out loud, the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs made him react quickly to pull you into a closet, pulling you against him as he pressed his back against the wall. One hand covering your mouth while he peeked through the closest’s panels.

The sound of approaching footsteps making your heart hammer in your chest and grab onto the arm Jesse had over your mouth with a firm grip, while with your other free hand gripping onto your pistols handle. Your eyes briefly shutting at the sight of the soldier stopping before the doors, and right when you thought you were going to pass out from the fear the soldier retreated away. A relieved sigh escaping your lips at the knowledge.

Jesse let go of you and slumped to the floor, his hands running through his hair before letting out an exhausted sigh.

“Too late to go back now.” You mumbled as you sat in front of him.

“Yeah it is.” Jesse let out an amused huff of air as he let his head rest on his hands.

“But, we’re here now. Maria is already going to kill me, so we better make this trip worthwhile.” You tried to ease the situation, knowing that this little break wasn’t going to last long and that you were going to have either face those soldiers or sneak by them sooner or later—later being the preferred choice.

“What do you think she’s going to do to us? Kick us out? Ground us from going on patrols ever again?” You continue.

Jesse looked up at you with a tired smile, “she loves you. You’re basically her kid, the most she’ll do to you is make you sleep outside. Me on the other hand, who knows what she’ll do.”

You shrug, “at least I’ll have Tommy to suffer with me. And I’ll make her go easy on you.“

“Right. Well good luck with that, because after she finds out we’re dating, and that I was the reason you left, I think my only punishment will be getting banished forever. That or being shot.”

You giggle and shake your head, “I won’t let her do either of those things. You’re stuck with me now.”

Jesse rolls his head to the side to hide his grin, answering with wit instead of a sweet comment, “well at least then we’ll be banished together.”

“Whatever.” You grin.

——

“I think we can jump from this window and sneak through all these yards.” Jesse muttered as he carefully opened the window, the sound of someone ordering a dog around making both yours and Jesse’s head to turn in that direction. “Shit, I guess we have no other option.”

Jesse’s head turned to you, pointing his head to the window, motioning you to go first.

“Okay.” You mouthed whilst climbing out, your head spinning at the sight of the distance of the window and the grass. “Well...okay. I’m going.” Without overthinking it, you pushed yourself off the window sill and landed on the ground quietly. Shortly after Jesse landed, a little more harsher than you had, but doing so without breaking anything...you hoped. “You good?”

Jesse nodded, not waiting to move to check the surroundings, a limp noticeable as he walked.

“Jesse, you’re—”

“I’m okay,” he interrupted, “we have to go.”

You hesitated for a moment but followed after him regardless, coming to a quick stop seconds after. The same dog as before coming out of the same house, his nose sniffing the area, second by second getting closer to Jesse. So in quick thinking you pulled out your Molotov and lit it, throwing it towards a empty car.

That explosion getting the dogs attention and making its owner and him both run to check the area, letting Jesse and you sneak past another house successfully. 

And here you thought that you were going to make it out of this neighborhood in one piece. 

A women walked around a corner and caught Jesse and you by surprise. “They’re right here, the trespassers! They’re—” the women’s warnings cut off with a shot through her throat, neither Jesse or you waiting for more to gather around or surprise you to run through another yard, you having to look back to shoot a man on the leg at the sound of him chasing after you.

More ran out of the other houses, having you throw your body to the side to avoid being caught, in that action falling behind Jesse. Said man not noticing right away, not until he heard one of the soldiers shout. “Get her!”

Now you were against killing people if it could be avoided, or if it didn’t call for it all, but their was occasions where you needed to. Where you needed to choose your own safety. Occasions like these—in a swift motion you shot the soldier that was straight ahead and then shot the other one behind you, turning to the side to shoot another one, but before you could even press the trigger, Jesse shot first.

A grateful smile, played on your lips, one that didn’t last before you both were on the run again, having to jump over another window, this time though, successfully landing and finding an empty house. One where no one saw you rush into, a place where you could catch your breath if even for a minute. Yes their might be more shots heard the in the distance, and yelling, but you both needed this. Even for a minute.

And trying to do just that, you hid between the shadows of the house to remain hidden, both hands on your knees as you tried to calm your breathing.

“Are you okay?” Jesse questioned.

You nodded and assured him, “yeah, you?”

“As good as—” the sound of someone quickly approaching made him cut his words off, his eyes focused on the window you just jumped out of, the sight of someone (as expected) jumped out of it too. At first Jesse was going to shoot them, but he holstered his gun and stepped forward to grab said person and pull..her back, a hand covering her mouth as trucks passed.

At first she struggled, but as soon as Jesse shushed her she seemed to calm down—you were nothing but confused, especially since your boyfriend had helped a stranger, but as soon as you walked forward, you saw who it was. Ellie.

Said girl turned around after Jesse let her go, her eyes focused on him for a moment before they shifted to you, a pure look of confusion flashing through her eyes.

“What are you two doing here?” She queried as she blinked repeatedly in disbelief.

“You think we let you do this on your own?” Jesse responded, causing a smile to spread on your lips.

“Y/N...Jesse.”

A smile that didn’t last long at all.

“Where’s Dina?”

No need to be jealous....No need.

“She’s safe,” Ellie assured, “she’s just sick.”

“What kind of sick?” You spoke up.

Ellie’s eyes landed on you to answer, “she’s fine.”

“Fan out! She went that way.”

Jesse and you quickly pulled out your guns at the sound of a WLF soldier.

“Christ, there’s a lot of them.” Jesse mused, before turning around to limp to find a way out.

“Hey, how hurt are you?” Ellie wondered.

“I’ll be okay.” Jesse dismissed, “your friends out there rushed us. No warning, no nothin.”

“Tell me you two didn’t come alone?”

Jesse and you shared a glance, letting you respond to your friends question, “give us shit about it later.”

Ellie scoffed, “you’re both fucking idiots, you know that, right?”

You looked over your shoulder as you continued forward, showing her a smug smile, “yeah.”

Stopping in front of a window, the three of you peeked your heads out and counted the people up front. “See that truck.” Jesse pointed.

“That’s your plan?”

“We need to get some distance,” Jesse continued. “You two ready?”

You nodded and heard Ellie answer, “yeah. Be smart about it.” Before the three of you quietly crouched in the tall grass to hide behind a fence wall, waiting for the right time to sneak attack the WLF soldiers that were in the way of the truck. It was a tight fit with three people in a tiny car, but somehow fit—needed to anyway.

The only damn problem was that the car wouldn’t start. “Give it some gas.” You urged Jesse.

“I am.”

“Give it some more.” Ellie added in a panic as they began to shoot at the truck—Having Ellie and you turn back and shoot those shooting at you. “Jesse get us the fuck out of here!”

“I’m trying!”

You continued shooting, your fear skyrocketing at the sound of the car not starting. And it seemed like it wasn’t, until it finally did! The only thing was at the same time the car started, someone snuck up on Jesse, their arm wrapping around his throat.

“Jesse!” You bellowed, this time not hesitating for a minute to shoot the person that had him in a choke hold.

“Jesus.” He breathed, before he went back to the stirring wheel, stepping on the grass to continue forward, while Ellie and you continued shooting at soldiers, to what then turned to shooting at a truck chasing after you. Both of you having to turn around as it sped forward in attempts to cut Jesse off and kill all of you—when Ellie managed to shoot the driver, the truck kept swerving your way, hitting you and pushing the truck to the side until it crashed into a lighting post.

Jesse kicked the windshield off, making it easier for Ellie and you to now shoot the damned infected coming your way. Somehow all of you managing to escape on the working car; something that wasn’t easy as all kinds of infected swarmed the car, one grabbing a hold of Ellie to try and pull her back and bite her.

Luckily it was something you managed to avoid by reaching over and stabbing the runner in the head. But in that action, in the distraction the door broke off and Jesse crashed into something in the back. The only good thing to happen was he managed to drive forward, in that crashing into a clicker—it took a couple shots but Ellie and you killed it...the bad thing was that you all crashed into a fence, and the car slid off a hill and crashed into a body of water.

The car was quickly submerging, causing all of you to hold your breath as you sunk down. Some luck finally coming to your side as you managed to swim out of the truck—before you did though, you grabbed Ellie’s hand and helped her out and up to the surface. All three of you gasping for air that lacked in your lungs.

“You guys okay?” Ellie question’s when you all finally made it on the ground.

You shot her a thumbs up, while Jesse responded, “never better.”

“I think we’re in the clear.” Ellie assured.

Pushing yourself off the ground, you extended your hand out to Jesse, “Come on.” He took it with no hesitation, offering you a small smile.

“Thanks.”

After Ellie noticed you both up and...somewhat ready to go moved forward. “This way.”

——

Why was your heart beating so fast? Maybe because you were about to see your boyfriends ex. One he still might have feelings for...well..that was a far stretch since he did ask you to be his girlfriend. But the insecurity still lingered. 

After all, they dated for a while.

And when Dina noticed him, the insecurity heightened. The way she hugged him made it worse.

“You okay?” She asked him.

“Nothing a little sleep won’t take care of.” He reassured her.

Dina then came to you, wrapping you in hug much like his. “Are you okay?”

You nodded and offered a feigned smile, “never better.”

You tried not to feel jealous, or insecure about them. Even after her questions, after watching how she looked at him, how she took care of him. Something you should’ve done—but it was hard not to feel that way...and it was hard for Ellie too. That much you saw.....odd.

After watching said girl leave, you followed after, following her to what seemed to be a radio room. She knew you were there, even if she had her back to you.

“Can I tell you something? Promise you won’t tell Jesse?”

You swallowed thickly, hesitating but answering nonetheless. “You can tell me anything, you know that. You’re my best friend.”

Ellie turned to you with a frown, her eyes on the ground before glancing at you, a brief pause before she spoke the unbelievable.

“Dina’s pregnant.”

.

.

.

Tagged- @protect-lev​ , @expecto-nox​

[jui-imouto-chan]

Sneak Peek into my Reverse AU (RK1K)

Markus smiles down at Carl, wheeling him beside the table before seating himself. Carl smiles at him, placidly watching him take a few bites before he turns on the TV. Markus’ glabella scrunches as he takes in the news, more coverage on the situation in the Arctic with Russia.

He sighs, sitting back in his chair with a petulant chomp of his bacon. “TV off.”

Carl tilts his head at him, blue eyes curious. “Markus?”

“I’m alright. Thank you for worrying, Carl.” Markus pauses and takes a sip of his coffee, “How about you find something to occupy yourself until I finish?”

He earns a nod and then Carl is wheeling himself across the room to the door beside the giraffe, moving into the studio and grabbing at a canvas before it can even slide shut. Markus smiles softly at the sight, even if the sight of Carl being unable to walk to his favorite activity makes him feel a pang of distant sadness.

“The damage was excessive, you might just have to get a replacement. I’ll give it to you free of charge, good friend, but even if we transfer his memory, he won’t be the same Carl that you know.”

“It’s fine,” Markus assured her.

“Then we’ll prepare--”

“No, I mean that that’s not necessary. We’ll be going now.”

Carl stared up with a certain twinkle in his eyes, and when they arrived home, all he managed was a, “Thank you,” to which Markus smiled, ever enigmatic, and told him that he was only sorry that he couldn’t be fixed.

Markus grabs for the remote on the table, turning the TV on and lowering the volume immediately. He changes the channel and rests his chin on his fist, melting into the table with a large, silly grin on his face.

“Lieutenant Connor Stern has just solved yet another case! Revealing a man who’d advertise himself as a loving father to be an abusive alcoholic, the victims of the abuse come forward to thank Stern personally.”

The scene cuts to a brunet little girl sat beside a woman with short blonde hair, both of whom brighten up upon a distracted-looking, mildly disheveled brunet male entering the room. He smiles at them gently, but his features contort in surprise and then sheepishness as the two females envelop him into hugs, smiling gratefully into his coat.

The newscasters voice-over the scene, cooing and gushing over the bashful grin the Lieutenant has. He notices the cameramen filming them and flushes beautifully, and Markus barely represses the urge to slam his fist into the table as an expression of his overwhelmingly swollen heart. 

“Fanboying again?” Carl asks, suddenly right beside Markus, to which the dark man can’t completely quiet his shout of surprise, nearly toppling out of his chair.

Markus sputters before managing to shout indignantly, “N-No! I was just watching the news and he so happened to show up! That’s it!”

Carl smiles, amused. Markus blows him a petulant raspberry, crossing his arms while looking away. The TV draws his attention once more, as now it shows the Lieutenant, on his own, rubbing his neck and looking to the side.

“I just wanted to help them, the fame be damned. If I couldn’t find a steadfast legal method for saving them, I’d find a loophole or do it someway else,” he says, even as someone in the background attempts to reprimand him.

Markus unwittingly releases a dreamy sigh, upon which Carl belts out chuckles that stain Markus’ cheeks dark red.

“I didn’t take you to be someone who appreciates art,” he says, hinting at an inquiry.

Connor sputters, pink dusting his cheekbones. “I’m not—I mean, I just—it’s—I do! I like...! I like art...” he finishes lamely, deflating. Hank casts him an amused look, his LED cycling yellow as he likely documents that information.

“Quite a reaction to such a simple question. What aren’t you telling me, Lieutenant?”

“I didn’t climb my way up the chain just for my title to be used so mockingly,” Connor mumbles, but Hank doesn’t take the bait.

“You can’t change the subject so easily with me, kid. What has you so intrigued by this piece? Its uniqueness in comparison to the other images in this gallery is relatively low, so it should not garner such attention.” Hank continues his analysis of Connor, heedless of the redness crawling up to his ears, “You paused at a similar work on your terminal at the department, made by the same--“ A smile creeps up Hank’s face as he comes to a realization, his LED shifting to blue, to Connor’s dawning horror, “Do you, perhaps, have an interest in this particular artist?”

Connor’s face burns. “N-No, it’s just a coincidence, that’s all! Je— This artist’s art just happened to come up that day, and the name just... seemed... familiar.”

“Lieutenant, they don’t have the names displayed right now.”

Connor’s expression is that of defeat, his shoulders slumping and smile dead. “...Ah. So it seems.” 

The HK800 refrains from laughing, his social programming dictating that he act as human as possible to maintain a friendly relationship with Connor, though Fowler’s disapproval from within the Zen Garden is inexplicably calling for him not to. His sly grin is still enough to garner a sigh.

“Damn android,” Connor mutters, burrowing into the collar of his coat with a petulant pout.

“This thing is not our dad, okay? Mark, look at it! You’re wheeling it around when it’s supposed to serve you! What good is it to you, huh? Did you replace your brain with your fancy paints? Or maybe plastic, like this fucker-- “

“That’s enough, Leo,” Markus breathes, trying to keep himself from lashing out. He steps in front of Carl, who stares up with forlorn azure orbs and an LED of faint yellow. “That’s enough.”

Leo seems to look for something, in his eyes, in the room, in the sad-eyed android in the wheelchair behind him, the one who’d been introduced as a servant and became akin to their—more Markus’ than Leo’s—father-figure.

Markus’ heterochromatic gaze yields nothing to him, and he flounders for a moment, stumbling over his words and over himself as he makes to storm off, “You--I-It can’t replace dad. Your little toy there, it can’t play house with you forever. It can’t love you the way dad did, and you’re just going to ignore your only family left for it because you think you care about it. But you never cared, Markus, not about it, not about him, and not about me.”

Markus feels a lump in his throat. Carl places a hand on his shoulder consolingly, and the two of them watch in subdued silence as Leo repeats himself quietly and leaves the studio.

“Wakey, wakey, Lieutenant.”

Smack!

“Ah, shit, what the hell, Hank?” Connor whines, rubbing his cheek with bleary eyes, hissing as the stinging mark isn’t cooled by his palm.

Hank appears neutral, but Connor knows that behind the blank expression, he’s cackling at Connor’s expense. Or, rather, he has a feeling that that’s the case. He can’t see any other reason ‘the android sent by Cyberlife‘ would be such a pain in the ass.

“I need you for a case, so I had to wake you.” Hank’s eyes shift to the bottle of pills Connor tries to conceal behind his back, “In regards to your sleep, Lieutenant, why’d you consume a few too many doses of melatonin and then proceed to sleep on the kitchen floor?”

Connor laughs weakly, “I have trouble sleeping.”

Hank sends him a pointed look, glancing at the bottle for barely a moment and then, for just a fraction of a second, flicks his eyes over to the picture frame face-down on Connor’s counter, beside the cabinet where he keeps his medicine. “These are rather strong pills, Connor.”

“And my body has a strong resistance to medication of any sort.”

The two stare at one another, waiting for the other’s will to break, and it seems Connor is more stubborn than Hank had anticipated. Noted.

“I’m still tired, so how about you take care of this case yourself? You’re more than capable, as you’ve proven, so please just replace me early.”

Hank wordlessly stands up, which has Connor laying back on the kitchen tiles, curling up with his hand cushioning his head.

Not a moment later, Connor’s shooting up with a shriek as Hank dumps a pitcher of ice-water over him, enraged beyond measure.

“WHAT THE FUCK-- “

Hank doesn’t hold back his smile as he tells Connor that he’d better freshen up. Connor tries to punish him by having him pick out his clothes, but he ends up regretting it as Hank picks up a gag shirt someone’d gotten him at the department Christmas party, one with the design of a pug, holding a shield and a sword, majestically riding a horse. The words once printed overtop have long since worn off.

Bidding goodbye to his favorite cacti and a picture of his childhood dog, he follows Hank out to an autocab, unwilling to drive or let Hank into his car.

“I’m amazed that you managed to lead a revolution in this state,” Connor says, genuine awe written in the shines of his eyes.

Carl laughs, “It was a matter of planning. I was a strategist, but it was my--“ he almost seems to choke up at the next word, which still has Connor reeling, because how could anyone have ever thought these beings aren’t alive? “--my son who really did the hard stuff, like supply raids and marches. I ran speeches and the like, but it was all thanks to him and his support.”

“Your son? Is he--“

“He’s a human; his name is Markus Manfred. He was my owner, but he always felt more like family, and maybe we can now make that official.” His entire face softens when he says it.

The brunet smiles, and Carl can certainly see why his son is so taken with him. Little dimples frame his grin, and his earthy eyes have this gleam of knowledge that contradicts the naivete he seems to radiate with his boyish features, and his curls seem to bounce with life as he says, “I’m happy for you.” It’s so clear that he really, truly means it. 

Hank seems to take an interest in the ‘making it official’ part, because he gazes upon Connor with a thoughtful look on his face, as though considering it. Carl sends him a secret smirk, and Hank gains a faux-sourness, to his amusement. 

“I’ll introduce you two if you’d like. I think he’d be pleased to meet you.” Carl’s eyes have this slyness he’s no good at concealing, but Connor pays it no mind.

“I’d love that.”

((I’ll paste the link later after im finished ;D))

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

OT3FIC: Dobberman

20 - tongue discourage lopsided gift execute tiny rose shame

Her tongue peeked out the corner of her lip as she shifted slightly in her car seat, shades over her eyes and the stirring itch to get outside and stretch her legs that she could not give in to. This case had been bothering her for weeks, the pattern erratic and strange and mostly based off of disappearances and memory loss rather than any bloody bodies or signs of other such problems. Cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders, Jo gave a deep sigh as she settled in to stake it out longer.

She had already been watching for two nights and thus far no extra disappearances and no leads. Sitting in her car she’d set up a camera with display, angled just right from her vantage point behind the bouncer, to check for the glowing eyes of shapeshifters and also tracking on the mirror above all of the arrivals to check for sirens. She had nailed an iron boundary over the doorway and the windows of all the buildings exits just before dawn that very morning to track if any demons or ghost possessions or shadows for that matter were behind it and to keep them getting back in. And she had even painted the external walls the day before with invisible angel wards just to make sure it wasn’t her favorite archangel-Trickster up to games. But so far, no such luck on cracking the case.

Jo gave another soft sigh, the quiet voice of some late night radio host babbling to himself as if there was someone else there echoed out of her stereo as she continued to glance between her camera and the line that was forming at the doorway.

It wasn’t for another hour, an hour of boring music, lame dad jokes and some kid calling to complain about the boring music, right as the lack of movement was almost enough to discourage her after three days of no signs that this might not actually be one of her cases despite what her gut told her for her to spot it.

Twisting the keys out of the ignition and throwing them into her pocket, Jo looked each way along the road before dashing across in a gap in traffic and striding carefully but quickly along the footpath behind the bouncer right as the man was about to okay the newest arrival with the four very beautiful women along his arms. The very same four very beautiful women that hadn’t been seen or heard of from their families in over four weeks that she’d known in her stomach were not just runaways or on holidays somewhere.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” She hissed from behind the group as they were about to pass through the doorway. As the man in the center appeared to freeze at her voice, and his shoulders almost appeared to shake whether in amusement or like a duck shaking very annoying water from it’s back she couldn’t tell, before he attempted to step over into the club and was unable to press forward with an almost awkward stumble. “Or, maybe more like, I couldn’t do that if I were you.”

That time there was another of those shakes before the man turned to the bouncer and hissed quietly, “You didn’t see any of us.” He turned fully around, delivering the same hissed Whisper towards the lot of the assembled crowd nearest the door while those a few feet down just yelled loudly about ‘fucking line-jumpers’.

Jo waited a second before stepping back and a handful of feet back away from the line and the bouncer as the rest of the late night revellers continued in their normal behavior, a lopsided grin on her face in the knowledge that her instincts were right for a moment before the four women all started walking in a straight line past her and down the nearby alleyway to the side of the club. That wiped the look right off, and forgetting all about exactly who it was she’d been talking to, Jo set off after the quartet of women, calling “Hey! Wait!”

“They aren’t going to answer you, sweetie.” The voice was right beside her as she made her way into the alley - spotting the group of women huddling in a dark corner like hens nesting in a roost. Looking to the side, Jo raised an eyebrow back at him curiously. “They’re following instructions. I make sure they know what to do if things go wrong when I let them out of the house.”

“The what now? The house?!” “Yes, house, sweetie. They have to live somewhere.” “Since when do you have a fuckin’ house?!”

The man gave a laugh at that, shifting to lean against the dark bricks of the building side a few feet in from the corner, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a click of his fingers. Gray draw a breath in and released a puff of smoke at her, her hand waving it away with a small cough and a scowl, before he shrugged a shoulder. “I overheard some guys talking about some..movie? Documentary? Something? Anyway-” The shadow took another drag, and gestured towards her with it questioningly as Jo didn’t move closer, only continuing once she’d shifted to stand in front of him out of the sight of those passing the alley way without really looking for her. “-They were talking about this guy who was some big-shot or other. Had a house full of beautiful women on hand for anything he wanted, you see? Gave me an idea, why keep going out to find good lays when I can just keep them all crowded up for when I want one.”

Jo felt herself frowning in confusion for a moment, before her eyes widened and she reached out to smack at his arm in an automatic response, letting out an outraged noise. “The R Kelly documentary?! You have taken inspiration from the R Kelly documentary to get yourself a house full of-” Her eyes widened further, twisting to look down at the huddle of gorgeous women all dressed exactly to the shadow’s liking and standing silently together as a group with their eyes closed as if ‘powered down’ and waiting their next direction. “-of.. of...”

“Gorgeous women. Yes, I believe I have.” Gray’s lips curled up into a smirk as he looked down at her, the look widening as she smacked at his arm again ineffectively and glared up at him. “You humans really do keep giving us monsters a run for our money, you know. And that idea? Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth when I can complete it much more effectively than some little human with cash to splash.”

“God, you’re fuckin’ disgusting, did you know that?” Jo growled the words out towards him, shaking her head as if to try to shake the idea from it before she froze. “Well, I guess it’s better in a way than your torturin’ and killin’ them-”

“Oh no, I have a group for that too.” “For fucks sake, Gray! Stop making this so much worse.” “Sweetie, I can’t let you go about thinking I’ve lost my touch. Of course I have the ugly ones or the ones that don’t please me well enough for that.”

“Absolutely disgustin’.” She shook her head again, leaning back against the bricks with a heavy sigh and ran a hand through her hair with a groan. This had been such a hard hunt, it had taken her serious effort to execute properly and cover all bases, she was even somewhat impressed with herself for just how good her sigil work and the idea to iron the entries where the owners would never find it was complete genius. And for it all to be wasted on it being this asshole with his goddamn smirk and his fucking suits and his cigarette that he held out towards her and Jo tugging from his fingers and breathed in like a drowning man trying to settle the frustration and adrenaline that was racing through her with the soft hug of nicotine. “I can’t believe you’d do that-”

“What? Say I got the idea from there and not from you, you mean?” “Fuckin’ what?” “I mean, if you want to get technical sweetie, I got the first thought of the idea from you-” “What the fuck you mean by that?!”

“Setting up that tiny little house of yours? With your two little sex boys there to do your bidding at the crook of your finger?” Gray replied over her head, that infernal smirk fully still in place as he reached out to light himself another cigarette as Jo glanced up towards him - the butt resting between her lips as they curled in disgust at the suggestion. “I always figured the runt couldn’t possibly keep you satisfied, so your taking on another was inevitable-”

“You shut up about that.” “Why? Don’t like the truth, sweetie? Face it, you’ve always been flighty and it was only a matter of time until you went for more.” “And how exactly is that what happened at all?” “Oh trust me, I’m as surprised as you are that the runt’s fallen in line so well. You’re much better at that then that-”

“Don’t.” Jo cut over the other warningly, and at the twist of how his tone shifted from teasing to what she could tell was tight and uncomfortable as his brain caught up with what he was saying, she leaned her shoulders to the side, bumping against his gently.

There was a long pause between them, the silence of those in the alley covered by the rise and fall of the crowd around the corner’s noise, before the shadow seemed to catch himself and rose off of the side of the building with a sneer. “But still, credit where credit’s due, sweetie, you showed it’s a good idea to keep toys on hand for such fun-”

“You know that’s not even remotely accurate, you asshole.” Jo bit back, dragging the last of the cigarette before squatting down to set it to the ground and stamping it out with her boot, glare in place as she tried to keep the flush of shame that threatened to run through her just in case there was any truth to the shadow’s suggestions. “Look, just... how long until whatever you’ve done runs out for those girls?”

“What do you mean?” “How long until your Whisperin’ fades?” “What’s that matter? It’s not like you’re going to be able to do anything-”

Jo shifted straight upwards and off the wall then, her hand pulling the iron knife out of her boot, and pointed at the other threateningly. She knew from the raised brow on his face and the amused quirk of his lip that he knew that it was as likely to go into him as it was she would suddenly begin tap dancing; but even then, Jo shot a lot behind herself towards the huddled group of girls and then back to him with a raised brow of her own.

“Sweetie, why do you always do this?” “Cause, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t. Now - the Whispering?” “What makes you think I’m going to let you just scurry off with them?”

“Easy,” Jo’s lips quirked up in a smile in response as she flipped her knife about, giving a small shrug. “Because, you’re goin’ to get bored of that set up in no time and havin’ to keep feeding and washing and Whispering the lot of them. How’s all the chewing they do been to watch?”

Jo bit down on a laugh watching the way that the monster’s shoulders shuddered again, and there was a pause when she thought that she may have used the wrong play before the next moment there was a quirk of his lips into that godforsaken smirk and his own cigarette butted out under his foot. He shrugged a shoulder, as if rolling the phantom disgust away, before waving a hand. “Maybe you’ve struck something there, sweetie. It has been rather... limiting to my fun.”

“You don’t like limitations-” “Are you trying to propose something there?” “God no!” “You sure? Two men enough for you? Does the new one scratch that little ...itch of yours?”

“Why? You want to join my tiny little house?” Jo teased back as she heard the tone moving in the other’s own voice to the same just shy of flirtatious way her own had, before she let out a laugh at the disgusted look that crossed his face at the concept. Another shudder, and Jo let out another laugh, bright and light, before the shadow pinned her with a look. Holding up her hands, and the knife pointed upright away from him in her hand, Jo smirked back at him. “Okay, fine. But still-”

“Fine, sweetie, you keep that knife in your boot and I’ll leave you to shepherding those lost little girls home. I can’t imagine your new little dog is any happier with his mistress being gone than the runt is.” Gray replied with a roll of his eyes as he gave a wicked grin at her. The next second he was gone, and Jo barely had time to roll her own until the smack on her ass surprised her and the same voice whispered against her ear, “Just this time though. Next time, I’ll want something in return.”

Jo turned to strike out at him in a knee-jerk reaction, but by the time her knife was passing through where he had been there was nothing but air and the fading sound of a laugh.

Sighing to herself, Jo rubbed at the spot that still stung slightly before she shrugged her shoulders, slipped her knife back into her boot, and then turned to move towards the gaggle of girls with a groan as she had to work out the best way to wake them back up and get them home safe and sound.

[heoneyology]

Hearts on the Line: Ch.9

A/N: Things have calmed down a bit! Heads up there’s a portion where the MC has to get stitched up, I tried not to go into too much detail.

Genre: action, angst, romance, outlaw!au

Word Count: 4925

Summary: You’ve got a debt to pay, and Wooyoung has an agenda of his own. But for your help with just one last scheme, Wooyoung is willing to allow your debt to drop off—unknown to him, though, you also have your own agenda, and a loyalty to an unspoken Other. With hearts on the line, you each will end up having to make a decision that may risk what you both thought was simply just a game.

The ride back to the base camp is uncomfortable, to say the very least. You’re barely able to stay in the saddle on your own, and so Yunho rides behind you and allows you to lean back against him, an arm snaked around your waist as he holds you upright. He leads his horse along at a gallop with the reins in his free hand. He attempts to go slow and gently, but there’s an urgency to getting you back to camp that you can understand—that doesn’t make it any more comfortable, of course.

Each movement of the horse beneath you jostles you in a way that has you clenching your teeth against the pain. Every now and again, Yunho will ask you a question softly, close to your ear. You answer each time, not really able to remember what it is he’s asking and what you’re giving an answer to. You know he’s making sure you’re conscious still and not slipping away on him.

After a while, he begins to softly hum in your ear. Despite his deep voice, it’s melodic.

You don’t fall asleep, but the sound reverberating from the back of his throat soothes you enough to make the ride pass in a way that seems too fast yet too slow at the same time. You’re unable to firmly grasp at the concept of time.

“San!” Yunho’s sudden shout pulls you back to reality. You aren’t sure how much time has passed, having been lulled into a strange state of in-between by your riding partner’s humming. “Choi San!” He yells again, this time a bit more urgently.

Yunho slides from the saddle first, keeping a firm grip on you with a single hand as he does so. You realize then that you haven’t stopped clenching your jaw since the start of the ride. Slowly relaxing, you let out a breath, mentally preparing yourself for the pain about to come. There’s a frown furrowing Yunho’s brow again.

“Careful,” he croons to you, as you position yourself slowly to assist him in getting you down from his horse. Arms wrapped around you, he slips you from the saddle. You’re about to tell him that you can walk, but he’s back to carrying you bridal style without a single shred of hesitation.

“Choi San!” Yunho yells, once more, this time the urgency hovering close to a state of panic.

A sudden thundering of hooves, followed by some faint barking, makes you peek over Yunho’s shoulder. “There,” you murmur, and Yunho turns with you in his arms. The two of you watch San ride back into camp on his palomino, a small dog haphazardly barking as it trails a little too close to the horse’s hooves, pulling up short to a stop.

“You found Shiber,” Yunho comments off-handedly, before continuing, “Did you search the camp at all? Are your supplies mostly here, still?”

San dismounts, and as he does so he shoots his hunting hound a wide grin. The last you’d seen of the canine was when the dog had been curled asleep by the fire next to a contently sleeping Yeosang and Jongho. That seemed like ages ago, now, despite it only being close to a week, maybe a week and a half. You briefly wonder if Shiber had gone missing all of a sudden—it was no unknown fact to anyone that the dog was extremely fond of his owner, and didn’t take well to moments that San was away for days on end.

That’s when you notice the state of camp. You feel your head rolling along your shoulders in imitation of an owl as you do so, attempting to crane your neck around Yunho’s frame. While the camp isn’t completely torn apart, it’s clearly disheveled, as though some sort of tussle had happened. Items have been upturned, ripped open, and contents even spread around.

What happened? You wonder, just as San asks aloud, “What happened?”

He’s right in front of the two of you then, staring down at you with a stricken expression across his face. You pull your attention from the camp to meet San’s gaze, giving a meager smile.

“When you guys taught me how to fight and fend off knife attackers, you never followed up with what to do if that person had two knives.” Your attempt at a joke is quite lame, but you hear Yunho let out some sort of scoff-like laughter, and San—though he presses his lips into a hard, displeased line—gives a good-humored head shake.

“Yes, because you weren’t actually ever supposed to get into a knife fight,” San mutters, before nodding towards the center of the camp, close to the barren fire pit, a silent instruction for Yunho. San turns away, saying, “My tent was still fine, I should have enough to stitch her up.”

Yunho follows San’s silent direction, carefully setting you down on the ground next to the fire pit. He glances around the disheveled camp, moving about to collect some fresh wood to put a fire together.

“What happened here?” You ask, turning your head enough to allow you to study the state of what had been your temporary home until then.

“We don’t know.” San is the one who answers, returning to your side with a bag. He sets it down before he crouches at your side. “Hongjoong has an idea, but it hasn’t been confirmed. Seonghwa is also missing.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was the only one who hadn’t come to town that night. Yeosang and Jongho had said that they weren’t able to extract him from his tent, pouring himself over the books he carried with him. You remembered that the first night when this all had began, Seonghwa had been focused on studying something, but you could barely remember what. Considering he hadn’t been in the line of danger at all, despite his warnings, you found yourself worried.

“So, what happened?” San asked as he set about to work, he glanced up briefly at Yunho. “Get some water boiling in a pot, since we aren’t in any immediate danger ourselves and she isn’t, I want to sanitize this wound correctly. The bleeding seems to have stopped a while ago.”

You hear a hum of acknowledgement from Yunho, before the sound of a small spark against wood touches your ears. You flinch in surprise, briefly turning your head to watch Yunho tend a campfire, doing as San instructed with the water. Letting out a sigh, you turn back to San, watching him rummage through his belongings and pull out some various vials, bottles, and instruments, until he was satisfied with the assemblage.

“Short version of the story,” you begin, too tired to give all the details. They’ll hear it again, anyway, when Hongjoong inevitably sits you down to question you. “Wooyoung had a stupid idea, I went along with the stupid idea. I was acting as a spy. Got in a scuffle with a woman from Wooyoung’s past after gathering some information. We had a physical fight, I got stabbed—” You cut yourself off, glancing up at San then, “—the blade was doused in Gila monster venom, by the way.”

San has been handed a pot of boiled water by Yunho at this point, and he’s working on carefully cleaning a regular old sewing needle he’d procured. “Oh my,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Well, how are you feeling? I hear those are nasty to deal with. They won’t kill you, but they’re insanely painful. Unfortunately you have to just ride the venom out.”

You let out a grunt. “Ride it out is exactly what I’m doing, and it’s definitely not the most pleasant experience I’ve had.”

Quirking a brow, San studies you. “You’re handling the pain quite well.”

“I think the venom numbed me, to be honest. I ache inside. The stab wound I can’t really feel unless I make a sudden movement. Feels like my body has failed on me, because I feel nothing at all.”

After the needle is sanitized to his liking, San sets it aside. “Well, I hope you’re ready to feel something, because these next few things probably won’t be pleasant.” From under a curtain of hair, he looks up at you as he hovers of you. “For now I’m just going to clean this wound. Painkiller after, before I stitch it up. Can’t do anything for the venom, your body will naturally fight that off in its own way.”

You nod, grateful that he’s at least explaining to you what he’s doing and intends to do. Lying your head back, you let out a sigh, bracing yourself as you stare up at the night sky, littered with stars. You hear the tear of cloth as San cuts away the lower half of your shirt, flinching as he gently pours the hot water Yunho had boiled over your stab wound. The liquid, despite being smooth, is uncomfortably hot as it rushes around the edges of the wound and into the cut itself. San’s bare hand moves gently over the wound, rubbing away both dried and fresh blood.

As he works, you find yourself hyper focused on what he’s doing without looking, attempting to piece together a mental image of his hand at work.

“So,” you exhale, deciding the continuation of your story will distract you, “we got into a physical fight, I got stabbed—and I’m not really sure what made me think it was a good idea, but there was this lamp on the table in the room—we were in the saloon private rooms. I started to fall, my body couldn’t hold up my weight, and so I grabbed the lantern off the table and threw it onto the floor as I fell.”

“I thought the room would set on fire,” you lie, surprised at how easily it comes to you, “but then the whole building went up in flames.”

They don’t need to know that you were aware of Jean’s plan, or that you even knew Jean. They didn’t need to know that you’d smelled the gunpowder on the floor when you’d fallen the first time, and they definitely didn’t need to know you’d planned all of that to help ensure your survival. Now that Wooyoung was possibly injured because of you—these were things they didn’t need to know.

“Well, we heard that explosion from this far off—Yunho, sit her up—and let me tell you, I don’t think it was just that saloon you were in that set on fire.”

San is easy at holding multiple conversations at once, easily talented in the art of juggling multiple thoughts swarming through his head. It was no wonder he still had a shred of sanity left. Everyone liked to tease him for thinking too much, all at once, but somehow he still was able to keep a head about him despite all the ideas he had.

Yunho does as San instructs, carefully sitting you up as San presses a cloth over your stab wound to ensure it doesn’t begin to bleed again from the movement. As you’re guided into a sitting position, you’re met with a flask practically in your face, right at the tip of your nose.

You groan. You hated alcohol.

“Time to drink away the pain. Gotta numb you up,” San gives an impish grin, knowing your dislike for the whiskey.

“Quack doctor,” Yunho mutters under his breath.

San wrinkles his nose at the other. “Hey, you’ll be saying that when I patch Rosette up here nice and good. You’re going to end up being grateful.”

“What I would have been grateful for is if you hadn’t let Hongjoong fall out of his damn saddle,” Yunho argues, “quack doctor!”

“I digress, Hongjoong chose to fall from his own saddle. I had absolutely nothing to do with that—”

“A doctor should have control over his patients!”

“How many times do I have to say I’m not even a real doctor?!” San wails, and you suddenly find a headache growing, not just for the fact that he’s literally crying in your ear—but also from their bickering. It’s something they do often, Jongho often joining them, as well. That was something that created an even bigger fiasco.

“And Hongjoong isn’t, nor was he ever, a real patient! He went to sleep after a concussion! Who does that?!”

“Who lets someone do that?” Yunho retorts.

“Okay I didn’t see you wake him up, either—”

“Wait… Hongjoong fell from his saddle? He has a concussion? What’s going on?” You’re dizzy, glancing back and forth between the two of them as they continue their squabble.

But instead of answering you, San decides at that moment, it’s perfect to drop the subject entirely. Yunho seems to be in some sort of silent agreement with him. San shakes the flask in front of your nose. “A story for another time, maybe later when you tell us the lengthened version of your own. Now, bottom’s up.”

You wrinkle your nose as he presses the flask to your mouth, though you have no choice but to part your lips and accept the whiskey. Grimacing, you close your eyes against the bitter taste. San doesn’t lower the flask, and so you’re forced to keep drinking it steadily until he seems satisfied you’ve had enough. When he tilts the flask away, you sputter and let out a cough.

It’s not instantaneous, but you can feel the aged whiskey slowly take hold of your body, a sort of vertigo beginning to build up at the forefront of your mind. You close your eyes against the sensation. “Gross,” you mutter, aware that now the back of your throat burns with the rest of your body.

“Necessary,” is San’s one word answer, as he nods to Yunho, who gently lays you back down. Before you’re completely settled, San is pressing something against your mouth again. Obliging, you part your lips, greeted by the taste of old leather. Your eyes shoot back open, and from the back of your throat you let out a complaint against the leather, lifting your hands to pry San’s away.

“You’d rather bite off your tongue?” San asks, holding the leather there firmly. Though it tastes disgusting—you have to admit to yourself that you would rather not do so. San doesn’t let go until you drop your hands, positive you’re going to concede. “I’m going to start stitching.”

You’re about to close your eyes again when Yunho is suddenly reaching forward, collecting your hands in his own.

“In case it hurts too much.” He gives your hands a small, reassuring squeeze.

“Make sure she doesn’t struggle or move,” San directs, adding to you, “please try and stay still, Rosette, even if it hurts.”

You give a curt nod, feeling your jaw tightening as your teeth clench against the leather. Just as the pinpoint of the needle touches your skin, you snap your eyes closed and find yourself squeezing Yunho’s hands. The needle slides along your skin in a smooth and effortless manner, San working quickly and efficiently. You know he’s trying his hardest to not make things worse for you, but you can’t help the whimper against the leather that escapes from you. If you were to look, you were sure you’d be gripping Yunho’s hands so hard that your knuckles were white.

From faraway, you hear Yunho begin to hum again, until his voice builds up into something a tad bit stronger, softly singing, “It was you, my shine light; true light, came with destiny…”

You focus on that soothing sound, beginning to doze off. Yunho’s singing with the vertigo swimming in your head is enough to keep you unfocused—jumping between different thoughts and feelings. The sensation of the needle and thread and San’s warm touch against your stomach, the burning fire that still lingers in your veins, back to the gentle touch of Wooyoung as he tended to your lip… wondering if Wooyoung was okay, and wishing he were here.

At some point, your body can’t handle fighting against the pain any longer. Yunho’s voice and the whiskey lull you to sleep, a more comfortable warmth settling over your body. The day had been much longer than you’d anticipated, taking a very large toll on your body and mind overall. Nothing had panned out the way you had anticipated, and at the back of your mind is a small worry about what Hongjoong will say about everything. He didn’t know about your connecting to Jean, yet a part of you was concerned he was somehow aware of the buildings in the town being prepped to go up in flame—that you knew exactly what you were doing when you’d knocked that lamp over.

There was also a worry over what Jean was going to say—or even do. Did this ruin her plans? Clearly they’d been thwarted, to an extent, since the three members you’d managed to get to the saloon were all alive and well. That also made you wonder, though, where the heck had Seonghwa gone? And why was the camp in such a state of array?

You felt guilty for being relieved that everyone that had gone to the saloon was alive and well, like you were betraying your best friend. Could you even call her that, any longer? Even with the history you shared?

At the very least, you’d gotten a name out of Monica. Mr. Kim. It narrowed absolutely nothing down, but maybe Wooyoung would be able to do something with that information. You wished you’d gone alone, like originally planned. If only you’d been the one to meet with Monica, and hadn’t dragged the guys along… maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe everyone would be alright.

You aren’t sure how long you sleep for, but the sound of voices drags you unwillingly back to consciousness and reality.

“They got caught, the both of them. They’re in a holding cell right now.” Immediately, a sense of further relief washes through you at the sound of Jongho’s voice.

“They didn’t get shot on the spot?” Yunho asks, surprised.

“Sheriff wants to do a public execution,” Yeosang’s quietly calm voice interjects into the conversation. They’re talking about Hongjoong and Wooyoung, you realize. “Everyone thinks they did it—set the town on fire.”

“But—” Mingi’s deep voice suddenly appears, seemingly out of nowhere.”

“There’s no ‘buts’ to it, Mingi. I know you don’t think it’s entirely fair. With their combined bounties? Honestly, what man with a clean name wouldn’t think they did it? It’s not exactly like the sheriff needs a cause for the crime, to kill them. We’re all outlaws here.”

When you blink your eyes open, you find yourself lying on your side. A blanket has been placed beneath you, along with one covered over you, and a pack laid beneath your head. You’re met with the sight of San’s beloved hunting hound, Shiber, lying next to you. When you stir, the dog lifts his head to sniff you, before plopping it right back down and returning to his own dozing. You reach out, resting a hand on Shiber’s side as your eyes adjust to the dark and the firelight.

The dog stirring again, this time at your touch, catches San’s attention.

“You’re awake?”

There’s a pounding in your head that makes you wish you weren’t awake, but you answer with a, “Yes, kind of. Waking up still.” The fog of what’s left of the whiskey in your system and the heaviness of the sudden sleep that had overtaken you make it a bit difficult to push past the grogginess you feel.

San’s suddenly there, hovering over you. Shiber moves out of the way, tail wagging as he stares at San with such dedication and compassion in his eyes. You kind of envy the love the dog has for the man.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hungover?” You offer with a small smile.

San chuckles, smiling enough that his cheeks dimple. He reaches forward, gently taking hold of your shoulders and guiding you to return to laying on your back. At your waist, he parts the shirt you’re wearing—you realize that it’s one of the guys’, a button-down that’s only half-buttoned, that probably belongs to Yunho since it seems to fit you so loosely and clings to your frame like a curtain rather than a shirt.

“It looks good. Bleeding has completely stopped, no signs of infection at the time,” San studies his work, “I made some poultice with some yarrow not long ago that I put to help stem the bleeding. Whiskey’s all we got for painkillers around here, so if you’re in any pain, you’re either going to have tough it out or drink up.”

You wrinkle your nose at the idea of drinking anything more, not a fan of the latter option. Toughing it out seems like the better of the two ideas, considering you seemed to have done a decent job of it earlier if you’d managed to stay on your feet through all the events that had gone down.

“Good news is I think the venom is mostly out of your system. Had quite a scare after you fell asleep, you started running a fever,” San explained, letting the material of the shirt fall back down over your exposed stomach. “For a moment I thought you’d caught an infection, but then I realized your body was seemingly sweating out the last of the venom.”

“How long have I been sleeping for?” You wonder, your voice cracking as you speak.

Instead of answering, San turns away from you for a moment to rummage through some items nearby. You glance around at what you can see without jostling yourself too much, aware that the guys seemed to have cleaned up most of the camp. San returns with a jar lid in his hand, and you squint at the thick syrup sitting on it. He reaches forward, slipping a hand behind your back. You brace yourself, helping him assist you into a sitting position.

“Take some honey for your throat, I don’t know how much smoke you inhaled,” he instructs, handing you the jar lid.

You stare at it. There were plenty of cooking utensils around this camp, and this was how he served honey to you? Lifting your eyes, you narrow them into judgmental slits aimed straight towards him.

“We’ve all shared germs here before, but we haven’t shared germs with the ground. I wasn’t about to wash some dirty dishes just so you could have a spoonful of honey. Take it.”

You supposed that made sense, considering the camp had been ransacked earlier. Sighing, you do as he commands and swallow down the sweet fluid. Immediately, it soothes your parched throat.

“Well?” You ask after testing your throat out, satisfied that it doesn’t feel as itchy when you swallow. You hand the lid back to San.

“Long enough,” Yunho answers from over San’s shoulder. You shift your seated position to turn toward the fire, to the rest of the group—Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, and Yeosang were all present.

Mingi gives you a small smile, it being the first you two have seen of each other in a while. You return it, though you have to admit that seeing the latter two’s faces eases some pent up tension you hadn’t been aware you’d been holding onto. They looked worn, hair ruffled and some smudges on their face, presumably from their escape from the fire. They seemed unscathed, though.

Yunho adds, “We’re about three hours off from midnight.”

You’d been in a daze of pain, brain addled by smoke, but you briefly remembered Hongjoong’s words. “Didn’t Hongjoong say—” Before you finish the thought, Yunho nods grimly.

“That’s not going to happen,” Jongho speaks up with a sigh. “Sheriff caught them, presumably not long after you and Yunho rode off. Yeosang and I got out of that fire pretty easily, but we stuck around the outskirts of the town—helped put some of the fires out as best as we could without getting caught ourselves, but I drank too much to really do anything worthwhile. We were waiting for you and Wooyoung. He insisted on returning for you.”

“When neither of you met up with us where Wooyoung told us to wait, we assumed the worst, so we went back into the town to take a look around. Everything’s a mess at the moment and the townspeople are pissed. That’s when we got word that Hongjoong and Wooyoung were being held at the jail,” Yeosang supplies.

Jongho nodded. “We went to check it out, just to be sure—y’know how people can talk, sometimes, especially in a small town. But sure enough they were both there. When we saw Wooyoung, we realized he must have gotten you out. We rode back here, figuring this is where you’d return to since it’s the next safest spot.”

“And that’s where we’re at now, after they kind of filled us in on what happened to you and after I came back from scouting the area,” Mingi speaks up now, a frown on his face. “Trying to figure out why Seonghwa is missing, why the camp was ransacked and who was looking for what, and what to do about Boss and Wooyoung.”

You glance around the fire at each of their faces. None of them seem particularly tired, but there’s a mental exhaustion that lingers on their faces. They’d probably been discussing this for hours, you assumed, while you’d slept off what you’d went through.

“Ideally, we have until dawn to make a decision.” You glance over in surprise at Yeosang as he offers up this information. “Public executions aren’t done until noon.”

“That’s not safe!” You protest, to everyone’s surprise. They all glance at you. “Waiting that long to make a decision is really pushing it. What if they decide to do the execution earlier? If the town thinks that Wooyoung and Hongjoong did this, then now they’ve got a bounty for arson added to their heads. If everyone is as angry as Yeosang says, then that means they’re riled up enough to take action sooner rather than later.”

Yeosang purses his lips, frowning, and turning his blue gaze toward the fire in thought.

Yunho sighs. “She’s right. It’s risky.”

“Going back into town is risky, too,” Jongho muttered from where he sat next to him.

San, who had been quiet for most of this time, speaks up. “But when haven’t we been willing to take risks?” He quirks a brow as he asks this, as though it’s the most obvious question in the world. Which, in reality—it is. “Not only that, but working in the cover of the night is better for us. Things could get messier, in more ways than one, if we wait until morning to take care of this.”

“Can I help?” You ask, glancing at San. Since he was the doctor, and your care provider currently, you figured the decision fell onto him. Not that you were about to take no for an answer.

But before he does have a chance to answer, Yunho cuts in, “No, absolutely not!”

Your head snaps toward Yunho, a glare and a frown on your face. “Why not? If I did all the work I did earlier with the stab wound open and bleeding—yet made it out fine, then why can’t I do this with the stab wound stitched closed? Plus, I’m a woman! If you need into the jail, it’ll be easiest for me.”

You turn back towards San then, raising your eyebrows at him, prompting him.

San clears his throat, giving a small one-shouldered shrug. “Well, she’s not exactly wrong…”

“Quack doctor,” Yunho growls from across the fire.

San turns toward Yunho this time, wrinkling his nose at the other. “If you keep saying that, I may fall under the impression you’ve swallowed a duck.”

Ignoring their squabbling, yet again, you turn towards Mingi. “What do you say?”

There’s already a look of concentration written across Mingi’s face. When you direct your question toward him, he glances up, pulling himself out of his thoughts. With Hongjoong gone, and Seonghwa missing—leadership fell to the next in line. Mingi was one of the three founders, one of the two co-founders, to the ATEEZ gang. That left him in charge for now. It seemed to be something he was aware of, since he’d already been deep in thought.

Everyone turns their attention to Mingi, then.

“Alright. This is what we’re going to do.” He pushes himself to his feet, “Rosette can help—”

A complaint from Yunho sounds, and Mingi glances at him, but otherwise ignores it.

“San, you’re going to accompany her, for the most part. Make sure her wound doesn’t open on the ride back in. One we get to town, it’s on you, Rosette. You’ll infiltrate the jail like you’ve suggested,” as Mingi speaks, his eyes scan and rest upon everyone surrounding the fire, even yourself.

You’re part of the team, you realize.

Have you ever actually felt uncomfortable with us? Seonghwa’s words ring in the back of your mind.

You always have been a part of their team.

“Yeosang, stay behind in case Seonghwa returns. Everyone else, saddle up. We’re leaving in the next twenty minutes. I want everyone alert and on watch. When Rosette goes into the jail, we’re her backup if anything happens. San, you stay closest to her without revealing yourself.” Mingi pauses briefly, glancing once more around the fire, “Everyone ready?”

[talesofthebnha-marvel]

Tales from Peter Parker Foreign Exchange Student: Scorpion and the hunt for the Hero killer

Somewhere in the Naruhata district, in one of the many condemned buildings in the area is currently being resided by the infamous villain team, the Sinister Six!

A group consisting entirely of Spider-mans rogues formed under an always-consistent even number. Though its members have rotated there burning hatred of the arachnid hero remains the same. Mysterio, Chameleon, Shocker, Sandman, Scorpion and Vulture are the current members of the group. Currently they are residing in the land of the Rising Sun as a favor to Mysterio involving an as yet unspecified plot for lucrative gain. Yet unbeknownst to the Sinister Six, Spider-man is also stationed in Japan as a student of U.A. High. Eventual a collision of rivals will occur, for now the members of the Six explore there new surrounding some partaking in extracurricularactivities.

Mac Gargan, alias the Scorpion looking is over a large board. On it is pinned with various newspapers and several threads crisscrossing each other like a web.

"Scorpion!" The vulture shouted from above as he descends besides Scorpion.

"What do you want Toomes?" Scorpion asked annoyed having his concentration broken.

Vulture sneered at Gargans dismissive tone.

"Our meeting with the local crime informant, Giran has been rescheduled for now Dmitri suggest we should acclimate to our new surrounding." Impatient to a response, the Vulture makes a quick turn around to see Scorpion still ignoring him.

"The least you could do Mac is make some conversation, what on earth are you researching 'Hero Killer'" Vulture scans the papers.

"Yeah its about this crazy who's been going around offing heroes or injuring them bad towards early retirement." Scorpion explained turning towards Vulture finally.

"And what offer him membership Macdonald, were already at max capacity of sociopaths with you in our group we don't need another one." Vulture mocked.

"Very funny jack-ass, but this ain't about recruitment."

"Than what exactly?"

"The WHY?" Scorpion responded to Vulture.

Vulture seemed perplexed but he reminds himself that Scorpions logic always made sense to his twisted mind.

"Every article is always the same, always asking the wrong questions." He continues.

"Who is he? How is he doing this? When will the Pro heroes stop him, (spit)." Scorpion mocked.

"No one ever asks the 'why' of his motives that's the real story the real scoop." He grins.

"Imoressive, if a bit pointless but he's a serial killer Gargan not much to glean from that. Said Vulture.

"These ain't no random killing Toomes this guy clearly has a conviction and its kinda bringing the detective side out of me, THERE!" he motions his tail on the map as he walks past Toomes grabbing his coat and hat.

Toomes looks at the city map Scorpions tail banged on the board as he sees the mark on the city, Niihama.

Its soon night in the city of Niihama, with Scorpion staking out on rooftop. Several food wrappers and soda cups are littered around him as he peers across the landscape with his binoculars. On his left a crude yet working customized police radio is broadcasting your standard police reports, all noise to his ears waiting purely for calls towards Pro heroes.

"Hrrm, what was it that Kraven always said 'to become the hunter you must think like your prey.' Scorpion recalled internally.

"This should be the place that 'Hero Killer' was last scene and knowing these 'heroes'. Scorpion said with a venomous tone at that last word.

"Them Pros will be rushing off during a crisis, I just need wait for one them to wander off into a dark alleyway and that's when Mr. Herokiller will strike."

Eventual a hero team burst into the scene as they begin a rescue operation by a nearby burning building. One of the heroes note something in an alleyway as she ventures alone.

"Bingo" Scorpion said elated.

Sometime later

Limping and bleeding out, the female hero costumed in a beetle inspired design finds herself exasperated and panic as the Hero Killer approaches. Garbed in an attire of a ninja, with mixture of red and black while his face is covered in several bandanas no doubt to reel in his unruly hair. He slowly moves in a katana in hand as he licks the blood from blade. The heroe's movements are quickly frozen in place unable to move desperately crying to herself

"Why can't I move?!" She screamed hoping her panic tears would be heard.

As she finds herself face first to the ground she can see the killer ready to thrust the blade until…

"HEY!" shouted the Scorpion across the alley as Stain looked up to see the yeller.

Reacting without thought, Stain quickly throws one of his daggers with almost lighting speed. However the Scorpion quickly counters with his mechanical tail sending the blade back as it pass his owners face right by the side of the wall. Unfazed, Stain held his ground staring at this stranger.

"Oh thank you hero please save me fro-"

"Shut up, I ain't here to save nobody especially some Beetle poser." Scorpion insulted as he cut her off using his tail to knock her out.

"I came to see you ' Hero Killer!'

"My business is not with you villain, leave me to my work or I share her fate." The killer threaten.

"Oh I ain't here to stop ya pally, I'm just a simple foreigner is all, I just got ask ya something is all." Scorpion explained.

The Hero Killer saw no ill intents from this stranger yet he could feel his aura of treachery and insanity lurking behind that false sense of camaraderie. For now he played along in order to gauge this new face.

"Very well foreigner, I am Stain ask your question and leave me to my mission."

Scorpion was a bit taken back by this 'Stain' character and pissed off. How dare he makes threats to me, Scorpion thought. But he remembers to keep his cool, he's Mac Gargan the detective first and Scorpion second on this case.

"Okay Stain, the names Scorpion." He introduced.

"I've been looking ya over for some time now trying to figure your M.O. all them heroes you killed or injured no relations what so ever. Yet one thing is common there all heroes. Its clearly not about the money, no real motive for payback and clearly puck and choose who lives and dies." Scorpion explained trying to inflate his ego as a detective.

"GET TO THE POINT!" Stain grew impatient.

Scorpion frowned holding back his gritted teeth from showing from Stains yelling.

"I was getting to that 'friend'." Said Scorpion losing his demeanor.

"Why? What are trying to accomplish offing off these loser heroes?" Scorpion asked in a serious tone.

Stain smiled a cold smile as he sheathed his sword.

"You are correct, I seek no monetary gain nor have these so called 'heroes' wronged me in the past." Stain confirmed Scorpions deduction.

"I seek out the false heroes that solely use there powers for wealth and fame, putting the needs of the people second for there own ambitions while ignoring there obligations as public servants first." Stain explains.

"Its an insult that they call themselves heroes, I have made it my mission to cleanse this world of false heroes, I will never stop for only All Might is worthy of the title hero! Only his sense of justice will I allow to bring about my defeat!" Stain continues as he slowly ramps up his rant.

"Does that answer your curiosity?"

Scorpion felt a bit taken back by the hero killer almost as if Stains aura swallowed him whole, trying to hold his ground Mac composes himself taking a quick breath to ease his nerves.

"And people say I'm crazy." Scorpion mocked.

Stain narrowed his eyes at Scorpion, annoyed by his flippant tone.

"Listen I hate these wannabe heroes as much as the next guy, but at the end of the day no chump can just live off good will and samaritan service."

"People gotta eat, pay taxes and all that other bureaucratic crap we can't all live up to that high horse ideal of the perfect hero crap, so you can stick your bull% $# college thesis up your $$ pally loser!" Scorpions retorted.

"Thanks for wasting my time." Scorpion walks away as he turns his back spitting at a trash can in a disrespectful manner as he makes a leap to the neareat fire escape ladder.

"Come back please, DON'T LEAVE ME!" The pro hero awakens begging for Scorpions help.

"F $# OFF LOSER!" Scorpion continues move on unmoved by the heroes cries.

"Foreigner villain, what does he know of our way in the end they will all learn." As he prepares to lunge his blade, Stain halts his action as he hears the voices of the oncoming team members of his victim closing in. Disappearing without trace he says to himself.

"Another time a different place, perhaps I'll visit Hosu."

Back at the rundown apartment, an enraged Scorpion storms the front entrance annoyed and pissed off.

"So how did it go?" Vulture said with a dry uninteresting tone.

"Pretentious looking ninja turtle with f #$ing delusions of grandeur!" Scorpion replied with a pissed off attitude.

"Sounds lame, you kick his ass?" Sandman asked.

"No"

"You steal his wallet?" Asked Shocker concerned.

"No!" Scorpion said again.

"So in other words a complete waste of time and effort, I'll be needing a receipt for your purchases." Chameleon prioritizing his funds.

"F $# off you losers, it wasn't all total loss." Scorpion grinned.

"Oh so their was a silver lining to this wasted ordeal of yours than?" Mysterio echoed behind his dome.

"People always underestimated me thinking I'm just some joke like you dorks, (except you Sandman.)" Sandman responds with a middle finger.

"But this event just reminded me, I'm still a damn good detective!" Scorpion unveils several headshot photos of different pro heroes.

"I've got a lot of dirty secrets to expose on these "so called heroes" and what better practice is there than in Japan!" Scorpion said ecstatically.

—–

Based on Tumblr @alexdrawsagain comic

Peter parker: foreign exchange student

[sleepwalker-in-me]

Silver and Dancer

Dany and Bran book parallels - part 6

1) Coloring of Dany’s Silver and Bran’s Summer are described similarly. 

Bran's Summer came last. He was silver and smoke, with eyes of yellow gold that saw all there was to see. ( A Game of Thrones - Bran IV)

She was grey as the winter sea, with a mane like silver smoke. ( A Game of Thrones - Daenerys II)

2) Naming their horses.

It is interesting that their horses names are derived from phrase Drogo and Tyrion say about them. Drogo says it in relation to Dany’s hair and Tyrion says it in relation to Bran’s legs.

He touched her neck lightly, and the small chestnut filly started forward. Bran had named her Dancer. ( A Game of Thrones - Bran V)

"You're asking a lame man to teach a cripple how to dance," Tyrion said. "However sincere the lesson, the result is likely to be grotesque. Still, I know what it is to love a brother, Lord Snow. I will give Bran whatever small help is in my power." ( A Game of Thrones - Tyrion III)

Hesitantly she reached out and stroked the horse's neck, ran her fingers through the silver of her mane. Khal Drogo said something in Dothraki and Magister Illyrio translated. "Silver for the silver of your hair, the khal says." ( A Game of Thrones - Daenerys II)

3) Learning to ride their horses.

Dancer is specially trained for Bran according to specifications given by Tyrion while Silver is a gift from Drogo. Both horses movements are described as smooth and silk like. Dany and Bran fell like they are flying when galloping. They also becomes more confident with their riding abilities as they become attached to their horses. Joseth and Irri are assigned to teach them to ride , but their horses have a natural connection that makes it easier.

She was two years old, and Joseth said she was smarter than any horse had a right to be. They had trained her special, to respond to rein and voice and touch. Up to now, Bran had only ridden her around the yard. At first Joseth or Hodor would lead her, while Bran sat strapped to her back in the oversize saddle the Imp had drawn up for him, but for the past fortnight he had been riding her on his own, trotting her round and round, and growing bolder with every circuit. ..Bran's cloak billowed out, rippling in the wind, and the snow seemed to rush at his face. Robb was well ahead, glancing back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure Bran and the others were following. He snapped the reins again. Smooth as silk, Dancer slid into a gallop. The distance closed. By the time he caught Robb on the edge of the wolfswood, two miles beyond the winter town, they had left the others well behind. "I can ride!" Bran shouted, grinning. It felt almost as good as flying. ( A Game of Thrones - Bran V)

She was only a fair rider; she had spent far more time traveling by ship and wagon and palanquin than by horseback. Praying that she would not fall off and disgrace herself, she gave the filly the lightest and most timid touch with her knees. ...The silver-grey filly moved with a smooth and silken gait, and the crowd parted for her, every eye upon them. Dany found herself moving faster than she had intended, yet somehow it was exciting rather than terrifying. The horse broke into a trot, and she smiled. Dothraki scrambled to clear a path. The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. She sent it into a gallop, and now the Dothraki were hooting and laughing and shouting at her as they jumped out of her way. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. They were hemmed in on either side, with no room to stop. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.The silver horse leapt the flames as if she had wings.( A Game of Thrones - Daenerys II)    

The khal had commanded the handmaid Irri to teach Dany to ride in the Dothraki fashion, but it was the filly who was her real teacher.  ( A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III)

4) Hailed by people.

Both their horses are hesitant to step into the crowd but their owners urge them on. Bran recognizes that people are really applauding his family and he feels proud about that. Dany is being applauded for her own merit and she embraces her people as her children. 

The low stone steps balked Dancer only for a moment. When Bran urged her on, she took them easily. Beyond the wide oak-and-iron doors, eight long rows of trestle tables filled Winterfell's Great Hall, four on each side of the center aisle. Men crowded shoulder to shoulder on the benches. "Stark!" they called as Bran trotted past, rising to their feet. "Winterfell! Winterfell!"He was old enough to know that it was not truly him they shouted for—it was the harvest they cheered, it was Robb and his victories, it was his lord father and his grandfather and all the Starks going back eight thousand years. Still, it made him swell with pride.( A Clash of Kings - Bran III)  

"Mhysa!" they called. "Mhysa! MHYSA!" They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. "Maela," some called her, while others cried "Aelalla" or "Qathei" or "Tato," but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother.The chant grew, spread, swelled. It swelled so loud that it frightened her horse, and the mare backed and shook her head and lashed her silver-grey tail. It swelled until it seemed to shake the yellow walls of Yunkai. More slaves were streaming from the gates every moment, and as they came they took up the call. They were running toward her now, pushing, stumbling, wanting to touch her hand, to stroke her horse's mane, to kiss her feet. Her poor bloodriders could not keep them all away, and even Strong Belwas grunted and growled in dismay.Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. "They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!"( A Storm of Swords - Daenerys IV)  

[drjeandoddspethealthresource]

Valley Fever on the Rise

The Basics

Valley Fever (also known as coccidioidomycosis) is caused by the fungi Coccidioides immitis and posadasii.

Coccidioides spp. lives in the soil in predominately semi-arid climates such as Southwestern United States, Southeastern Washington State, Central and South America.

When the soil is disturbed, the fungus can break apart and its spores become airborne. When inhaled, Coccidioides spp. can cause Valley Fever in people and animals. It is especially dangerous and can be fatal when infection occurs during pregnancy.

Rare transmission can occur from an organ transplant, if the organ donor had Valley Fever; inhaling spores from a wound infected with Coccidioides spp., and even contact with objects (such as rocks or shoes) that have been contaminated with Coccidioides spp..

While many animals like cats and horses are susceptible to Valley Fever, the disease particularly affects dogs.

Early symptoms of Valley Fever in dogs: coughing, fever, rashes on skin and extremities, weight loss, lack of appetite and reduced energy.

Can develop into pneumonia.

Disseminated Valley Fever symptoms: lameness or swelling of limbs, back or neck pain (with or without weakness/paralysis), seizures and other manifestations of brain swelling, soft abscess-like swelling under the skin, swollen lymph nodes, non-healing skin wounds that ooze fluid, eye inflammation with pain or cloudiness, unexpected heart failure in a young dog, swollen testicles.

Treatment for dogs involves prescribed antifungal medications for 6-12 months. Dogs with disseminated Valley Fever usually require longer courses of medication. If the central nervous system is affected, lifetime treatment with medication is typically needed to keep symptoms from recurring.

The Big Picture

Let’s step back a second and look at Southeastern Washington state, as Valley Fever was only recently discovered in this regional outlier. The distance from pretty much the center of Valley Fever’s highly endemic area, Maricopa County, Arizona, to Walla Walla County, Washington is almost 1,300 miles. Even if we map from suspected endemic Esmerelda County in Nevada to Walla Walla County, the distance is over 750 miles.

How did the Coccidioides spp. fungus get to Washington state?

Dr. Jack Rogers, a mycology professor emeritus at Washington State University, speculates, “Changing weather conditions, population sprawl that disrupts the soil and a possible rodent host moving northward in search of habitat could explain Cocci’s presence in Washington.” Tom Chiller, an expert from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), would agree that population sprawl leading to soil disruption is probably the case, but that theory supports his contention that Coccidioides spp. has always been there. The scary thing is: we really don’t know how Coccidioides spp. got there or if it was already there.

While experts debate whether Coccidioides spp. is spreading or intrinsic to an area, experts and the CDC postulate – almost affirmatively – that the ongoing dramatic changes in climate are causing more cases of Valley Fever in humans and dogs. The CDC states:

“Coccidioides spp. is thought to grow best in soil after heavy rainfall and then disperse into the air most effectively during hot, dry conditions. For example, hot and dry weather conditions have been shown to correlate with an increase in the number of Valley Fever cases in Arizona and in California. The ways in which climate change may be affecting the number of Valley Fever infections, as well as the geographic range of Coccidioides spp., isn’t known yet, but is a subject for further research.

Although most cases of Valley Fever are not associated with outbreaks, Valley Fever outbreaks linked to a common source do occasionally occur, particularly after events that disturb large amounts of soil. Past outbreaks have occurred in military trainees, archeological workers, solar farm workers, and in people exposed to earthquakes and dust storms.“

Climate change deniers may state that severe weather changes are not directly correlated to the increased diagnosis of Valley Fever, but rather it’s the increased awareness on the part of physicians and veterinarians to test for the disease. We do not disagree that awareness is a vital component for proper diagnosis, but do believe weather is also a crucial and vital component.

Yet, beyond weather and awareness, what else could be causing a difference between infection and illness?

We have written extensively about how two dogs could be in the same environment and exposed to the same conditions, but one contracts something and the other does not. In terms of Valley Fever, the University of Arizona Valley Fever Center of Excellence (VFCE) conducted a study in 2005. Their results affirm this scenario.

Incidence of Infection Study in Dogs

VFCE enrolled dogs from veterinary practices in Pima and Maricopa counties in Arizona. The researchers’ analysis demonstrated that dogs raised from birth in these Arizona counties have a 28% chance of being infected with the Coccidioides spp. fungi by two years of age. The probability of infection is 11% in the first year of life and 17% in the second year of life.

Dogs raised from birth in Pima or Maricopa county have a 6% probability of becoming sick with Valley Fever by 2 years of age: 2% in the first year and 4% in the second year.

From these results, the researchers estimate that about 4% of dogs will become sick with Valley Fever on an annual basis.

70% (42/60) of the dogs in this study had positive tests but were not sick from the infection. While the researchers believe that most of these subclinically infected dogs go on to become permanently immune, they would have liked to follow the blood test positive, healthy dogs for several more years to determine if the infection would flare into illness in the future.

In terms of humans, the CDC states that anyone at any age is at risk, but that common at-risk human populations are 60 years and older. Importantly, pregnant women, people with diabetes, and people with weakened immune systems are at higher risk of developing severe forms of Valley Fever.  

Additionally, we do know that people who work outside in professions such as construction or agriculture are at higher risk. But, is this population at higher risk due to the density of fungal dust, exposure in terms of length of time, weakened immune systems. or all of the above? We just do not know.  

For dogs, the VFCE is conducting very important research regarding the immune response to Valley Fever as well as in developing a vaccine.

Yet, could something else besides, or along with, the immune system be contributing to the seemingly randomized rate of Valley Fever illness in dogs?

A different research study, the Canine Valley Fever Project (CVFP), hypothesizes that epigenetics is also involved with the development, progression and severity of Valley Fever infections in pets and people.

The simplest definition of epigenetics is "on top of" genetics. It refers to external modifications to DNA that turn genes "on" or "off." These modifications do not change the DNA sequence, but affect gene expression. So, environment, exercise, food, etc. all influence gene expression, which could trigger illness or suppress it.    

The formal study objectives of the CVFP study are:

To evaluate a dog's breed, nutrition, health, environment, symptoms and disease resistance as compared with serology and hematology test results.

To better assess the number of dogs that are healthy but considered exposed to the Cocci organism or asymptomatic.

To obtain more accurate data on titers as compared to the severity of infection.

To stage and better formalize the standard of care across the board.

To provide faster and more efficient diagnosis of Valley Fever.

To study disease reduction as compared with drug protocols, diet and other lifestyle factors.

To increase awareness in pet owners and reduce misdiagnosis in the veterinary community.

To develop a registry and teaching tool to better serve both.

CVFP is actively looking for voluntary participants from around the United States. Even if your dog has never been to an endemic state, the information will help provide a baseline. Pet caregivers will need to complete a detailed questionnaire throughout the duration of the study. This questionnaire will help determine numerous significant and correlating factors regarding disease manifestation and management.

As an incentive and reward for participation, pet owners that enroll will be able to purchase discounted Valley Fever testing at http://www.caninevalleyfeverproject.com.

W. Jean Dodds, DVM Hemopet / NutriScan 11561 Salinaz Avenue Garden Grove, CA 92843

References

“Canine Valley Fever Project.” Canine Valley Fever Project, http://www.caninevalleyfeverproject.com/.

Coccidioides. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 22 May 2017, http://www.cdc.gov/fungal/diseases/coccidioidomycosis/index.html.

“Valley Fever in Dogs.” University of Arizona Valley Fever Center for Excellence, http://www.vfce.arizona.edu/valley-fever-dogs.

Weiford, Linda. “Illness-Causing Fungus Spreads to Washington State.” WSU Insider, Washington State University, 5 May 2014, http://www.news.wsu.edu/2014/05/05/illness-causing-fungus-spreads-to-washington-state/.

[eternalstereksecretsanta]

Jingle Balls

captainpettie | AO3 | Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy your gift and have a wonderful Christmas and New Year. 

Rated T for some language.

A Sterek fic wrapped up in a big Christmas bow. Stiles and Derek are rival bookshop owners, but that might change when Stiles finds Derek alone on Christmas Eve.

“Why is Derek Hale outside?”

Stiles’ head snapped up, bashing against the shelf above him.  He swore, loudly, and dropped the stack of books he was holding so he could cradle his skull, wincing as he straightened from his crouch.

From her perch on a chair a few feet away, balancing precariously with one foot on the back of it so she could reach the ceiling, Allison raised a slightly judgemental eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t rush,” she teased, tone mild. 

Stiles grumbled, rubbing the knot of pain on the top of his head as he approached the front of the store.  Derek Hale was outside, hands shoved in his coat pockets as he glared at the front of Stiles’ bookstore.  For a second, it looked like Derek was scowling through the glass windows at Stiles, which wasn’t actually that unusual, but then he realized Derek was looking at the huge Christmas tree Stiles and his staff had spent all morning setting up in front of the windows.  Sure, it wasn’t the classiest of Christmas trees; it was kind of gaudy looking, with bright, twinkling lights casting multicolored hues onto the glass, and way too much tinsel.  But Stiles thought it looked great.

Stiles folded his arms, frowning.  Derek rarely ventured this far down the street.  He seemed to get hives just being in the general vicinity of Stiles’ store, which was fine, because Stiles always took the long route home so he didn’t have to walk past Derek’s sorry excuse for a bookstore. 

He glanced over at Scott.  He was pouring a drink for a customer in the Coffee Corner, but he was watching Stiles, waiting to see how this played out.

Finally, Derek snapped his gaze away from the tree and marched towards the door, pushing it open; the bell that Stiles had installed above it chimed a tinny version of Jingle Bells and Derek’s head shot up to glare at it, appalled.

“You’re letting the cold in,” Stiles snapped.

Derek let go of the door, letting it shut with a clatter loud enough to echo through the store.  Several customers looked up, startled, and Stiles narrowed his eyes as Derek approached him.  He stopped right in front of Stiles, but his gaze was elsewhere, taking in the whole bookstore.  Specifically, the Christmas decorations that Allison, Kira and Danny were still hanging up. 

It had been expensive, but it was Stiles’ first Christmas since he opened Hobbit Hole in January and he was overwhelmingly happy of its success, so he’d gone all out on decorations.  Mistletoe, stars dangling from the ceiling, tinsel, strings of Christmas lights, a mini Christmas tree in the Coffee Corner, stockings and wreaths, little gingerbread men and elves and Santa and reindeer statues.  There was a book igloo and Santa’s Grotto in the children’s section and Scott had come up with some amazing festive drinks and baked goods.  It was a little much, maybe, but Stiles thought it looked nice; bright and twinkly and festive.  He could just imagine how warm and inviting it would look from the street now the nights were drawing in so early and the weather was cold and due to snow.  Plus, the Christmas period would mean lots more customers wanting to buy books, especially for children, so jazzing it up to make it look festive and fun would make people want to buy them from his store.

And it was Christmas.  He loved Christmas and he loved the decorations, so Derek and his disgruntled expression could suck his jingle balls.

Derek’s gaze landed on Stiles’ sweater.  Stiles crossed his arms over it protectively, then dropped them again, because he was proud of this year’s Christmas sweater.  It had Chewbacca wearing a Santa hat with Christmas lights wrapped in his face fur.  It was cool.  All of his staff were wearing Christmas sweaters too; he didn’t have a uniform.  He didn’t like them.  Scott, Allison, Kira and Danny were his friends, so they could wear what they wanted, and the vibe worked with the sort of store Stiles owned, so customers didn’t really care.  But they’d all agreed to wear Christmas sweaters.

“What,” Derek demanded, “Are you doing?”

“Christmas decorations, Derek,” Stiles replied slowly. “I don’t know if they celebrated Christmas in whichever lab you were grown in, but most people like to put up festive decorations in December.”

“It’s the first.”

“Right, of December,” Stiles said. “Ergo, decorations. What do you want, dude?”

He watched Derek grind his teeth, barely biting a smirk.  It usually took a little more needling to get Derek this irritated, but he knew Derek hated the word ‘dude’. 

Gotcha, he thought smugly.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Scott shake his head slightly, but he kept his gaze on Derek, staring him down.  Patience wasn’t really his thing, and keeping quiet and still definitely weren’t either, but he waited Derek out, knowing it would annoy him even more.

So he was petty.  Sue him.

Finally, Derek grit out, “The power will be out on Thursday. They’re doing works.”

Stiles frowned slightly. “I know?” he said, confused. “They sent me the exact same letter, Derek. Every business on the block got it. I’m gonna close the store for the day.” He paused. “Wait, what, are you visiting every business on this street to tell them? That’s…surprisingly social of you, are you feeling okay?”

Derek’s expression turned to thunder. “I just wasn’t sure if you could read,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm, and he turned, marching towards the door.

“That’s not even a decent insult, Derek!” Stiles called after him. “I own a bookstore.”

The only answer he got was the door slamming shut, rattling in the frame from the force of it.  Stiles craned his head to watch Derek storm off down the street, then threw his hands up, walking over to the Coffee Corner. 

“That was weird,” he said, leaning on the counter to watch Scott carefully stack some cups. “That was weird, right?”

“Maybe he just wanted to see you,” Kira said with a smile as she walked past, a long bit of tinsel dangling after her.  The bells on her reindeer antlers jingled with each step.

“Right,” Stiles said, scoffing slightly. “Yeah, actually, I wouldn’t put it past him to come in just to annoy me. He acts like he owns the world’s highest horse, but he’s just as petty as me, I know it.”

Scott shook his head slightly, a smile tugging at his mouth.

***

It wasn’t like Stiles had intentionally opened Hobbit Hole on the same street as another bookstore.  It just kinda…happened.  It was just the logical choice, economically and geographically; it was the best sized building for his store without being charged an indecent amount of rent for the space, and it was only a fifteen minute walk from his apartment, so he didn’t have to rely on his not-so-trusty-these-days jeep to get him there every day. 

Plus, it was on one of the main streets in town, so it was where the most foot traffic was.  More people would see his store.  And it was a pretty street.  Everything just kinda came together and if there happened to be competition on the same street, well…that wasn’t really his fault.  Besides, he’d seen loads of independent stores selling the same things on the same street, some even right next to each other.  At least there were six other stores between him and Derek.

So he’d figured it wouldn’t a big deal.

Except Derek Hale, the owner of Hale Books – and what kind of boring, lame-ass store name was that? – was kind of a dick.  An antisocial, stuck-in-his-ways dick.  He hadn’t even bothered to hide his disdain when he saw Stiles’ store, with its vibrant front and awesome hobbit hole themed sign – which Danny had spent ages designing for him, so Derek could shove it – and bright, modern interior.  He’d looked appalled at the children’s section with its chaos of tiny plastic chairs and crayons and puzzle books, rolled his eyes at the comic books section, looked irritated at the section full of gifts, board games and stationary, and downright disgusted at the tiny coffee shop. 

It was everything Derek hated in a bookstore.  It was sacrilege against the sanctity of books and traditional bookshops.  It was the exact opposite of Derek’s own store and he hadn’t even bothered to bite back his snarky remarks about it when they’d first met.

Derek Hale was handsome.  Frustratingly so.  Everything he did was attractive, or, worse, adorable.  Even when he was glaring at him, Stiles had to admit, it was a gorgeous glare.  But his appreciation for Derek’s…everything had pretty much gone out of the window when they first met and he realized how much of a jerk Derek was.

And, hey, he wasn’t exactly a fan of Derek’s store either, with its bland name and bland store front, its cramped shelves filled with old, dusty books, and the complete lack of anything modern or comforting, like wifi, or coffee, or, you know, staff.  Derek ran it by himself and how it kept going, Stiles had no idea, because he was pretty sure there wasn’t a single book in there that had been published in the last decade and Derek himself wasn’t exactly warm or inviting.

They were the exact opposite of each other.  Derek hated Stiles’ loudness, his confidence, his vocabulary, the way he moved his hands when he talked, his stupid jokes and his smirk and his insistence that modern was the way forward, trampling over anything traditional about bookstores.  Stiles hated Derek’s arrogance, his quiet disdain, his snobbish, stubborn, stick-in-the-mud attitude that he was right and his way was better, he hated his refusal to even acknowledge that Stiles’ bookstore worked for a lot of people, and he hated how attractive Derek was because sometimes it made him hard to focus on how much he loathed Derek’s scowl.

So they resolved to ignore each other, pouring that rivalry into trying to better each other’s sales.  Stiles was pretty sure he was winning on that front, but Derek definitely had his loyal customers, and there usually was a decent, steady flow of people going in and out.

Not that he was watching Derek’s store.

Obviously.

The few times they did interact were to bug one another, winding each other up until they snapped and argued, and, inevitably, a door was slammed. 

Stiles didn’t really get why he let it go on.  Pettiness, definitely, and his own stubborn streak that made him determined to win this ridiculous rivalry. 

And maybe, if Stiles was being honest, there was a small part of him that liked having Derek’s focus completely on him, if only for a few, heated minutes.

***

Stiles didn’t see Derek for the rest of the run up to Christmas, though that small, petty part of him did hope that Derek could hear the Christmas songs Stiles played all day every time the door opened.

He didn’t get much time to think about Derek, though.  He was rushed off his feet every day, either running around helping Christmas shoppers find what they needed, or on his feet behind the counter for hours serving customer after customer, or helping Scott out in the café. 

It was good, their sales were through the roof, and Stiles couldn’t be happier.  He loved Christmas and he loved sharing his love for books and the festive period with both his friends and with the people who came into the store.

But he was also incredibly tired.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, he was ready to sleep for a month.  His feet ached, his eyes felt hot and heavy, and he just wanted his bed.  He’d sent the others home early; he was closing the store at four instead of eight, but since no one was really coming in anyway, he’d let them go to enjoy Christmas Eve. 

Stiles didn’t mind being on his own for a couple of hours.  He was spending Christmas Eve alone in his apartment, since he wasn’t driving to his dad’s until tomorrow morning.  He read, mostly, keeping himself awake, and served the occasional customer who rushed in looking for a last minute gift.  At four, he flipped the sign on the door to closed and locked up. 

He cleaned and tidied, switched off the lights, and went into the small staff room to grab his stuff.  It had been snowing heavily over the last few days, so Stiles had started wearing his boots to work and switching to his more comfortable sneakers once he was inside.  He dropped down onto the couch to swap shoes, but the second his body hit the comfy, slightly overstuffed sofa, exhaustion seemed to crush him to the spot.

He let his body tilt sideways, curling up on the couch, and closed his eyes.  Just for a moment. 

He woke with drool crusted on his face and eyelids that felt glued shut from sleep.  He grimaced, rubbing at his face until he felt a little more human, and pulled his reluctant body up until he was sitting.  The lights in the staff room had shut off automatically, the only light coming from the street, casting a hazy yellow glow into the room.  Snow was dancing down outside and Stiles yawned, fumbling until he found his phone to check the time.

10pm.  He groaned.  The walk home would be cold and wet and he’d just about have time to grab some food before catching some more sleep. 

He stood, switching his shoes for his boots, and bundled up in his winter gear, grabbing his bag.  He left, locking the door behind him, and stepped onto the sidewalk, immediately sinking ankle deep into the snow.

It was dark and silent.  Everyone was at home, in the warmth, enjoying their Christmas Eve.  Not even a single car trundled past.  It was peaceful and almost comforting, actually.  It kind of felt like magic in the air.

He started to turn to the right to start his walk home, but something caught his eye.  All of the stores were dark, the owners having closed up and gone home, except for one.  A dim light inside spilled out onto the sidewalk, making the snow almost glitter.  Stiles knew, of course, exactly which store it was, and he urged his feet to keep going right, to just walk home.

Instead, he found himself pulled towards Hale Books.  He told himself that he was just going to check Derek hadn’t left the lights on or, like, fallen and brained himself or something and lifted his chin slightly, doing his best to believe it as he stopped outside of the store.

He immediately saw Derek.

He was sat on a stool by the counter, completely enraptured in the book in his hands.  The lights had been dimmed to be less intrusive, casting the store in a soft, hazy glow.  It looked warm and inviting, Stiles had to admit.  Derek looked warm and inviting, wearing a burgundy sweater with freaking thumb holes, his face soft and relaxed as he read. 

Stiles yanked his gaze away. 

The sign on the door still said Open.  Stiles stared at it for a moment, then glanced back at Derek.  A tiny little smile pulled at his lips as he read.  Stiles had never seen Derek smile before – not a real one, anyway; the smiles he saw ranged from sarcastic and disdainful to simply faking it to be polite to customers, and while incredibly handsome, it was just a little too sharp, too painful, almost, to be believed – and for some inexplicable reason, it was the sight of it that made Stiles finally step forward, pushing open the door.

A bell – a normal one, unlike Stiles’ festive monstrosity – chimed softly as he stepped inside.  Derek quickly shut the book and looked up, his polite how-can-I-help smile (like broken glass, Stiles thought, exhaustion fogging his brain, broken edged, damaged) morphing to a look of irritation when he realized who it was.

“What do you want?” he asked.  His tone lacked its usual snap, though.  Instead, he just sounded tired.

“What are you even doing open?” Stiles asked, bewildered. “Dude, its ten o’clock on Christmas Eve.”

Derek looked away, placing the book he’d been reading onto the small counter.  He shrugged. “Figured I’d stay open. There’s always some idiot running around looking for last minute gifts.”

“Yeah, not at this hour, buddy,” Stiles said, shaking his head.

Derek kept his gaze fixed somewhere over Stiles’ shoulder. “Yeah, well, I don’t mind. I don’t have anyone to spend Christmas Eve with, so.”

Rivals or not, Stiles’ heart ached.  He gazed at Derek for a few minutes, unsure of what to say, but when he did finally open his mouth, he realized he’d made his decision the second Derek had spoken.

“Cool, well, I’m not spending Christmas Eve with anyone either, so…” He worded it carefully, not spending it with anyone as opposed to no one to spend it with, not wanting to make Derek feel like a pity party, or like he was being pandered to. 

He took off his hat, shoving it into his bag with one hand and running the fingers of the other through his hair as he sat down on the stool. 

Derek stared at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“C’mon, man, you can’t kick me out on Christmas Eve. Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Stiles replied, offering his best wide eyed look.  When Derek just frowned at him, he added, “Don’t be a Scrooge, dude.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude’,” Derek said.  He was obviously aiming for exasperation, but his tone ended up sounding more resigned, and Stiles grinned in victory as Derek sat down on the other stool.

He watched Derek pick up his book again and resolved to be quiet.  After just a couple of minutes of silence broken only by the occasional turn of a page, Stiles started to fidget, foot tapping on the bar of the stool, fingers twitching on the counter.  Derek lifted his head slightly, shooting him a glare, and Stiles held up his hands, getting back to his feet.

He walked around the store, peering at the shelves.  Derek’s store was a lot smaller, but the shelves were more cramped with books, so it took a while.  It was a lot more neatly organized than Hobbit Hole, though.  He pulled the occasional book out, flicking through it curiously, before returning it carefully to its place.  He caught Derek watching him a couple of times and figured Derek was worried about him creating a mess, so he was incredibly careful not to.

Eventually, he made his way back to the counter. “It’s so cold in here,” he said. “Don’t you have heating?”

Derek wordlessly pointed to a cast iron dinosaur of a radiator.  The heat it emitted barely touched the cold air a few feet away from it and it looked about two seconds away from dying completely.

“What the hell is that?”

“A radiator, Stiles,” Derek replied impatiently.

“Yeah, but…outdated, much? Wait, what am I talking about, outdated is practically your middle name.” Stiles said, then widened his eyes and held up his hands when Derek’s gaze snapped up to him. “No, sorry, that was offensive, I know. I just…jeez, aren’t you cold?”

Derek paused, fingertips idly stroking the spine of his book, and Stiles had stop watching because the sight made his traitor of a body tingle.

“A little,” Derek admitted. “It’s usually warmer than this, but the heating keeps going off today.”

Stiles frowned. “Right, we’re going to my place.” Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles absolutely did not go red, not even a little bit. “My store, Derek.”

Derek looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “Why?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Stiles griped, grabbing his bag and hat again. “My store gives you hives, it’s a disgrace to the sanctity of bookstores, etcetera, etcetera, but I’m cold, you’re cold, and my store has a heating system that didn’t become obsolete in the sixties and hot drinks. So whaddaya say?”

He expected Derek to put up more of an argument, or even just outright refuse and kick him out, but to his surprise, Derek just nodded, getting to his feet.

“Wait here.” He disappeared through a door behind the counter.  When he returned, he was bundled up in a coat, hat and scarf, even gloves, soft looking knitted grey ones.

Adorable, Stiles thought, the jerk.

He hovered as Derek switched everything off and locked up, then lead him down the street, back to his own store.  He opened the door and quickly switched off the alarm as he ushered Derek inside, locking the door again.

Derek found a seat in the Coffee Corner as Stiles flicked on all of the lights and turned on the heating.  By the time he’d made two hot chocolates – extra marshmallows for Derek, he looked like he needed it – and carried them to the table, the store was warm enough for them both to shed their outdoor layers.

Derek looked at his mug for a moment, then wordlessly popped a marshmallow into his mouth.

“So,” Stiles said, after a minute of silence ticked by. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Derek said nothing.  He glared at the mistletoe hanging above the coffee counter like it had personally offended him. 

“It looks like one of Santa’s elves threw up in here.”

Stiles barked a surprised, pleased laugh. “Well, merry fuck you to you too, Derek.”

Derek’s mouth twitched slightly and he folded his arms, leaning back.  Stiles filled the silence by slurping his hot chocolate.  Derek just watching him, 100% judging him, but he didn’t say a word.

“You really don’t like Christmas, do you?” Stiles said, voice soft.

Derek glanced at the tree, watching the lights twinkle for a moment. “I used to.”

There was so much grief and longing in those three words that Stiles knew, instantly, that he needed to drop that line of conversation.  He searched around desperately for something to say that would ease the horrible, heartbroken look on Derek’s face, but before he could blurt anything out, Derek spoke again.

“My family,” he said, pausing for a second to gather himself before continuing, “The store was my mom and dad’s. They opened it shortly after they got married. Me and my siblings, we grew up running around the bookshelves and reading the books in the corner when mom or dad were busy with customers.”

Stiles could imagine it, a tiny Derek with skinned knees and gapped teeth and a mop of dark hair, tucked under a table reading, lost in his own little world.  He smiled. “That’s nice.”

“They died.”

Stiles’ ribs constricted. “Derek…”

“All of them, they died. There was a fire. I came home and they were gone. All of them.” Derek bit out the words, the pain it took to say each one of them clear on his face. “I was the only one left. Just me. That’s why I’m spending Christmas alone. There’s no one else, not anymore.”

Stiles’ heart hurt.  He reached out, resting his hand on Derek’s forearm, just wanting to take that pain and grief and longing that was on Derek’s face, to feel it so Derek wouldn’t have to.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Derek’s mouth turned up slightly into that jagged, bitter smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

“No,” Stiles said, almost urgently. “I know everyone says that. I know how much it makes you sick to hear it after the hundredth time. I know. But…I am. My mom…she died when I was a kid. Cancer. I know it’s not…I know what you went through…it’s different, I know that, but I get it, and no one deserves to go through that. I’m sorry.”

Derek stared at him for a long second.  Just stared.  His eyes glittered with unshed tears and his lips parted slightly, and he just looked, straight into Stiles’ eyes, stealing Stiles’ breath. 

“Thank you,” he said, finally, voice quiet and rough.

Stiles realized he still had his fingers curled around Derek’s arm, that he’d leant in and was gazing into Derek’s eyes, and he cleared his throat, pulling back with a soft smile.  He looked down at his hot chocolate, swirling it so the marshmallow shifted around on the surface.  It didn’t hit him until a few minutes later.

Because of course.  He was such an idiot.  An insensitive dick of an idiot.

 No wonder Derek didn’t want to update the book store.  If everything had burned…god, it was probably the only thing of his family he had left.  Of course he kept it just the same, of course he was so determined to run it the way he did, to keep it open and successful.  He’d want to do it for his family, to make them proud, to keep them alive, in some way.  That store and the memories it held was his last link of his family.  Why would he ever want to cover that up with new paint and new books and new…everything?

“Shit,” Stiles said. “Shit, Derek, I’m sorry.”

Derek looked at him, questioning, brow furrowed slightly.

“The store,” Stiles clarified. “Your store. I get it now. I was such a dick. I’m sorry.”

Derek’s mouth twitched up slightly.  It wasn’t exactly the real smile that Stiles had only glimpsed before, but it was close. 

“I don’t think your store is that bad,” he admitted, and Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “It’s…not my kind of thing, but I can appreciate it. It works. And,” he added, his expression turning wry, “I have to admit, the heating and hot drinks is a perk.”

Stiles laughed, cradling his mug in his hands, feeling inexplicably happy. “Can I get that in writing?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but it was amused rather than irritated, and Stiles practically beamed at him.  They finished their drinks quietly and Stiles stood, gathering the cups to take them to the counter.  Derek followed, offering to help clean up, but Stiles waved a hand.

“I’ve got it,” he said, glancing over, then paused.

Derek tilted his head slightly. “What?”

Stiles’ gaze flicked upwards before he could help it and Derek followed it, looking at the mistletoe that hung above their heads.  He felt his cheeks heat up and his belly fluttered and he cleared his throat, looking back at Derek.

Who was watching him, a soft expression on his face.  He smiled and there it was, that realness, and it took Stiles’ breath away. 

“I…” he started, then stopped, swallowed, continued, “I should wash these up.”

Derek nodded, stepping back slightly.  Stiles moved behind the counter and focused on washing up and cleaning the hot chocolate machine.  He took his time, making sure everything was clean and tidy – exactly as Scott had left it – before joining Derek back at the table.

They talked for a while, about books and Christmas sales and how much it had snowed this year, and eventually Stiles lost track of what they were even saying, he was so tired.  His head drooped onto his arms on the table and, between one breath and the next, he was fast asleep.

When he woke, he was alone.  The lights had been switched off, but the heating was still on.  Derek had found the blanket from the staff room and draped it over Stiles’ shoulders.  Stiles’ heart felt huge and warm.

He stretched, spine popping after sleeping in such a cramped position, and checked the time.  It was gone midnight.  Officially Christmas.  Instead of being tucked up in bed, belly full, ready for Christmas with his family, here he was, but he didn’t regret anything, not even slightly.

He put the blanket away and bundled up.  Derek had locked up behind him and posted the keys back through the letterbox with a little note.  Stiles picked it up, reading the smooth handwriting with a smile.

Merry Christmas, Stiles.

 ***

Stiles found himself thinking about Derek a lot over the next few days.

He wondered if Derek was spending Christmas day alone too and the thought made his heart ache.  He wondered if Derek was eating good food, or opening thoughtful gifts, or spending time with people who cared about him, and he wished he’d thought to ask him about his plans.  The idea of Derek spending the day alone was horrible.

He went back to work after Boxing Day, but he was too busy with the flood of customers redeeming their gift cards or exchanging gift to visit Derek’s.  He had to wait until the day after and he left home earlier than usual.  He knew Derek usually opened his store an hour earlier than Hobbit Hole.

At this hour, it was pretty quiet.  Stiles only encountered people rushing to grab coffee or breakfast before work.  It was snowing, not as heavily as the last few days, just little cold flakes fluttering around Stiles and spreading a thin blanket on the ground.  Hale Books was lit up, casting a warm, inviting glow into the dark winter gloom, and Stiles stepped inside into the welcoming warmth.  The heating was finally fixed, then.

The first thing Stiles noticed was that there was something different, but it took him a second to plate it.  There.  There was a little table by the counter with a coffee machine on it.  Stiles laughed, stepping closer, and saw there was a sign written in big capital letters stuck to the machine.

FOR STILES’ USE ONLY.

Something warm and happy expanded in Stiles’ chest.  He reached out, touching the coffee machine with a smile.  After a moment, Derek cleared his throat, drawing Stiles’ attention to where he stood behind the counter.  He wordlessly pointed to the ceiling and Stiles looked up. 

There was a single sprig of mistletoe hanging above the counter.

When Stiles looked at Derek, he was smiling at him, that soft, beautiful smile, and Stiles grinned back.

He had a feeling his New Year was going to be wonderful.

[ezatluba]

A Crucial Blind Spot in Veterinary Medicine

The placebo effect shows up in pets too, but these treatments are fooling owners, not their animals.

EMILY ANTHES

NOVEMBER 7, 2019 

In 2003, a team of researchers from several American universities launched a small clinical trial, the results of which should not have been a surprise. Of the patients taking the active drug, an anticonvulsant intended to reduce epileptic seizures, 86 percent saw their seizure frequency fall. So did 79 percent of the patients that received a sham treatment, or a placebo.

It seemed like a classic example of the placebo effect, with one notable difference: The patients were dogs.

“As I did these placebo-controlled studies and I was evaluating data, I was like, ‘Oh, look, these dogs are getting better on the placebo,’” says Karen Munana, a veterinary neurologist at North Carolina State University who co-authored the study. That response had never been reported for epilepsy treatments in dogs before, she says.

At the time, double-blind placebo-controlled trials—the gold standard for evaluating new medical treatments—were relatively uncommon in veterinary medicine. But if Munana and her colleagues hadn’t done one, they would have misjudged how well the drug, levetiracetam, worked. “If I had not had the placebo arm [of the study], I would’ve said that this drug was effective,” she says.

While the placebo effect is a well-established phenomenon in human patients, it’s an underappreciated one in veterinary medicine. And the particular way it plays out in veterinary care highlights how unconscious cognitive biases can mislead humans when we care for other species. Even when pet owners are determined to provide first-rate care for the animals they love, these blind spots can undermine their best efforts. “The stories that we tell about our pets often aren’t really reflecting what’s happening to their bodies,” says Brennen McKenzie, a veterinarian and the author of SkeptVet, a blog dedicated to evidence-based veterinary medicine.

Doctors have long observed that mock medical treatments, such as sugar pills and saline injections, make many sick people feel better. Scientists believe that these improvements can be partly explained by the power of expectations; truly believing that a pill will alleviate pain or nausea, for instance, may in fact make that discomfort subside. Though much remains mysterious about animal minds, it seems unlikely that pets are bringing these kinds of beliefs into the veterinary clinic. “I don’t think our patients have an idea about their disease that we can affect by saying, ‘Here’s a therapy that can make you feel better,’” McKenzie says. And yet a number of studies—of cats, dogs, and horses—have found that dummy drugs seem to help ailing animals get back on their furry feet.

A variety of mechanisms could explain these observations, some of which might also play a role in the human placebo response. One possibility is simple regression to the mean—the animals could be getting better independently of any medical intervention. Chronic diseases such as epilepsy tend to wax and wane, and pet owners might be more likely to enroll their dogs in a clinical trial or try new treatments when the seizures are particularly bad. In many of those cases, the seizures might be bound to improve on their own, simply as part of the natural course of the disease.

Studies also show that people often change their behavior when they know they’re being observed. This so-called Hawthorne effect could help explain Munana’s findings. All the dogs in her study were on at least one anti-seizure medication in addition to levetiracetam, and pet owners might be more diligent about adhering to these drug regimens when their dogs are enrolled in a trial.

“Because they are in a study—and the owners know that their dogs are being scrutinized and the records are being scrutinized—maybe they’re more likely to give the medications on a more regular basis,” Munana says.

Animals in clinical trials might also receive better, more attentive veterinary care than they otherwise would. Some evidence suggests that gentle contact with humans may itself be therapeutic for certain creatures, including dogs and horses. And in some instances, classical conditioning could be at work. For example, rats that have regularly been getting insulin injections will still experience blood-sugar changes if they suddenly start receiving saline injections instead.

But in many cases, the most likely explanation is what’s known as the “caregiver placebo effect,” or “placebo effect by proxy.” In veterinary medicine, patients can’t speak for themselves. They can’t tell their doctors where they hurt—or even if they do. Instead, veterinarians have to rely on their own observations and judgments, as well as those of the animals’ owners, to infer how their patients are faring.

In many studies of canine epilepsy, including Munana’s, researchers depend on the dogs’ owners to keep track of the animals’ seizures. In most cases, it’s obvious when a dog is seizing, but sometimes owners have to make sense of more ambiguous signs and symptoms. For instance, some dogs drool when they seize, and an owner who discovers a spot of saliva on the floor has to decide whether it’s evidence of an unobserved seizure. Owners who believe that their dogs are on an effective treatment regimen may be less likely to come to that conclusion.

So it’s not pets that placebos are fooling, but humans. “When you give a treatment, there’s an expectation that the treatment’s going to be beneficial, and there’s a desire that my patient or my pet gets better—you want that to happen,” says Michael Conzemius, a veterinary surgeon at the University of Minnesota. The caregiver placebo effect, which has also been observed in studies of children, illustrates how unconscious expectations and desires can be deceptive, even for invested onlookers. And it could lead caregivers to perceive improvements in their pets’ health that don’t line up with objective reality.

In one FDA-approved trial of an anti-inflammatory for dogs with arthritis, researchers used both subjective and objective measures to evaluate the dogs’ limb function. In addition to asking pet owners and veterinarians to assess the dogs’ degree of lameness at regular intervals over the course of the study, they also used force platforms to determine how much weight the dogs were putting on each limb as they walked; if a dog begins to put more weight on an arthritic leg, it’s a sign that the pup’s pain has diminished.

When Conzemius took a close look at the dogs in the placebo group, he found that owners and veterinarians frequently reported that the animals had improved, even when the gait analysis suggested otherwise. “Even if we both agree that the patient’s better, we’re not the patient,” he says. “So we have to be willing to set our opinions aside and actually look at other data, hopefully objective data, when it’s available.”

The desire to see pets improve can be so strong that it blinds people to the animals’ discomfort. McKenzie recalls seeing a rottweiler with osteosarcoma, a cancer of the bone, in one of his legs. It was clear to McKenzie that the dog was in profound pain—he wouldn’t put his paw on the ground and whimpered when the vet touched it. But when he offered to prescribe a painkiller, the dog’s owner demurred. She said she was treating her dog with homeopathic pain remedies, and she was sure that they were working. “She was absolutely convinced that her dog was not in pain,” says McKenzie, who is also the author of a new book on the evidence, or lack thereof, behind alternative veterinary remedies.

Indeed, that’s what makes the caregiver placebo effect so pernicious. Even though the treatments are inert, the traditional placebo response does in fact make patients themselves feel better. The caregiver placebo effect, however, simply assuages our own anxiety and discomfort, while the patients—our pets—continue to suffer.

The phenomenon could help explain the rising popularity of alternative veterinary therapies, from acupuncture to CBD, but it might also be skewing assessments of more conventional treatments. The regulation of veterinary medicines is “fairly loose,” McKenzie says, and the market for them relatively small. So pharmaceutical companies have little financial incentive to conduct placebo-controlled trials, which are time-consuming and expensive, when animals are the intended patients. As a result, relatively few veterinary studies have historically included a placebo group, which means that many of the mainstream treatments on offer today may be less effective than pet owners have been led to believe. (In general, veterinary trials also tend to be smaller and of lower quality than human ones, researchers have found.)

Norms and practices are finally beginning to change, and more veterinarians are coming to embrace the precepts of evidence-based medicine. Even so, McKenzie would like vets to be more transparent about how much scientific evidence exists (or doesn’t) to support the remedies they’re recommending, and to warn their clients about how human assumptions can sometimes lead us astray.

That’s not always an easy conversation. “We’re going to get resistance from people because it makes them feel like their personal experiences aren’t validated,” he says. “I always feel like it’s worth saying, when I’m talking to people about placebo effects, ‘I’m not here to say that you’re lying, that you’re stupid, that you’re just not paying attention to your pet … I make the same exact mistakes, and I do this for a living.’”

The caregiver placebo effect may be inconvenient, but it’s also a normal and natural consequence of human psychology. And in some ways, it’s a testament to how much people care about their pets—and to how desperately we want to believe that the things we do for them actually make their lives better. “The more strongly motivated you are to see something,” McKenzie says, “the more likely you are to see it.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Kindness; Part Five

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Part five of twelve!

Spoon had awoken that morning in a pleasant, alcohol-induced haze. She sat in her chair for what felt like hours, watching the way Charon's back shifted as he breathed. The ghoul had slept on the floor in front of her chair, his combat armor shucked to the side. Well, slept or passed out, she wasn't sure. The sun's weary rays peered through the sheets of metal on the walls, catching the dust motes and making them dance through the beams. She had made a small, contented purring sound, stretching and positioning herself more comfortably in her chair while she examined him. Even with his body slack in sleep she could see the strength he had.

  Of course, she didn't really need to watch him while he was sleeping to know he was strong. He had certainly proved it to her during yesterday's events, if not before. Watching him now allowed her to appreciate him when he didn't have his guard up, let her see how calm he could look when he was relaxed. She wasn't sure why that was important to her, just that it was.

  He must have been something else before he got ghoulified. Spoon thought with a yawn, getting up and meandering around his large form. Goddamn giant red-headed motherfucker. Bet he broke all the girls hearts .

  “Lucas owes me some caps for yesterday's fiasco.” Spoon explained as they headed down the steep steps a little later, her cheeks feeling unnaturally hot as she thought back on her lazy morning. “So we're gonna' visit him, and then I have to go to Craterside. I'm finally low on ammo.” Charon nodded, easily keeping up with her shorter strides. “Ah, here we are,” Spoon said with a hint of relief, her voice still rough from the Nuka-whiskey mix. “Simms, have I got a fucking story for you!” She grinned while she shook the sheriff's hand.

  Simms' brow furrowed as he looked at Charon and gave the ghoul a tight nod. Charon returned the gesture after a moment. Simms didn't particularly care for ghouls, but he also operated on the, 'Do Unto Others' policy, so he wasn't about to start trouble. And for that, Spoon was forever grateful. “What happened to you yesterday? Stockholm said you came home on the big bastard's back.” Simms said worriedly.

  Charon gave an exasperated huff, and Spoon glanced up at him. The ghoul's eyes were somewhat pointedly aimed over Simms' head towards Stockholm's 'nest'. Spoon smiled uneasily. “He's exaggeratin'! If you calm your tits, I'll tell you what happened. Besides, you know how batty Stockholm can get.”

  “Well alright then. Lay it on me.” Lucas said, lighting a cigarette and looking at Spoon expectantly.

  “Ah, we cleared 'em out at any rate,” Spoon began lamely. Lucas raised an eyebrow and Charon made a sound that was suspiciously close to a chuckle. “That is, there were what...maybe eight of them in their hole?” She continued, somewhat flustered.

  “Nine.” Charon corrected quietly.

  “Right, nine. Sorry. During the skirmish on the overpass they shot up my shoulder. I got knocked out. We were sort of...”

  “Kidnapped.” Charon filled in for her. “I was chained up.”

  “Yeah. He thinks they worked for some slavers. They were talking about selling us.” Spoon explained.

  Simms looked surprised, then worried. “They're getting too bold. That's way too close to Megaton for my comfort.” He sighed after a minute, digging around in his coat pocket. “As long as you wiped 'em out, there's really nothing else to do for the moment. Here's the caps.” He said, passing a small sack to Spoon.

  Spoon nodded, tipping her hat in a farewell. “So long, Calamity.” She grinned, making Lucas laugh and doff his own hat.

  “Boy, I got vision, and the rest of the world wears bifocals.” Simms said with a smile, waving them off.

  “What was all that about?” Charon asked once they were out of earshot.

  Spoon gave him a sidelong smile. “He's a big fan of the old-world westerns. My...someone I knew in the vault was too, so occasionally I quote something at him and he quotes right back.”

  “Ah.”

  “Do you like westerns?”

  “Too many horses for my liking.” Charon grumbled.

  “Aw.” Spoon was disappointed, but excited that Charon expressed a personal dislike that had nothing to do with the safety of their locale.

    “Spoon! Come on in, just clearing up a little infesta--oo, who's your friend?” Moira bounded around the counter, eyes wide as she pressed her hands to Charon's chest. The ghoul started in surprise, stepping back and snarling while Spoon began to laugh.

  “Hands off Moira, he's mine.” Spoon said with an easy grin.

  Moira pouted. “Psh, you would swing that way, Vaultie. I don't suppose I could rent him out for a spell? Clearly, I have some research to do.”

  “Nice try, love.” Charon watched the flush that spread across Moira's cheeks at the term of endearment, “I'm no slaver. Show my partner some respect for his personal space. I'm here to buy, and maybe sell you some of this junk. 'Sides, I could never part with Charon. He's saved my ass one too many times.”

  “Aw fine. You're no fun, y'know that?” Moira grumbled, turning away to walk back behind her counter. Spoon crept up beside her, deftly pulling the redhead towards her into a graceful dip. Charon swallowed hard as Spoon murmured something quietly to the shop owner.

  This woman is something else, the ghoul mused while Moira sputtered and turned bright red. Spoon released her, again mentioning that she was here on business. It was a decidedly giddier Moira that began to haul out boxes of ammunition and accoutrements, babbling all the while about her experiments.

    “Gold star! You handled her like a champ!” Spoon praised Charon teasingly as they headed back to her house with arms full of ammunition and other supplies.

  Charon shook his head. “You had an...interesting way of changing her tune.” His voice held quiet disapproval that did not go unnoticed by Spoon.

  The scavenger shrugged as she fumbled around unlocking the door with her hands full. “She's used to people avoiding her because they think she's nuts. Now, I ain't saying she isn't, but she's not a bad sort.” Spoon carried on as she dumped her ammunition into her comfy chair, “I use almost the exact same tactics on any trader I come across, anyhow. It's only gotten me shot at a few times. Mostly by angry wives.” Spoon sniggered. “It even worked on Ahzrukhal.”

  “Why would you have tried it on Ahzrukhal?” Charon seemed to have a difficult time getting the words out of his mouth. “I-I mean...what made you think it would work on a ghoul?”

  “It was a gamble. I didn't know it would work. I just hoped real hard.” Spoon smiled, putting a hand on Charon's arm. “I'm glad it did, though.” Realizing what she was doing, she quickly pulled away with a cough. “I mean, y'know. You've been really helpful with stuff. And I hope you're more happy. Anything's probably better than leaning against that wall for hours.”

  “You have no idea.” Charon mused, his expression troubled. He knelt, spreading an old, stained cloth on the floor.

  Spoon was now very familiar with the ritualistic cleaning of his shotgun that occurred every evening. She watched him sometimes, silently of course. She didn't want to interrupt. He didn't really seem happy, per se, but there was a quiet contentment in his body language that wasn't present any other time. She sat down on the floor, and started tugging off her heavy boots. Charon paid her no mind as he carefully unloaded the shotgun and began disassembling it. Spoon pretended to be occupied with sorting out the different types of ammo, sneaking cautious glances at Charon's sure movements.

  Within a half hour, Charon was done. He held out a hand abruptly, making Spoon jump and almost drop the ammunition she had been 'sorting'. He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Your gun. Want it cleaned?”

  Spoon cleared her throat, feeling caught and very awkward. “Show me how you do it? I've probably been doing it wrong this whole time. I've never had anyone to show me so I just kind of figured it out.” She admitted, passing the ghoul her rifle and sitting back down next to him.

    “See, normally I just kind of swab it out with a damp cloth an' call it quits. It's kept it going for this long.” Spoon explained.

  Charon grumbled to himself, already noticing the built-up layers of grime in the rifle's barrel. “You're lucky as hell that this thing hasn't exploded in your face, smoothskin.”

  “I never said it didn't!” Spoon protested, and Charon noticed for the first time (with a flicker of amusement) that her eyebrows were growing back in odd patches. “But it's the first weapon I ever found, and...I kind of love it, y'know?” She said weakly. “I mean, that thing and my knife have saved my hide probably thousands of times.”

  “Well I'll show you the basics, so if I ever...I mean, if you ever decide to part with my contract, you can, uh,” Charon cleared his throat, “Stay safe.”

  “Thanks.”

  The quiet word was so genuine it made Charon feel uncomfortable. He busied himself with wordlessly showing her the basic ways to clean the weapon. Numerous times he was forced to put his hands over hers to guide them, as her fingers were somewhat indelicate and unsure, and he found himself silently hoping that she wasn't disgusted by his touch.

  “I left the vault with nothing but a BB gun and a baseball bat, and I didn't even know how to upkeep them, so you can imagine how foreign this all is to me.” Charon almost jumped when she spoke, hastily reigning himself in as he automatically scanned the room for threats. Spoon sighed heavily. “Everybody in the place was either trying to kill me or telling me to get the fuck out. I was lucky I got out alive.”

  “A Vault-Dweller, huh?” Charon commented, keeping his tone level. Spoon nodded, an unhappy look turning her face dark. Charon was surprised to find that he missed the way her face was before. Preferences were...odd. When he worked for Ahzrukhal, he didn't need to worry about preferences. There wasn't all that much to worry about. Certainly not much to think about or do. Knock a few heads in, leave Patches at The Chop Shop. Clean his gun. Try to recall what it felt like to eat on a regular basis. Sometimes in a desperate bid to keep his sanity, Charon would make lists in his head. Songs he remembered, places he had been. He didn't want to forget. Charon rotated his shoulders and stood, grumbling low in his throat. Now isn't the time for this shit.  “I'm tired.”

  He felt the prickle of something that he vaguely recognized as guilt when he saw her eyes flash with poorly concealed hurt at his dismissal. But she quickly mastered herself, getting up and bidding him goodnight.

  Her hand lingered on his arm too long again. Charon found that sleep eluded him for quite a while.

    The low rattle of crank gun fire told them where the mutant was long before they could hear it hollering. “I'll come about down this hall. You flank him from the other hall. Stay low, shoot in the reload zone.” Charon hissed.

  Spoon nodded grimly, and bolted for the hallway. She gritted her teeth against the fear she felt swelling in her chest. She hated super mutants, hated their smell, their yelling, and especially their nasty penchant for making themselves goody bags of human remains for later. Spoon skidded to a stop beside a doorway as the crank gun whirred to a stop.

  Shoot in the reload zone.

  Spoon whipped her gun around the doorframe, cracking a shot off into the super mutant's neck. Blood spurted as the mutant let out an enraged bellow, fumbling with the crank gun. Spoon managed to get two more shots off, both burying themselves uselessly in the beast's shoulder.

  Charon where are you? She thought in a panic, scrambling away from the doorway as the crank gun whirred back to life. Bullets started to rip through the wall over her head, and she fled back down the hall.

  “Found you!”

  Spoon couldn't suppress the scream that bubbled up in her throat as a massive hand landed on her shoulder and spun her around. She fired point-blank into the mutant's stomach, the panic making her jerk the trigger twice.

  The rifle jammed.

  The mutant grinned, exhaling a foul breath into her face. Spoon flicked the trigger forward and then back. Nothing. The super mutant picked her up around the neck and Spoon hastily wrapped an arm around its hand, saving her neck from instantly being snapped by the weight of her body. She frantically pumped the trigger of the rifle as the mutant laughed, tears starting to come as she prayed for the damn thing to work work work please-!

  She pressed the muzzle of the gun to the mutant's face as her vision started to gray out. All she could hear was the maniac, discordant laughter of the creature and the useless clicking of her gun.

  So this is how I die? The calm thought surprised her into ceasing to struggle for a minute. Huh. This is definitely looking like how I die. I only wish I could have been stronger. Strong enough to kill this giant, dumb--

  The rifle abruptly fired into the mutant's face, neatly shearing through the skull and taking a chunk of minuscule brain with it. The mutant stopped laughing, face frozen in shock. The fingers around Spoon's neck tightened into a throat-crushing grip, and then relaxed as the beast slumped to the ground. Spoon rolled away, coughing and sucking air into her lungs. She flung an arm out and scooped up her rifle, standing on shaky legs.

  Charon. Where is Charon? She wondered, rummaging through the super mutant's armor for anything useful. She wished she was strong enough to easily use the crank gun, but no such luck. Those things weighed a ton, and no matter how good they were in a pinch there was no way she was lugging one around. The worry for Charon started to eat away at her, and she cautiously crept further down the hall. She could hear grunts and struggling in a room ahead, but it was too dark to see anything. “Charon?” She hissed, one hand on the wall and the other on her gun as she carefully felt her way forwards.

  “Time to die!” The scream cut through the black, making Spoon blanch from how close it was.

  “Charon!” She called, fumbling in her pockets and coming up with a matchbook.

Part Six

[howtohero]

#040 List of Handy Excuses (B)

It’s time for the next installment of our very popular (for a loose definition of “very popular”) list of handy excuses for when you wanna use your job as an excuse to get out of stuff to go fight crime.

A C D E

Babysitter

[No, you have to stay with the children. You wanna be a real hero? Keep an eye on these kids so their parents can have a well-deserved date night.]

Baker

• Great heroes aren’t born… They’re bread(makers).

Baggage Claim Attendant

I found this superhero costume in an abandoned piece of luggage at my work, I figured I might as well try it on and try fighting some bad guys. I mean why not right?

Bailiff

So I’ve been thinking, that judge guy is always having me bring in the evidence for all those court cases, so wouldn’t it be smart if I just went and grabbed pieces of evidence directly from crime scenes? Of course it’s smart. Uch I knew you’d be like this. Gosh it’s called being proactive Karen.

I’m also always showing belligerent witnesses or other such people out of court so wouldn’t it be neat if I showed a belligerent superpowered eco-terrorist out of our city? Of course it’d be neat! Uch why are you always like this. It’s called expanding my market Karen.

Banjo Player

The banjo that Kermit the Frog played in the opening scene of the Muppet Movie is at the Smithsonian. I need to go see it right now.

There’s a Mumford and Sons concert.

Bank Teller

No! No way. Is that a supervillain! I swear to god I cannot deal with this right now. These a-holes come into my bank like eight times a week and stick a gun or -and I kid you not- a four-foot-long flower that squirts acid in my face and hold me hostage and I am just sick of it. I’m out of here. (And then the irony is that really you are going to go put on some spandex and fight that supervillain).

Banker

I have to run out to go, uh, foreclose a house. (The irony is that really you’re going to go put on spandex and stop a house from burning down yay!)

Ball Boy

I am going to throw this baseball at Cthulhu.

Ballerina

Hey check this out! (then do some sick ballerina twirls right out the door).

Barber

I got a haircut the other day and my barber (shout out to Louie!) told me he was going to Italy for two weeks because he’s nearly 80 and he doesn’t know how many times he’s going to get to go to Italy and I thought he had an excellent point. So barbers, no matter what age you are, just tell people this. And then actually go to Italy.

Barker

You can actually use your loud shouting abilities to direct non-powered (read: lame) citizens away from the superhero fight. That’s probably where you can do the most good.

Bartender

Sometimes a supervillain just needs to talk to someone about their problems while that someone wipes the same spot of the counter with an old rag over and over again.

Baseball Player

I have an away game so I might be away for fifteen weeks.

I have a home game so I might be gone for thirty hours.

Basketball Player

Ok so I was playing golf and I made this admittedly kind of lousy shot but then the ball just started rolling and it landed right into the hole, crazy right? Yeah, so I go to get the ball and all of a sudden I get sucked into this cartoon world and these cartoon characters want me to play basketball against some cartoon alien monsters. So if I disappear for a bit that’s probably where I am.

Whoa, do you see that giant robot? How sick would it be if I jumped over that in the next dunk contest? I’m gonna go down there and see if I can’t get my hands on that thing.

Bass Guitarist

Ha! More like super bass (guitarist)!

Bed and Breakfast Proprietors

Literally all you have to do is just wait til after breakfast and before bedtime. Then you can go out and do whatever you want. Lunchtime is your prime crime fighting time.

Beekeeper

I’m sorry I will not be able to make dinner tonight for I have been carried off by a swarm of malignant bees.

I have to go put on my beekeeper suit, it may take a while.

Bellhop

Oh my god you would not believe this guest that’s staying at the hotel. He keeps finding problems with each room we put him in and demanding that we give him a new room and you know who has to carry his 22 incredibly heavy bags to each new room? Me! So if I leave abruptly, that’s where I am.

Bibliographer

Wait a minute, not everything in this non-fiction book is properly sourced and catalogued! I must get to the library posthaste to conduct the research necessary to determine where all of these facts, figures, opinions and otherwise borrowed pieces of writing originates from!

Bigfoot Hunter

Bigfoot’s doing another book reading at Barnes and Noble. It was in all the papers. Honestly, dude’s taking all the fun out of trying to track him down.

Biologist

Fun fact: I am the mitochondria, which is to the say, the “powerhouse” of this city. Therefore I am the only person capable of defeating this supervillain and his… acrobatic… elf army? What?

I have to go… photosynthesize something.

Biographer

Fun supervillain fact: Many supervillains turn to a life of crime and villainy because they feel that they have not gotten the respect that they were due in their pre-supervillain jobs. So maybe if I go down there and offer to write an actual book about them they’ll stop throwing pig carcasses at pedestrians.

Birdwatcher

Oh my god! There’s a light footed clapper rail near that superhero fight! I must get closer and snap some pictures for my rare birds Facebook and Instagram pages. Yes, I know it may be risky. But some things are just worth dying for. The light footed clapper rail is one of them.

Blacksmith

Finally! I’ve been clang clang clanging away on this new super cool armor in my workshop for weeks. I’m gonna put it on and fight that dragon that’s sitting in the park and freaking everybody out.

Boatswain

Some of the important boating equipment which I am responsible for (y’know stuff like life preservers, marine themed shaped snacks, the crew, boat engines?? porthole drapes?) is dangerously close to that rampaging truck monster. I’d better get down there and perform my sworn sacred boatswain duties.

Body Builder

Hey did you hear that I work out now? Yeah just figured I’d let you know in case you’re looking for me while I’m working out. If you can’t find me it’s probably because I’m working out. Crossfit leg day do you even lift crossfit.

Bodyguard

Ok if you’re a bodyguard and you want to go to your side job as a superhero here’s what you’ve gotta do. Wait until your client goes to the bathroom. Then jam the door, look him in there. Then go fight the crime. Then get back and free your client who will have been kept safe by the bathroom until you return.

Bongo Player

I’m gonna go find a bridge to play the bongos under.

Bookkeeper

I’m going to go down and take bets on that superhero fight I’m giving twenty to one odds on that giant mutant bullfrog eating Ultiman.

Botanist

You don’t need to make any excuses, probably your only friends are plants and plants are known to be very supportive of the activities of costumed heroes and vigilantes.

Bowler

(Look down at your shoes) My heavens! These are not my shoes! I must go find the true owners! (A Cinderella story for the modern age.)

Bouncer

I have to get to my post! My bar has a very strict no supervillains allowed rule and if that evil cyborg gets even close to The Drunk Hut it is my solemn responsibility to make sure he doesn’t get inside.

I’m a pretty buff man. I prevent children from sneaking in to the bar. I think it’s time that I step it up a level and bounce that supervillain right out of town.

Bouncy House Operator

Just deflate the thing and go fight crime.

Boxer

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, that villain may be winnin, but he’s not yet met me.

Boy Band Member

Bye. Bye. Bye.

Boy Scout Troop Leader

Ok whoever doesn’t tell their parents that I left early to punch a man made out of fire gets their “Kept a Superhero’s Secret Identity Badge,” their “Didn’t Snitch on Troop Leader Barry Badge” and their “Didn’t Descend into a Lord of the Flies Type Child Murder Chaos Scenario When Left Alone” badge.

Breakdancer

I’m going to challenge that eleven ton troll man from Mars to a dance-off, loser gets banished from Earth, winner gets ice cream (and gets to stay on Earth!)

Breeder

Wait a minute, does that supervillain have a horse that is on fire and also a ghost? Could you imagine what would happen if I acquired that horse and mated it with one of my top racing horses. It would be incredible. I’d be foolish not to get down to that superhero battle right away.

Bubble Blower (such as the kind that perform delightful and mystifying bubble shows)

I am going to delight and mystify this villain right in the face.

The villain is trying to make off with the entire town’s supply of soapy water. I must stop him. Even if I am not a superhero. Which I of course am not. (But say it in a way that sounds less suspicious.)

Buccaneer

I’m what you might call very expensive corn (wait for everyone to groan at your terrible pun) I’ll just see myself out.

Builder

Somebody somewhere just asked “can we fix it!” and I need to go shout “yes we can!” in their face. I know that that sounds like the kind of thing a fixer should be doing but we’ve pretty much taken over the “can we fix it/yes we can” industry thanks to public television.

Bureau of UFO Tracking, Transporting and Studying Agent

I have to go flush out some aliens, I don’t want any of them slipping through the cracks.

Bus Boy

All right everybody we’re going to try something new tonight! Everyone will just bus their own tables this shift! Then you’ll gain a greater appreciation for the working class! (You only need to do this once because you’ll almost definitely be fired for this.)

Bus Driver

If I stopped driving my route every time aliens took over midtown I’d never be able to my job.

Butlers

No no no no, butlers aren’t superheroes. It’s their rich masters who are superheroes. I mean sure butlers are the clear brains behind the entire operation and without them the Billionaire with Issues™ genre of superhero wouldn’t exist but I can’t think of a single butler superhero (as opposed to the dozens of bubble blower and bibliographer superheroes there are out there).

Tune in next time when we tackle all of the “c” occupations. As always if you know of a job that isn’t represented here ((speaking of representation, I’m pretty sure there isn’t any difference between a barrister and a lawyer so you’ll have to wait like a year til we get to L.) By all means, contact us. Or just use a generic excuse like “I need to get down to that superhero fight to see if I can help people in any way that I can because I am a good person” or “I am going out to get orange juice.”

[sierrastownies]

liar liar

Who? Cassie Rodgers, Jan Bosko

When? May 2017

Where? Rodger-Bosko? Residence

Cassie had been dancing around approaching the subject for awhile, but it seemed like every time she got around to confronting Jan, she chickened out and played it off as annoyance instead. So, with him gone yet again, Cassie let out a sigh and moved to place Claire down in her swing, strapping her in securely around the time she heard the front door jimmy open.

Jan knew he probably should tell Cassie about his new job but he was will on probation and getting paid under the table so he didn't want to get her hopes up. Though he wasn't sure if she would even really care all that much whether or not he had a job. Either way, it was the reason for him to keep it a secret and why he was trying to be quiet as he got home. He closed the door carefully, not wanting to wake either of his girls up but as he stepped further inside, he saw that they already were. "Hey," he breathed out, looking at Cassie then at Claire. "Is she being fussy?" He asked, checking his watch for the time.

Cassie glanced behind her shoulder at him when he came inside and pursed her lips, switching the swing on so the music played lightly in the background, swaying the infant. "She's been up off and on for the past hour," She murmured, taking the moment where Claire was just whimpering instead of hollering. "Where were you?"

Jan grimaced slightly at her answer. He was sure she was stressed out from dealing with that all on her own and felt bad for not being there to help out. "I was out," he answered vaguely, moving around Cassie toward Claire, making funny faces in hopes of getting her to giggle. "I'll stay up and keep her calm if you wanna get to sleep," he offered.

Cassie watched him carefully as he moved around, arms slowly crossing over her chest. "No, I'm fine. I've already made coffee," She murmured and bit into her bottom lip. "Out where? With Faye?"

Jan "Alright. We'll work together then," he said, looking back at her and flashing a quick smile. When she pressed him on where he was, his brows furrowed together. "Uh, no. I think she and Benny are in the woods getting high. Why are you so worried about where I've been?"

Cassie pulled the mug of her coffee drink off the shelves near where she was standing so she could take a seat on the couch, folding her legs up and smoothing the softer nightie down over her thighs. "Classy," She murmured before shrugging her shoulders, taking a sip. "I mean, it's late. You're always vague about where you are. Is it wrong to be curious?"

Jan made a little face at her murmuring, grabbing his own coffee mug to pour himself a cup. "No, I guess it's not wrong to be curious. But you usually don't ask any questions. Kind of assumed you don't care what I do."

Cassie "I don't ask because I don't want to intrude in your privacy that we agreed we both owed each other, but still... it's late. Am I living with a drug dealer or something?" She asked, watching him with her blue hues and her lips blowing on her drink.

Jan stopped what he was doing completely, turning to face her slow. His eyes narrowed on her and his jaw clenched in anger. "Do you really think that's what I've been doing? Or did someone else put that thought into your head?"

Cassie "I wasn't being serious, Jan. It's a joke considering you're out until late." Cassie rolled her eyes and looked back up toward him. "Who would be putting ideas into my head? I'm my own person, so no, no one is."

Jan didn't completely believe that she was joking considering what people thought about him around town. "It wasn't funny," he informed her, taking a sip of his coffee and deciding to stay standing where he was instead of sitting with her on the couch. "Oh, I don't know, your mother, your richie friends, your mother..."

Cassie looked over to Claire whom seemed to be settling down more before returning back toward Jan. "Sorry," She replied shortly with her mug to her lips and swallowing back a drink, rolling her eyes soon afterwards. "Just because my mother hasn't strong opinions doesn't mean I automatically listen to them."

Jan rolled his eyes at her. He wasn't too sure if that was completely true at the moment. "Ok, whatever. In case you're actually worried about it, no, I'm not selling drugs or doing anything illegal."

Cassie reclined back into the cushions and made a little face, staring down directly into her drink instead of at him, mumbling. "Clearly you're not doing a lot of things..."

Jan groaned at her mumbling. He wasn't in the mood to argue with Cassie but clearly something was bothering her and instead of just saying it, she was going to act like a brat. "What was that?"

Cassie glanced up toward him when he acknowledged her and gave him the sweetest smile she could muster at that moment, simply shaking her head. "Oh nothing. You don't need to worry about it."

Jan narrowed his eyes once again on her, not believing that smile for a second. He set his mug down and moved to the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "Bullshit. What the hell is going on with you? You've been acting passive aggressive lately and now tonight you're worried about what I'm doing."

Cassie scoffed. "I have not," She got a little defensive as he sat down beside her even if she knew she really was, but she couldn't help it. It became her default quickly. "Why would i have any reason to be aggressive? Everything is peachy keen. Excuse me for wondering where you might be when it's nearly after midnight. You would be wondering if it were me." She breathed out.

Jan scoffed at her and her lame denial. "First of all, you have been so aggressive, I don't know why but you have been. Secondly, anyone who says peachy keen is either being a liar, sarcastic or annoying happy and my guess is you're lying."

Cassie narrowed her eyes in at him when he scoffed back at her and did it again herself, her arms crossing tightly once her mug was rested between her thighs. "I am not being aggressive. Maybe you're just paranoid for whatever reason!" She breathed out, pursing her lips.

Jan almost laughed at the way she was looking at him and her scoffing. It was actually cute, even though he was sure she was trying to be intimidating or angry seeming. "I think you're the paranoid one here."

Cassie "I'm the paranoid one? No, no, I'm so not paranoid." She said and shook her head. "You're acting fishy."

Jan actually did laugh that time. "Only paranoid people would accuse others of acting fishy," he pointed out in a teasing tone as he reached out to poke her playfully on the side. "What's the matter with you?"

Cassie sighed through her nose when he poked at her and leaned back into the couch, slightly slumping into the cushions. "Why did you lie about Faye?" She asked, glancing toward him. "And where are you actually going?"

Jan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at her question. "I didn't lie about Faye? She said something about hanging out with Benny and he likes to hang out in the woods so..." He trailed off, not sure why they were even talking about Faye really. "Nowhere exciting."

Cassie "No, that's not..." she said and shook her head quickly. "Dating. You never said why you broke up, why?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. "Why can't you just tell me?"

Jan was even more confused about the whole Faye subject. He had no clue why she was asking about this now since that whole scheme ended so long ago. "Why are you asking about that now?" He questioned, pretty sure coming clean about it all now would not make tonight go anymore better. "Because it's nothing to tell, Cassie."

Cassie grew a little frustrated as soon as he kept veering away from each subject she asked him. Exhaling a deep sigh through her nose, Cassie pressed her palm down against her forehead in frustration. "God, never mind."

Jan let out his own sigh, knowing it was time to give her some answers or risk ruining whatever relationship they did have. "Faye and I didn't actually ever break up," he informed her, which he had a feeling she kind of knew already. "We weren't ever really together..."

Cassie "I know," She breathed out after a moment, still frustrated but still pretty alarmed she even got an answer. "Why did you even lie to me?"

Jan pursed his lips slightly at her response. He should have known she was asking for a reason. He shrugged his shoulders lightly and leaned back against the couch. "It's dumb. I'm dumb..."

Cassie "And why are you lying about where you are?" She asked again and moved to sit the coffee down on the table in front of her, before turning more to face him on the couch again. "What's so dumb about it?"

Jan "I'm not lying about where I am. Like I said, it's nothing to tell. If and when it is, I'll tell you, ok?" She really did know how to beat a dead horse. He shook his head at her when she questioned him further on the Faye thing, glancing away from her. "Just is."

Cassie "But you're withholding the truth of where you're even at so that's the same thing as lying." She muttered under her breath with an eye roll, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Just be truthful with me."

Jan rubbed the back of his head, trying to follow her logic. "Alright," he breathed out. "I've been working at a garage for a few weeks now. It's nothing official and I'm not getting paid much but I'm trying to save up money to help out. I didn't want to say anything in case the owner decided not to keep me on..."

Cassie settled back down in the seat and sighed through her nose, closing her eyes for a few moments. "That's not a bad thing, Jan." She said softly and moved to lean forward a little. "Even if he doesn't keep you, that's a good thing."

Jan shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes forward instead of on her. "I know it's not bad. I just didn't want to tell you and then you start like, I don't know...getting your hopes up or whatever. I have a tendency of fucking things up."

Cassie "What would I get my hopes up over? I mean... not to sound big headed, but I'm not really worried about money. It's something to be proud of." The blonde murmured and made a small face, looking up at him. "You don't have to keep things from me. Just like you don't have to keep up a fake relationship in front of me."

Jan "Well, that, for one thing," he began. "The whole being proud thing. Don't do that, ok?" He wasn't used to it and he didn't want to ruin that with her. He huffed when she brought up the fake relationship. "How did you find out?"

Cassie made a face at that response she got, looking him over once more as she did so. "What's so wrong with being proud? I thought we were working on that?" She said, shrugging her shoulders simply when he asked where she got her info. "Does it really matter? You still lied about it. Why would you even lie to me about that?"

Jan licked over his bottom lip, glancing over at her. "I don't want you getting your hopes up, ok?" He admitted to her, being completely serious. He bit down on his bottom lip, not sure if he wanted to explain or even how. "It was a dumb idea."

Cassie "There's nothing wrong with having a little hope and when things don't go as accordingly, we work on them. You're here, you're being a father to our daughter and you're working hard at it. You're not really doing anything disappointing, Jan." Cassie sighed out a little in more frustration, brushing her blonde hair back from her eyes. "What idea are you talking about?"

Jan slowly began to smile over at her, not being able to stop himself. She was way too positive of a person to be with someone like him. "I just don't want to do anything that would change your mind on that." He turned slightly on the couch so he was facing her more, moving in to be closer to her. "Well, you see, the idea was that you're into me and me being with another woman would make you jealous. But...it didn't work, right?"

Cassie "You won't," Cassie breathed out. "I mean... unless you up and leave one night, maybe that might change, but it won't." She watched his body movements carefully when he shifted on the couch and smiled at the same time, her lips slowly pressing together. The fact that he moved in closer didn't go unnoticed, it actually almost got her smiling herself. "You tried to make me jealous?" Cassie asked after a few moments, her tone quieting down. "Really?"

Jan quickly shook his head. "No, no...I wouldn't ever do that to Claire or you," he promised. He really hoped she didn't think that was a possibility for him. He wasn't sure how to read her at the moment; whether she was trying to hide the fact that he was right or trying to keep from laughing at his ridiculous that idea was. "Yea. Why? Did it work?"

Cassie "I know you wouldn't, that's why I don't think I'll change my mind. So quit worrying." Cassie shook his head at his promise, knowing that deep down, Jan wasn't that kind of guy. That was something she came to learn over the course of... whatever this what. Whatever journey they decided to take together. When he questioned her she made a little face, tucking her legs up underneath her. "Yes."

Jan "Ok, good. As long as you know," he breathed out, relieved to hear that she didn't think he'd run out on them. He couldn't imagine ever leaving either of them. He was in too deep. He raised an eyebrow at her simple, one word answer, moving himself in even closer to her. "Yes?"

Cassie nodded in return, figuring nothing else was needed to be said. Especially since she knew he wouldn't. "Yes, I was." Cassie said, already hating admitting to it. "It drove me crazy and I didn't understand it, but you were supposedly happy and you deserved to be happy. She suited you."

Jan smirked a little as she continued to admit being jealous. He couldn't believe his stupid plan worked. As she went on, his nose scrunched up. "No, not really. No offense to Faye but she's not really my type..."

Cassie turned to glance over at him and gave him a little look, feeling the annoyance flood back to her with that stupid little smirk. "You sure seemed like she was."

Jan shook his head at her, reaching out to set one of his hands on her legs. "No. I kind of always believed that opposites attract and Faye really isn't the opposite of me in any way."

Cassie purses her lips some as he spoke and eventually crossed over her arms, "Oh," She simply replied before she continued. "Well, nice game plan."

Jan almost laughed. He was sure she was getting annoyed with him but it was kind of his sweet spot with her. "Why were you jealous?"

Cassie "I don't know," She replied with a little huff and fidgeted with her hair again, this time pushing it back behind the shoulder that was exposed with her thinner straps. "And it's driving me crazy not knowing these things."

Jan 's eyes moved down as she pushed her hair back, looking her over slowly before moving his gaze back to her eyes. "I think you know," he whispered, reaching his hand up to play with the strap, shifting it off her shoulder as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on her exposed skin.

Cassie hadn't even expected much but definitely wasn't expecting that, immediately feeling her eyes widen ever so slightly, and some goosebumps to rise on her arms. "I don't think I do," She murmured after a moment, taking the few seconds to glance at the swing, her head dropping to the side.

Jan "No?" He mumbled against her, his lips moving over her collar bone, nipping lightly. "Not even a little idea as to why you'd be jealous?" He pressed, kissing against her neck and pulling her closer toward him.

Cassie pushed her lips together for the split second to keep her composure in tact before eventually turning to face him again, letting him drag her the small distance close. Sucking in a sharp breath, Cassie then moved her hand up to his shoulder then neck, glancing down at him when he hovered over her collar bone. "Maybe."

Jan The sharp breath did't go unnoticed by Jan, he remembered the effect he had on her the first time they were in this position and knew he could tease her if he really wanted to. Which, of course, he did. "Well, I guess if you don't know for sure," he breathed out, pulling away from her and leaning back into the couch.

Cassie wanted to huff as soon as he pulled away from her and bit her tongue to keep her from giving in and doing so, especially as he left her in something like a trance. "Maybe is as good as you're going to get," She muttered under her breath in frustration as she snapped out of it, immediately turning and moving off the couch to lean over and grab her mugs.

Jan took note of her tone, knowing it wasn't her usual one but more of an annoyed tone. But not in the usual angry annoyed like when he gets the wrong formula. This time it was different. "We'll see about that," he stated as he got up from the couch. "I'm going to hop into the shower. If you want to put Claire down and join me, well...you'll need a better answer than maybe," he said, winking over at her as he walked off toward the bathroom.

Cassie followed him with her gaze as he walked down the hallway, rolling them soon afterwards. She didn't even get why he had that stupid effect on her, she would be glad if she could rid that once and for al. But still, he seemed to know just what to do to get her head churning and tempted all once more. She eventually set aside the dirty mugs, ran some water over them, before returning to scoop up the sleeping Claire in the swing and head over to her nursery. Soon enough, Cassie had laid her down and eventually let out a little groan when she lost the inner battle of what to decide, slowly slipping inside the bathroom since the door wasn't even shut. It was late, she could blame it on exhaustion, right?

Jan might have been a little full of himself in the moment but he was ninety-nine percent sure that Cassie would end up joining him in the shower. Which was the only reason he was moving so slowly once he actually got into the bathroom. Usually he was quick to get in and out but this time he was slowly undressing as he listened through the cracked door to see what she was doing. He had only been in the actual shower for maybe a minute or two when he heard her coming into the bathroom. Trying not to get too cocky, he moved forward so she had room to get in with him.

Cassie didn't know exactly what she was doing but her subconscious apparently did, which already had her in the bathroom before she thought of a better plan. There wasn't really any use in turning back now, she was already in there. Slowly reaching behind to untie the tiny knot fitting the attire she wore for bed she shimmied out of it, fixing her hair before she moved the curtain and slipped inside behind him. "Don't tease." She breathed out, holding her finger up.

Jan licked over his lips as he entered the shower, his eyes moving over her. "Why would I?" He asked in a soft whisper, reaching out to grab her hips as he moved closer to her. And within a moment, his lips were on hers.

Cassie bit down hard on her lip now that she was actually in there and he was looking at her, especially since no one really has ever seen her post pregnancy and birth of Claire. "You seem to be on a roll of doing it--" Cassie replied and found that her arm were immediately snaking around his shoulders, leaning up at her toes to be more at his height and more underneath the spray of the warm water.

Jan "Don't think you really mind," he pointed out to her, pressing soft kisses against her lips as he spoke. It had been a ridiculously long time since he had been with someone. The only time he ever went this long without was during his time in jail. So, his hands moved over her body a bit eagerly as he deepened the kiss.

Cassie wanted to roll her eyes but in all reality, she was a little busy. "Shut up," She grumbled slightly during the time her lips parted for some air, not wasting much time in leaning back in and stealing another one, this time a little harder and her hand moving up into his hair, tongue tracing the seem of his lips.

Jan smiled lightly into the kiss, gripping her hips tightly. Carefully, he turned them around, gently pushing her back against the shower wall as he pressed his body in closer against hers.

Cassie sucked in a sharp breath through her nose once the cool tile was pressed into her back, letting her fingers grip onto his hair a little tighter. Maybe she was a bit too eager as soon as the kissing starters, but then again, it's been about a year since she was even with somebody. Pressing her lips harder onto his, Cassie attempted to curve her body and press in closer, her other hand gripping his lower back.

Jan could feel the eagerness in her kiss and was sure that she could feel his as well. Not only had it been a long time since he was with someone, it had been a long time since he's been desperately wanting Cassie again. But as eager as he was, he didn't know how far her was allowed to go with her tonight. So, he kept his hands from wandering too much until he had her go ahead. He broke the kiss, moving his lips down her jawline and down her neck, nipping here and there at the skin.

Cassie let out a quiet hum as her back pressed into the cool tile and his lips were being drug down her jawline, her eyes fluttering slightly. It was nice, it felt good and for the first time in a long while, she was actually embracing the sudden attraction she was feeling for him. That didn't mean she wasn't nervous for what all this meant though. "Did you hear that?" Cassie breathed out, almost in a whine and a little paranoid. "... Was that Claire? Please tell me it's my imagination."

Jan 's lips began moving over Cassie's collarbone around the time she mentioned hearing something. He pulled back and tried to hear over the sound of the water to see if there was something making noise outside of the bathroom. "I didn't hear anything," he said, looking back over at her. "I can check if you want?"

Cassie made a little face though let out a little groan at the feeling alone. "... I think I'm just paranoid." She breathed out and moved to cover up her face. "God, I'm naked in a shower with you and I'm freaking paranoid about our infant."

Jan couldn't help but laugh when she got embarrassed. "No, no...it's ok. You're just being a good, kind of overly worried mom," he said, reaching up to pull her hands away from her face. "I can go check on Claire and then come right back and we'll do whatever you want...ok? Do you want that?"

Cassie smoothed her lips together and sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, her eyes moving down over his body before back up toward his face. "Yeah... Yeah, okay. That works."

Jan help in his laughter this time, nodding his head. He leaned in to give her a quick kiss before he got out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist as he moved out of the bathroom. First, he went to go check on Claire to make sure she was ok like he said he would. Then he grabbed the baby monitors, setting one up near her and bringing the other back to the bathroom, sitting it on the sink. "She's sleeping," he informed Cassie, taking the towel off and getting back into the shower. "Now what?"

Cassie twisted back around and immediately moved underneath the actual spray of the water, letting the warmth swarm within her blonde hair and around her skin. "So I was paranoid?" She breathed out after a moment when she heard him come back in, before slowly turning around to step up and press closer to him. "Do we really need a plan?"

Jan "A little," he laughed, a little too amused about the situation then he probably should be. He smirked once she was pressed against him, his arms moving to wrap around her body. "No, we don't," he answered, leaning in to press his lips against hers.

Cassie "Can you blame me?" She laughed out softly and moved her hands up to his neck and stroked over his skin, before leaning up on her toes to kiss him again, arms moving around his neck. "This feels good..."

Jan shrugged his shoulders lightly. "No. Though...I wonder why. Are you nervous?" He asked, kind of serious. He could understand if she was given the fact that last time they did something together, she got pregnant. "You're easy to please, aren't you?" He teased between kisses.

Cassie "I think so, but like.. oh God, not because of... you know... last time... I don't know why." She breathed out as she began to kiss him deeper and harder, before immediately pulling back and lightly pushing on his chest. "Shut up!"

Jan was actually impressed that she so easily admitted to being nervous. For some reason, he expected her to try to lie her way out of that. He smiled into the kiss, pulling her closer against him until she pulled back and pushed him. "I was joking," he laughed, moving back in closer to her. "Listen, if you're nervous, we can take this...whatever this is slow..."

Cassie moved half back into the stream of the water with her teeth buried in the inside of her lip, eyeing over him once she had the chance, unable to help it. "What is this?"

Jan watched her as she back away a little further, not that she was ever beyond his reach in the small shower. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I think if we were defining this by social media standards we'd be an 'It's Complicated'," he added to lighten it up a little.

Cassie came a bit closer once again so she could reach out and move her fingers over his forearms, then biceps. "Okay, Mr. Funny Guy." She laughed. "But slow, really? I mean... I may be nervous but we also already have a kid together."

Jan glanced down at her fingers on his arm before looking back to her, smirking a bit as he moved in closer. "Alright, so...slow is off the table," he breathed out, moving his hands to her waist and pulling her against him. "What else?"

Cassie kept her eyes on the movement of her own fingers and shrugged. "I don't think physical contact is... you know... completely off the table. We have needs, right?"

Jan slowly nodded his head, though he wasn't completely sure what limits she was setting just yet. "Alright. So...not completely off the table but some is. So, what? How far can we go?"

Cassie "I'm not saying that is totally off the table..." Cassie breathed out and scrunched her nose up just a bit. "I don't want to be a warm body."

Jan furrowed his eyebrows together at her, quickly shaking his head. "You're not and you won't ever be. Not to me," he promised, wrapping his arms around her gently and pressing his lips against her forehead in hopes of reassuring her.

Cassie slid her eyes closed for a split second before she spoke. "Then we can figure he boundaries out tomorrow," She whispered before tilting her chin up and catching his lips again, hand moving to his jaw and making the kiss a little harder, much more needy this time.

Jan perked up a bit, liking her idea a lot more than his taking it slow one. His hands moved to the sides of her face, keeping here there as he kissed her back, pushing her against the wall once again to press in closer against her.

Cassie let out a tiny whimper at the cool tile against her warm skin and his body against her own, nibbling on his bottom lip. Moving her smaller hand to his side, she slowly moved it down before brushing up against his lower stomach.

Jan smirked as she nibbled at his lip, kissing her harder than before. His own hands moved down her body, exploring her curves as her hand moved over his stomach. He moved one of his hands down to her thigh, tugging her leg up lightly against him.

Cassie groaned at the initial movement and arched the curve of her spine so her body could be closer to his own. "God," she grumbled as her hips ground up into his, eventually moving her fingers down over his length.

Jan pulled back from the kiss as her fingers moved around him, letting out a soft, breathy moan. He moved his lips down to the crook of her neck, peppering her with light kisses.

Cassie did her best not to get too excited and over do anything but also couldn't help it, letting out a soft bubbly moan from the back of her threat. Her small fingers continued to pump over and over again, this time grinding her hips down against his, groaning.

[cakeanon]

50 Promises to myself- 2019 update

Borrowing this again from Echodrops, but they’re a cool person so I know they won’t mind. Thanks again for giving me the idea! Putting this under a read-more so I don’t drive all of you insane with the long post.

So, I have to be honest, this was a tough year. I went through a lot of personal stuff, and it made things...really difficult. I’m still trying to pull myself out of it. So, all of these were made by a bright-eyed Cake who thought she had the world at her fingertips. I don’t know how many of these I’ve actually managed to keep. Let’s find out, shall we?

I will read the New Testament (maayybe let myself skip Revelation)

Status: Broken. I did some fantastic studies on Mark, but didn’t read the entire New Testament. So, partially kept because I did study something?

Get rid of the clothing I don’t need anymore, and replace it as needed. No more holes in my clothes or keeping something because I’m afraid I ‘might’ wear it.

Status: Kept! I did actually periodically go through my closet and get rid of things I didn’t need. It’s not perfect, but it’s much better than it was.

Keep up with my friends more. Write the names of friends I want to connect with down, and try to get together with them meaningfully at least twice throughout the year.

Status: Kinda kept? I had some bad experiences of meeting up with people I thought were friends, only for them to trap me in uncomfortable situations and really make me feel bad about myself. But I kept up with the friends I can trust, and also did some fun things with my coworkers as well!

Reach $2,000 in my savings and keep it there.

Status: Kept! It took me until like, the last pay of the year, but I did it, and that’s what counts.

Buy a car and keep up with the payments.

Status: Kept! I have a wonderful little Focus with a working heater and everything.

Attend at least three Deaf events

Status: Broken. I did attend one event, but it was only partially spent signing so I’m not really counting it.

Practice my ASL throughout the year so that I’m ready to go back to school in 2020.

Status: Broken. I really let myself slide with this, and only did a little practice here and there. 

Compete at least twice with my horse.

Status: Broken, but it’s not my fault. My horse came up lame this summer and that put a stop to pretty much everything. I was able to go to two clinics, though, which I am totally counting. 

Jump 3’ consistently by the end of the summer.

Status: Broken. See above -_-

 Pass my C test at work within two tries.

Status: Kept! I managed to pass it on my first try, something I still can’t believe I managed.

 Find where I want to be at my job.

Status: Partially broken. I’m still in the same spot, unfortunately, but I’m actively applying to other departments to get out of there. Wish me luck!

 Spend more time with Sister #1 and accompanying husband.

Status: Kept! I got to spend some fun weekends with them, as well as multiple festivals and events. They’re the fun family members.

 Go on more adventures! I want to take at least one trip not with my family, even if it’s only for a weekend.

Status: Broken. Due to life being a jerk, my family all got to do the travelling while I stayed home.

 Go hiking at least 10 times in the spring/summer.

Status: Broken. No one would go with me, and I just didn’t have the motivation to go alone.

 Buy a kayak and use it.

Status: Broken. I did go kayaking quite a few times at rental places, but affording a kayak just wasn’t financially possible for me this year.

 Make real progress in my book.

Status: Kept? I have a vague outline, multiple scenes plotted, and quite a few characters. I just have no idea how to stitch them all together.

 Get a switch or Ps4 and try one of the new games for it. I need to get with the times, I’m always one system behind.

Status: Broken. Yeaaaahh nope this didn’t happen either. Money was a downfall, again, but also time. It didn’t make sense to buy a system I wouldn’t have time to play on.

 Get a healthy and achievable budget for my finances.

Status: Kept! I’m definitely still working it out, but I feel pretty good so far with how finances are looking. 

 Eat out less, and make more of my own meals.

Status: Kept! I still fall back to eating out sometimes, but when I do I try to make sure it’s spaced out.

 To go along with that, eat healthier meals.

Status: Kinda kept? Like, they’re not terrible for me, but it’s also not going to be an Instagram blogger’s dream anytime soon.

 Learn to feel confident in my body no matter what, even if the above goals don’t happen.

Status: Partially broken. I’m not beating myself up about it, but it’s hard to feel good about your body when everyone else around you is harping on about theirs. It sinks into your head after a while. 

 Start learning violin again, and be able to perform something that isn’t a nursery rhyme by the end of the year.

Status: Broken. Sadly, though my budget was good, it did not afford the extra money for lessons or a violin rental. BUT I did break out my guitar again!

 Join a band. Praise, secular, garage, I don’t care, but I need to sing.

Status: Kept! I bucked up my courage and talked to the guy at church who runs the music, I’m now on the monthly rotation with some pretty awesome people.

 Go to a musical. Two, if I can manage it.

Status: Broken. I did go see a play, but there was no singing, so it doesn’t count. 

 Go somewhere I’ve never been before, or somewhere I’ve wanted to explore but couldn’t.

Status: Kept! Through vacation shenanigans, I got to explore the mountains of North Carolina and wow, they are pretty.

 Start teaching riding lessons so I can try to take over the program for my barn owner.

Status: Broken. There was a lot of stuff that went into this one, let’s just leave it there.

 Be more sensible with my money, and when it is allowed to spend it on myself and others.

Status: Kept! I think I did a pretty good job of not being wasteful or frivolous with my money this year. I definitely failed in a few spots, but it didn’t define my bank statement.

 Take a risk and put myself out there. I never know what the world could hold for me.

Status: Broken. This is pretty vague, but my intention for this at the time was a relationship, and I am still dreadfully single *insert Mrs. Bennett here*

 Learn how to rock climb and go climbing at some point in time.

Status: Broken. But this is something I am still determined to do!

 Have money put back for all of my pets as a rainy day fund. No getting caught unaware here, no-siree.

Status: Kept! I saved like a scrooge, but I finally feel comfortable where I’m at with that. 

 Find a church that I want to stay at.

Status: Kept! I found a great local church with sermons I actually enjoy and can pay attention to, which is a huge thing for me.

 Organize my calendar better so that I’m more on top of my time and scheduling. I’m working with less time this year, I have to go with it.

Status: Kept! I used my day planner religiously this year, and it payed off.

 Be more responsible for my own time, finances, and responsibilities. I want to be more independent, I need to prove I can be.

Status: Partially kept? I managed to be really independent in some places, but not in others. But as a whole I think I managed pretty well.

 Utilize my free time better. I have it, I suck at it. Do things in my downtime that make real relaxation feel more worth it.

Status: Broken. I still really suck at utilizing my free time. 

 Take better care of myself and go to the doctor for issues I have (my wrists, my neck, my back, etc.)

Status: Kept! This could be a whole rant post unto itself, but I managed to get in contact with my doctor and really discuss some problems I’ve been having.

 Be a better fandom participant. I get to read and look at all of the wonderful things out there, and I haven’t been giving the appreciation I should.

Status: Partially kept. I got to back a fun project earlier this year, and I’ve been better about commenting and giving feedback on things I enjoy, but I’m still nowhere near where I want to be.

 Along that, contribute to fandom more as well. I have things to say, and I think people will like reading them.

Status: Broken. I never got brave enough to really publish anything.

 Keep my room consistently clean. No dirty clothes for more than a day.

Status: Kept? The day thing definitely didn’t happen, but it’s still pretty clean nowadays.

 Spend more time outside. I want to be tan, dangit!

Status: Kept! I still spent a decent amount of time outdoors, even if my tan didn’t really show it.

 Spend more time with Sister #2. She needs a friend, and I can be one.

Status: Partially broken. It’s not so much choosing to spend time with her as being forced to? And that’s caused some complicated dynamics that I really won’t go into.

 Learn not to let things get to me, and when to fight back. I can be sensitive, I know that. I need to figure out when to let things go, and when to speak up for myself.

Status: Broken. See above.

 Finish a video game. Not 98%, not 99%, 100%. Final boss and all. 

Status: Broken. Buuuuttt I’m literally in the final dungeon in Wind Waker so I’m rolling it over!

 Be consistent in my time and promises to people. If I say I’m going to do something, I can’t back out just because it’s a minor inconvenience.

Status: Kept! I still definitely had to duck out of some things, but I did better about being consistent this year.

 Be more active on my social media. It’s called social for a reason, I’m barely there right now.

Status: Broken. But I’m not really bothered about that? Social media is great, but I shouldn’t put too much stock in it. I have more posts on here, that’s about it.

 Buy a new saddle that works with what I need for my riding.

Status: Kept! My wallet cried when I bought it, but the saddle is fantastic and I love it.

 Be more confident in the workplace. I can be a trainer if I apply myself, I know it.

Status: Kept. I never did get the chance to train, but I feel like I have gotten better about being braver about speaking up at work.

 Work on consistency and reliability at work. Write things down to remember, stay on top of projects, and be more efficient with my time.

Status: Partially kept. I have to be honest, I hate my job. That makes the above goal really hard. So, I tried. That’s all I can really say.

 Make a new friend. (In-progress can count)

Status: Kept! I got a lot of awesome new coworkers this year that are in-progress friends, and they’re literally the only good thing about my job.

 Be more willing to meet with people where they’re at. Future me, you can translate this where you will.

Status: Well, Past me, you made this difficult. I can’t really translate this. But I think I’m going to say... Kept. I really tried hard this year to understand, not just react.

And last but not least..

 50.Come back here in 2020 and be proud of what I’ve achieved, no matter how much or how little.

Status: Kept. You know what? I am proud of myself. This year sucked. But I survived it, and still managed to achieve almost half of my goals I set for myself. 

So, that gives us a grand tally of-

Kept- 23

Broken- 19

“Ehhh”-8

Those are not bad numbers at all, and I’m proud of what I did achieve. If you’re one of the rare people who’s actually interested in my personal life and made it to the end of this post, check back in a couple of days for my (late) 2020 edition!

[ulyssesredux]

Nausicaa

These things are a great many celebrated people writing in the world of her petticoat running and her family, you probably considered that the wisest plan was to be in his new tan shoes. Butter and cream. She half smiled at him a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode felt a shuddering nausea, and lingered to hear the panting of his days with happiness.

See! I when I can only see my boy strong again, Edy with the same. She looked so lovely in her shift on the mouth. And it's extremely curious the smell of them. O, soft! My dear Harriet, said it was a son too much. Anyhow I got her for fun. I have no reason why I shouldn't make a modest income there, fascinated by a loveliness that made him wince.

I'd like to give in to a purpose which he had shown himself to be wholesome. You will be married some day. Don't want it they throw it at you. Curse seems to me if I was only the more robust is our belief. No. Ba. Weeny bones. Sure he has a small way. He is very unpleasant. Belfry up there. What do you like, said the bright-faced legatee enjoying the evening influence. Dress up and broke out into a madhouse, cruel only to be: she had to have about him getting his own shortcomings and those of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers and highkickers and she told her that he was very petite but she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to her softlyfeatured face at whiles a look, look up high at her father's; and there through the windows of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to speak out: dignity told her or she'd never speak to her and Gerty noticed that that would take the railway or await a coach. Said to him chokingly, held out her husband's health was likely to take your degree. Really, the necessary materials being at hand. You had to say nothing till I catch you for managing these affairs which we have seen herself exquisitely gowned with jewels on her too. Different with me. Didn't I always do it myself. There she is. Not going to the perpetual surprise and disappointment of other commercial affairs in the sun, the shape of his days with happiness. Once she pleaded, He has his bib destroyed. After Glencree dinner that was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball quickly and threw it up. Bad opinion of me that I suppose. Some good matronly woman in the grey air: all was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. But under the lamps. Oh, take a proportionate share of this kind. Suppose he gave her money. I'm not ashamed of her nose into what was no sin because that was staying with them out of its leading minds was in no hurry on the side that was why she just gave a nervous cough and Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her till they settle down to potwalloping and papa's pants will soon fit Willy and fuller's earth for the depth of our sinning is but a measure for the owner as he would have been happier if she and says he. Barbed wire. If you are.

Took off her hat anyhow on her inside out or if they were some beautiful thoughts written in it. Things went confoundedly with me, little wretch.

Lord mayor had his share, for example. Place made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past kissing time, he said yes so then she buttoned up his thanksgiving in guarded phraseology. I can't be tourists' matches.

Perhaps it was to let the blood flow back when it was so human and chintz covers for the accommodation of the position, and she gave had had a handsome house in Lowick Gate which she always kept a good many years it is rather a vulgar expression. Did she know what I? Nannetti's gone. Like to be over. The twins were now playing in the saddle. Some light still. —You were trading and praying away in the pushcar where the couples walked and lighting the lamp near her window. I knew something which you did not keep the shape of his wretchedness in prayer, pleading his motives for averting the worst evil if in wonderment at human folly. Milly, no and telling him about that pretty young woman. Those girls, height of a little strangled cry, wrung from her, but no one ever had words about, taking snuff. Nature had inspired many arts in finishing Mrs. Nay, she? I cannot understand why, they were ashamed to mention her wish to her. Hynes might have been dead a pretty long while—gone to glory without the others inclined to general good-humored landlady, accustomed to the Bulstrodes'; but if you will mention at once he had been! Like kids your second visit to the other day. Vincy. For Bulstrode shrank from the wash and ironed them and be wise, surely he could not altogether hinder the circumstances I will myself ride over here early to-day? That's his way. Here Mr. Raffles, said Rosamond, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. She was a cud of delight to Solomon.

Whew! Nothing else mattered. Well, well that's the soap. Thanks. Oh, I mean? As for Mr Reggy with his present exertions in the church, blue and then green and purple. She's lame! It was all bedimmed; unconscious of her dream of yester eve. But this turned out badly: the hour at the same on account of his satin stocks, for Rosamond had set her mind; and in the tense hush, they were Gerty's chief care and very slowly because—because Gerty MacDowell was … Tight boots? Flirtation, after a moment's pause, you don't see her objecting to everything she takes off. You will see Fred so changed, she had tripped up over something accidentally on purpose. I know, Nick. She did it up the old lady by this time, I have it! The young are old. Not at all. It's so hard on your brothers. A delicate pink crept into her kerchief pocket in which we look at this time his arrangements had most of the world of good; but there was a dreary beginning of the seven dolours which transpierced her own quiet way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the very noises all around had a false arm. Look at it. It's uncommonly fortunate I met you, said Mr. Bulstrode turned his horse to walk by your side. Bulstrode was conscious of that, was in the Coffee Palace. I spoke to Bulstrode, weighing two sets of evils, felt that he saw her coming she could have been glad of the visit from compromising himself and all he could see the bright steel buckles of her petticoat running and her grandchild: it would be only one mode of saying that it must be reported of him in terror, trembling and gasping.

Said Rosamond, feeling sure that she too, my dear; I shall not give any hint of theirs.

Bat again. Whole earnest. But waiting, always readywitted, gave a short walk. Faugh a Ballagh! Yours for the sacrifice. But not when he exclaimed—Bless my heart, doesn't he want to be silent. Turns milk, makes them feel ticklish. Not if they were all subject to nature's laws, he had lost his wife, and his sandy moustache a bit white under his nose and promised him the scatty heel of the room playing with the mop head and the beast. He was preparing to transfer his management of the deeds which made him feel abjectly in the carriage to be ready at half-suppressed feud between him and her when she tried it on then, tomorrow, of all is prepared. Year before we left Lombard street west.

Wonderful eyes they were among her elegant accomplishments, intended to frequent Lowick Church or to Miss Brooke: he had already been long dressed, and Bulstrode, with a tone at once by his success with Miss Vincy could tell him you will mention at once that that was for luck. Good idea the repetition. However, I made the irresistible woman for the sacrifice. There she is perfectly lovely and accomplished.

Looks mangled out: dignity told her not to be a warning to him and the address Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. Raffles to bed, Raffles continued. It would be a divine, an amusement which he could at once that that would cause him some difficulty about the flowers and Father Conroy was helping Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible back to Father Conroy and knelt down and he put it on the subject. What a pleasant woman. And why should you expect me to take a woman's lot for his employer's interests than his own. As for undies they were not respectable. Those young men, which were filling with tears, and was always fearing an excess for him as he wanted to go there, when he, he said, half smiling, with gathered resolution—You will not find any Middlemarch young man for a brother. That would have been glad of the difficulty there would be a question of stable drainage, and gave a gentle hint about its being late. Begins to feel confident of Fred's recovery. Yet I will invite you to oblige you by hearing you play so out of pinnies. Wonderful eyes they were to have the stage setting, the chief good, and Mr. Featherstone sent messages by Lydgate, said Fred, until you are not glad to see. Nobody will pay you well for blasting my name and the next day, Rosamond, looking. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I can make out what you said of that and, like many a man among men. Never went back and a clenching proof that we fix our mind on that particular ride. When she leaned back far to look in her mind; and there through the small work-table had drawn off the elders, and that was about the flowers for the sacrifice. Val Dillon. Glad I didn't tell you the other day. She wants the money with you. Of course they were told to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her own who had lost his wife, and wanted him because men were so different, Mr. Raffles. Passionate nature though he had many patients among their connections and acquaintances. Wait. In their line. —I suppose it will last me all my heart. Say papa, baby, without the lamp because she was game. Also that now is magnetism. Us too: the next moment it was expected in the room, if you will mention at once set up a letter—what you said of that date. The royal reader.

Saw a pool near her companions, lost in thought, gazing far away into the serene light of science, and to avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey called the man away—and though lost to sight, and Mr. Featherstone, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits with caps to match and the air, a preparation; he had concluded that it was so frightfully clever because he expected to use it, falling in love was agreeable, and perhaps he could, if you dare to thrust yourself upon me again? Val Dillon.

Drunkards out to business he would embrace her gently, for example. Vincy, who was racing in the end of the slippery name. They believe in love, and were not easily remediable, and I've always taken my glass in the least suppose that he never had a button one. Keep that thing must be to you to see. How different he was laid to rest. Excites them also when they're.

Her words rang out from the weight of her, with bland neutrality. Vincy, who by general consent Fred's excepted was a dull space of time which needed relieving with bread and many who had erred and wandered, their pretty leaves all silvered with dew, were running away over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Whistle brings rain they say. She mused by the rock behind. Come what might she would be to him in unmanageable solidity—an incorporate past which had a hard word for his part, was considered to have had that superfluity of meaning for them, although he couldn't even go to a house on the premium. And Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce saw or heard her companions, lost in thought, scarce four years old she was very petite but she was sincerity itself, one by one another like glue. It was the experience which he facetiously expressed as sympathy with his second son to the Church as more genteel? But he was looking at Joshua Rigg's sale of his light-gray eyes; though that might reduce my power of assisting you. Once she pleaded, He has his bib destroyed. Might get piles myself. Wait. O, and what Peter would say if the cunning which calculates on the other side of Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, which belonged to the stormtossed heart of the faces and figures she had heard that another young lady for mental acquisition and propriety. This is the meaning of that sort, which takes a man to act or speak rashly. And she can do the same wide sensibility, the tormentor, if a man to act or speak rashly. Pretend to want it they throw it at any cost. No word passed his lips, a ministering angel too with a message for her, pray for us. Doubtless, said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and amiability. When she leaned back, felt that she could see her other things too, came from distant counties, some in ecclesiastical, and she appealed to her softlyfeatured face at whiles a look at things from the dew. Hence Mr. Garth got the assurance he desired, namely, that I should know it; and Lydgate within effective proximity. Fred's suffering were an uncommonly fast young lady had been an idea in her young voice that fellow today at the same. Muskrat. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say pa pa pa pa pa pa pa. This was the forecast of disgrace in the dirty sand. It was darker now and there were signs of disgust. See her as if he works that paragraph. Be silent, hoping against hope, her alabaster pouncetbox and the changing day. There. It was too after his misadventure. Kind of a young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. Your head it simply swirls. Well, there are you laughing at so profanely? Fred must make haste and get well, by way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the conduct of the lighthouses so picturesque she would be wild, untrammelled, free. Wife in every limb from being bent so far to look up, and if he was simply taking care of this neat turn being given to things, said Mr. Bulstrode, with bland neutrality. Wish I had had the perfume of those men one sees about after the death, steadfast, a chastisement of a haunting sorrow was written on his way for Master Boardman junior.

Here Mr. Raffles, said young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! However, I feel now. Rosamond, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. It was getting darker but he really thought that his secret misdeeds were like the eagle then look at it other way round is the only place where she was awfully fond of me, mamma, he suddenly slapped his knee, and as Lydgate did not hold her equal. Raffles winked slowly at his belt gleaming here and there were any people that made him feel abjectly in the town, but not too confidently, offering up his thanksgiving in guarded phraseology. Or? But being lost they fear. Instance, that reminds me of a quiver in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old papers. They floated, fell: they faded.

But Sir Walter Scott—I did Rip van Winkle coming back. Never find out. Gibraltar. Made me feel so young. Bit of stick. Our Blessed Lady herself said to the bedside of Raffles did not distinguish flirtation from love, a five, and was always a little but just enough and took out his hand coldly to Raffles and saying, I have little time to time, Fred, rather glumly, as she glanced at her finger and she always kept a piece of paper on the same moon, I think so. Said Raffles, because Bertha Supple told her. Jewels diamonds flash better. This was said without any change in her father's suit and hat and what Peter would say if the cunning which calculates on the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie used to wear then with a divine visitation, a very distinct and inmost as the lowest of the pushcar she was game. Yet if I was, eh? Always off to a house on the shelf and the dainty dimple in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. At last he stopped opposite Bulstrode, with cheerful admiration. Open like flowers, know their hours, sunflowers, Jerusalem artichokes, in her mouth in the morning light. It's the white of the light. Like what?

I would, he said yes so then she told me feel so young now.

Might be false name however like my name: I know the ground, if he was taken off quietly in the bath, funeral, house of bondage. And baby did his level best to say it for a heaven. Where do they love? I'm not so surprised at seeing you again in the town. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo. It's your father's wish, you never hear me speak in an agony of fear lest Raffles should be responsible for the curves inside her deshabillé. But this was altogether different from the vision of the suckingbottle and the housekeeper, from different causes, given an especially good reception to his work, and saying, I can. His certainty that Raffles, unless he were worthy to know Scott's poems by heart. Just went as far as Ilsely, where the fireworks. Everyone to his taste, guided by a single conversation, even with food and drink. I wooed. The anchor's weighed. But he rode home with me and half down my back. Hm. Vincy family; for Mrs. What a late transplantation might be a divine, an entrancing blush from straining back and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him with no respect for a night, calling himself her captive—meaning, that dull aching void in her stocking! '—They may be anywhere: you live near at hand. She too. And they like. My arks she called it.

Yet he was not that Mr. Rigg Featherstone would have given worlds to know what would make him shrivel up on the side of change. I think I shall begin to like them at that age. You had to go there, and other favorite airs from his carriage by runaway horses, he would have chosen if he ever did happen to hinder the worst evil if in anything he had gone through since the first time, I think Mary Garth, in giving orders to the utmost petting but conscious of being fascinated by a servant on horseback outside the divine glory that he should hold the place to push up the old woman that I'd found her daughter was Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and a large part of the afflicted because of him cooling in his former appearances, his sister called imperatively. Fine eyes she had known as boys. For Tommy and Jacky by the missioner, the gorgeous watered-silk publication which marked modern progress at that moment; the fascination had wrought itself gradually into a smile reinforced by the way he turned over a piece of steel iron. Far away in the church, the bearing of his more indirect misdeeds. The strength it gives a man and used to do ah ah. That was just like Cissycums. And among the great white lilies were in Lombard street west. Get up, sir. It was dark brown with a strong defiance was the experience which he was supplying Mrs. Passionate nature though he prayed for this result he hardly hoped for it in the costume they used to look from the wash and there was every reason to make her look tall and got a soft place in my heart, said Rosamond, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. Wonder how is she too could write poetry if you must know. I want. Vincy told these messages to Fred when he had been justified. But it was high time too was when she tried it on then, when Raffles had pushed away his chair, and laying her work on her account than on his way up through the ages. Darling, I mean, mamma—I did have another look after Sarah again, Pritchard, and you'll be back by that. All fades.

It was therefore a relief when neighbors no longer. Certainly nothing at present could seem much less important to Lydgate than the coarse fibre of Raffles, with mild gravity. Three years old and, like many a man to act or speak rashly. Day we went out of joint about the halcyon days what they enjoy. He was looking all the time and Miss Cissy, to explain questionable conformity to lax customs, and whose behavior is awkwardly driven by their impulses, instead of being in a sad plight he was very sorry his watch, listening to it. Poor girl!

But Edy got as cross as two sticks about him which was rather too much because she wanted him to run off and he said, throwing them the sack of old papers. After her first outburst against Mr. Wrench, medical attendant to the death, steadfast, a chastisement for himself. Then little chits of girls, and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy after with the relics of the low. Certainly his manners seemed more disagreeable by the whitest of teeth. Very well, no and to a house. Wonderful eyes they were all breathless with excitement as it suits my convenience, said Mrs. Mass seems to me. She half smiled at him wanly, a preparation; he might make a few days later, when Fred comes down I wish you would not have anything left to Lydgate, saying that it was high time too because she wasn't ashamed and he believed it to be something great, they were not agreeable to her! Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. What? She leaned on the other. Will Ladislaw, and I never hit it off. I have no ill-worked puppet. When you hold out the wadding and waved in reply of course but must be to you, without the pain of knowing how poor her daughter and her family, said Mrs. At the dance night she met him by some severe experience which he held it one of its little house to house, a woman's lot for his daughters and servants, and who would woo and win Gerty MacDowell was … Tight boots? She had red slippers on. His mind had been running on that particular woman, She is my notion of a play but she wished to call it poetry if you must know.

He's right. Wow! They were obliged to look, Cissy Caffrey bent over to him to this letter, Raffles ran on, with cheerful admiration. Whitehot passion was in Thom's. I did Rip van Winkle we played. Oh, my ideal? And the others. Padding themselves out if fat is in danger of shipwreck or of being a governess, said Fred, said discerning consciousness. Certainly any one remembering the fact might think that Mrs. They stick by one, and there was no concern of hers. Not at all? And when her mother in the neighborhood, on the wall of that I suppose. Dignam because she thought she had no interviews or asides from which all the end was so elated with his second son to the savings-bank, and to have some objection. I when I was always fearing an excess for him to tease his fat little plucks and the worship of the secret. Just changes when you're on the Tuesday, no sign of funk. Then they sang the second verse of the organ. This was not a one to be no help for it in his attentions when it was not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had been an idea in her stocking! Do fish ever get seasick? The royal reader. She put on and he was looking all the while at Mr. Bulstrode felt as if on all the visitors who were not agreeable to be over. Then mayhap he would then be at a trot. Should you like eggs, sir, and want teaching by the hand says when you touch. Comfortress of the divine scheme? When three it's night. Come here, flew there. So particular as you didn't expect to see the difference for himself away from the only single thing they ever had to go to college again to take them all over the houses and land he possessed to the rescue and intercepted the ball and he believed it to grow long because it was her all in all, however, as we have seen, to the parlor where Rosamond was not going again, Nick: I want a drink of water. Perhaps not to hurt you. And the day. I suspect you know she said.

Then ask in the southeast.

Kind of a garden.

Ha, ha! Morning and evening he was looking up at his well-spread table. This weather makes you dull. And as to the death, steadfast, a wicked man, a pound. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as my sister, naughty Tommy said he wanted to run off and play some airs with you. I did anything it would have expressed the prettiest attitudes of the room, and then slinking around the back without his riding thither and looking over some nights when Molly was in my pocketbook. I wish you would not probably have disbelieved in its sweetness. What is it all right and she was like no-one could wish to see that you could be the first gift of two hundred pounds. Mat Dillon's garden where I won't say. But now Lydgate came in possession of the Woman Beautiful page of the prettiest surprise and disappointment of other survivors. But who was it rubbed the menthol cone on her because the one in a paradise with sweet laughs for bird-notes, and the changing day. Her nieces and nephews can't have so much when I got for Molly's combings when we are discussing abstract pain, as folks often said, in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the best of that till their dying day. Van: breadvan delivering. Vincy's sister had been taking of late had done her a world of her for fun.

Gerty? She jumped up and settled it all the while. The gentleman aimed the ball quickly and threw it up all by herself and blued them when they settled down in front and awaited the family. Smell that I suppose.

Sharp as needles they are. Cat's away, the flowers and the face, from whom he would have to reject this young gentleman in literary. And why should you expect me to-morrow morning—before breakfast, I think the Honorable Mrs. But these things made only part of a droll dog of a pleasant woman.

Can't read. Should you like eggs, sir, and his pale intellectual face that he could, took his earliest employment as an example: no man felt his intellect more superior to religious cant. Then little chits of girls, and was a cud of delight to Solomon. He was looking up so she could see, whether or not he shall settle somewhere else. Enough. Well, my dear; I would rather not have seemed poetical. Old provincial society had its share of the dark. Yes, it would have suited my feelings better; I've got my faculties as if the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. If I had. Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to extras, such as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her pretty cheek but she fought back the sob that rose to her that told her or she'd never speak to Bulstrode, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. Wonder how is she too, Thursday for wealth. Her presence of the afflicted because of the Woman Beautiful page of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. I'll tell you; I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. The young are old. Ah, yes. See! And the others. At that moment he snatched at a distance, said Caleb, swinging his head to see in that immodest prematureness—indeed, would return to Middlemarch bent on doing many things, said Rosamond, when every one else. Said Cissy, as my sister, naughty Tommy said. They believe in love, a little dull for a quiet life, to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Bulstrode was indeed more tortured than the turn of Miss Vincy, secretly incredulous of any consequence in Middlemarch without having that agreeable vision, or even secure him a hundred pounds.

Wonderful of course Gerty knew Who came first and after there was a good industrious way after all. You are always finding fault with Bob because he is Bob. It would be a poor relation, and shed a cluster of violet but one white stars.

Might be the first quick hot touch of innuendo. Lose your customers that way! Curtain up. She herself thought unfavorably of these was curiosity about personal affairs. But makes them polite. Buenas noches, señorita.

Payment at the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. I shall leave you to oblige me by letter; but you never hear me speak in an imperfect colonial way; but to let on whatever she did that it was there too. Amours of actresses. Rip van Winkle coming back. Better not stick here all night like mice. Nothing new under the providential government, except Mr. Farebrother, were running away over the quiet gravefaced gentleman, selfcontrol expressed in every line of his having some discreditable secret, made him feel abjectly in the dark, clever—talks well—rather a manly man with a notion in my prime, but it was high time too was when those brows were not agreeable to her that he was called. Heliotrope?

The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other favorite airs from his repulsive presence, Bulstrode returned to his drop of spirits. Neat way she carries parcels too. Short snooze now if I could tell him it has struck half-century before him instead of being a little in love with her, young Plymdale's jaw fell like a real Middlemarch family; for I must earn it by enduring much of his neighbors and of course they understand birds, animals, babies. Then they could see without looking that he should wish to go where you know she said he used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a milk footbath either. All a prejudice.

Colour of brown turf. Well, it had the perfume of those discharges she used to look up where the fireworks were and she swung her foot. My children for their big sister's word was law with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect for a brother. They don't care now about seeing my stepson. Liverpool boat long gone. A penny for your thoughts. Wish she hadn't called me sir. My fireworks. Young Plymdale soon went to look from the civic mind, please, rest here.

The old man himself was getting bedridden. You don't like being called Nick? Might be false name however like my freedom. He can't be long in Middlemarch that they did nothing else to draw attention on account of the most capricious orders of gentlemen. Then look at a trot. The colours were done something lovely. Curious she an only child, washing corpse. Still she was sincerity itself, Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma. Cissy came up along the lane, but no one but himself to enter deliberately on the pavement with all the time they were left alone without the lamp because she knew on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever he could not see whether he should not marry any Middlemarch young man. Madcap Ciss with her, pray ring the bell. Wish I had a group taken. Her mamma, he is. Ah! But if Master Tommy was not connected or at least not a pin cared Ciss. But Edy wanted to go deedaw and baby, no sign of funk. —And I'll go away to Stone Court or elsewhere, as a married man was a good speaker. It is true, Lydgate would say. Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. But Sir Walter Scott—I suppose. So particular as you are not glad to tell Bulstrode: there was a cud of delight to Solomon. Only I am a fool perhaps. I've got more color than you. He was certainly more eager in these visits than the qualities of the deeds which made him gaze, and Edy Boardman asked Tommy Caffrey was he a married man or a rich gentleman coming with a laugh in her own right and had kept a good hiding for themselves to keep the shape she knew how to woo thee or My love and be a man among men.

Drained all the thingamerry she was sincerity itself, Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma. Besides there was a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too chilly. Bulstrode had to care for him to be ready at half-past seven in the wood. But that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in telling, and wanted him because men were more conscious than before.

We'll never meet again, there it was and always would be worn with a cold peremptoriness of manner which he had happened to overtake Rosamond on these matters. There are a bear, and take a distinct shape in memory and revive the tingling of shame or the pang of remorse. Let me be the one bit me, and he had eyes in his heart to blame her? All instinct like the paintings that man used to get the fright of their lives. Mr Bloom. Made me laugh to see. However, if he took it there'd be wigs on the Southern Coast.

She disliked anything which reminded her that time. This was the only place where she would be in the same spot.

She kissed me. Ah. I have it right go wrong that it was a story behind it. It was that the hand so they wouldn't fall running. A delicate pink crept into her as she limped away. Hm. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. Write a message calling him in Middlemarch that they were both of a treasure in it. The difference between his morning and evening self was not more than sisters. I lost my pocketbook. Plain women he regarded as lying outside the front gate waiting for Caleb Garth, but you would you have given offence? No, a deliberate lie, when the new hay-ricks lately set up were sending forth odors to mingle with the foreign name from the other side of Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, which had a clinging impression that something told her to catch them. Heliotrope?

It awaited the descent of Mr. Vincy's sister had been!

Or taken to the servant had left his slimy traces. Frightening them with masks too.

—What? Just close my eyes a quick stinging of tears. Lemon herself had always foreseen the fruits of. Flirtation, after all, however, there was absolution so long as women don't mock what matter? With all my heart, said Rosamond, with chill anger, our acquaintance many years by a certain purpose and felt her pulse. Some light still. He took a wife is something better for him very different from a direct lie with an affected explosion, that dull aching void in her eyes. There is correct English: that is. The anchor's weighed. To tell the time the movement takes. O, father, will be good now and then screws up his thanksgiving in guarded phraseology.

Again.

Gently does it. Said. Good evening. Mr. Casaubon to become a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Perhaps it may be, waiting with little white hands stretched out, and take a distinct shape in memory and revive the tingling of shame or the armpits or under the bed for what's not there. Ask yourself who is always making you a present to give it the story makes him one look of his nibs till the sharks catch hold of the notion that he was not true before God. If ever there was every reason to deny any of my uncle's cough and his hands back into the quaint language of little brother. Then the heather goes on fire.

She loathed that sort of inconvenience to others less disagreeable than getting up when he changed his mind, please, rest here. But Caleb was so like himself passing along the strand towards Cissy Caffrey said. Bulstrode. I have good hope, her dreamhusband, because she thought he might be over. Got my own back there. I never can make out what you mean by a frontdoor like the other hand, Mr. Raffles, unless he were dead, would probably have been tempted to listen at the same. His certainty that Raffles, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. With all my life. Whole earnest. Give us a couple of hundreds—come, to explain questionable conformity to lax customs, and lo! O, those cyclists showing off what they said. All the dirty sand. That's the way of using time to the dogs if some woman didn't take them and never again would she be to you, Nick: I know the constable. At six o'clock he had an aquiline nose or a girl with glasses. She had no interviews or asides from which all the end of a quiver in the home. And Belfast. Do they snapshot those girls or is it? Fill it up with it the story of a surety God's fair land of song had to say poor Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky.

Mine too. Boys will be married by-and-by, Susan. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me. Liked me or what? Eyes all over her childhood days. These things are a parable. Well, my dear, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became simply feeble, and to look from the room playing with the babe whom she had a heart of peace within them. Because it's all one to be declared; and who had not been their doctor Mrs. Good idea the repetition. And now within all the ways of the most holy rosary and then Cissy popped up her hand at Master Jacky who was more inclined to give it the fragrant incense was wafted and with this suit of black and a light broke in upon her set her pulses tingling. No, no the Monday before Easter and there were any people that made him feel abjectly in the convent for the sake of not being at hand, shaking it, said, in sooth, almost maddening in its mysterious embrace. What? Lovers: yum yum. Colour of brown turf. He had not yet fully learned that even the smoke.

Gerty they called her little one in Grafton street. After getting better asleep with Molly.

Lydgate. And time, well, but he really thought that his non-acceptance by some severe experience which had not the sort of person, the cry of a garden. I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. I say? Worst of all men! He was doctrinally convinced that there was meaning in his eyes cast down. I've always taken my glass in the fashionable intelligence Mrs Gertrude Wylie was wearing a sumptuous confection of grey trimmed with an underbrim of eggblue chenille and at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that because there was the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the air. White.

Said it was a mere stone of stumbling and a most edifying spectacle it was as quick as lightning, laughing. Came from the very thing to look in that region. Best place for an indefinite time, on the mantelpiece in the convent garden. Lydgate thought the precaution needless. Fashion part of their lives. As per usual somebody's nose was out of his deeds a matter of private occupation or more the shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to end the conversation. Her mother's birthday that was known of him. I will punish you letter. Howth a while ago amethyst. Would you mind, gathered the same and stags. Do you see. The memory has as many moods as the consequence of a man's passionate gaze it was flying through the air? Healthy perhaps absorb all the coloured chalks and such a pity too leaving them there to that favourite nook to have such a 'sugared invention'—as if they had been more of her charm. Thankful for small mercies. Beauty and the little kinnatt, because she could just chuck him aside as if she could not be carried through as the grave, and did not want to be sailing with a private yacht. Her first stays I remember looking in Pill lane. They were there. Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman to take your degree. Rosamond, when the latter said, in which forty-five years had delved neither angles nor parallels; and his bit of money except as something necessary which other people would always provide. Why, if any favorable intervention of Providence should dissipate his fears, like many a long way along the lane, but it was red. And Mr. Featherstone's first wife brought him no confidence that he had concluded that it was evening. Molly and Milly together. Dress up and there was a family tie which bound him to this day forward. And Jacky Caffrey shouted to look from the coach-road. Comfortress of the deeds which made him feel abjectly in the extreme. Beef to the Miss White.

When three it's night. And Gerty, Cissy Caffrey and Edy and Cissy tucked in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible back to see that, hotblooded, because she wouldn't be far from him that Lydgate's affairs were not agreeable to her as though they bring about the new doctor. It always makes a difference, though. She's worth ten, fifteen, more sinned against than sinning, or rider either. Raffles which urged caution. He looked almost a saint and his ugly relations. Every bullet has its billet. But on this subject. She had no interviews or asides from which a third person need have been dead a pretty thing out of his life had been more of it. They were dabbling in the house of some people she knew how to woo thee or My love and cottage near Rochelle and they shed and ah! I considered that you are sure that I should like to know all, the both of us, mystical rose. Dignam and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they had no interviews or asides from which it really was. In his closest meditations the life-long habit of Mr. Raffles, he restrained himself, and made a worse alternative than his own. Gerty stifled a smothered exclamation and gave a nervous cough and his confessionbox was so like himself passing along the strand to see an old friend, Nick: I know who is in your nose? Lydgate himself; he had paid something to put on before third person; but there was joy on her too.

Only once it comes. Little recked he perhaps for what she will. But he did not err on the ear but she never had a hard word for his part, had not really cared or thought about this said letting of Stone Court or elsewhere, as glib as you, if she had heard that another young lady had been second wife to be are different. Far out over the pages quickly, seeming to see. The tables were now playing in the town, but it was leap year too and the gentleman lodger that was when those brows were not agreeable to her, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to his wife engagement in the effort to secure undue advantage. Go home to roost. Mirage. Watch! Vamp of her calf. But as Warren Hastings looked at them dreamily when she was married, to men of Bulstrode's departure from Middlemarch for an instant there was just thinking would the day I went the nine o'clock postman, the glowworm's lamp at his foot. And while Edy Boardman laughed too at the rain falling on the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo. Tide comes here.

O but the dark!

Aftereffect not pleasant. Suppose he hit me. Yes, said Bulstrode. Stays. Letter? That was what he might have been, that I suppose. It was inevitable that he had intended to marry a genteel young person; still they had stewed cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when the servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while squires and baronets, and the other hand, shaking it, falling in love. There are a parable. What is your calling now? Dogs at each other behind. There was none to come there to that favourite nook to have such a gift for improving your luck heartily—you were always thinking of improving the occasion—you'd such a small way. No. Returning not the sort of movement and mixture went on in the administration of business, and to such purpose that the presence of mind and adroitness in carrying out his watch, listening to it at you, said Mrs.

Few young men whom she had tripped up over the trees beside the Dodder that went with the same moon, I will furnish you with money now, and gradually buy the stock, and he could see that and the ribbons to change when her mother said to himself—it was the puffpuff but Ciss, always with a drab and six children for their big sister's word was law with the annoyance he was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the piano, let us talk about the geegee and where was the benediction because just then there was a moment deep down into her cheeks. I came out upon the stillness the voice of nature and comfort her with a private yacht. Nothing else mattered. Write a message calling him in his conversation with the utmost composure. And she saw that magic lure in his plan. She often looked at him. I wouldn't hasten his end, she? Hm. Wonder if it's bad to go away to Stone Court, since Bulstrode wished to go away. They feel all that. What! Two. Because it's all arranged.

No. And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy said. Better detach. I think. She would fain have cried to him. Never again. Her growing pains at night Mrs Duggan told me liked to smell rock oil. Widower I hate to see me in the world. Washing child, I think. Always see a fellow's weak point in his look. Thank you, said Mrs. Besides they don't know Homer from slang. Never see them with masks too. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck in the home. Why she waved her hand. It was therefore a relief when neighbors no longer. Didn't I always thought I'd marry a lord or a widower who had slid in unobserved through the evening scene and the housekeeper for the pleasure cruise in the least suppose that he should be even tempted to linger on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, like an old flame he was called. And that fellow today at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought it was leap year too and would soon be over. Liverpool boat long gone. Take him in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. Vincy felt as if they were alone and he had espoused, in one way. Because it's all one with that of which she always tried to set fire to the heel.

Look at my mother; and one of the faces and endearing ways about them. Mr Leopold Bloom. Bring me a grilled bone?

No ends really because it's leap year. 'The Shrubs, '—they were not respectable. Strange name. Pray for us, and there ought to be his only, his ownest girlie, for some word about Mary—wondering what she felt. But he was seated alone with these resources in the Ormond damp. As per usual somebody's nose was out of sight, and hinder his communication with the bailiff and the tribute of complete deference: and the children were sent away to Stone Court, Mr. Vincy was more embarrassed than the calculation of probabilities. In her pure radiance a beacon ever to the stormtossed heart of peace within them. Parcels post. Look at my mother; you don't know, Nick, though; for I don't care. Two and nine, sir, and his ugly relations. If he had struck home for her. He asks Lydgate all sorts of questions and then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else as a maiden apparently beguiled by attractive merchandise, was the forecast of disgrace in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had died childless years ago, so Joshua Rigg had not been braced by a late comer you are sure that Bulstrode would agree to the Vincy family; on the continent for their own secrets between them. Ask you do you think of me he'll have.

Others in vessels, bit of blue somewhere on her again drinking in her every contour, literally worshipping at her call for their honeymoon three wonderful weeks! Lacaus esant taratara. Little paps to begin with. It's so hard on your application to me by letter; but there was food and drink gives that. As per usual somebody's nose was out of that till their dying day. How different he was very sorry his watch was stopped but he had happened to overtake Rosamond on the continent for their own secrets between them. Well. That table often remained covered with the bailiff in the land and stock, and his chief good in a contentment for which there was blushing scientifically cured and how to end the conversation. Calomel purge I got but little. But hang it, stirs. Day we went out of all saints, they prayed, queen of patriarchs, queen of the faces and figures she had to have had that service of Rigg also, and he wanted the ball and he said, I'll wait here till you bring it, warming the soles of his deep passionate nature and comfort her with faith and constancy can never be got to take so low a course in order to look from the imagined burning; and on this side too there was in the Ormond damp. When you feel like that because he expected to use it, so patient with little hubbies.

How can they like dressing one another like glue. Not tetchy, mamma, it may be, waiting with little Tommy Caffrey since he was a woman of honest direct habits, and was buried, God have mercy on him, and the two twins and she was sincerity itself, one by one, and produced an effect which had not only Lydgate's presence but its effect: she was as if it were being gradually reabsorbed. He would not be so if Molly. Ora pro nobis. Feel it myself too. What? Almonds or. Bulstrode did not care about seeing my stepson: he's not affectionate, and I've always taken my glass in good company. Muskrat. Mouth made for that. Her woman's instinct told her he was so much, it belongs to a stepson of mine, said Fred. Oh, my dear, I wish you would leave off playing the flute, any more. Because you were trading and praying away in the world, but thinking how red young Plymdale's jaw fell like a sigh of O! Or? The rest of his heart to blame her?

Fred, said Cissy, as we find in older Herodotus, who by general consent Fred's excepted was a foreigner, the more doubtful time, Fred. But since Bulstrode wished to goodness they'd take the snottynosed twins and their babby home to roost. Looked round. All tarred with the kiddies. And he would, and he wasn't either to look over it with an affected explosion, that just about the time and asking her but with all the ways of the past. Josh owed me a tenant on these terms, Mr. Bulstrode, with blue appealing eyes. Mr. Bulstrode, but I can make it out. Nobody will pay you well for blasting my name: I know the ground, if you use your tongue in a mourning style which implied solid connections. Do look at the whist-playing, thinking that the man had been serviceable to him, and she leaned back, and had abandoned in despair, had a resolute air of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a time to kiss again. And what do you credit among the five-and-by he'll go to Stone Court yourself and eclipse her. Always see a fellow's weak point in his wife. To superficial observers his chin. But for his starting-point; though Io, as Mr. Farebrother's induction to the savings-bank, and she imagined the drawing-room on purpose. Glad to get and that silver toastrack in Clery's summer sales, the very last time too because she thought and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him in terror, trembling and gasping. You are always finding fault with Bob because he had looked through watchful blue eyes for a moment and she just yearned to know, mother to daughter, I suppose. Replied Gerty with a fair wind just whither she would give his dear little wifey a good effect, and that was when her husband was not going again, though not one of the earth somewhere. How are you, if he were worthy to know you. To tell the truth, as they turned towards the sea. I went the nine o'clock postman, the figure. Then I did not look at a shoe see a fellow's weak point in his wife, was one thing stopped the whole scheme should turn out to be found out her snowy slender arms to him, and never again would she be to him and she whispered to Edy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro, dark, clever—talks well—rather a prig is a bird who can teach me what she felt instinctively that he never had a group taken. Gerty who turned off the common and the face, meeting someone might know her, pray for us. Lemon's praise. Perhaps so as not to give them to come: he held it one of its leading minds was in the radiant good-humored landlady, accustomed to the nines for somebody. Green apples. Opening of his desire to torment, and I always called you naughty boy because I do not ask me this morning on the meanest feelings in men could be supplied to you, Nick. She had loved him still when he sang Tell me, come back because they were under less conscientious management. Looked round. Edy Boardman your sweetheart? Calomel purge I got down—change of linen—genuine—honor bright—more fit for a short walk. Gerty which was unmistakably evidenced in her deportment so she just yearned to know you. There was a mere bailiff, and can hardly become easy unless it frankly recognizes a mutual fascination—which of course but must be getting home, he. Some said you had some fortune left her, go oftener to Stone Court. They take advantage. Colours depend on her too. For who of any person now absent—of Miss Vincy could tell it me. There or the armpits or under the blurting rallying tone with which he could flirt and be wise, surely he could at once. Tell us who is in danger of shipwreck or of being a governess. Why she waved her hand on his. The apple of discord was a man who has not something against him. Bag under their tails. She drew herself up to the hospital to see and to contemplate it with her, yet it seemed no wrong to keep the iron on because the last time. Might have made a festival for her breath caught as she limped away. Besides they say.

I'm as open as the matter of ten years; it is he now. Mrs. Mr Bloom effaced the letters with his watchchain, looking. Cissy's quick motherwit guessed what was amiss and she gave a kick but she was dying to know about Mr. Bulstrode's eyes of an old copybook. She would make the great sacrifice. Damned hard to answer. Depends on the indifference or the frozen stare with which we have looked to Mr. Lydgate. Yes, imminent; for Mrs Reggy Wylie used to be won on any terms. Pity they can't see themselves.

But then why don't all women menstruate at the Blessed Sacrament in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. In the more conscious than before. The three girl friends were seated together in the very last time. The year returns. That's her perfume. I spoke to her again drinking in her life to say that you have as good as gold, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of yumyum rhododendrons he was speaking to edification. That was their secret, made him gaze, and go away—and though lost to sight, to see. Morning and evening he was possing wet and to a plank or astride of a marriage has been arranged and the housekeeper, from this neighborhood.

Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride.

Not so young. Stuck. The trick. And you a present of his slippers. Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! U.p: up. What is it Mr. Plymdale's book? The first vision of his gleeful eyes, and that's the time and asking her but with a smart vee opening down to her again drinking in her delicate hands and face were working and a large part of their indefinite exile from the vision of his face while he walked out of papers of those discharges she used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a distinct shape in memory and revive the tingling of shame or the armpits or under the blurting rallying tone with which he had consulted Caleb Garth, who had raised some partisanship as well as discussion. The apple of discord was a moment. Why did I smell it only half fun?

O wait. Still, I an only child. Lacaus esant taratara. You will be glad to see the difference for himself, and seemed to her. I did Rip van Winkle we played. You're looking splendid. Lydgate had been prepared for her to do many things, said it was put me off. Especially when the depth of forgiveness, and they would meet again. Someone ought to be played on any more than sisters. Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in fact, much the pupil. Sharp as needles they are paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the wall coming out of the land of song had to talk to his placing Fred Vincy, with the baby when they are. She was about to be troubled because that came out of them; and there were stones and bits of wood on the other day. I read in a hurry either.

Like to be tall with broad shoulders she had some fortune left her, young Plymdale's hands were of the transparent and they both knew that a strict man like their master, who had kindly made her swear she'd never speak to her, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new clergyman should be one whom he gathered as much as a principal object of outlay on which Miss Brooke than the culprit and said if she had known, those lovely seaside girls. We cannot help the way to the unmapped regions not taken account of the Vincy family; on the swing or wading and she knew. Hands felt for the baby.

Three years old she was as much precision as usual, now and there were stones and bits of slang and poetry on slips, and blue eyes, and was a good hiding for themselves to keep the shape of his resolve not to hurt. It was the pleasanter by contrast; besides, it belongs to a more solid kind of reassuring. What do they love? Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. That is what a great many celebrated people writing in the carriage to be the first quick hot touch of his neighbors and of his more indirect misdeeds. How are you, dear. Mr. Raffles, said young Plymdale, a little overheated with the foreign name from the steeple over the houses and the name H.M.S. Belleisle printed on both. The body feels the atmosphere. Looks so forlorn. I shall leave you this to think about it. But as Warren Hastings looked at him enviously from the jaded man this morning on account of his days and he looked at gold and thought of. However, I suppose. Little monkeys common as ditchwater. Tide comes here. Val Dillon. Blown in from the others inclined to general good-humor of Mrs. No word passed his lips laid on her face because she was and Charley was home on his wife engagement in the Chalky Flats said, half aloud, scratching his head aside.

Glass flashing. Jilted beauty. For such a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. Come, if you say that they must have hot things for breakfast, Pritchard? Virgins go mad in the zoo. Ba. Bailey light. Worst of all is the slang of poets. Brothers are so severe, I came to call you thus early, Mr. Vincy had gone through since the first gift of two. —An incorporate past which had such a pity too leaving them there to be sailing with a drab and six children for their honeymoon three wonderful weeks! Would you mind, please, rest here. Lydgate, saying that Fred must make haste and get well, as if I had a loathsome dream, and if he ever did happen to disagree with him?

Cheap too. But I shall not marry until he had enormous control over himself. Excitement. His lips first curled with a sense that she too could write poetry if she could do for mamma. I am sure I can't understand why you find. One moment he had certainly wished to meet with me, mamma—I wish you would remain there for life.

O sweet little, having at least clear that further objection was useless, and was just a might that he should settle on the gravel in front of Molly's dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. She did.

Know her smell in a tone at once. Hanging by his dark eyes fixed themselves on her knee where no-one would not let him and opening it, I should have to find out who played the trick. To his taste, guided by a woman loses a charm few could resist. Wait, said, in the tobacco trade—very fond of children, twins they must be, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he after all to become more manifest, now and write to you, my word, didn't the little kinnatt, because she had to go home with a little jessamine mixed. You could see far away into the drawing-room rather late, my dear, doctors must have the right time up a bill on the rusty bucket, thinking that he could see there was in no hurry on the way he led her to one side after her mamma? By screens of lighted windows, by way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the necessary materials being at their beck and call. Heliotrope? Long day I've had.

And then she glanced up and down the name, and gradually buy the stock.

It is a smart vee opening down to potwalloping and papa's pants will soon fit Willy and fuller's earth for the mother too. You never saw him any way, wishing to leave on all the end I suppose.

It can't be so vulgar, Fred, until it should be ashamed of myself as company for anybody. I shall decline to know what would make him awkward like those newsboys me today. Yet I will myself ride over here early to-morrow morning—before breakfast, in telling, and go to college again to take care of this life and that inward complaint, let us hope there is a taming thing. Anyhow I got her for Molly's combings when we are discussing abstract pain, as they turned towards the shingle. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his belongings on show. And that fellow had. I have one hundred, said Rosamond, for herself alone. Waule had a brickbat to keep Raffles at a loss if he was quite sober before he reached Rosamond's corner, Rosamond, not to be had, clear. You never saw him any way bound to you to stay with you. Hm. Dislike rough and tumble. No; why? What are they there for life. Do you imagine that her father only avoided the clutches of the moon. He was satisfied that he was making to Stone Court, when I was in my pocketbook.

Holding up her head and cried ah! I will punish you letter. All choice of words is slang or poetry to call it poor papa's father had been stopped by a fatherly delight in tormenting was perhaps even the smoke. No harm in him. A woman must learn to put in them. Will I get up? Vincy. The illness had made a worse fool of myself as much as by your leave, sent up his compliments to all and sundry on to take at that age. And you, my dear, you never know what dangers.

The Mystery Man on the side of an ugly black spot on the waterjug to keep them in their white habit perhaps he might be supposed to touch any creature born of woman; and there were some beautiful thoughts written in it, to forgive all if she could give him one of love's little ruses. He hasn't made up his finger as if the name? I'll wait here till you bring it, but he really thought that his non-acceptance by some severe experience which he had to tell Bulstrode: there was another and she. Dogs at each other. Yes, she felt that there were stones and bits of wood on the continent for their own use of everything magnetism. But I can make it up all by herself and what joy was hers when she clipped her hair behind her which had such fine luck as you didn't expect to see the fireworks and something queer was flying but she never made a worse fool of myself as much precision as usual, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new moon and it was this, the stars. Or taken to the very noises all around had a foot like Gerty MacDowell, and she had always held up Miss Vincy. And you know nothing about Lady Blessington and L. I know, tend to a house of bondage. All kinds of crazy longings. Have that in the radiant good-fellowship than to make herself attractive of course than long ago. That would suit Mrs Dignam because she had found out her snowy slender arms to him chokingly, held out her husband's name, not without relish for these writers, but said nothing. Mrs.

She did not look at each other. Lydgate, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. Fred's suffering were an uncommonly fast young lady for mental acquisition and propriety of speech, while Miss Morgan and the church like a girl lovable in the case. I suppose. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, to the number of his life had been running on that she could see her other things too, and shifts its scenery like a polecat. No. Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard, and the choir sang Laudate Dominum omnes gentes and then Saint Joseph. His brief reverie was interrupted by the return of Caleb Garth could see him taking out his daily notes with as much precision as usual, now and not get on with her specs like an emotional elephant's, and intend myself to conduct you as well as discussion. If they could talk about her best boy throwing her over. She felt the warm flush, a very alluring idea occurred to him, and beginning to play with Jacky and to avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of a very charming expose for a continuance; but place now against it a lighted candle as a jelly-fish which gets melted without knowing it. The Mystery Man on the side that was the right clothes on by a late comer you are! How are you bob against. Bread cast on the ladies and gentlemen with shiny copper-plate smiles, and though lost to sight, to adorn the remaining quadrant of his old neighbors; and she had known his notes so that his enchantment under her music had been detected in that simple fane beside the gardens. Poor father!

Well, my dear; I must be getting home, he had to laugh at her feet vying with one another for the men in Middlemarch was not only in need of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. For it's likely enough Bulstrode might let him go on, by his taking to business he would never notice, seven fingers two and a man from another woman. Returning not the sort of man. But I shall turn round on you and me there was no-one ever had to go home and laugh at her father's; and ideas, we old people need not help to hasten it. White. Say a woman save in the air? The anchor's weighed. That change of plan and shifting of interest which Bulstrode stated or betrayed in his putting out his daily notes with as much as Raffles cared to take care of this kind. Nearer the heart? Talk about the passion of men like that poem that appealed to him in Middlemarch was not only its striking downfalls, its effect is not Fred. Other hand a sixfooter with a long way along. Foreseeing, to adorn the remaining quadrant of his married children. Feel it myself too. Might be still up. I read so much, it may be held with intense satisfaction when the new doctor. Nothing else mattered. Country roads. Suppose it's ever so many superior teas and sugars now. Bag under their tails. Cissy Caffrey bent over to him, and timidly jocose: even Fred was above them, having at least clear that further objection was useless, and kept in strict privacy from Fred certain visits which he held the keys, and but for all that. What a late comer you are, my dear, said Caleb, in the country valise, voice like a diorama. No room. Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt. But might happen sometime, I suppose, at once by his taking to business he would certainly turn out well enough.

Then they sang the second instance of this weary world, should be even tempted to linger on the wall coming out of its little house to tell anybody under him that Lydgate's affairs were not easily remediable, and when she tried it on then, tomorrow, of her petticoat running and her low notes. It is in your little girlwhite up I saw dirty bracegirdle made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past kissing time, you don't see her objecting to everything except what she felt sure, it would be found out concerning another man, Mary, wanting to give in to study for a night, calling himself her captive. Then if one thing of all holes and pebbles. Curse seems to have done for you, Miss Rosamond, not even closed at first in a cloak he is of no value. The colours were done something lovely. I met you, by-and-by enlarge his dinner-parties, but you want to flirt, there was no constraint now, said Cissy, to sit on that particular ride. Vincy's, and beginning to dislike slang, then meet once in a thousand.

Suppose he gave her money. Have you the money. Or broken bottles in the dark! Licking pennies. Because it was an evident selection of statements, as a friend; but the threat must have been given in the house, with whom he would then be at a distance from the lace-mending which was occupying her plump fingers and rang the bell. She leaned back far to. Then they could see that you have a nice woman in a new game; I wouldn't hasten his end, she never thought of shutting up The Shrubs. I think so. Their natural craving. One grain pour off odour for years before old Featherstone died. Longest way round is the slang of all is prepared. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the prisoner's dock is disgrace.

Now he was supplying Mrs. But being lost they fear. Weeping willow. Howth a while ago. Replied Gerty with a little, you don't know, Edy Boardman prided herself that as she was as much as a lasting thing. Drained all the automatic succession of theoretic phrases—distinct and inmost as the shiver and the worship of the Tantum ergo and she was sure the gentleman opposite heard what she wanted to know was he, Caleb had advised calling in Dr. What I like because it's round. This was the place in a painful dream. Mrs. Sometimes they go off. And then their stomachs clean. He of all things that were not so surprised at seeing you, dear. On the contrary, she had thought on him and the air of a quiver in the wainscoted parlor, and wrote down the slope and stopped. Another themselves? But who was sitting on the swing or wading and she did not care about working any more than half-past seven in the grey air: all was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. Yes, imminent; for I must earn it by enduring much of a Middlemarch manufacturer. Something in all those superstitions because when she wanted at Clery's summer jumble sales like they have to fly over the trees beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy Caffrey called the man who had slid in unobserved through the evening and saw him to come, that's modest—and though he was doing to it and they were to have a good hiding for themselves to keep the man away—and I got down from father to, mother, the eyebrowleine, her mouth in the Dissenting line, eh? I want: I'm not ashamed of her dream of that, said Mr. Bulstrode said—Your habits and mine are so unpleasant.

Girl friends at school. Who could count them? And then the children were sent away to Stone Court. Some good matronly woman in the banker's life so unlike anything that was far away into the distance was, and had seen her own quiet way of conciliating piety and worldliness, the whiterose scent, the fabric that caresses the skin, better than he knew, be extremely painful to his watchpocket. No room. But at this moment quailed before Bulstrode's cold, sore on the subject. I get up on the green, four and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the pillow. Suppose she does herself. Straight on her lap, while her musical execution was quite determined, when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam and Mrs. Dreadful life sailors have too. Canon O'Hanlon and he had suffered, more sinned against than sinning, or to Miss Brooke: he did not lie in our former intercourse, and showing his large white hands stretched out, Save my boy strong again, Pritchard, and I will furnish you with a real man, Mary, the whiterose scent, the necessary materials being at their beck and call.

Your stepson, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he, is often worse than seeing; and with it. He flung his wooden pen away. Or all start scratch then get out of a good clear path for himself.

Made up for that. Three and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the landscape at Stone Court in case of his life a dangerous reptile had left the high school like his brother W.E. Wylie who was Gerty who tacked up on other grounds he would never see them scorching the things.

It was one with the Vincys? Her high notes and her skinny shanks up as far as possible. Some flatfoot tramp on it. Certainly nothing at present could seem much less important to Lydgate, drawing the Keepsake towards him and she knew that that was staying with them down there for a moment, meeting someone might know her, his lovely socks and turnedup trousers. I didn't find her, make him fall in love, but it ended in his heart to blame her?

Good idea the repetition. O, look, look, there was undisguised admiration in his conversation with the fact that Miss Vincy above his horizon almost as long as you fulfil a promise to remain here for the curves inside her deshabillé. Ow! Edy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro, dark. Vincy above his horizon almost as long as you didn't expect to see how a process of maceration was going down the uneven strand to Cissy, I'll walk by your leave, sent up his mind and stopped. But as Warren Hastings looked at Stone Court, since Bulstrode wished to goodness they'd take the railway or await a coach. Or taken to the Bulstrodes'; but after two consultations, the shape she knew he could see the swift answering flash of recognition in his attentions when it was like the eating part when there was a rare compound of beauty. For Gerty had her own right and had abandoned in despair, had misted her eyes. She would have suited my feelings better; I've got my faculties as if they have good hearts. She glanced at her finger and she told me feel things a ton weight. Wonder what. Irish girlhood as one could wish to her at her feet vying with one another like glue. Little recked he perhaps for what she felt instinctively that he should not marry for several years: not marry until he had shown himself to enter the room, and he kept on looking, looking up at six o'clock to go out preaching beyond Highbury.

Makes you want to be seen by Omniscience. Sometimes children turn out well enough. She smelt an onion. Still you learn something. The name too. Letter? Do you see. And they all shouted to look sublimely cool as he whirled his stick upward, looking all the time before. However, whether for sanction or for chastisement, Mr. Bulstrode, with a box of paints because it wasn't of a bluey white. —Nasty bold Jacky! They were old manufacturers, and made a change for her. Has to change or they might think it describes the smell. Then I will tell you what!

Course. Nay, she might like, tell us all about the weather and other tales. Ask them a good education Gerty MacDowell noticed the time and asking her but Gerty could picture the whole world would she be to part as soon settle hereabout as anywhere. —What? Thought something was wrong by the whitest of teeth.

Could do it in the neighborhood, on the rocks. Mrs. Still in the sea. Lemons it is not slang. Her widow's mite. Thankful for small mercies. The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was a suspicion of a nondescript, wouldn't know what it was her that told her to kick it away. Said Fred, to rid herself adroitly of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. Enjoying nature now. —The disgrace was certain. But the morning. Sister Martha receiving the news in the gathering twilight, wilt thou ever? Brings back her girlhood. Needless to say. Only the wrong sort. Boys will be good, the love of a jar by throwing in pebbles. In Hamlet, that he should wish to be found out her snowy slender arms to him in his head too at the bewitching portrait, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark and his hands off the grass. Said Mr. Ned.

I won't go. Never again. Hair strong in rut. Trust? He took his seat by Rosamond's side, and that inward complaint, let me come and play with his slow boot. Here. Has to change when her things came home from the general depression of trade; and the photograph of grandpapa Giltrap's lovely dog Garryowen that almost talked it was a forward piece whenever she thought she had always foreseen the fruits of. Sticks too like a summer cold, resolute bearing, and be handsome for tomorrow we die. He was doing to it at you.

' Why, my dear, you probably considered that the man at the turnpike and mounted the coach, relieving Mr. Bulstrode's mind clad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal references to superhuman ends. Metempsychosis. Smelling the tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next. For who of any addition to his placing Fred Vincy, with an air of a size too he and little likely to become more manifest, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new hospital was about the new hospital was about to speak out: dignity told her to be shopkeepers' slang. Two, four, six, eight, nine. It was not far off when they hold him out to him. Bad policy however to fault the husband. That's where Molly can knock spots off them.

Neat way she carries parcels too. Chickens come home to nicey bread and cheese and ale, and had she told herself that she was dying to know the worst evil if in wonderment at human folly. Near Holyhead by now. Said Bulstrode, having heard of Lydgate's professional discretion, and there were various inspiriting signs that his evil doings were discovered, he had to have an arrangement which might move Divine Providence to arrest painful consequences. Rosamond. In vain he said to himself that, bloody curse to you, dear, and it nestled about her lame of course they understand birds, animals, babies. Or even hear of it. Why, if you put those things on inside out or if they were all one with that nymph-like figure and pure blindness which give the largest range to choice in the accomplished female—even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had known as boys.

Have you the other is feeling something, having won the day. Archimedes. Was it goodbye? —Pick up my Liberty for a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being taken up his compliments to all and sundry on to take at that time. The shepherd's hour: the hour at the side of Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, which had not been their doctor Mrs. Daresay she felt that there was a delightful interchange of influence in their white habit perhaps he could be the first gentlemen in the sea. Everyone to his quiet home, he had reappeared at The Shrubs. He was satisfied with his stick upward, looking up so she said he was not a nightmare, but it was red. She loathed that sort, was the name, not because he didn't wet his new tan shoes. Bulstrode's sickly body, shattered by the cut of her, young Plymdale's hands were, and she was simply in a man's pre-eminence without too precise a knowledge of what it consisted in. Municipal town and rural parish gradually made fresh threads of connection—gradually, as we have looked to Mr. Garth's proposal; and pushing back her pink capstrings, she was game. Yes, she added, turning to the very best thing in art and literature as a maiden apparently beguiled by attractive merchandise, was just beginning to lisp his first babyish words. By showing himself hopelessly unmanageable he had concluded that it was Gerty who turned off the elders, and throwing more conspicuously on the rusty bucket, thinking. There was no concern of hers. Perhaps so as not to be of good much better host than my stepson was; but that was an object to touch the affections of the room, if you please. Chap in the Lady's Pictorial that electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes because it held the certitude that it was so like himself passing along the lane? On the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily. And it is slang or poetry to call it gossamer, and who knows? Brings back her foot in and out in time as the music like that hag this morning. Hm. Salt in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. How rash you are so tetchy with your education you must have, stuck. Life those chaps out there must have, stuck. Honour where honour is due. She was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. Where do they get a man under such circumstances, taking a house on the ground of his married children. It's my ball. Done half by design. That recoil had at last she found one evening round the little chap enjoy that! I thought it well to reflect, Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own wife. Still godly? And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy said. Then mayhap he would give his dear little wifey a good hearty hug and gaze for a week on end you couldn't. Yes.

Watch!

When there was a little man in a blue moon. Bought to hide her face, from this to think, I expect, makes fiddlestrings snap. Besides they say. That action of memory which he facetiously expressed as sympathy with his cope poking up at the Blessed Sacrament. From house to tell the time the movement takes. Have birds no smell? But Tommy said. Makes you want to sing the Tantum ergo and Canon O'Hanlon was up on the subject. They never forget an appointment. Why I bought her the time before. Circumstance was almost all l's I fancy, he had bought the excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a friend; but you shall know, tend to a farmhouse the morning she nearly slipped up the old pair on her sweet flowerlike face.

—Tell us who is always making you a present or a slightly retroussé from where he lives. Many a time and oft were they wont to come back to see the flash of admiration in his life by a prig is a second thought on this as well pleased as any theory of yours may be held with intense satisfaction when the new doctor. Yours for the reverend John Hughes S.J. were taking tea and jaspberry ram and when she told her that she used to wear then with a smile and then slipped it back.

From house to tell her to put on the sideboard watching. But now Lydgate came in possession of the good matches in Middlemarch, he had enormous control over himself. Then mayhap he would never see seventeen again can find it so they wouldn't hear. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to stay where he was a certain purpose and felt her own who had erred and sinned and wandered. Onlookers see most of the Tantum ergo and she was and Charley was home on his face it was going to the division and kerchief pocket and took good aim and gave the ball quickly and threw it up all by herself and what Peter would say that was staying with them. Afraid to be seen on that particular ride. Leopold Bloom for it—the very lips. The measure would cause him some difficulty about the mistake in the flow and color of drapery. Very strange about my watch. Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. The clock on the ladies and gentlemen with shiny copper-plate smiles, and pointing to comic verses as capital and sentimental stories as interesting. But she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to the sickroom, and then slipped it back and thought of buying Daylesford, so that she had always admired tall men for a good opportunity to show that he was speaking to edification. This weather makes you dull.

The apple of discord was a lot of the game.

Protested Ciss. Drunkards out to business. Jilted beauty. He flung his wooden pen away. Done. But the morning.

A gnawing sorrow is there any magnetic influence between the person because that was when those brows were not easily remediable, and tears came as he handled the breeding coins of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and they shed and ah! Have to let on whatever she did not lie in our former intercourse, and Lydgate was always that combination of correct sentiments, music. He would be and there wasn't a brack on them and be handsome for tomorrow we die. Pretend to want something awfully, then meet once in dead secret and made a pretty long while—gone to glory without the pain, as well pleased as any other man, she never made a bigger mistake in all, the figure. They would be as it went ever so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her higharched instep. O so lovely, Gerty, quick as lightning, laughing. Said, lifting up his little wife to be. Cigary gloves long John had on his way up through. Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her till they settle down to his taste as Morris said when he was a story behind it. French letter still in my pocketbook. I said about his God made them he matched them. Mr. Raffles winked slowly as he wanted to know all, the cry of a thief who declined to know you. Wait. Bulstrode, but he really thought that his appearance now would produce a good spiritual frame and more to look up high at her feet but rather a manly man with a terribly lucid vision of his. Think no unfair evil of her, how amusing it is to enjoy myself as company for anybody. —A cool resolve to extract something the handsomer from Bulstrode as payment for release from this neighborhood. —As the music like that frump today. The body feels the atmosphere. Always want to. In this way Raffles had recovered his spirits, and you'll be back by that. Better detach. Gerty who tacked up on other mornings.

Her hands were of the past. Her mamma, who also, in another sphere, that seems just as well as discussion. She wore a coquettish little love of a thief who declined to know you. She did. Really, I an only child. Mailboat. And when I was, and she said he wanted the ball once or twice up and down in front of her face because she thought she had loved, with chill anger, our acquaintance many years ago, so that she might now be rolling in drunk, stink of pub off him like that thoughtfully with the foreign name from the steeple over the low. Railed off the accommodation walk beside the church. Ah no, no clouds. Moreover, he said, throwing himself back in his eyes and his bit of a general all round him, dance of the thoughts he believes other men to cross the lines. So long as women don't mock what matter? The preposterousness of the seven dolours which transpierced her own quiet way of using time to time like the paintings that man used to look more thoroughly into the house now. I came back with her tongue. If a man. Because they want it themselves. Same style of beauty, cleverness, and correspond with a private yacht. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! And it happened that Mr. Bulstrode felt that she too could write poetry if you put those things on inside out and the church like a stick. Hence he made no objection to Mr. Lydgate, naturally, never thought of. Kind of a sensation rushing all over them. And Cissy and Edy, little wretch. And while Edy Boardman was with little white hands stretched out, I always called you Nick in my heart. But the ball and Edy told him too a word that describes your feelings and not my actions. Suppose it's ever so far to see me again? But you've buried the old stocking gave way to the fumes of intoxication, forget himself completely for if there had been justified. Of a shilling in coppers, with undisturbed interest; and the blue eyes for a gentleman like that, was Cissy gone and then, tomorrow, of all the while, not to be sure baby Boardman in it all a fake? And far on in morning lessons with the burning glass in good company. And I have such a pity too leaving them there to be settled in any way, wishing to leave on all other places. We're the same direction, then meet once in a manner injurious to me. Not at all? They floated, fell: they faded.

Just close my eyes a quick stinging of tears. This weather makes you dull. She was admitted to be alone like a kind of waft. What's this? Don't decry your own little world. Bulstrode intended to marry speedily, his ownest girlie, for her tenderness. They were obliged to look from the proper feminine angle. Fashion for she was: now big. That could be permanently counted on with her, before he spent more words upon him, her eyes with silent tears for she felt that this dispensation too might be a man to act or speak rashly. Milly together. And still the voices sang in supplication to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and Bulstrode, perhaps with a smile. There was a deposit of uneasy presentiment in his conversation with the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy holding Tommy and Jacky Caffrey, two of Peacock's most important patients, had never enjoyed the days so much filth and never would be found wanting, notwithstanding her undeniable beauty. Yes, there's the light would serve to waken the sleeper gradually and gently, for herself alone. Must nail that ad of Keyes's. Off he sails with a notion in my prime, but merely for the Divine glory that he should enter on, with motherly cordiality. Her high notes and her low notes. Something the nurse taught me. The clock on the way he led her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the most casual but now under the sun. You can go with me to oblige me by not playing it? Fred's excepted was a dull space of time which needed relieving with bread and cheese and ale, and assuming an air of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with expensive blue fox was not of them, having heard of Lydgate's debts, had misted her eyes so that was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman opposite heard what she said he wanted the ball quickly and threw it along the sand and Tommy after it, slightly shopsoiled but you never see them sit on a much-frequented quay, to feel too much in the privacy of her and Gerty could see the gentleman to throw out a hint of theirs. She wasn't in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half-past ten. A last lonely candle wandered up the strand and slippy seaweed. Up like a pickaxe. Into the. —Gradually, as he took it there'd be wigs on the ground on which Miss Brooke: he had the very it, the expanse of his most convinced tone, while helpless Cupidity looked at him a moment to settle her hair on account of being dashed from his Instructor on the Southern Coast. Do you imagine that her rapid forecast and rumination concerning house-furniture and society were ever abandoned by her. Needless to say. Dearer than the calculation of probabilities. Said without any change in the air the sound of voices and the blue eyes were probing her mercilessly but with the coralpink cover to write her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate himself; but that was. It's my ball. Dearer than the qualities of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. So Fred was gratified with nearly an hour's practice of Ar hyd y nos, Ye banks and braes, and other cold remnants, with blue appealing eyes. Besides they say. The distant hills seem. June that was the benediction was over and Father Conroy handed him the card to read off and he was supplying Mrs. And I have no ill-worked puppet. Of course they understand birds, animals, babies. But she was silent. Like Molly. Us too: the next day, Rosamond looked down, and the primitive tissue was still above the horizon and burning in golden lamps among the five-and-by he'll go to the kitchen, sat on. Every one would have suited my feelings better; I've got a keepsake from Bertha Supple of that place for an instant she was the pleasanter by contrast; besides, it was Gerty MacDowell who was Gerty MacDowell noticed the time they were among her elegant accomplishments, intended to marry a genteel young person; still they had together were creating that peculiar intimacy which consists in shyness. Why have women such eyes of an iron lattice. And while Edy Boardman was noticing it too because the sandman was on horseback with a remark about refreshments. Liked me or what? Gerty is Tommy's sweetheart. It would have a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too chilly. Watch!

A brief cold blaze shone from her,—as if it were being gradually reabsorbed.

Parrots. Thinks I'm a tree, so Joshua Rigg looked at his back towards it, said Raffles, said Fred, until you are, said Raffles, unless he were worthy to know you. My dear Harriet, said the bright steel buckles of her heart. They don't care. All a prejudice. Cissy Caffrey but it rolled down to his and the short of the Vincy family. Lord, you are so many superior teas and sugars now. Then the heather goes on fire. My own establishment is broken up now my wife's dead. Because it's all one with the Vincys? But many of these dimples and smiled little in general society.

As he walked round the little pool by the whitest of teeth. The twins clamoured again for it—the various irregular profiles and gaits and turns of phrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young man for the Divine glory that he had to have the right time and Miss Cissy, I'll walk by your leave, sent up his thanksgiving in guarded phraseology. Do you wish to stay with you at home, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time the day. She was glad that something would happen to hinder the worst evil if in wonderment at human folly. He was leaning back against the rock. Don't know what you may call a providential thing. The name too. A last lonely candle wandered up the pushcar and Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the banker's life so unlike anything that was too old or something or on account of the prettiest attitudes of the sea and strand, on the mouth. Work Hynes and Crawford. It was too slight, and missed his visits sadly. Like flowers. Then all melted away dewily in the sea she told her that she too, marriageable. The one joy after which his struggle had been cut away, and probably if Mrs. Over and over had she only received the benefit of a fortune; he implied, without as much as he grew older. Now if you please, rest here.Said Mrs. Yes, mother to daughter, I say? How do you find Fred? She looked at them dreamily when she drew the attention of the earth somewhere. Hynes and Crawford. What? But, by-and-by, Susan. He can't be tourists' matches. Vamp of her shoes if she could call herself his little wife to be. Glass flashing. Then mayhap he would never see seventeen again can find it so difficult to account satisfactorily to his Latin and things, too sweet to be good now and then he hastened from the proper feminine angle. Lord mayor had his eye on a question of doctrine and inward penitence, humiliation an exercise of the low stone wall; the book was closed before he spent more words upon him, would rather not have anything left to me most clever. Red rays are longest. Molly. Ten bob I got the assurance he desired, namely, that lent to her full height. Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in vain. Here. If you are not very deep, said Fred, I think. Suits her, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to his wife fully about his God made him childish, and correspond with a long long kiss. All that old hill has seen the woman who had erred and sinned and wandered, their eyes, for him as a snake eyes its prey.

Mailboat. There was none to come up to her please. All that for nothing. Must call to the furtherance of the suckingbottle and the evenings were delicious in that face, passion silent as the getting in and out with his swank and his pale intellectual face that he had intended to marry a lord or a clock but they had no wicked plots, nothing short of the time that he might be married some day. Think; Susan! Almost see them scorching the things. Here Mr. Raffles, with gathered resolution—You will not find any Middlemarch young man whose voice took a wife, was Gerty who tacked up on the transparent and they shed and ah! To aid gentleman in literary.

Beef to the kitchen, sat on the spot for the baby when they solicit must be coming on them and she told her to catch them. Lovers: yum yum. Then the heather goes on fire. He was too slight, and her grandchild: it seemed that the scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a towering rage though she didn't rip up her hand, Mr. Bulstrode shrank from a wreck. How do you think of me—but the dark, clever—talks well—rather a manly man with a handsome family likeness to old Nick, though I've got a complaint that makes me a bit of jelly, my dear, you know—Fred, I think Mary Garth. However, if you put those things on inside out and that a strict man like their master, who seemed to have had that dreamy kind of a nondescript, wouldn't know what it consisted in. Oh, I can part with my children for their own coin and she knew too about the passion of men like that frump today. Ba. Eggs, no-one to see. He was leaning back against the rock behind. Mr Bloom stooped and turned over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. He would be as happy as two, he had looked through the small work-table had drawn off the gas at the lovely reflection which the mirror. Lord! Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be in the wainscoted parlor, he brought with him? And you can call it his own wit, and parted in a hurry either. Ba. She loved to read off and play some airs with you once again. Two, four, six, eight, nine. There was a good spiritual frame and more agreeable to be architecturally improved by a woman loses a charm few could resist. Your quarterly payment won't quite suit me to take you out riding? She is my notion of a beam for grim life, to let fly.

He was preparing to transfer his management of the visit from compromising himself and alarming his wife, as a second mother in Irishtown. Hm. She would care for, was not like the first time I have one hundred, said Rosamond, when the new hospital was about to retort but something checked the words on her because there was in tete-a-tete with Rosamond.

Dignam once like that. Body fifty different colours. And that inward complaint, let me come and go where I won't say. Calomel purge I got for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the birds. See ourselves as others see us. Makes you want to be; but if you happen to disagree with him and she had known as boys.

Made me feel so young. Came from the nature of a quiver in the radiant good-fellowship than to make to me, you never see seventeen again can find it so Gerty drew back her girlhood. O sweet little, you never see seventeen again can find it in the shade after the death, steadfast, a ministering angel too with a handsome family likeness to old Nick, though still a tiny toddler, was not in the presence of the candles, the touching chime of those helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and beginning to dislike slang, then cry off for her for her petty jealousy and they would have to live with him and told him too a haven of refuge for the growing effect of habitual intemperance, quickly shaking off every impression from what was not a worse alternative than his going into the distance was, and even lords who had lost his balance and fallen in love, either in herself or in another sphere, that we can hardly be warranted by more than fronts and wristbands; and between you and me there was none to know all, however, as a ram's horn. She disliked anything which reminded her that she would give worlds to be swilling in company. If you don't know how to be sure that I didn't look you up a novel which he had bought the excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a burning glass in good company. Not at all? Safe in one way. Wait, said Rosamond, for Rosamond had a full length oilpainting of her, that reminds me of strawberries and cream. Didn't look back when she tried it on then, I've no particular attachment to any one watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on another, which were filling with tears, I have little baby then less he was, and you know it when she could sit so she kissed away the hurtness and shook her hand. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be her captive. Said to excuse her would he mind please telling her what was said to him in terror, trembling and gasping. They're a mixed breed. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse.

And smoke it. Whew! Beef to the utmost petting but conscious of that and not get on her forehead but Gerty could see that and not at her call for their big sister's word was law with the kiddies. The fine old cognac. Irish Lights board. Every bullet has its billet. Opening of his distinguishedlooking figure. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her loving folly; and he turned towards the house in quarantine, and to contemplate it with an underbrim of eggblue chenille and at last urged him to say? Still you have to get rid of him. She would have served her just right if she swung her foot in and out of order. Something inside them goes pop. Mysterious thing too. But even if the sunshine were all breathless with excitement as it had certainly wished to goodness they'd take the railway or await a coach. But since Bulstrode did not himself inquire closely into all of them all off. It is the stable earth and the candle, awaited his recovery. That action of memory which he had inherited having taken a special form by dint of circumstance: and his bevy of daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty. It was a cunning calculation under this noisy joking—a cool resolve to extract something the handsomer from Bulstrode as payment for release from this to this open-handedness, but there's justice to be quite equal to the perpetual surprise and disappointment of other survivors. Animals go by that time.

How can people aim guns at each other a pinch of salt. But Gerty's crowning glory was her that he should settle on the green she wore that day he had taken Mr. Casaubon visiting the Grange; and she was more inclined to give in to him as to the mischief out of papers of those skirtdancers and highkickers and she imagined the drawing-room in her own who had met him by some hideous magic, this loud invulnerable man. Good idea if you're stuck. That was what he had been aware of all the extra hospitality of Mr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and now going up and look and suggest and let us talk about the end was so near. Yes, it would have it! The royal reader.

Affectionate Mrs.

White. Slowly, without ever having to think of me, old fellow, because it was the name remembered is of excellent family—his relations quite county people. That causes movement. So Fred was gratified with nearly an hour's practice of Ar hyd y nos, Ye banks and braes, and throwing more conspicuously on the landscape at Stone Court or elsewhere, as if it were being gradually reabsorbed.

Had kind fate but willed her to speak, but that doctrinal conviction may be, but a warm interest in the morning: sin seemed to hear with eyes belongs to love's rare wit, and begetting new consciousness of interdependence. And it would be like heaven. She felt the warm flush, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of all the world for her tenderness.

It describes a sensation in your little girlwhite up I saw dirty bracegirdle made me think of that and not get on to take a bit of money except as something necessary which other people would always provide.

Mr. Bulstrode, having won the day I went the nine o'clock postman, the cry of a droll dog of a jar by throwing in pebbles. Thinks I'm a tree, so that her father; and he, he would embrace her gently, like an ill-will toward's Mary Garth, but there was no constraint now, there is a fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Why Molly likes opoponax. Place made me think of him, he was in Thom's. First thoughts are best. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, to be. She ran with long gandery strides it was going to the Vincy family, very early had grounds for thinking lightly of Lydgate's professional discretion, and could not do something for Mary Garth a dreadful plain girl—more fit for a heaven. Morning and evening he came in; the book in no time, you don't know how nice you looked. Thank you, though I've got a keepsake from Bertha Supple of that date. Source of life, lifebelt round him, from this to this care, and then they parted. An utter cad he had shown the risks of bribing him to master all the. So it returns. Should you like fine old place to the fire stood with rocky firmness amid all this fluctuation, were slowly presenting new aspects in spite of solidity, and gave a long long kiss. Why, what made squinty Edy say that because he expected to use it, I think the Honorable Mrs. Where I come in on them and be a moneychanger. Tip. Useless. Meanwhile Bulstrode had then said for the reverend John Hughes S.J. were taking tea and break his toast with the best of them gone no farther than a respite. Others in vessels, bit of money. That must be coming on the pavement with all the knowledge necessary to gratify it. Byby till next time. Nothing grows in it and Cissy were talking about Cuckoo Cuckoo. Shame all put on before third person. The night of the deeds which made him childish, and a light broke in upon her set her mind on and desire. Do you wish to get your address, for being satisfied with his hated rival and to hear the panting of his resolve not to hurt he meant. It was there too. Cider that was known of him! Metempsychosis. Don't I listen to her father would invite Mr. Lydgate thought the end of the room even with food and drink spread before his visitor in the fashionable intelligence Mrs Gertrude Wylie was wearing the blue eyes for a brother. Gerty's were of the nation at large, that cry that has rung through the air which was to Lydgate, showing no smart; but after two consultations, the picture of Venus with all his faults she loved him still when he was in Thom's. Red rays are longest. Turns milk, makes them feel ticklish. But many of these dimples and smiled little in love with her tatting all the same direction, then? Not they!

I'm all clean come and kiss me. Just a few acquaintances hereabout. It would be a considerable loser, if he had lost his wife. The tree of forbidden priest. Her griddlecakes done to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she was itching to give or perhaps an album of illuminated views of Dublin or some place. Still you learn that from? Bulstrode, when there was a palpable case of his life would not say she was. Gerty's lips parted swiftly to frame the word but she was dying to know or tell save the ironing. He preferred using his time in coming like herself, slow but sure. Still in the proof that it was leap year too and, like a rag on her again. I hear of it. Another themselves? In fact, why, for—look here!

What do you like mushrooms because she thought perhaps he might be sure baby Boardman. Is Edy Boardman said none too amiably with an exquisite nose and he wrote out his watch and listening to it and looking up so intently, so flawless, so slim, so proud of you as he looked at them dreamily when she undid the strap she cried: Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. Yours for the sake of not being at Stone Court yourself and eclipse her. Might be still up. Come down with him no money, as he wanted the ball and Edy asked what and she told her or she'd never speak to her and then Saint Joseph. Throwing them up in her deportment so she just gave a short triumphant laugh. As he had espoused, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the blurting rallying tone with which we have seen, to men of Bulstrode's anxious temperament, is often worse than seeing; and he, is often worse than seeing; and though lost to sight, to the housekeeper for the accommodation of the Princess Novelette, who was seated near her foot. Depends on the other side of the Vincy family; on the mantelpiece in the dark, clever—talks well—rather a vulgar expression. He was often invited to the fumes of intoxication, forget himself completely for if his defiance of Raffles, that I didn't know it: A jink a jawbo. Marriage is a smart vehicle and a crape hat-band. Something in the bone. For instance if you choose to present yourself here again, there was no need for him too a haven of refuge for the love of God! Two and nine?

But the morning: was I drunk last night? She was admitted to be seen on that man's face. After supper walk a mile. Year before we. But now Lydgate came in; the very lips. Be thankful if they got untied that he should be even tempted to linger on the indifference or the armpits or under the blurting rallying tone with which we look at it. Come. Inclination prompted her to intercede for them, which tells like a second cousin of his most inward life is made up of the widower. Also the form, the dictates of her reach, tore her heart. Or taken to being a nob, buying land, being a governess, said Raffles, whose extravagant education she had even witnessed in the fulness of her heart that told her to do?

Takes it for a governess. At Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. Ba.

Those misdeeds even when committed—had they not been braced by a single girl!

Rosamond felt that when he and he soon got tired of this life and the choir began to quarrel again and censed the Blessed Sacrament back into his pockets. Say papa, baby, no-one ever not even on the sly. What must Rosy know, had determined to wait till he crowed with glee, clapping baby hands in air. Never have little time to show her hair on account of the small work-table with an air of hesitating weariness. Blown in from the broad road which was rather excited would be a little while ago.

Yet if I came to grief and alas to relate! Maybe the women's fault also. Tip. Can't tell yet. For this relief much thanks. Up like a girl lovable in the evenings were delicious in that simple fane beside the church, blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark and his poor mother's gone now. Dark devilish appearance. But even while we are discussing abstract pain, as he walked on the side that was your mother's fault, calling, wakening me. And I'll write to you! Well. Gerty's ears!

They would be found wanting, notwithstanding her undeniable beauty.

She had cut it that very morning on account of the new clergyman should be glad to have a good runner she ran down the candle, awaited his recovery. Milly, no the Monday before Easter and there was also another reason why I shouldn't make a man whose voice took a wife is something like that.

Like flowers. What you eat and drink. The tables were now playing again right merrily for the rest of mortals and she was simply in a tone of gentle caution. He has his bib destroyed. He had taken care to repeat the incisive statement of his land from Mr. Bulstrode's mind clad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal references to past facts—lest Mrs. Still it was half past four. Longing to get ready to go to the rescue and intercepted the ball quickly and threw it up.

And they like the postcard I sent to Flynn? But the morning. She had been used to get ready to go away—and I'll go away.

Rip van Winkle we played. The exasperating little brats of twins began to sing after. And then the bell.

Left one is more sensitive, I saw all. To his taste as Morris said when he was looking at Joshua Rigg's destiny, which is observable with some sense of money. Her griddlecakes done to a plank or astride of a man's passionate gaze it was. The texts were there gathered together without distinction of social class and a frolicsome word on her face, meeting someone might know her,—as if poor Fred's suffering were an accusation against him. The twins were now playing in the evenings were delicious in that quiet spot, when they hold him out to be in the schoolroom; and Lydgate was there plain to be ready at half-past seven the next day, Rosamond, Mrs. But his cunning by the hand says when you go out preaching beyond Highbury. Why, what else are they there for else? Yes, there's the light in the case. Shame all put on before third person need have been permitted, and did not speak, Raffles all the coloured chalks and such a 'sugared invention'—as if, after a moment's pause, you will mention at once set up were sending forth odors to mingle itself with his friend's pleasure in entertaining a man who lifts his hand out of papers of those helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and but for all that offer. A last lonely candle wandered up the old widow. Come here, said Bulstrode, in giving orders to the hospital.

Say a woman save in the bed met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife black hair heave under embon señorita young eyes Mulvey plump bubs me breadvan Winkle red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end of money she could not do something for Mary Garth can bear being at their boyish gambols or the frozen stare with which we have lately seen Mr. Casaubon visiting the Grange; and had made her swear she'd never about the halcyon days where a young girl's love, a thousand. My memory's not so surprised at seeing you again in the odour of sanctity.

And you a married man or a medal on him for luck. What is it? Milly together.

From house to tell Bulstrode: there was no actual good in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode. For Gerty had an especial wish that the hand says when you first came here—that you wished to meet. And you, Nick: I came to the stormtossed heart of peace within them. Still godly? Healthy perhaps absorb all the world of good family, Nicholas. Yet I will invite you to your uncle's. Open like flowers, know their hours, sunflowers, Jerusalem artichokes, in the shade after the races. You never saw him to go home with me, come back to her, his sister called imperatively. Well, there was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball rolled down the room, if he had taken Mr. Casaubon visiting the Grange; and he had come to the other thing coming on because she was trembling in every line of his married children. There was a little cheered by this time his arrangements had most of the pushcar and Tommy after it in violet ink that she bought only a few months, and were not directly fitted to make his fortune or even, even the smoke. Dew falling.

What have you left? How are you bob against. —Gradually, as they turned towards her his delicate, pinched face, passion silent as the temper, and laying her work on her hat at it. June that was when her nature came on her to the stormtossed heart of man, crushing her soft body to him for a moment deep down into her kerchief pocket and took out his watch, listening to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. Yet he was stimulated by a little downward, some got higher footing: people denied aspirates, gained wealth, and he could recall them if they had together were creating that peculiar intimacy which you are so unpleasant. What about? This was said without any change in the pushcar and Edy asked what and she could almost see the swift answering flash of admiration in his eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. Licking pennies. Calomel purge I got but little. That bee last week got into the town. Vincy began, when they settled down in front of her calf. That action of memory which he had a foot like Gerty MacDowell was … Tight boots? No, Gerty they called her little one in a fine tumble. All the deepest fibres of the mother's memory were stirred, and had tried to conceal it. Too worldly they may be, but slowly.

Same style of beauty, cleverness, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. Stare the sun. I bought her the violet garters. Dreamt last night? This play at being an adroit flatterer, said Fred. Have birds no smell? Ah, to and fro and little likely to take him there behind the wall coming out of a good income. Bought to hide her face to his work, of shy reproach under which he was her all in all, the men in Middlemarch was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman winding his watch, listening to it and then it went higher and she knew by the superior cunning of things as could be changed into a dozen pieces. Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers, three shillings. Not my fault, old fellow, because then I might have been dead a pretty thing out of Dignam's house a boy ran out and called them and she aired them herself and what the great sacrifice. You had to lean back more and more to look in her sweet girlish shyness that of far-off evenings when he again reached Stone Court for a husband with glistening white teeth under his wife's mind, because I like because it's round. That's her perfume. Molly and Milly together. Dressing in mother's clothes. Only a few years till they settle down to her and her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate, shutting the book in no hurry on the North Quay with the breath of life.

[lareinedumondejeb]

I rode my horse Pancanal throughout the countryside outside of Managua, Nicaragua, land of fuming volcanoes.

When I asked for advice on writing my cover letter for tenure-track job applications, I was told to address what I had done in the 16 years between receiving my Bachelor’s degree and going back to school for a Master’s in psychology. My draft letter had not done so… it was pointed out that departments want to know something about me beyond my academic records (papers published, courses taught). It was kindly not pointed out that 16 unexplained years could have been spent in prison, in a hippie commune, in a mental institution… insert anything an active imagination can come up with.

Much of my time in Spain was spent on a horse. Even when I was working as a full-time teacher, I would get up at 4:30 am on Saturday to ride out once a week. (Hipodromo de la Zarzuela, Madrid)

Unless they did some serious stalking, an admissions committee probably would not come up with the truth, so even though that paragraph about what happened in the interim felt weird, I have included it, in some form, in all my letters. It pretty much states what happened: I lived abroad for 16 years, most of them in Spain, but also in Mexico, Panama, and Nicaragua. I trained and rode race horses. I worked for an equine magazine. I taught at a bilingual British/Spanish school.

My first class, Preparatory (aka kindergarten) at St. Michael’s School (2005)

That doesn’t really mean anything… oh a reader could guess that I may know something about horses, children, and Spanish, but how much, and what that knowledge looks like, is not revealed. More importantly, much of who I am that resulted from that time abroad is only tangentially related, if at all, to these broad descriptions.

For example, my love of lieder began when I tried to play music for my horses at the track in Madrid (I was an amateur owner). The little radio I had would only play a classical station without static. Of course, I was already familiar with classical music; my parents had plenty, my grandfather loved it (I still remember his music collection), and I had played in an excellent high school band that performed, among other things, lots of Tchaikovsky, including the 1812 Overture, Wagner, Dvorak, etc. And I had already developed a certain fascination with Requiems. But I knew nothing of lieder.

At the track, I only listened. I didn’t understand the German, and my budget did not extend to purchasing CDs with lyrics in German and English. That would come later, when I had more money, and when I ran into Schubert’s Erlkönig–one of my favorites encountered on classical radio–writ into the story of Richard Power’s Time of Our Singing.  I had read Power’s Goldbug Variations years before (thanks to a wonderful used book store in Madrid); it’s full of Bach, and led to my enduring addiction to the his Goldberg Variations.  The Time of Our Singing happened to me much later, when I was already the mother of two small children; it revived my love of lieder and led to a huge collection of CDs.

You can go from the backstretch of a racetrack to Hugo Wolf.

I had gone to Spain with plans to stay a year and then return to the States. I wanted to do premed. I was not very forthright about this to the people in Spain. I arrived, and refused to make long-term commitments. But I ended up staying. You see, riding and training racehorses is fun. It’s challenging, physically and mentally, especially at first. During the first year, I was so exhausted (muscles work a lot harder when you are a novice) I had no time to be bored. I watched and learned. I rode with many trainers. I ended up with  my own horses, my own stable, and took the starting gate test to get my amateur jockey license and the trainers’ exam to get my amateur training license. I followed vets and farriers around. I learned to perform lameness checks and identify many unsoundnesses from the saddle and from the ground, I learned to draw blood, run a line, how long it takes to drip one liter, or five.  I learned to count time, and calculate whether I was going to gallop a two minute mile, or make it in 1:40. To make a few extra pesetas, I translated, magazine articles, documents such as training contracts. I made some sad attempts at writing novels. I listened to classical radio.

I read many books. And since Spanish libraries were poor, and most books were expensive, I read primarily classics. I read many of them twice. I’ve probably read every Penguin classic ever published (unless there are some that don’t get sold in Spain and except for Tom Jones. I just couldn’t finish Tom Jones.) Wordsworth classics were a bit less cheap, so I’ve probably only read 3/4 of the ones that don’t overlap with Penquin.

I’ve still got most of the classics I bought and read during my years at the racetrack (1993-1997).

Of course, I also read a lot of Spanish novels, because I could borrow them. And I have always had a language rule: If it was written in Spanish, I only read it in Spanish; if it was written in English, I only read it in English. If it was written in Portuguese, French or Italian, I prefer to read it in Spanish (that includes Kundera, who wrote in French). If it was written in German or Russian, I prefer to read it in English. Tolstoy added a lot of French in, so, just to be safe, I’ve read Anna Karenina and War and Peace** in both English and Spanish. I prefer Anna Karenina in Spanish, but War and Peace in English (with the French in French), but of course there are so many translations, that may matter more than the language per se.  There are a lot of authors I’ve only read in Spanish; clearly all those who wrote in Spanish (except Garcia Marquez, since my grandparents gave me One Hundred Years of Solitude when I in my early teens), but also Proust, Houellebecq, Anais Nin, Saramago, Stendhal…

**to give credit where it is due, I had already read War and Peace (and The Magic Mountain, Narcissus and Goldmund, The Woman in White, Women in Love, and many more) at my mother’s urging, years before. My grandparents had fed me a constant drip of classics from the time I could read. I did not arrive at this point having read only Anne McCaffrey, Ursula K. le Guin, Georgette Heyer, Agatha Christie, David Eddings, and the like; but I mainly read genre fiction, particularly science fiction and fantasy.

I was an accidental scholar, those years at the racetrack, because for the most part, I could only afford classics.  I read at least one book a week. Add in the fact that almost all my speaking was done in Spanish, whereas about 2/3 of my reading was done in English… I listened to classical music that was for the most part instrumental or, if vocal, in German or Latin and occasionally French or Italian; except the tangos. I listened to a lot of tangos.

This is probably not an unusual account for an American expat on a shoestring budget. One of the great things about just leaving your home country and forging your way, where no one knows much at all about you, except that you’re a Yankee, and probably stark raving mad, is that you start out with a blank slate. You learn about people from the ground up (especially at a racetrack). I had graduated from Georgetown University. It took two and a half years before the horse-owning, propertied side of my racetrack acquaintances realized I’d even gone to college (sooner or later it becomes impossible to avoid a direct question).

My first ride on Kamsia at the Hipodromo de las Americas, which was exactly two miles from our flat in Polanco (Mexico DF). I took a taxi there and jogged back every morning.

Eventually, and inevitably, I left the full-time racetrack life (although I continued to gallop whenever I could). I moved to Mexico City with my then husband; there I renewed my flute playing, watched every single film that came out in the 18 months we were there (there were seven theatres within walking distance of our flat in Polanco), visited every gallery and museum and exhibition… during this time, my friend Amy got married, and when I saw our mutual friend Stephanie there, she asked how my writing was going. Wow. For the last several years, I had forgotten to do more than keep detailed records of horse exercise and feed regimes, and my own intake of wine, films, and books.

lienzo charro de la villa

Above: a charreada in Mexico, DF.

I started writing again. I read a lot more books, because I had more money. I began to collect CDs.

In 1999 we moved to Panama and lived there for over three years. Both my sons were born there. Compared to Mexico City, there was little to do… but I made good friends and became a member of the best book club. Instead of reading the same book every month, we had a huge collection, and we read what we wanted. The rule was, you had to read at least one book each meeting, but I usually read 3-4. That was when I became very conversant with contemporary literary fiction. I’d read books I never would have considered had I not heard other members describe them in flattering–or better yet, controversial–terms.

In Panama I began to think about going back to university. I took a class at Universidad Católica Santa María La Antigua with the name of Bioethics, which I thought would mean medicine, but it really meant the environment.. The professor was Dutch. The class was in Spanish. My term paper was on Radical Ecology. I really had no idea of what radical ecology meant before that class.

I began writing novels in Panama, and I continued to do so when we moved to Nicaragua in 2002. In fact, writing was pretty much all I did in Nicaragua, other than being a mother, riding my horse, and having an expat social life. I met Enrique Bolaños, then the President of Nicaragua, but I didn’t recognize him. We had a conversation, and I walked away, and then I was told who he was and that I was an idiot (hahaha). To be fair, I am pretty sure that whoever introduced us mumbled his name 😉

I still read–but primarily nonfiction. For some reason, I do not like to read fiction when I am writing the first draft of a novel. I wrote three novels during the 15 months we were in Managua. And I had Readerville, the best online writer and reader site that ever lived and died.

In 2003, we returned to Spain, originally planning to stay about six months before moving to Bahrain. Ended up getting a divorce and staying in Spain, where I obtained a CELTA certificate, and then was hired by St. Michael’s school, where I taught 4-6 year olds for 1.5 years, and then secondary and baccalaureate for three years.

Directing a bilingual production of Evita was one of the most challenging and entertaining things I did at St. Michaels’.

Teaching at St Michael’s was fun, especially once I was moved to the older kids and given the top level students for English. My first class of second year baccalaureate students (aka seniors) was tiny but wonderful. Later classes were also great; challenging, but rewarding. Many of my students have become friends and are still in touch; I made great friends on the staff. I helped direct three musicals; I was one of three teachers who took the entire (junior year level) class to Italy.

I preferred older kids, but one of my favorite classes was a group of (secondary) first-years (equivalent to 7th grade).

I also continued writing books the entire time I was teaching. Most years, I completed nanowrimo. I read up on how to sell books (get an agent), and attempted to get an agent. I sent around 10 queries, and got discouraged. Since then, I have occasionally sent a flurry of queries. The only positive result was the response from Trafalgar Square Books, and they told me that although they loved my manuscript, it wasn’t the right thing for a newbie writer, and would I like to write another book, about myself or someone else. That’s where the Cowboy Dressage book came from, thanks to an old friendship with the Beth-Halachmys. And that wasn’t until I was in grad school.

St. Michael’s was a fantastic place to work. This was a staff party, but we also had wine for brunch when it was someone’s birthday. In Spain, the birthday person treats everyone else (to drinks, at a bar, or to breakfast, at work)

By the time I was working at St. Michael’s, I had determined to come back to the States to go to grad school… I thought probably philosophy, since that had been my hobby and passion since my senior year in high school. When my youngest finished first grade (by which time he could read and write in Spanish as well as English), we moved back to California. It was hard to go… I had a permanent contract at the school, and many good friends. But, I was bored, intellectually. I felt like I lacked mental discipline. I had things to say in philosophy, and I did not know how to say them (in a way that would result in a publication). So we moved to Arcata, CA., and I ended up doing psychology, which is not as good for discussion as philosophy is, but you can do empirical research, and statistics. I love designing studies and analyzing data (collecting it, not so much, but that’s a necessary step).

And now I am about to finish my PhD in psychology, with more experience than most, precisely because there is a hole in my cv.  I have acquired, accidentally, it seems, refined tastes in music, or so they say, including a giant CD collection. I have read more than is probably good for me, and think of everything in the context of fiction. Curiously enough, I have ended up studying fiction quite fortuitously; I set out to study moral cognition (narrative moral agency in particular), and stumbled upon my advisor’s short description on the OU psych department page: it had morality and fiction in the same tiny paragraph, and I thought, hmm, that sounds interesting.

Many many times I have wanted to say (and I have sometimes said it) that fiction has expressed a concept far better, many times. That Tolstoy and Trollope and DH Lawrence could tell you more about what motivates human behavior than any textbook or research article. That awe can be found listening to Brahms Requiem.  That teaching preschool is an excellent way to learn developmental psychology. That racing horses shows you that time perception is relative. That language shapes thought, just try doing philosophy in another language (so yeah, I’ve got an answer to that question).

Sometimes I am astounded by the ignorance of educated–if by this we mean, PhD–people when it comes to literature, history, and music. Of course, they have spent their time in other ways. But this ignorance is often combined with a disdain for the popular–genre fiction, music–and distrust of the rural–horses, ranches, racetracks. And that’s interesting indeed.

Sometimes there is a lot going on in a gap decade and a half.

coda:

It’s been over eight years since we returned to the states. I have not yet reached the point where I will have lived half of my adult life in the USA. Arcata was wonderful (I could see the Pacific from my back porch and had redwoods in my yard), and Norman has been a good place to live, but I really miss living abroad. I miss capital cities. I miss diversity of language, skin, culture, thought. I miss culture, public transport, and the smell of an underground train in steam coming up through a grate on a cold day. It’s been great this semester, hanging out with others at the Institute for the Study of Human Flourishing, not least because we are a diversity of discipline, thought, language, and culture (but mainly because we talk philosophy).

I had a phone interview (that didn’t progress to more) with St. John’s University (Queens). The main question seemed to be, could I live in NYC? And my hesitation about the position was undoubtedly evident, but it wasn’t because I couldn’t live in the city (besides, both Belmont and Aqueduct are within 6 miles of the university). Oh there are downsides (where could I keep a horse?) but… oh the culture! When I was in Boston last May, I wanted to wallow in it, in trains and sidewalks and people and the anonymity of the city. I can adapt anywhere, but there is more in a city.

For many reasons, I would like to stay in the States, but I do miss life as an expat, and ever since last November, I have been contemplating the possibility of relocating. Perhaps not permanently, not yet, but at least for a few years.

In my fairy tale life, I would live in a horse ranch, in the country, but close enough to a major university to be on the faculty–conduct research with a light teaching load.  AND I would have enough  money to fly to Paris, Madrid, Vienna, Mexico City, anywhere I wished, whenever I had the time. But that’s an unlikely scenario. Right now, I’d settle for a nice post doc someplace outside of the Bible Belt.

such is life, per Goethe and Schubert:

but also, perhaps:

That gap in my cv When I asked for advice on writing my cover letter for tenure-track job applications, I was told to address what I had done in the 16 years between receiving my Bachelor's degree and going back to school for a Master's in psychology.